Ura. Amyntas!

    Amy. Ha? 
    Am I known here?

    Ura. Amyntas, deere Amyntas—­

Amy. Who calls Amyntas? beauteous Proserpine?  ‘Tis shee.—­Fair Empresse of th’ Elysian shades, Ceres bright daughter intercede for mee, To thy incensed mother:  prithee bid her Leave talking riddles, wilt thou?...  Queene of darknesse, Thou supreme Lady of eternall night, Grant my petitions! wilt thou beg of Ceres That I may have Urania?

    Ura. Tis my praier,
    And shall be ever, I will promise thee
    Shee shall have none but him.

    Amy. Thankes Proserpine!

    Ura. Come sweet Amyntas, rest thy troubled head
    Here in my lap.—­Now here I hold at once
    My sorrow and my comfort.—­Nay, ly still.

    Amy. I will, but Proserpine—­

    Ura. Nay, good Amyntas—­

    Amy. Should Pluto chance to spy me, would not hee
    Be jealous of me?

    Ura. No.

    Amy. Tysiphone,
    Tell not Urania of it, least she feare
    I am in love with Proserpine:  doe not Fury!

    Ama. I will not.

    Ura. Pray ly still!

Amy. You Proserpine, There is in Sicilie the fairest Virgin That ever blest the land, that ever breath’d Sweeter than Zephyrus! didst thou never heare Of one Urania?

    Ura. Yes.

Amy. This poore Urania Loves an unfortunate sheapheard, one that’s mad, Tysiphone, Canst thou believe it?  Elegant Urania—­ I cannot speak it without tears—­still loves Amyntas, the distracted mad Amyntas.  Is’t not a constant Nymph?—­But I will goe And carry all Elysium on my back, And that shall be her joynture.

    Ura. Good Amyntas,
    Rest here a while!

    Amy. Why weepe you Proserpine?

    Ura. Because Urania weepes to see Amyntas
    So restlesse and unquiet.

Amy. Does shee so?  Then will I ly as calme as doth the sea, When all the winds are lock’d in Aeolus jayle; I will not move a haire, not let a nerve Or Pulse to beat, least I disturbe her!  Hush,—­ Shee sleepes!

    Ura. And so doe you.

    Amy. You talk too loud,
    You’l waken my Urania.

    Ura. If Amyntas,
    Her deere Amyntas would but take his rest,
    Urania could not want it.

    Amy. Not so loud! (II. iv.)

It was no ordinary imagination that conceived this example of the grotesque in the service of the pathetic.