University of Virginia Library

Scena secunda.

Mirtillo, Ergasto.
Mirt.
O Amarillis, Authresse of my flame,
(Within my mouth how sweet now is thy name!
But in my heart how bitter!) Amarillis,
Fairer and whiter then the whitest Lillies,
But crueller then cruell Adders far,
Which having stung (least they should pitie) bar
Their ears, and flie: If then by speaking I
Offend thee, I will hold my peace and die.
I'll hold my peace, but what will that do good,
If hils and dales roar for me, and this wood
Which thy deer name can nere forget, from me
So often heard, and carv'd on every tree?
The windes shall sigh for me, the fountains shed:
Abundant tears, grief mourn, and pitie plead.
Or couldst thou bribe whole Nature with a fee
To silence, lastly Death shall speak for me:
Hee'll thunder't out, and to the world proclaim,
I dy'd a Martyr in my true Loves flame.

Erg.
Mirtillo, “Love is a great pain at best,
“But more, by how much more it is supprest.
“For as hot Steeds run faster at the check,
“Then if you laid the reins upon their neck:
“So love restrain'd augments, and fiercer growes
“In a close prison, then when loose he goes.
Why hidst thou thy flames cause so long from me,
When the effect could not concealed be?
Mirtillo burns: how often have I said?
But inward burns, and will not call for aid.

Mirt.
Courteous Ergasto, out of my respect
To her (alas) I did my self neglect:
Nor would my festring passion yet unfold,
But that necessity hath made me bold.
I hear a buzzing rumour every-where
(Which to my heart findes passage through my ear)
That Amarillis shortly weds; nor dare
Ask more, lest so I should my love declare,
Or prove my fear too true. Full well I know
(Nor hath Love strook me blind) that in my low
And slender fortunes, it were simple pride
To hope a Nymph so shap't, so qualifi'd,
So rais'd in wealth, in spirit, and in blood,
Above all these, so gentle, and so good,
Can ere be mine: no, I have tane the height
Of my unhappy Star, my sullen fate
Made me for fuell onely, born to smother
In fires I cannot kindle in another.
Yet since Fate's pleas'd I should affect death more
Then life, at least I'ld have her know before,
That shee's beholding to me for my death,
And deigne when I sigh out my latest breath
To cast her fair eyes on me, and say, Dye.
This reasonable boon obtain would I,
That ere she go to make another blest
In having her, shee'ld hear me speak at least,
But once, my deer Ergasto. Now if love
Or pitie of me thy soft entrails move,
Procure me this, this physick onely lend,
To make the passage easie to my end.

Erg.
From one that loves, a just, from one that dies,
A small request: yet a hard enterprize.
Woe be to her, should her stern father hear
That to stoln prayr's she ere had lent an ear!
Or if some baser pick-thank should disclose
It to the Priest her father-in-law! Who knows
But out of these respects she may eschew
Thy company, and yet affect thee too?
“For women are more prone to love then men;
“But to conceal't have more discretion then.
And if 'twere true that she did love thee, what
Could shee do lesse then shun thee for all that?
“She that wants power to help listens in vain,
“And flies with pity, when her stay breeds pain;
“And I have heard 'tis still the wisest course
“To quit that soon which one must quit perforce.

Mir.
O were this true, and could I think it so,
Sweet were my pain, and fortunate my woe!
But deer Ergasto (hide it not from me
So help thee Pan) who may this Bridegroom be
So lov'd of all the Starres?

Erg.
Dost thou not know
(I'm sure thou dost) that famous Silvio,
Silvio the rich, the gallant and the fair,
The Priest Montano's onely Son and Heir?
'Tis he.

Mir.
O happy youth, whose joy appears
So ripe for harvest in his spring of yeers!
Pardon me gentle swain, I envie not
Thy happinesse, but mourn my own hard lot.

Erg.
Indeed there is no reason to envy,
Rather to pity him.

Mirt.
To pity? Why?

Erg.
Because he loves her not.

Mirt.
And hath he wit?
Hath he a heart? Is he not blind?—And yet
When I consider with what full aspect
Her starry eyes their influence direct
Into my brest, she cannot have a dart
Left in her quiver for another heart.
But why do they a gemme so precious throw
To one that knows it not, and scorns it so?

Erg.
Because the Heav'ns did through this Marriage
Unto Arcadia long ago presage
Deliverance. Hast not thou heard that here
Is paid to the great Goddesse ev'ry yeer
Of a Nymph's guiltlesse bloud a cruell and
Unconscionable tribute by this Land?

Mirt.
'Tis news to me; nor let that strange appear,
Since I my self am but a stranger here,
And since I came (by Fate's decree and Love's)
Almost a constant Burgesse of the Groves.
But what strange crime deserv'd so sharp a doom?
How could such monstrous cruelty finde room
In a Celestiall minde?

Erg.
Of me then know
From the first head the torrent of our wo:
A Story that would tears of pitie wrest
From heart of oak, much more from humane brest.
Whilest yet the Priesthood was not ty'd to age,
A youthfull swain of noble Parentage,
Then Dian's Priest (Aminta was his name)
The Nymph Lucrina did with love enflame.
All creatures of her sex exceeded shee
As much in beauty as unconstancie.
She long requited, or at least to sight
(If looks and eyes have tongues) she did requite
The pure affection of the Love-sick lad,
And fed his hopes whilst he no Rivall had.
But when a rustick swain her favour sought,
(See now a perfect woman!) in a thought,
She left the former, with one sigh was shook,
With the faint batt'ry of one amorous look:
Her hearts new guest now takes up all the room,
Dislodg'd Aminta ere he knew for whom.
Haplesse Aminta! who from that day forth
Was so abhorr'd, held of so little worth,
By that ungrate whom he did still adore,
That she would neither hear nor see him more.
If this unkindnesse cut the wretch to th'heart,
If he sigh'd, wept, and rav'd, to thee who art
Acquainted with Love's pangs, I leave to ghesse.

