Ge. I thinke my boy be fled away by charme. Raunger, well met; within thy walke, I pray, Sawst thou not Mopso my vnhappie boy.
Sil. Shepheard, not I: what meanst to seeke him heere?
Ge. Because the wagge, possest with doubtful feare
Least I would beate him for a fault he did,
Amongst those trees I do suspect hees hid.
But how now, Raunger? you mistake, I trowe;
This is a Lady and no barren Dowe.
Sil. It is indeede, and (as it seemes) distrest; Whose griefe to know I humbly made request, But she as yet will not reueale the same.
Ge. Perhaps to me she will: speak, gentle dame;
What daunger great hath driuen ye to this place?
Make knowne your state, and looke what slender grace
A Shepheards poore abilitee may yeeld
You shall be sure of ere I leaue the feeld.
Eur. Alas good Sir the cause may not be known That hath inforste me to be here alone.
Sil. Nay, feare not to discouer what you are; It may be we may remedie your care.
Eur. Since needs you will that I renew my griefe,
Whether it be my chance to finde reliefe
Or not, I wreake not: such my crosses are
As sooner I expect to meet despaire.
Then thus it is: not farre from hence do dwell
My parents, of the world esteemed well,
Who with their bitter threats my grant had won
This day to marrie with a neighbours son,
And such a one to whom I should be wife
As I could neuer fancie in my life:
And therefore, to auoid that endlesse thrall,
This morne I came away and left them all.
Sil. Now trust me, virgin, they were much vnkinde To seeke to match you so against your minde.
Ge. It was, besides, vnnatural constraint:
But, by the tenure of your just complaint,
It seems you are not minded to returne,
Nor any more to dwell where you were borne.