University of Virginia Library

Actus Secundus.

Scena Prima.

Satyr
solus.
Small is the Bee; but yet with his small sting
Does greater mischiefe, then a greater thing.
But what of all things can be lesse then Loue,
That through so narrow passages can pierce,
And in so narrow roome lye hid? sometime
Vnder the shaddow of an eye-lids foult,
Now in the small curle of a shining tresse,
Now in the little pitts which forme sweet smiles
In an inamo'ring checke; yet makes so deepe,
So deadly and immedicable wounds.
Ay me my brest is all one bleeding wound;
A thousand armed darts alas are lodg'd
By that fell tyrant Loue in Siluia's eyes;
Cruell Loue, cruell Siluia, sauadger
Then the wilde desarts; O how well thy name
Sutes with thy nature (Siluan as thou art)
The woods vnder their greene roofes hide the Snake,
The Beare, the Lyon; and thou in thy brest
Hydest disdaine, hate, and impietie,
More balefull then the Lion, Beare, or Snake;
For they will some way be reclaim'de; thou neither
With prayers or gifts; Alas when I present thee
Fresh floures, thou frowardly refusest them;
Perhaps because th'hast in thy louely face,
Fairer then those; Alas when I present thee
Faire Apples, thou do'st scornfully reiect them;
Perhaps because thy bosome beares a paire
Fairer then those; Ay mee when I present thee
Sweet honey, thou disdainfully deny'st it,
Perhaps because thy lips breathe sweeter honey
Then the Bee makes; but if my pouerty
Can giue thee nought that thou hast not more faire,
And louely in thy selfe, my selfe I giue thee;
But thou vniust scorn'st, and abhorr'st the gift.
Yet I'me not so fowle, to be so dispiz'de,
If well I mark'd my selfe, when th'other day
I view'd my shadowe in the watry mayne,
When the winde blew not, and the sea lay still.
The manly tincture of my sanguine brow,
These muscled armes, and shoulders large enough;
This hairy brest of mine, and hory thyes
Proclaime my able force, and manlyhood;
Make triall of mee if thou doubt'st of it.
What wilt thou do with these same tenderlings,
On whose bare cheeke the young downe scarsely springs?
With what an art they place their haire in order?
Women in shew, and women in their strength.
Tell mee, who wilt thou haue to follow thee
O're the bald hills, and through the leauy woods,
And fight for thee with Beare, and armed Bore?
No no, my shape's not it thou hat'st mee for,
But 'tis my pouerty thou dost abhorre.
Ah that poore Cottages will follow still
Great Townes example in what ere is ill;
This may be truely call'd the Golden age,
For gould alone preuailes, gould only raynes.
O thou (who ere thou wert) that first didst teach
To sell loue thus, accursed be thy dust.
And thy colde buried bones; nor euer may
Shepherd or Nimphe say to them, rest in peace;
But be they washt with raines, and tost with windes,
And may the passers by, and all the rout
Of beasts with fowle feete spurne them all about.
Base mercinary loue, thou hast deflour'd
Loues noblenesse; and turn'd his happy ioyes
Into such bitternesse, and sharpe annoyes.
Loue to be slaue to golde? O miracle
More odious, and abominable farre
Then the large earth produces, or the Mayne.
But why alas, why do I vexe my selfe
Thus all in vaine? no, let each creature vse
Those armes that Nature for his ayde hath giu'n him,
The Hart his speede, the Lyon his strong pawe,
The foaming Bore his tuske; the womans armes
And powre lye in her beauty', and gracefull shape;
I, since my strength is the best helpe I haue,
And am by nature fit for deedes of force,
Will for reward of all my loue mispent,
Force this proud cruell to my owne content.
And by so much as I can vnderstand,
(As yon Goteherd that hath obseru'd her wayes
Hath lately tolde me) she doth oft repaire
To' a water-fount to wash her selfe; the place
He made me knowe, and there I meane to lye
Close in a thickett neere, t'attend her comming,
And as occasion fits, I'le make her myne,
What can she do then, what auayle alas
Can her hands giue her, or her leggs to flye
(Poore wretch) from me so forcible, and swift?
Let her a good yeere weepe, and sigh, and rayle,
And put on all the powre her beauty hath;
If once I catch her by the snary curles,
We will not part in hast, till I haue bath'd
(For my reuenge) my armes in her warme bloud.

