man, Oh that beast man!
Come lets be sad my Girles;
That down cast of thine eye, _Olympias_,
Shews a fine sorrow; mark _Antiphila_,
Just such another was the Nymph _Oenone_,
When _Paris_ brought home _Helen_: now a tear,
And then thou art a piece expressing fully
The _Carthage_ Queen, when from a cold Sea Rock,
Full with her sorrow, she tyed fast her eyes
To the fair _Trojan_ ships, and having lost them,
Just as thine eyes do, down stole a tear, _Antiphila_;
What would this Wench do, if she were _Aspatia_?
Here she would stand, till some more pitying God
Turn'd her to Marble: 'tis enough my Wench;
Shew me the piece of Needle-work you wrought.

_Ant_. Of _Ariadne_, Madam?

_Asp_. Yes that piece.
This should be _Theseus_, h'as a cousening face,
You meant him for a man.

_Ant_. He was so Madam.

_Asp_. Why then 'tis well enough, never look back,
You have a full wind, and a false heart _Theseus_;
Does not the story say, his Keel was split,
Or his Masts spent, or some kind rock or other
Met with his Vessel?