 | Il pastor fido |  |
Act. 2.
Scene. 1.
Ergasto. Mirtillo.[Ergasto.]
How I haue searcht alongst the riuers side,
About the meadowes, fountains, and the hils,
To find thee out: which now I haue, the gods be praisd.
Mir.
Ah that thy newes Ergasto may deserue
This haste. But bringst thou life or death?
Er.
This though I had I would not giue it thee.
That do I hope to giue thee, though I haue it not
As yet. But fie, thou must not suffer griefe
To ouerthrow thy sences thus. Liue man and hope.
But to the purpose of my comming now,
Ormino hath a sister, knowst her not?
A tall big wench, a merry-countnaun'st Nymphe
With yealow haire, somewhat high-coloured.
Mir.
What is her name?
(Er.)
Corisca.
(Mir.)
I know her well,
And heretofore haue spoke with her.
Er.
Then know that she (and see withall your lucke)
Is now become (I know not by what priuiledge)
Companion to your beauteous Amarillis.
I haue discouered all your loue to her,
And this which you desire, and readily
She me hath giu'n her faith to bring't about.
Mir.
O happie Mirtillo if this same proue true:
But said she nothing of the meanes whereby?
Er.
Nothing as yet, nor would she that conclude
Vntill she knew the manner of your loue.
That she might easilier spie into the hart
Of your beloued Nymphe, and better know
How to dispose by praiers or by fraud
Of her request. For this I came to you,
And make me now acquainted from the head,
With all the historie of your deare Loue.
Mir.
So will I do, but yet Ergasto know
This memorie (a bitter hopelesse thing)
Is like a fire-brand tossed in the winde,
By which how much the fire increaseth still,
So much the brand with blazing flame consumes
O piercing shaft made by some power diuine!
The which the more we seeke to draw it out,
The faster hold it takes, the deeper roote.
Well can I tell you, that these Louers hopes
Are full of vanities and falshoods still,
Loues fruit is bitter, though the roote be sweet.
In that sweet time when dayes aduantage get
Aboue the nights, then when the yeare begins:
This daintie pilgrim, beauties bright new sunne,
Came with her count'nance like another spring,
T'illuminate my then thrise happie soyle
Of Pisa, and Eglidis faire. Brought by her mother
To see the sacrifices and the sports
That celebrated in those solemne daies
Were vnto Ioue. Where while she ment to make
Her eye-sight blest with that same spectacle,
She blest the spectacle with her faire eyes,
Being loues greatest miracle beneath the skies.
No sooner had I seene that face, but straight
I burnt, defending not the formost looke,
Which though mine eies into my brest directed
Such an imperious beautie, as me thought did say,
Mirtillo yeeld thy hart for it is mine.
Er.
Oh in our brests what mighty power hath loue?
Ther's none can tell, saue they the same which proue
See how industrious loue can worke eu'n in
The simplest brests. A sister which I had
I made acquainted with my thoughts, who was
By chaunce companion to my cruell Nymphe.
The time she staid in Pisa and Elide,
Shee faithfull counsell, and good aide me gaue,
She drest me finely in one of her gownes,
Circling my temples with a periwig,
Which gracefully she trimmed vp with flowres.
A quiuer and a bowe hung at my side,
She taught me furthermore to faine my voice
And lookes, for in my face as then there grew no haire.
This done, she me conducted where the Nimphe
Was wont to sport her selfe, and where we found
A noble troupe of maydens of Megara,
By blood or loue allyed to my goddesse.
Mongst them she stood like to a princely Rose,
Among a heape of humble Violets.
We had not long bene there before vprose
One of the maydens of Megara, and thus bespake,
Why stand we idly still in such a time,
When palmes and famous trophees are so rife?
Haue not we armes counterfait fights to make
As well as men? Sisters be rulde by mee:
Let's proue among our selues our armes in iest,
That when we come to earnest them with men,
We may them better vse. Let's kisse, and striue
Who can kisse sweetliest among our selues:
And let this garland be the victors gaine.
