Young slips are never graff'd in windy days;
Young scholars never enter'd with the rod.
Ah, my Erastus, these[385] are Europe's knights,
That carry honour graven in their helms,
And they must win it dear, that win it thence:
Let not my beauty prick thee to thy bane;
Better sit still than rise and overta'en.
Erastus.
Counsel me not, for my intent is sworn,
And be my fortune, as my love deserves!
Perseda.
So be thy fortune, as thy features serve,
And then Erastus lives without compare.
Enter a Messenger.
Here comes a messenger to haste me hence.—
I know your message, hath the princess
Sent for me?
Messenger.
She hath, and
Desires you to consort her to the triumphs. [Exit.