A Dialogue Betwixt Himself and Mistress Eliza Wheeler, under the Name of Amarillis
My dearest Love, since thou wilt go,And leave me here behind thee;For love or pity, let me knowThe place where I may find thee.
AMARIL. In country meadows, pearl'd with dew,And set about with lilies;There, filling maunds with cowslips, youMay find your Amarillis.
HER. What have the meads to do with thee,Or with thy youthful hours?Live thou at court, where thou mayst beThe queen of men, not flowers.
Let country wenches make 'em fineWith posies, since 'tis fitterFor thee with richest gems to shine,And like the stars to glitter.
AMARIL. You set too-high a rate uponA shepherdess so homely.HER. Believe it, dearest, there's not oneI' th' court that's half so comely.
I prithee stay. AMARIL. I must away;Let's kiss first, then we'll sever;AMBO And though we bid adieu to day,We shall not part for ever.
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