_Are_. 'Tis true, and worse
You should come often: How shall we devise
To hold intelligence? That our true lovers,
On any new occasion may agree, what path is best to
tread?

_Phi_. I have a boy sent by the gods, I hope to this intent,
Not yet seen in the Court; hunting the Buck,
I found him sitting by a Fountain side,
Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst,
And paid the Nymph again as much in tears;
A Garland lay him by, made by himself,
Of many several flowers, bred in the bay,
Stuck in that mystick order, that the rareness
Delighted me: but ever when he turned
His tender eyes upon 'um, he would weep,
As if he meant to make 'um grow again.
Seeing such pretty helpless innocence
Dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story;
He told me that his Parents gentle dyed,
Leaving him to the mercy of the fields,
Which gave him roots; and of the Crystal springs,
Which did not stop their courses: and the Sun,
Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light,
Then took he up his Garland and did shew,
What every flower as Country people hold,
Did signifie: and how all ordered thus,
Exprest his grief: and to my thoughts did read
The prettiest lecture of his Country Art