All at the proposition laught: and all
Vnto it strait agreed. Straightway began
A fight confused, no signall we attended.
Which by her seene that first ordaind the sport,
She saies againe. Let's make her worthy iudge
That hath the fairest mouth. All soone agreed,
And Amarillis chose. Who sweetly bowing downe,
Her beauteous eyes in modest blushing staind,
Did show they were as faire within as th'were without.
And would be cloath'd in pompous purple too,
As who should say, I am as faire as it.
Er.
In good time did you chaunge into a Nymphe,
A happy token of good lucke to come.
Mir.
Now did the beautious iudge sit in her plate,
According as the Megarence prescrib'd.
Each went by lot to make due proofe of her
Rare mouth, that heauenly paragon of sweetnesse.
That blessed mouth that may be likened to
A perfum'd Indian shell of orientall pearle,
Op'ning the daintie treasure, mixt with hony sweet
And purple blush. I cannot (my Ergasto) tell
Th'inexplicable sweetnesse which I felt
Out of that kisse. But looke what Cypres caues
Or hiues of Hybla haue, are nothing all
Compar'd with that which then I tasted there.
Er.
Oh happy theft sweet kisse.
(Mir.)
Yea sweet,
But yet not gracious, for it wanted still
The better part: loue gaue it, but loue not
Return'd it backe.
(Er.)
But then how did you
When it was your lot to kisse?
(Mir.)
Vnto those lips
My soule did wholy flie, and all my life
So shut therein, as in a litle space
It waxed nothing but a kisse. And all
My other limmes stood strenghlesse trembling still,
When I approached to her lightning lookes,
Knowing my deed was theft and deceit,
I feared the maiestie of her faire face,
But she assures me with a pleasing smile:
And puts me forward more, loue sitting like
A Bee vpon two fresh and daintie Roses close.
Kissing, I tasted there the honey sweet,
But hauing kist, I felt the louely Bee
Strike through my hart with his sharp piercing sting.
And being wounded thus, halfe desperate,
I thought t'haue bitten those manslaught'ring lips,
But that her odoriferous breath like aire diuine,
Er.
This modestie molesteth Louers still.
Mir.
Now were the lotts fulfild, and eu'ry one
With heedfull minds the sentence did attend:
When Amarillis iudging mine the best,
With her owne hands she crownes my tresses, with
The gentle garland kept for victorie.
But neuer was shadelesse meadow drier parcht,
Vnder the balefull fury of the heauenly dog,
Then was my hart in sunshine of that sweet,
Neuer so vanquisht as in victory.
Yet had I power to take the garland off,
And reach it her, saying to you belongs
Alone the same. T'is due to you, that made
Mine good, by vertue of your mouth.
She gently took't and crownd her selfe therewith.
And with an other that she ware crownd mine.
T's this I weare thus dried as you see,
It will I carry to my graue with mee.
In deare remembrannce of that happie day.
But more for signe of my dead hopes decay.
Er.
Thou pittie more then enuy dost deserue,
That wert another Tantalus in loues delights,
That of a sport a torment true didst make.
Thou pai'st too deare for thy stolne delicates.
But did she ere perceiue thy pollicies?
Mir.
That know I not (Ergasto) yet thus much I know,
That in the time she made Elidis blest
With her sweet count'nance, she liberall was
Of pleasing lookes to mee. But thereof did
My cruell fates robbe me so sodeinly,
That I perceiu'd it not till they were gone.
Whē I drawne by the power of her beauteous look:
Leauing my home came hither, where thou knowst
My father had this poore habitacle.
But now the day that with so faire a spring began,
Come to his western bound, thunders & lightes out,
Ah then I saw these were true signes of death.
My not-foreseene departure, and orecome
With griefe, fell sicke nigh hand to death,
Whereby I was constrained to returne.
Ah that returne prooued the fathers health,
But deadly sicknesse to the sonne: for in short time
I languished and pined quite away.
Which held me from the time the sunne had left
The bull, vntill his entry into Capricorne.
