Me too a darling smooth of face notes as I tend my flocks:
How maddeningly o'er that fair neck ripple those shining locks!
COMETAS.
Tho' dogrose and anemone are fair in their degree,
The rose that blooms by garden-walls still is the rose for me.
LACON.
Tho' acorns' cups are fair, their taste is bitterness, and still
I'll choose, for honeysweet are they, the apples of the hill.
COMETAS.
A cushat I will presently procure and give to her