Hor. What means my love?

Bel. I know not what myself;

And yet my heart foretells me some mischance.

Hor. Sweet, say not so; fair fortune is our friend,

And heav'ns have shut up day to pleasure us.

The stars, thou see'st, hold back their twinkling shine,

And Luna hides herself to pleasure us.

Bel. Thou hast prevail'd; I 'll conquer my misdoubt,

And in thy love and counsel drown my fear.

I fear no more; love now is all my thoughts.

Why sit we not? for pleasure asketh ease.

Hor. The more thou sit'st within these leafy bowers,

The more will Flora deck it with her flowers.

Bel. Ay, but if Flora spy Horatio here,

Her jealous eye will think I sit too near.

Hor. Hark, madam, how the birds record by night,

For joy that Bel-Imperia sits in sight.