And so had still, had not my pitious father sought
For counsaile to the Oracle, which said,
Onely Arcadia could restore my health.
So I returnd to see her that can heale
My bodies griefe (O Oracles false lye)
But makes my soule sicke euerlastingly.
Er.
Strange tale thou telst (Mirtillo) though't be true,
The onely health to one that's desperate,
Is to dispaire of health. And now t'is time
I goe communicate witth our Corisca.
Go to the fountaine you, there stay for me,
Ile make what haste I can.
(Mir.)
Goe happily,
The heauens (Ergasto) quith thy curtesie.
Sce. 2.
Dorindo. Lupino. Siluio.[Dorindo.]
O fortunate delight, and care of my
Faire spightfull Siluio. Ah that I were
As deare vnto thy cruell maister as thou art.
(Happie Melampo) he with that white hand,
That nippes my heart, thee softly stroking feeds.
With thee all day and all the night he is,
Whilst I that loue him so, sigh still in vaine.
And that which greeues me worst, he giues thee still
Kisses so sweete, that had I one of them,
I should goe blest away. I cannot choose
But kisse Melampo. Now if th'appie starres
Of loue, sent thee to me bcause thou shouldst
Find out his steps. Go'w whither me great loue
Sound in these woods.
(Sil.)
Voho ho, Melampo ho.
Do.
If my desire deceiue me not, that is the voice
Of my beloued Siluio, that call, his dogge,
He hath our labour sau'd.
(Sil.)
Vohoho, Melampo ho.
Do.
Doubtlesse t's he: happie Dorinda heauens
Haue sent him whom thou soughtst, t'is best I put
The dogge aside, so may I win his loue.
Lupino.
(Lu.)
Whats your will?
(Do.)
Go hide thy selfe
In that same thicke, and take the dogge with thee.
(Lu.)
I goe.
Do.
And stirre not till I call.
(Lu.)
No more I will.
Do.
Go soone.
(Lu.)
And call you soone, least hunger make
The dogge beleeue I am a shoulder of mutton, and so fall too.
Do.
Go get you hence hen-hearted wretch.
Sil.
O wretched me, whither shall I goe
To follow thee my deere, my faithfull dogge?
The dales, the mountaines, I haue sought with care,
All weary now I am. Curst be the beast
Thou didst pursue. But see a Nymphe, perhaps
She can tell newes of him. Out vpon her,
T'is she that's still so troublesome to me.
I must dissemble. Faire and gracious Nymphe,
Did you my good Melampo see to day?
Do.
I faire good Siluio? can you call me faire?
That am not faire a whit vnto your eyes.
Sil.
Or faire, or foule, did you not see my dogge?
Answere to this, or I am quickly gone.
Do.
Stil thou art froward vnto her that thee adores,
Who would beleeue that in that smooth aspect
Were harboured such rugged thoughts. Thou through
These sauage woods and rocky hills pursu'st
A beast that flies thee, and consum'st thy selfe
In tracing out thy greyhounds steps: and me
Thou shunst and dost disdaine that loues thee so.
Ah leaue these does that runne so fast away,
Take hold of me thy preordained pray.
Sil.
Nymphe, I Melampo came to seeke, not to loose time,
Farewell.
(Do.)
Do not so shun me cruell Siluio,
Sil.
Thou iests Dorinda.
(Do.)
Siluio, I protest
By that deare loue that me thy handmaid makes,
I know where thy Melampo is that courst the doe.
Sil.
How did he leese her?
(Do.)
Both dog and doe are in my power.
Sil.
Both in your power?
(Do.)
Why doth it grieue you then
That I them hold that do adore you so?
Sil.
Deare Dorinda, quickly giue me him.
Do.
See wau'ring child, am I not fortunate?
When a beast and a dogge can make me deare to thee.
Sil.
Good reason too, but yet her Ile deceiue.
Do.
What will you giue me?
(Sil.)
Two guilded apples
Which my mother gaue me yesterday.
Do.
