Chrysanthus. 
You must know the estimation
I have held you in so long.

Escarpin. 
Well, my memory is not strong. 
It requires consideration
To admit that pleasant fact.

Chrysanthus. 
What of me do people say?—­

Escarpin. 
Shall I speak it?

Chrysanthus. 
                   Speak.

Escarpin. 
                           Why, they
Say, my lord, that you are cracked.

Chrysanthus. 
For what reason?  Why this blame?

Escarpin. 
Reason, sir, need not be had,
For the wisest man is mad
If he only gets the name.

Chrysanthus. 
Well, it was not wrongly given,
If they only knew that I
Have consented even to die
So to reach the wished-for heaven
Of a sovereign beauty’s favour.

Escarpin. 
For a lady’s favour you
Have agreed to die?

Chrysanthus. 
                     ’T is true.

Escarpin. 
Does not this a certain savour
Of insanity give your sadness?

Chrysanthus. 
Were I certain as of breath
I could claim it after death,
There was method in my madness.

Escarpin. 
A brave soldier of the line,
On his death-bed lying ill,
Spoke thus, “Item, ’t is my will,
Gallant friends and comrades mine,
That you ’ll bear me to my grave,
And although I ’ve little wealth,
Thirty reals to drink my health
Shall you for your kindness have”. 
Thus the hope as vain must be
After death one’s love to wed,
As to drink one’s health when dead.
[Nisida advances from the garden.]

Chrysanthus. 
But what maid is this I see
Hither through the garden wending?

Escarpin. 
If you take a stroll with me
Plenty of her sort you ’ll see.

Nisida. 
One who would effect the ending
Of thy sadness.

Chrysanthus (aside). 
                 Now comes near thee,
O my heart, thy threatened trial! 
Lady, pardon the denial,
But I would nor see nor hear thee.

Nisida. 
Not so ungallantly surely
Wilt thou act, as not to see
One who comes to speak with thee?

Chrysanthus. 
To see one who thinks so poorly
Of herself, and with such lightness
Owns she comes to speak with me,
Rather would appear to be
Want of sense than of politeness.

Nisida. 
All discourse is not so slight
That thou need’st decline it so.

Chrysanthus. 
No, I will not see thee, no. 
Thus I shut thee from my sight.

Nisida. 
Vainly art thou cold and wise,
Other senses thou shouldst fear,
Since I enter by the ear,
Though thou shut me from the eyes.

Sings. 
“The bless`ed rapture of forgetting
Never doth my heart deserve,
What my memory would preserve
Is the memory I ’m regretting”.