 | The Noble Ingratitude |  |
SCENE I.
Ormin.alone.
Charming aboad, delightfull solitude,
Fair places where I first receiv'd my life
And love, old trees, cleer brooks, whose shade and murmur
Speak pity for my sorrowfull adventure,
Sweet Zephirs, Eccho, rocks, and silent forrests,
8
I am no more now that Zelinda sometime
Adored by the worthiest Lovers of
The country round about; alas! I serve
Vnder the habit of a Slave, a traitor
With an unparraleld'd fidelity,
Traitor in Love, I meane, not otherwise,
A Hero, but ingratefull, one who slatters me
In my extream misfortune, yet would hate me,
If he knew that I Love him. Gentle trees,
Happy are you, although the rigourous winter
Vseth you hardly, for when the fair Spring
Maketh the cold to cease, you suddenly
Resume your anciēt verdure, and at harvest,
Vpon your branches wee see fruits, where formerly
Hung Isicles: my fortune's not so good;
Each of the seasons have twice chaung'd, since Love
Resolved to afflict me, all which time
I've languished continually, and could not
Pretend to the repose my heart hath lost:
He whom I love with so much constancy
Is false and fleeting; o Gods! here he comes.
| The Noble Ingratitude | |