I want no apples, and perhaps I could
Thee better-tasted giue; didst thou not thus
Disdaine my gifts.
(Sil.)
What wouldst thou haue, a kid,
A lambe? Ah but my father giues me no such leaue.
Do.
Nor kids, nor lambes do I desire, it is thy loue
My Siluio which I seeke.
(Sil.)
Wilt thou nought but my loue?
Do.
Nought else.
(Sil.)
I giue it thee. Now my deare Nymph
Giue me my dog and doe.
(Do.)
Ah that thou knewst
That treasures worth whereof thou seemst so liberall,
Or that thy heart did answere to thy tongue.
Sil.
Heare me faire Nymphe, thou euer telst me of
A certaine loue, I know not what it is.
Thou dost desire I should thee loue, and so I do.
As farre forth as I can, or vnderstand,
Thou callst me cruell, and I know not crueltie.
Do.
Wretched Dorinda, how hast thou plast thy hopes
In beautie, feeling ne're a sparke of loue?
Thou louely boy art such a fire to me,
And yet burnes not thy selfe. Thee vnder humane shape
O daintie mother, did the Cyprian daine
Bring forth, thou hast his arrovves and his sire.
Well knowe my breast both burnt and wounded too,
Get but his wings vnto thy shoulders, and
New Cupid shalt thou be, wer't not thy heart
Is made of rocky frozen Isy shelfe,
Sil.
Tell me, what kind of thing is this same loue?
Do.
If in thy face I looke (oh louely boy)
Then is this loue a paradize of ioy.
But if I turne and view my spirit well,
Then t'is a flame of deepe infernall hell.
Sil.
Nymphe, no more words, giue me my dog and doe.
Do.
Nay giue me first, the loue you promised.
Sil.
Haue I not giu'n it? what a stirre is here,
Her to content take it, do what thou wilt,
Who doth forbid thee? what wouldst thou haue more?
Do.
Thou sow'st thy seed in sand wretched Dorinda.
Sil.
What would you haue? why do you linger thus?
Do.
As soone as you haue got what you desire,
(Perfidous Siluio) you are gone from me.
Sil.
No trust me Nymph.
(Do.)
Giue me a pledge.
(Sil.)
What pledge?
Do.
I dare not tell.
(Sil.)
And why?
(Do.)
I am asham'd.
Sil.
Are you asham'd to speake, and not asham'd
It to receiue?
(Do.)
If you will promise me
To giue it, I will tell.
(Sil.)
I promise you.
Do.
(Siluio my deare) do you not vnderstand me yet?
I should haue vnderstood you but with halfe of this.
Sil.
Thou art more subtill much then I.
Do.
I am more earnest, and lesse cruel much then thou.
Sil.
To say the troath, I am no Prophet I,
You must speake if you'le haue me vnderstand.
Do.
O wretch one of those which thy mother gaue to thee.
Sil.
A blow on th'eare?
(Do.)
A blow on th'ear to one yt loues.
Sil.
Sometime she maketh much of me with one of thē thee?
Do.
Doth she not kisse you then?
(Sil.)
Nor she nor any else
Doth kisse me. But perhaps youl'd haue a kisse.
You answere not, your blushing you accuseth,
I am content, but giue me first my dogge.
Do.
Y'haue promist me?
(Sil.)
T'is true, I haue promist thee.
Do.
And will you stay?
(Sil.)
Tush what a stirre is here? I will.
Do.
Come forth Lupino, Lupino dost not heare?
Lu.
Who calls? I come, I come, it was not I,
It was the dogge that slept.
(Do.)
behold thy dogge
More courteous then thy selfe.
(Sil.)
O happy me.
He in these armes that thou despisest so,
Did put himselfe.
(Sil.)
O my most deare Melampo.
Do.
Esteeming deare my kisses and my sighes.
Sil.
He kisse thee thousand times poore curre.
Hast thou no harme in running poore Melampo?
Do.
O happie dog might I change lots with thee:
Am I not brought vnto an excellent passe,
That of a dog I must be iealous thus?
