Hunts. A louely ladie neuer wants a guest.
Exeunt Manet, Eustace, Ida.
Eust. Stay gentle Ida, tell me what you deeme,
What doth this hast, this tender heart beseeme?
Ida. Why not my Lord, since nature teacheth art,
To sencelesse beastes to cure their greeuous smart.
Dictanum serues to close the wound againe.
Eust. What helpe for those that loue?
Ida. Why loue againe. 1620
Eust. Were I the Hart,
Ida. Then I the hearbe would bee.
You shall not die for help, come follow me.
Exeunt.