1 Cha. Hard hap, O Phoebus; but, sieth it's past & gone, We wish ye to forbeare this frustrate mone.
Ap. Ladies, I knowe my sorrowes are in vaine, And yet from mourning can I not refraine.
1 Cha. Eurania some pleasant song shall sing To put ye from your dumps.
Ap. Alas, no song will bring The least reliefe to my perplexed minde.
2 Cha. No, Phoebus? what other pastime shall we finde To make ye merry with?
Ap. Faire dames, I thanke you all;
No sport nor pastime can release my thrall.
My grief's of course; when it the course hath had,
I shall be merrie and no longer sad.
1 Cha. What will ye then we doo?
Ap. And please ye, you may goe, And leaue me here to feed vpon my woe.
2 Cha. Then, _Phoebus, we can but wish ye wel againe.
[Exeunt Charites.