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Emilia. 
Servant. 
Emilia. 
Servant. 
Emilia. 
Servant. 
Emilia. 
Servant. 
This garden hath a world of pleasures in’t. 
What flower is this ? 
’Tis called Narcissus, Madam. 
That was a fair boy certain, but a fool 
To love himself; were there not maids enough? 
Or were they all hard-hearted ? 
They could not be, to one so fair. 
Thou would’st not ? 
1 think I should not. Madam. 
That is a good wench! 
Canst thou not work such flowers in silk, wench ? 
I’ll have a gown full ofem; and of these. 
This a pretty colour : will’t not do 
Rarely upon a skirt, wench ? 
Dainty, Madam. 
The most deeply and entirely poetical allusion to the fate 
of Narcissus is the following splendid passage by Ben Jonson. 
The love of Echo, and her half reproachful grief, give a real 
and touching pathos to what in other hands is a mere fable. 
Echo. His name revives and lifts me up fi-om earth— 
See, see, the mourning fount, whose springs weep yet 
Th’ untimely fate of that too beauteous boy. 
That trophy of self-love, and spoil of nature. 
Who, now transformed into this drooping flower. 
Hangs the repentant head back from the stream; 
As if it wished—“ would I had never looked 
Into such a flattering mirror!” O Narcissus! 
Thou that wast once (and yet art) my Narcissus, 
Had Echo but been private with thy thoughts. 
She would have dropped away herself in tears. 
Till she had all turned water, that in her 
(As in a truer glass) thou might’st have gazed. 
And seen thy beauties by more kind reflection. 
But self-love never yet could look on truth 
But with bleared beams; slick Flattery and she 