Scen: Secunda.

Daphne.
Thirsis.
Thirsis (as I haue tolde thee) well I knowe
How well, Aminta Siluia loues; heau'n knowes
How many friendly offices I haue,
And will do for him; and so much the rather
For that thou do'st intreate in his behalfe;
But I would sooner take in hand to tame
A Beare, or Tygar then a fond young wench;
The silly thing (simple as faire) sees not
How sharpe and burning be her beauties rayes,
But smiles or cries; yet wounds where ere shee goe,
And fondly knowes not if shee hurt or no.

Thi:
Tush there's no wench so simple but shee knowes
Soone as shee leaues the cradle, how to seeme
Spruce, and delightfull; and what armes to vse
To hurte, or kill outright, and what to heale
A wounded heart, and giue it life withall.

Da:
What Master is't that shewes 'hem all these arts?

Thi:
He that instructs the birds to sing and flye;
The Fish to swimme, the Ramme to butt, the Bull
To vse his horne, the Peacocke to display
His many-ey'ed-plumes beautie to the day.

Da:
How name you this same teacher?

Thi:
H'has a name.

Da:
Go trifler.

Thi:
Why I pre'thee art not thou
Fitt enough to teach twenty girles their lessons?
I'le warrant thee, I; and yet to speake the troth
They neede no teacher; Nature teacheth them
Although the nurse and mother haue a part.

Da:
Come y'ar vnhappy; but in earnest now
I'me not resolu'd Siluia so simple is
As by her words shee seemes; for th'other day
One deede of hers put me in doubt of her:
I found her in those broad fields neere the towne,
Where amongst drown'de grounds, lies a little Isle,
And round about, a water cleare, and calme;
There o're she hung her head; and seem'd (me thought)
Full proud to see her selfe, and tooke aduice
O'th'water, in what order best to lay
Her locks, and them about her brow display,
And ouer them her vaile, and ouer that
The flowres shee carried in her lapp; now heere
Shee hung a Lilly, there shee stuck a Rose;
Then layd them to her neck, and to her cheeke,
As to try whethers hew the other past;
At last, (as ioyfull of the victory)
Shee smiling seem'd to say, the day is mine;
Nor do I weare you for my ornament,
But for your owne disgrace (counterfait floures)
To shew how much my beauty passeth yours.
But while shee thus stood decking of her selfe,
Shee turn'd her eye by chance, and soone had found
That I had noted her, and blusht a mayne,
Downe fell her flowres; I laught to see her blush;
And she blusht more, perceiuing that I laught;
But, (for of one side of her face, the haire
Was hung abroad, and th'other not,) shee turnes
To th'water once or twice, to mend the fault,
And gaz'd as 'twere by stealth, (fearfull belike
That I too neerly ey'd her,) where she sawe
Her haire (though orderlesse, yet) hanging so,
As grac'd her well; I saw, and saw her not.

Thi:
All this I will beleeue: guest I not well?

Da:
Thou didst: but yet I will be bolde to say
That I haue seldome seene a Shepherdesse
Or Nimph what euer of her yeares discreeter;
Nor was I such when I was of her yeares:
The world growes olde, and of a troth I thinke
It growes as ill as olde.

Thi:
True; heretofore
Those of the Cittie were not wont so much
To haunt these woods as now adayes they do,
Nor meaner people in the village bredd,
To come so much among the cittizens;
Their blouds are now more mingled, and their customes.
But leaue we this discourse; and tell me now
Could'st thou not finde a time Aminta might
Either alone, or in thy presence come
To speake to Siluia?

Da:
I cannot tell;
Siluia is nyce and strange beyond all measure.

Thi:
And he nicely respest full beyond measure.

