[205] Seem’d Athens as a paradise to me:
[206] O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,
[207] That he hath turn’d a heaven unto a hell!
Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
To-morrow night, when Phœbe doth behold
210 Her silver visage in the watery glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
A time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal,
[213] Through Athens’ gates have we devised to steal.
Her. And in the wood, where often you and I