Lupino go vnto the hunting strait,
Ile follow thee.
(Lu.)
Mistresse I go.
Exit.
Scene. 3
Siluio. Dorindo.[Siluio.]
Is ought behind? Where is the Doe you promist me?
Do.
Will you her haue aliue or dead?
Sil.
I vnderstand you not.
How's she aliue, hath not my dog her kild?
Do.
But say the dog hath not.
(Sil.)
Is she aliue?
Do.
Aliue.
(Sil.)
So much more welcome she 'is.
Do.
Onely shee's wounded in the hart.
(Sil.)
Thou mockst:
How can she liue and wounded in the hart?
Do.
My cruell Siluio, I am that same Do,
Without pursuit or conquest taken so.
Quicke if thou pleasest to accept of me,
Dead if thou dost despise my companie.
Sil.
Is this the Do, the game you told me of?
Do.
This is the same. Ay me, why looke you so?
Hold you a Nimph no dearer then a Do?
Sil.
I neither hold thee deare nor like of thee:
But hate thee brute, vilde, lying filth.
Exit.
Do.
Is this my guerdon cruell Siluio?
Vngratefull boy, is this all my reward?
I gaue Melampo and my selfe with him to thee,
Hoping that thus thou wouldst not haue denide
The sunshine of thine eyes to me I would
Haue kept thee and thy dog most faithful company,
I would haue wipte thy browes from toilefull sweat;
Vpon this lap that neuer taketh rest,
Thou might'st haue ta'ne thy rest. I would
When beasts had wanted in the woods thou mightst
Haue shot at me for one, and in this brest
Haue vsed still thy tough-well-sinew'd bowe.
So as thou wouldst, I like thy seruant might
Thy weapons carried haue, or prou'd thy pray,
Making my brest both quiuer and the marke
For those thy shafts. But vnto whom, speake I?
To him that heares me not, but's fled from me,
Flie where thou wilt, thee will I still pursue,
Eu'n into hell, if any hell can be
More painfull then my griefe, then thy great crueltie.
Exit.
Scene 4.
Corisca.O how Fortune fauours my disseignes
More then I lookt for. She good reason hath,
For I ne're askt her fauour shamefastly.
Great pow're she hath, and with good cause the world
Calls her a puissant goddesse: yet must we not sit still,
For sildome idle folkes proue fortunate.
Had not my industry made me companion vnto her,
What would this fit occasion haue auailed me,
To bring my purpose vnto passe? Some foole
Would haue her riuall shund, and shew'd signes of
Her iealousie, bearing an euil eye
About, but that had bene ill done, for easilier
May one keepe her from an open then a hidden foe.
The couer'd rocks are those which do deceiue
The wisest marriners Who cannot friendship faine,
Cannot truly hate. Now see what I can do,
I am not such an asse to thinke she doth not loue,
Is might she make some other foole beleeue.
But tush, I am the mistresse of this art. A tender wench,
Scarce from the cradle crept, in whom loue hath
Still'd but the first drop, of his sweet, so long
Pursude and woo'd by a worthy friend,
And worse, kill, and rekist, and yet not loue:
But see how Fortune fauours me: Behold
Where Amarillis is her selfe, Ile make
As though I sawe her not, and stand aside.
Scene 5.
Amarillis. Corisca.[Amarillis.]
Deare blessed woods, and you the silent groues
Of rest and peace, the harbour-houses true:
How willingly I turne to visit you.
And if my starres had so bene pleasde t'haue let
Me liue vnto my selfe, I with th'elizian fields
The happie gardeins of the demy gods,
Wou'd not haue chang'd your gentle shadow spots.
If I iudge right, these worldly goods are nought
But muschiefes, still the richest haue least goods,
And he possesseth most that is most poore.
Riches are euer snares of libertie.
What's fame of beautie worth in tender yeares?
Or heauenly noblenesse in mortall blood?