Da:
He's i'the wrong then, fye on such a louer;
Nice (quoth you?) counsel him to leaue that vice,
If he will learne to loue; he must be bould,
And vrge with speeding importunitie;
Let him a little filtch; if that be vaine,
Then rauish: tush know'st thou what women ar?
They flye; but eu'ry step wish to be tane;
What they denie, they wish were snatcht frō them;
They fight, but still wish to be ouercome.
I tell thee this Thirsis, but in thine eare:
Blabb not what I' say to thee', I cannot speake
In rime (thou know'st) but if I could, I'de say
Somewhat more worth then rime to beare away.

Thi:
Feare not, I will not speake
Ought from thy lips what ere they ope to me.
But gentle Daphne, for the deare dayes sake
Of thy past youth, helpe me to helpe Aminte
Poore wretch that dyes.

Dap:
Ah what a propper stile
Of coniuration (foole) hast thou deuiz'd
To mooue me with; bringing my youth to minde,
The pleasure I haue lost, and paine I finde.
But what would'st haue me doe?

Thi:
Th'art not to seeke of wit, nor yet of powre,
Do but dispose thy will, I'le aske no more.

Da:
Well then, I'le tell thee: wee ar going now
Siluia and I together all alone
Vnto Diana's fount, to wash our selues;
There where the planetree with his safer shade
Ore-spreds the coole streame, and is wont t'inuite
The weary huntresses to rest, and coole them:
There shee'll vncase her so-beloued limbs.

Thi:
And what of that?

Da:
What of that? silly th'art
Or else thou would'st not aske me what of that.

Thi:
Suppose I hit thy meaning, who knowes yet
If he will dare to meete her there or no?

Da:
No? Why then truely let him stay till shee
Come to wooe him; and when will that be trow yee?

Thi:
Do shee or not, he does deserue shee did.

Da:
But now let's leaue this theame; and talk a word
Or two of thee; say Thirsis, wilt not thou
Resolue at last to be a louer too?
Th'art not yet olde; fewe more then thirty yeeres
Haue ouer-slipt thee, and I well remember
Thy infancie; wilt thou liue ioylesse still?
For only 'a louers is the happy life.

Thi:
The ioyes of Venus he inioyes as well,
That shunning louers painfull miseries,
Tastes of the sweet, and lets the sowre alone.

Da:
O but that sweet growes dull, and gluts betime,
That is not seas'ned with a little sowre.

Thi:
Better 'tis to be glutted (of the two)
Then pine before one feedes, and after two.

Da:
But if the foode be pleasing, and possest,
'Tis good before; and in the tasting best.

Thi:
No man can so possesse what he desires,
As iust t'inioy it then when's hunger craues it.

Da:
Who hopes to finde, that neuer meanes to seeke?

Thi:
'Tis dangerous to seeke that which once found,
Pleases a little, but not found, torments
Much more; no, no, I'le go no more a wooing;
Cupid shall triumph ouer me no more;
I know a little what those suffrings be,
Let others prooue them if they lift for me.

Da:
Belike th'hast not inioy'd loues pleasure yet:

Thi:
Nor do I wish to buy the plague so deare.

Da:
You may perhaps be forc'd against your will;

Thi:
Who keepes himselfe farr off, cannot be forc'd.

Da:
Who can be far frō loue?

Thi:
Who feares & flies.

Da:
But what auayles to flye from him hath wings?

Thi:
Loue but new borne, hath wings but short & small,
And hardly strong enough to flye withall.

Da:
Be'ing young, we know him not; but after, long;
And when we feele him once, he's growne too strong.

Thi:
Not if we neuer felt him grow before.

Da:
Well; yee shall hau't; wee'll see how well you will
Bridle your eye and heart; but I protest
Since thou canst play both Hound and Hare so well,
If ere I heare thee call and cry for helpe,
I will not mooue a foote, nor yet a finger,
Nor stirr an eye, nor speake a word for thee.

