Dor. 'Tis very strange.
Daph. But true, Dorinda; will you spit upon me?
Take your revenge, for I have well deserv'd it.
Dor. But is this serious, Daphnis? O, take heed,
Crack not my heart with such a load of grief
And scorn, so press'd as this is: if you do,
The gods will punish it; for though they have
Neglected me thus long, they will revenge
Such injuries as these.
Daph. My many ills
Discredit my repentance: if my words
Can find no faith with you, believe my tears:
Indeed they are not feign'd.
Dor. Even so you look'd
When first you stole my heart: but I forgive you,
Whate'er become of me, I still must love you.
Daph. Forgive me first, and then I will begin
By my endeavours and true services
To deserve something of you, if not love.
Dor. There is not that hard-heartedness in man
Which I did think, for he repents, I see.
O Daphnis! if thou mean'st not this as scorn,
Take me into thine arms, and I will be
Thy slave.
Daph. O, say not so; let me
Rather be thine; it will be pride in me
To be ambitious of it.
Dor. O my heart!
What sudden joy thou strik'st into it now!
But yet methinks I fear thou dost not love me.
Daph. Why should you fear? By Pan, you are to me
Whate'er you can imagine; equal—above
All that I e'er thought fair; and if you be
Content to hide my faults, and take me to
Your nuptial bed, which yet I dare not hope—
But if you will, whene'er that day shall come,
Th' embraces of my love and me shall be
Such, as the Cyprian boy from our abundance
Shall take his fires to kindle other hearts,
Yet leave with us a flame which we will cherish,
And keep alive unto eternity.