Song.

1.

Some Happy Soul come down and tell
What Joys are those with you do dwell? 
If it be Happiness like ours below,
Which from our want of ills does only flow,
Then ’tis plain that mighty theam
Of Immortality is but a Dream.

2.

’Tis Love, ’tis Love, for nothing can
Give real Happiness to Man,
But Joys like those that Lovers Souls enjoy,
which here on Earth there’s nothing can destroy;
Ay, ay, ’tis Love only can be
The Happy Souls endless felicity.

Ger. What a dull, heavy load hangs on my soul! 
Weighing me down to Earth, as if ’twould say
’Twas weary of its Burthen, and resolv’d
To shake it off, and mix with its first matter;
What is the thing, call’d Death, we mortals shun? 
Is’t some real, or is’t a fancy only? 
Like that imaginary point in Mathematicks;
Not to be found only in definition: 
It is no more:  Death, like your Childrens Bug-bears,
Is fear’d by all, yet has no other Being
Then what weak fancy gives it; ’tis a Line,
But yet imaginary, drawn betwixt
Time and that dreadful thing Eternity;
I, that’s the thing, ’tis fear’d; for now I find it: 
Eternity which puzzles all the World,
To name the inhabitants that People it: 
Eternity, whose undiscover’d Countrey
We Fools divide, before we come to see it;
Making one part contain all happiness,
The other misery, then unseen fight for’t. 
Losing our certains for uncertainties;
All Sects pretending to a Right of choyce;
Yet none go willingly to take their part,
For they all doubt what they pretend to know,
And fear to mount, lest they should fall below: 
Be’t as it will; my Actions shall be just,
And for my future State I Heav’n will trust.
  Enter a Servant.
Return’d already; what can be the cause?

Serv. Sir, Don Antonio likewise is return’d.

Ger. What reason had he for it, dost thou know?

Ser. My Lord, I do not; for we by your appointment
Having took Horse, did with our greatest speed
Pursue the Road should lead us to Don John’s;
When near a Thicket stands some two Miles off,
I spy’d Antonio lying on the ground,
And Jasper walking of the Horses by him,
Fearing his seeing us, we took the Thicket,
Where shelter’d from their Eyes, I left my Fellows. 
But I approach’d as near as possible,
Hoping I did you Service, if I could
By their Discourse gather their cause of stay.

Ger. ’Twas like thy self, both diligent and prudent.

Serv. But all my care did signifie but little,
The Wind blew fresh, and rustling in the Wood,
Wholly destroy’d their Voyces, so that few words
Of what they said I heard; and those I did,
Came so divided they had no connexion.

Ger. What sort of Actions did you then perceive?