Daria. 
Why more words then? love must be
In my case denied by heaven: 
Since my love cannot be given
Save to one who ’ll die for me.

Cynthia. 
Thy ambition is a thing
So sublime, what can be said?—­
Better I resumed and read,
Better, Nisida, thou shouldst sing,
This disdain so strange and strong,
This delusion little heeding.

Nisida. 
Yes, do thou resume thy reading,
I too will resume my song.

Daria. 
I, that I may not renew
Such reproaches, whilst you sing,
Whilst you read, in this clear spring
Thoughtfully myself shall view.

Nisida sings. 
O nightingale, whose sweet exulting strain
Tells of thy triumphs to the listening grove,
Thou fill’st my heart with envy and with pain!—­
But no, but no, for if thou sing’st of love
Jealousy’s pangs and sorrow’s tears remain!

Enter Chrysanthus, Claudius, and Escarpin.

Claudius, to Chrysanthus. 
Does not the beauty of this wood,
This tranquil wood, delight thee?

Chrysanthus. 
                                   Yes: 
Here nature’s lord doth dower and bless
The world in most indulgent mood. 
Who could believe this greenwood here
For the first time has blessed mine eyes?

Claudius. 
It is the second Paradise,
Of deities the verdant sphere.

Chrysanthus. 
’T is more, this green and grassy glade
Whither our careless steps have strolled,
For here three objects we behold
Equally fair by distance made. 
Of these that chain our willing feet,
There yonder where the path is leading,
One is a lady calmly reading,
One is a lady singing sweet,
And one whose rapt though idle air
Gives us to understand this truth—­
A woman blessed with charms and youth,
Does quite enough in being fair.

Escarpin. 
You are quite right in that, I ’ve seen
Beauties enough of that sort too.

Claudius. 
If of the three here given to view,
The choice were thine to choose between,
Which of them best would suit thy taste? 
Which wouldst thou make thy choice of, say?

Chrysanthus. 
I do not know:  for in one way
They so with equal gifts are graced,
So musical and fair and wise,
That while one captivates the mind,
One works her witcheries with the wind,
And one, the fairest, charms our eyes. 
The one who sings, it seems a duty,
Trusting her sweet voice, to think sweet,
The one who reads, to deem discreet,
The third, we judge but by her beauty: 
And so I fear by act or word
To wrong the three by judging ill,
Of one her charms, of one her skill,
And the intelligence of the third. 
For to choose one does wrong to two,
But if I so presumed to dare . . .