Sweet love-A play.

Farc'et:
Everything I once held dear. Everything which was once as strong as an oak. It's all gone now, blown away by the winds of love.

Tarbet:
And what love is this, oh Farc'et?

Farcet:
Germade, oh Germade. She is dead now, never to be seen again to the faces of men again. Oh how I mourn for myself!

Martade:
|Enters
What self pity I hear. Oh please, for the sake of me, up and out of this pit of sorrow.

Tarbet:
He cannot, for he has sworn to grieve for seven months, and never love again.

Farcet: Never love again. No one could match to her beauty and grace. No one.

|Martade, throwing off her guise.
It is me! Germade!

|Farcet, with a look of astonishment
Oh happy day! Tarbet, call all the town so we may be married at once.