Shepherd.
Sorrows, fair nymph, are full alone,5
Nor counsel can endure.
Nymph.
Yet thine disclose; for, until known,
Sickness admits no cure.
Shepherd.
My griefs are such as but to hear
Would poison all thy joys;10
The pity which thou seem’st to bear
My health, thine own destroys.
How can diseased minds infect?
Say what thy grief doth move!
Shepherd.
Call up thy virtue to protect15
Thy heart, and know—’twas love.