Ros. Alas poore Shepheard searching of they would,
I haue by hard aduenture found mine owne

Clo. And I mine: I remember when I was in loue, I
broke my sword vpon a stone, and bid him take that for
comming a night to Iane Smile, and I remember the kissing
of her batler, and the Cowes dugs that her prettie
chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing
of a peascod instead of her, from whom I tooke two
cods, and giuing her them againe, said with weeping
teares, weare these for my sake: wee that are true Louers,
runne into strange capers; but as all is mortall in
nature, so is all nature in loue, mortall in folly

Ros. Thou speak'st wiser then thou art ware of

Clo. Nay, I shall nere be ware of mine owne wit, till
I breake my shins against it

Ros. Ioue, Ioue, this Shepherds passion,
Is much vpon my fashion

Clo. And mine, but it growes something stale with
mee

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yon'd man,
If he for gold will giue vs any foode,
I faint almost to death