So many fauours, both of heauen and earth,
Fields large, and happie, goodly meadow plaines,
Fat pastures, that do fatter flocks present,
If in the same the hart be not content.
Happie that shepheardesse, whose scarcely knees,
A poore, but yet a cleanly gowne doth reach:
Rich in her selfe, onely in natures gifts.
Who in sweet pouertie, no poorenesse knowes:
Nor feeles no tortures which this riches brings.
Desire to haue much, nere doth her torment,
If she be poore, yet is she well content.
She natures gifts doth nurse with natures gifts,
Making milke spring with milke, saucing her natiue sweet
With hony of the Bee, one fountaine ferueth her
To drinke, to wash, and for her looking glasse.
If she be well, then all the world is well.
Let the cloudes rise, and thunder threat amaine,
Her pouertie doth all the feare preuent,
Finely the flocke committed to her charge
Feeds on the grasse, the whilst her shepheard friend
Feeds on her eyes, not whom the starres, or men,
Her destenies, but whom affection chooseth.
Then in the shadow of a Mirtell tree,
Cherisht, she cherisheth againe; nor doth
She feele that heat which she discouers not:
Nor euer heat discouer which she doth not feele.
Alwaies declaring troth of her intent,
If she be poore, yet is she well content.
True life that knowes not death before they die.
Ah that I might my fortune chaunge with theirs.
But see Corisca. Gods saue you good Corisca.
Co.
Who calleth me? Deare Amarillis dearer then
Mine eies, my life, whither go you alone?
Ama.
No further then you see, glad I haue found you out.
Co.
You haue her found that will not part from you.
And eu'n now, thus was I thinking with my selfe,
Were I her soule how could she stay away so long?
And therewithall you came my deare, and yet
You do not loue your poore Corisca.
(Am.)
Why so?
(Co.)
Aske you why so? and you a bride to day.
Ama.
A bride?
(Co.)
A bride, and yet from me you keep it.
Ama.
How should I vtter that I do not know?
Co.
Yet wil you faine?
(Am.)
You iest.
(Co.)
T'is you that iest.
Ama.
And can it then be true?
(Co.)
Most certaine true.
Do not you know thereof?
(Ama.)
I know I promist was,
But know not that the marriage is so neare.
Co.
I heard it of my brother Ormin: and to say the troth,
There is no other talke. But you looke pale.
This newes perhaps doth trouble you.
(Ama.)
It is
Long since the promise past, and still my mother said
This day it should reuiue.
(Co.)
Vnto a better life
You shall reuiue, for this you should be merry,
Why do you sigh? let that poore wretch go sigh.
Ama.
What wretch?
(Co.)
Mirtillo, whom eu'n now I found
Readie to die: and surely he had died
Which though I onely for his comfort said,
Yet were I fit to do it.
(Am.)
And did he giue cōsent?
Co.
I: and the meanes.
(Am.)
I pray you how?
(Co.)
Easily:
So you thereto disposed be to yeeld.
Ama.
That could I hope, and would you giue your faith
Not to disclose it, I discouer would
A thought which in my heart I long haue hid.
Co.
I it disclose! Ground open first thy iawes
And swallow me vp by a miracle.
Ama.
Know then (Corisca) when I think I must
Be subiect to a child, that hates, that flies from me,
And hath no other sport but woods and beasts,
And loues a dogge better then thousand Nimphs,
I malcontented liue halfe desperate.
But dare not say so for respect I beare
Vnto mine honestie, vnto my faith
Which to my father, and what worser is,
Which to our puissant goddesse I haue giu'n:
If by thy helpe my faith my life both sau'd,
I might diuide me from this heauie knot,
Then shouldst thou be my health, my verie life.
Co.
If so for this thou sigh'st good reason thou
Deare Amarillis hast. How oft he said?
A thing so fane to one that can despise it?
So rich a lemme to one that knowes it not:
But you too craftie are to tell the troth.
What let's you now to speake?
(Ama.)
The shame I haue.
Co.
