Poor Phillida, curse the time of thy birth and rareness of thy beauty, 418the unaptness of thy apparel and the untamedness of thy affections. Art thou no sooner in the 419habit of a boy but thou must be enamored of a boy? What shalt thou do, when 420what best liketh thee most discontenteth thee? Go into the woods, watch the good times, his best 421moods, and transgress in love a little of thy modesty. I will. -- I dare not. Thou 422must -- I cannot. Then pine in thine own peevishness. I will not -- I will. Ah, 423Phillida, do something, nay, anything, rather then live thus! Well, what I will do, myself knows not, 424but what I ought I know too well. And so I go, resolute either to bewray my love or suffer shame.