Mir.
O, 'Twas a torment no man can expresse!

Erg.
When then his tears and prayers he had cast
After his heart, to Dian turn'd at last;
If ever with pure heart Goddesse (quoth he)
And guiltlesse hand I kindled flame to thee,
Revenge my faith, which a persidious Maid
Under safe conduct of her smiles betraid.
The Goddesse (gentler then the Nymph was) hears
The faithfull Lover's and her servant's tears
And prayr's: and pity kindling her just ire,
By opposition did augment the fire
Her pow'rfull bow into her hand she took,
And in Arcadia's wretched bosome stuck
Arrows of death and catching Pestilence
Invisible, and therefore without fence.
Without remorse they execute her rage
Without respect on every sex and age.
Nor Antidotes nor Med'cines here avail'd,
Nor flying now; weak Art her Master fail'd:
And oft, whilst he the remedy apply'd,
Before the Patient the Physitian dy'd.
The onely hope that's left is from the skie,
So to the neerest Oracle they flie,
Which soon return'd an answer cleer enough,
But above measure terrible and rough;
That Cinthia was incenst, but that the Land
Might be reliev'd, if by Aminta's hand
That faithlesse Nymph Lucrina, or some one
For her, of the Arcadian Nation
Were as an offring to Diana slain.
So she, when long sh'had prayd, long wept in vain,
And long expected her new Lovers ayd,
To th'holy Altars like a Bride array'd,
And with what pomp Religion could devise,
Was led a miserable Sacrifice.
Where at those feet from which hers fled so fast,
(The feet of her Idolater) at last
Bending her trembling knees, she did attend
From the offended youth a cruell end.
The sacred knife he boldly did unsheathe,
Rage and revenge his nostrils seem'd to breathe,
His eyes to sparkle; turning then to her,
Said with a sigh (death's hollow messenger,)
Whom thou hast left Lucrina, and whom took,
Learn by this blow: And with that word he strook
Himself, and plung'd the knife in his own brest
To th'haft: In one both Sacrifice and Priest
Fell bleeding at her feet, whilst she (amaz'd
To see that dire unlookt for object) gaz'd
As one 'twixt life and death, nor yet did know
If grief had stab'd her, or the threatned blow.
But when she found her tongue again, and knew
Distinctly what was acted there, O true,
O brave Aminta, (bathing in a flood
Of tears) she said! O Lover, understood
Too late! who by thy death dost give to me
Both life and death. If in forsaking thee
I sinn'd; lo, I redeem that sin of mine,
Wedding my soul eternally to thine.
This said, that knife fresh reeking with the gore
Of the now lov'd in death, and purpled ore,
She drew from his pale brest, and in her own
Sheath'd it again; then willingly sunk down
Into Aminta's arms, who yet had breath,
And felt perchance that lightning before death.
Such was this pair of Lovers tragick fall,
'Cause he kept too much faith, she none at all.

Mir.
O haplesse swain, yet happy in his Love,
Having so rich occasion to approve
His spotlesse faith, and dying to revive
That spark in her he could not being alive!
But what became then of the poor diseas'd?
Did the plague cease? was Cinthia's wrath appeas'd?

Erg.
It did relent, but was not quite put out:
For the same month (the yeer being wheel'd about)
It burst out with more fury, and did make
A dire relapse: This forc'd us to betake
Our selves unto the Oracle agen;
Which utterd now a sadder doom; That then
And yeerly, we to Nights offended Queen
A Maid or Wife should offer, past fifteen
And short of twenty; by which means the rage
Which swallow'd thousands, one death should asswage.
Moreover a hard law, and weighing well
The nature of that sex, impossible
To keep; a law in bloudy letters writ
On wretched women was impos'd by it;
That whatsoever Maid or Wife should prove
In any sort a changeling in her love,
Unlesse some friend would pay the penalty
In stead of her, should without mercy die.
This dire, this nationall Calamitie
The good old man hath hope to remedie
By means of this desired Match; because
The Oracle after some little pawse
Being ask'd again, what end our woe should have,
To our demand this punctuall answer gave;
Your woe shall end when two of Race Divine
Love shall combine:
And for a faithlesse Nymphs apostate state
A faithfull Shepherd supererogate.
Now there are left in all Arcadia
Of heavenly Stock no other slps this day
But Silvio and Amarillis; She
From Pan descended, from Alcides He.
Nor had there ever (to our much regret)
Of those two Lines a Male and Female met,
As now there do: whence the believing Father
Great hopes of good not without cause doth gather.
For though the things foretold by th'Oracle
Be not fulfill'd yet in each particle,
This is the fundamentall point; the rest
Is still reserv'd in Fates own secret brest,
And of the Marriage one day shall ensue.

Mir.
And all this do Mirtillo to undoe?
What a long swing is fetcht! what armies band
Against one heart half murtherd to their hand!
Is't not enough that cruell Love's my foe,
Unlesse Fate too conspire my overthrow?

Erg.
Alas, Mirtillo! grieving does no good,
“Tears quench not Love, but are his milk and food.
'T shall scape me hard, but ere the Sun descend
This cruell one shall hear thee, Courage friend:
“These sighs refresh not (as thou dost suppose)
“Thy burning heart; but rather are like those
“Impetuous winds, which in a Town on fire
“The bellows are to blow and fan it higher:
“Love's whirlwinds, bringing to poor Lovers ever
“Black clouds of grief, which showrs of tears deliver.