Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?
Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe’s cruelty.
Ros. She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. [Reads.
040 Art thou god to shepherd turn’d,
That a maiden’s heart hath burn’d?
Can a woman rail thus?
Sil. Call you this railing?
Ros. [reads
Why, thy godhead laid apart,