But no; but no; for if thou sing'st of love.
Jealousy's pangs and sorrow's tears remain!

Enter DARIA.

DARIA.
Ah! my Nisida, forbear,
Ah! those words forbear to sing,
Which on zephyr's wanton wing
Thou shouldst waft not on the air.
All is wrong, how sweet it be,
That the vestal's thoughts reprove:
What is jealousy? what is love?
That they should be sung by thee?
Think this wood is consecrated
To Diana's service solely,
Not to Venus: it is holy.
Why then wouldst thou desecrate it
With thy songs? Does 't not amaze
Thee thyself--this strangest thing--
In Diana's grove to sing
Hymns of love to Cupid's praise?
But I need not wonder, no,
That thou 'rt so amused, since I
Here see Cynthia with thee.

CYNTHIA.
Why
Dost thou say so?