The saints sacrifice

Calas. Nay daughter say not so, but cheer your self, For what doth vex you is a malady Common, and easy to be cured by me; Thou west ore-looked not only at the pomp Of Pyrrhus funeral rites, but at the race In armour too when you were overseer, And gave the prize unto the conqueror; Theagenes was he that overlooked you, Whose want on eye was always sixth upon Your splendant beauty object of his sight.

Calas. Nay daughter say not so, but cheere your selfe, For what doth vex you is a malady Common, and easie to be cur'd by me; Thou west ore-look'd not onely at the pompe Of Pirrhus funerall rites, but at the race In armour too when you were overseer, And gave the prize unto the conquerour; Theagenes was he that overlook'd you, Whose want on eye was alwaies fixt upon Your splendant beauty object of his sight.

Caric. Whether he deigned to look on me or no Apollo have him in his custody; But whence is he, and what's his pedigree?

Caric. Whether he daign'd to looke on me or no Apollo have him in his custody; But whence is he, and what's his pedegree?

Calas. He's a Thessalian borne, and as you heard Descended from Achilles, who although He have bewitched you with an envious eye, He suffers more than you by the reflex Of your Sun-burning eyes upon his heart.

Calas. He's a Thessalian borne, and as you hear'd Descended from Achilles, who although He have bewitch'd you with an envious eye, He suffers more than you by the reflex Of your Sun-burning eyes upon his heart.