Dor. Yes, it is he, Nerina.
Ner. Alas, poor shepherd! 'tis my greatest grief,
That I have grieved him; I would beg life
For nothing but to make him satisfaction.
Mir. Hylas, what, on the ground! look up and speak:
Alas, he's dead!
Ner. It cannot be: good father,
Let me go to him, and but touch his ear,
It may be that my voice may have more virtue.
Char. Do what thou wilt, sweetheart: see, my poor child,
How charitable she is: being half-dead
Herself, she pities others.
Mir. Mark her finesse,
How at the brink of death she kisses him,
And took this way to mock her simple father:
O fine invention! sure, a woman's wit
Does never fail her. [Aside.
Ner. Hylas, Hylas, speak,
Nerina calls thee! speak to thy Nerina!
Mir. What cannot love do? It revives the dead,
He's come to himself again!
Hyl. What god is it
That has the power to return my soul
From the Elysian fields?
Mir. It is no god:
A goddess rather, Hylas. 'Tis Nerina,
Look where she is!