Thi:
Would'st haue the heart (cruell) to see me dye?
If thou wouldst haue me loue, why loue thou mee,
And lett's now make a louing bargaine on't.

Da:
Away you mock me now; Well well, perhaps
You do not merit such a loue as mine.
I'ue seene many a ladd as fine as you
Deceiu'd with a faire seeming painted face.

Thi:
I doe not jest nor mock thee; this is but
A couler now to barr me louing thee,
As 'tis the custome of you all to do:
But if you will not loue me, I'm content,
To liue still as I do.

Da:
I, liue so still,
Happyer then twenty others; liue in ease;
Perhaps vnwares ease may ingender loue.

Thi:
O Daphne, a God this ease hath bred mee; he
That hath appear'd a second god to mee
By whom so many heards and flocks ar fedd
From th'one to th'other Sea, vpon the faire
And fruitfull Plaines, and on the craggy backs
Of the steepe Apenines: he said to mee,
When as he made me his; Thirsis (quoth he)
Let others chase the Wolfe, and Thiefe, and keepe
A watchfull eye ouer my walled sheepe;
Let others care be to reward, or punish
My Ministers; let others feede and tende
My flocks, and keep the accoumpt of milke & wooll;
And take, and pay: take thou thine ease, and sing,
Wherefore 'tis reason good, I let goe by
All looser straines, and vainer carrolings;
And sing his Auncesters, and their high praise,
Who is to me Ioue, and Apollo both;
Since in his lookes and deeds he both resembles
Issue of Saturne and of Heau'ne. Poore Muse
To meane for such a taske; and yet how e're
Horce voic'd, or clere she sings, he not contemns her.
I sing not him, too high for my lowe rimes,
Whom silent adoration onely can
Worthily honour; but still shall his altars
Be sprinckled with my floures, and ne're without
My humble Incense fuming all about.
Which simple (yet deuoute) religion in me
When it shall leaue my heart, the Harts shal feede
In th'ayre on ayre; and so the flouds shall change
Their bedd, and course; that Sone shall Persia greete,
And the large Tigris beat the French-Alpes feete.

Da:
O thou fly'st high; pre'thee descend a little,
And to our purpose.

Thi:
Then heere lyes the poynt;
That as thou go'st with her vnto the fount,
Thou vse thy best cunning to make her comming,
And heare Aminta speake; meane time my care
Shall be to make Aminta meete you there.
I feare my taske will be the hard'st of both.
Onn then o' Gods name.

Da:
Yes, I goe; but Thirsis,
Wee were discoursing of an other matter.

Thi:
If mine eye faile me not, yon same should be
Aminta, that comes hitherward; 'tis he.

Scena Tertia.

Aminta.
Thirsis.
Now shall I see what Thirsi' has done for me;
And if he haue done nothing, ere my woes
Melt me'into nothing, I'le go kill my selfe
Before the proud face of that cruell mayde,
That so delights to see my hearts deepe wound
Made by her murth'ring eyes, as sure it can
Please her no lesse, to see her sad command
Fulfill'd on my owne brest with my owne hand.

Thi:
Newes, newes Aminta, happy newes I bring thee;
Cleare then thy browe, and cast thy griefes away.

Am:
What is't thou sayst Thirsis, what bringst thou me,
Life, or death? new ioy, or new miserie?

Thi:
I bring thee life and ioy, if thou but dare
To goe and meet them; but I tell thee true
Thou must not faint but play the man Aminta.

Am:
Why against whom should I aduance my force?

Thi:
Suppose the Nymphe thou lou'st were in a wood
That (wal'de about with mountaines of sharpe briars)
Were full of Tygars, and of greedy Lyons,
Wouldst thou go thither?

Am:
Yes, more cheerefully,
Then village-lasse to the daunce o' holly dayes.

Thi:
Were she ingag'd 'mongst troopes of armed theeues,
VVould'st thou goe thither?

Am:
Yes more greedily,
Then runnes the thirstie Hart to the coole streeme.

Thi:
O but a harder taske askes greater labour.

