pursue and overtake me, which you ne'er fail'd to do, where after a
kind quarrel all was pardon'd, and all was well again: while the poor
injur'd innocent, my sister, made herself sport at our delusive wars;
still I was ignorant, 'till you in a most fatal hour inform'd me I was
a lover. Thus was it with my heart in those blest days of innocence;
thus it was won and lost; nor can all my stars in heav'n prevent, I
doubt, prevent my ruin. Now you are sure of the fatal conquest, you
scorn the trifling glory, you are silent now; oh I am inevitably lost,
or with you, or without you: and I find by this little silence and
absence of yours, that 'tis most certain I must either die, or be
_Philander_'s

SYLVIA.

_If_ Dorillus _come not with a letter, or that my page, whom I have
sent to this cottage for one, bring it not, I cannot support my life:
for oh_, Philander, _I have a thousand wild distracting fears, knowing
how you are involv'd in the interest you have espoused with the young_
Cesario: _how danger surrounds you, how your life and glory depend on
the frail sacrifice of villains and rebels: oh give me leave to fear
eternally your fame and life, if not your love; If_ Sylvia _could
command_, Philander _should be loyal as he's noble; and what generous
maid would not suspect his vows to a mistress, who breaks 'em with his
prince and master! Heaven preserve you and your glory_.

* * * * *

_To_ Philander.

Another night, oh heavens, and yet no letter come! Where are you, my