Orpheus, that on Eurydice
Spent all his love, on others scorn,
Now on the banks of Hebrus torn,
Finds the reward of foolish constancy.
Chorus. Come then to me, &c.
4.
And sigh no more for one love lost:
I have a thousand Cupids here,
Shall recompense with better cheer
Thy misspent labours and thy bitter cost.
Chorus. Come then to me, &c.
The dance ended, enter a Messenger.
Nun. Shepherds, if you have any pity, come
And see a woful spectacle.
Mir. What is't,
That can be worth the breaking of our sports?
Nun. The gentle nymph Nerina—
Hyl. What of her?
Nun. The last of her: I think see lies a-dying,
And calls to speak with you.
Hyl. Curse of your follies!
Do I live here whilst she is dying there?