Berenice

Scene V.

Smith's orchard.

Sue Smith: The clock struck nine when I did send the Anne;

In half an hour she 'promised to return.

Perchance she cannot meet him. That's not so.

O, she is lame! Love's heralds should be oughts,

Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams

Driving back shadows over lowering hills.

Therefore do nimble pinioned doves draw Love,

And therefore has the wind swift Cupid wings.

Now is the sun upon the high most hill

Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve

Is three long hours; yet she is not come.

Had she affections and warm youthful blood,

She would be as swift in motion as a ball;

My words would bandy her to my sweet love,

And his to me,

But old folks, many feign as they were dead

Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.

Enter Anne [and Beau].

O God, she comes! O honey Anne, what news?

Hast you met with him? Send your man away.

Anne Thompson: Beau, stay at the gate.

[Depart Beau.]

Sue Smith: Now, good sweet Anne O Lord, why do you look you sad?

Yough news be sad, yet tell them merrily;

If good, you shamest the music of sweet news

By playing it to me with so sour a face.

Anne Thompson: I am a weary, give me leave awhile.

Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunce have I had!