Am:
Why I would passe through the deuouring torrēts,
VVhen the dissolu'de snowes downe the mountaines raine:
And headlong runne t'ingulph them in the mayne:
Or through the fire; or indeed downe to hell;
If any place a hell may termed bee,
That shall containe so heau'nly a thing as shee.
But pre'thee tell me all.

Thi:
Here then.

Am:
Say on.

Thi:
Siluia' at a Fount, starnak'd, and all alone
Attends thy comming; dare'st thou now goe thither?

Am:
Siluia? and all alone? and staies for me?

Thi:
Yes all alone, vnlesse haply there bee
Daphne', who thou know'st is all in all for thee.

Am:
Naked?

Thir:
I, naked, but.

Am:
But what? ah do not
Mangle me thus.

Thir:
Why but she does not knowe
That you should meete her there; though (as I say)
Shee'll there attend you, do but hast away.

Am:
Bitter conclusion; that infects, and poysons
What euer sweet thy former speeches promis'd,
Way with such art
Do'st thou delude me, cruell as thou art?
Is't not enough
Think'st thou for me thus full of griefe to be,
But thou must come to mock my misery?

Thi:
Be rul'd by me Aminta, and be happy;

Am:
What should I doe?

Thi:
Why not let slip that good
That fortune (much thy friend) presents thee with.

Am:
The heau'ns forbid that euer I should do
Ought to displease her; nor yet euer did I
The thing that iustly merited her frowne;
Vnlesse it were my louing her so much;
Which yet if 'twere a fault, was none of mine;
It was her beauties; and by heau'n I vowe
I meane not to begin to' offend her now.

Thi:
Why but yet tell me, if 'twere in thy powre
To leaue to loue her, wouldst thou do't to please her?

Am:
No sure; loue will not let me say, or thinke
That ere I should desist from louing her,
Though 'twere in my owne powre.

Thi:
Why an't be so,
In her dispight whether she will or no,
Youl'd loue her,

Am:
No, no, not in spight of her,
But I would loue her.

Thi:
Yet against her will?

Am:
Why yes, against her will.

Thi:
And wherefore then
Dare you not take of her against her will,
That which (although't erkes thee at first to doo)
In th'end will quite thy paines and please her too.

Am:
Thirsis, let loue that speakes within my brest
Make answer for me; thou, (through thy long vse
Of reas'ning much of loue) too suttle art
For me; loue tyes my tongue, who tyed my heart.

Thi:
Why then thou wilt not goe?

Am:
Yes, yes, I'le goe;
But not where you would haue me:

Thi:
Whether then?

Am?
To death; if this be all y'have done for me.

Thi:
Is this that I haue done then nothing worth?
And do'st thou thinke Daphne would counsaile thee
To goe, vnlesse shee saw a little more
Into thy Siluias heart, then thou and I?
Suppose shee has reueal'd her minde to her;
Thinke you shee would abide that any else
Should know't? or know she knew it ere the more?
So that to couet an expresse consent
On her part, thinke you not it were to seeke
What in all reason must offend her most?
VVhere's this your care then, and desire to please her?
Perhaps shee would that your delight should bee
Your owne theft, not her gift; what skil't I pray.
VVhether you haue it this, or th'other way?

Am:
VVhat certainty' haue I that her minde is such?

Thi:
See still how sillily you seeke to haue
That certainty which must of force displease her;
And which 'boue all things else you should not craue:
But who assures you to the contrary
But that she may meane so as well as not?
Now if shee did, and that you would not goe;
(Since both the doubts and dangers equall be)
Is not a valiant then a base death better?
Th'art mute; th'art ouerthrowne;
Confesse it then;
Nor doubt but this thy ouerthrow will bee
Th'occasion of a greater victorie.
Go'we.

Am:
Stay.

Thi:
VVhy stay?
Know'st not how swiftly the time runnes away?

Am:
Pre'thee lett's thinke first what, and how to doe.

Thi:
Wee'll thinke of all things as we goe; but he
That thinkes too much, does little, commonly.

Chorus.