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      Tigr.

      Why? wilt thou have me die Spaconia.

      What should I do?

      Spa.

      Nay let me stay alone,

      And when you see Armenia again,

      You shall behold a Tomb more worth than I;

      Some friend that ever lov'd me or my cause,

      Will build me something to distinguish me

      From other women, many a weeping verse

      He will lay on, and much lament those maids,

      That plac'd their loves unfortunately high,

      As I have done, where they can never reach;

      But why should you go to Iberia?

      Tigr.

      Alas, that thou wilt ask me, ask the man

      That rages in a Fever why he lies

      Distempered there, when all the other youths

      Are coursing o're the Meadows with their Loves?

      Can I resist it? am I not a slave

      To him that conquer'd me?

      Spa.

      That conquer'd thee Tigranes! he has won

      But half of thee, thy body, but thy mind

      May be as free as his, his will did never

      Combate thine, and take it prisoner.

      Tigr.

      But if he by force convey my body hence,

      What helps it me or thee to be unwilling?

      Spa.

      O Tigranes, I know you are to see a Lady there,

      To see, and like I fear: perhaps the hope

      Of her make[s] you forget me, ere we part,

      Be happier than you know to wish; farewel.

      Tigr.

      Spaconia, stay and hear me what I say:

      In short, destruction meet me that I may

      See it, and not avoid it, when I leave

      To be thy faithful lover: part with me

      Thou shalt not, there are none that know our love,

      And I have given gold unto a Captain

      That goes unto Iberia from the King,

      That he will place a Lady of our Land

      With the Kings Sister that is offered me;

      Thither shall you, and being once got in

      Perswade her by what subtil means you can

      To be as backward in her love as I.

      Spa.

      Can you imagine that a longing maid

      When she beholds you, can be pull'd away

      With words from loving you?

      Spa.

      Why, I had rather lose you: can my heart

      Consent to let my tongue throw out such words,

      And I that ever yet spoke what I thought,

      Shall find it such a thing at first to lie?

      Gob.

      There is a Lady takes not after you,

      Her Father is within her, that good man

      Whose tears weigh'd down his sins, mark how she weeps,

      How well it does become her, and if you

      Can find no disposition in your self

      To sorrow, yet by gracefulness in her

      Find out the way, and by your reason weep:

      All this she does for you, and more she needs

      When for your self you will not lose a tear,

      Think how this want of grief discredits you,

      And you will weep, because you cannot weep.

      Pan.

      I would my heart were Stone, before my softness

      Against my mother, a more troubled thought

      No Virgin bears about; should I excuse

      My Mothers fault, I should set light a life

      In losing which, a brother and a King

      Were taken from me, if I seek to save

      That life so lov'd, I lose another life

      That gave me being, I shall lose a Mother,

      A word of such a sound in a childs ears

      That it strikes reverence through it; may the will

      Of heaven be done, and if one needs must fall,

      Take a poor Virgins life to answer all.

      Ara.

      But

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