Two Duets

From "Arion," an unpublished Masque     I     He. Aglai-a! Aglai-a!                 Sweet, awaken and be glad.     She. Who is this that calls Aglaia?                 Is it thou, my dearest lad?     He. 'Tis Arion, 'tis Arion,                 Who calls thee from sleep--             From slumber who bids thee             To follow and number                 His kids and his sheep.     She. Nay, leave to entreat me!                 If mother should spy on             Us twain, she would beat me.     He. Then come, my love, come!              And hide with Arion                  Where green woods are dumb!     She. Ar-i-on! Ar-i-on!                      Closer, list! I am afraid!     He. Whisper, then, thy love Arion,                      From thy window, lily maid.     She. Yet Aglaia, yet Aglaia                      Hath heard them debate                  Of wooing repenting--                  "Who trust to undoing,                     Lament them too late."     He. Nay, nay, when I woo thee,                      Thy mother might spy on                  All harm I shall do thee.     She. I come, then--I come!                  To follow Arion                      Where green woods be dumb.     SONG                 Sparrow of Love, so sharp to peck,                 Arrow of Love--I bare my neck                 Down to the bosom. See, no fleck                 Of blood! I have never a wound; I go                 Forth to the greenwood. Yet, heigh-ho!                 What 'neath my girdle flutters so?                 'Tis not a bird, and yet hath wings,                 'Tis not an arrow, yet it stings;                 While in the wound it nests and sings--                     Heigh-ho!     He. Of Arion, of Arion                     That wound thou shalt learn;                 What nothings 'tis made of,                 And soft pretty soothings                     In shade of the fern.     She. When maids have a mind to,                      Man's word they rely on,                  Old warning are blind to--                      I come, then--I come                          To walk with Arion                      Where green woods are dumb!                                                             II     He. Dear my love, and O my love,                     And O my love so lately!                 Did we wander yonder grove                     And sit awhile sedately?                 For either you did there conclude                     To do at length as I did,                 Or passion's fashion's turn'd a prude,                     And troth's an oath derided.     She. Yea, my love--and nay, my love--                      And ask me not to tell, love,                  While I delay'd an idle day                      What 'twixt us there befell, love.                  Yet either I did sit beside                      And do at length as you did,                  Or my delight is lightly by                      An idle lie deluded!