Sister you haue a mischieuous disease,
I'had rather haue the poxe the feuer, or the fistula,
But trust to me, youl'e quickly leaue the same:
Once do but master it, and then t'is gone.
Ama.
This shame fastnesse that nature stamps in vs
Cannot be mastered for if you seeke
To hunt it from your hart, it flies into your face.
Co.
O Amarillis, who (too wise) conceales
Her ill, at last great folly she reueales.
Hadst thou but at the first discouered
Now trie Coriscae's art, you could not haue
Entrusted you into more subtil faithfull hands.
But when you shall be freed by my helpe
From this same captiue husband, will you not
Prouide you of another Louer then?
Ama.
At better leysure we will thinke of that.
Co.
Trust me you cannot faithfull Mirtillo.
You know there is not at this day a swaine
For valew, honest troth and beautie, worthier
Of your affection. And you will let him die,
Without so much as saying so. Yet heare him once.
Ama.
How better t'were to giue him peace & stab:
The roote of such desire as hath no hope.
Co.
Giue him this comfort yet before he die.
Ama.
It rather double will his miserie.
Co.
Leaue that to him.
(Ama.)
But what becomes of me,
If euer it be knowne?
(Co.)
Small hurt thou hast.
Ama.
And small t'shalbe before my name it do endaunger.
Co.
If you may faile in this then in the rest.
I you may faile. Adiew.
(Ama.)
Nay stay Corisca,
Heare me but speak.
(Co.)
No not a word, vnlesse
You promise me.
(Am.)
I promise you, so you
Do tie me to nought else.
Co.
To nothing else.
Ama.
And you shall make him thinke I knew not of it.
Co.
Ile make him think it was by chance.
(Am.)
And that I may
Depart assoone as I thinke good.
(Co.)
Assoone
As you haue heard him speake.
(Ama.)
And that he shall
Quickly dispatch.
(Co.)
So shall he do.
(Ama.)
And that
He come not neare me by my darts length neuer.
Co.
O what a toyle t'is to reforme your simplenesse:
All parts sauing his tongue wee'le surely tie.
Wil you ought else?
(Am.)
No nothing else.
(Co.)
Whē wil you do't?
Ama.
When you think good, giue me but so much time
I may go home and heare more of this marriage.
Co.
Go. But take heed you do it warily.
But heare what I am thinking on. To day
About noone time among these shadow trees
Me to that end, with me shalbe Nerine,
Aglaure, Elisa, Phillis, and Licoris, all mine owne.
As wise as faithfull good companions.
Here may you now (as often you haue done)
Play at blind buffe. Mirtill will easily thinke,
That for your sport and not for him you came.
Ama.
This pleaseth me, but yet I would not haue
Your Nimphs to heare the words Mirtillo speakes.
Co.
I vnderstand, and well aduisde, let me alone,
I'le make them vanish when I see my time:
Go, and forget not now to loue your poore Corisca.
Am.
How can I chuse but loue her in whose hands
I haue reposde my life.
(Co.)
So she is gone. Exit. Am.
Small force will serue to batter downe this rocke,
Though she haue made defence to my assault,
Yet will she neuer his abide. I know too well
How hartie praiers of a gracious Loue
Can tempt a tender wenches hart. Yet with this sport
I'le tye her so, shee'le scarcely thinke it sport.
I'le by her words, will she or nill she, spie
And pierce into the bowels of her hart,
I'le make me mistresse of her secrets all.
Then I'le conduct her so that she shall thinke
Her most vnbride led loue and not my art
Hath brought her in to play this wretched part.
Scene 6.
Corisca. Satir.[Corisca.]
O I am dead.
(Sa.)
And I aliue?
(Co.)
Ah turne
My Amarillis, turne againe, I taken am.
Sa.
Tush Amarillis heares thee not, be quiet now.
Co.
Oh me my heare.
(Sa.)
I haue hunted thee so long
That at the last th'art falne into my snare.
This is the roabe sister, this is the heare.
Co.
Speake you to me Satir?
(Sa.)
I eu'n to thee.
Are you not that same famous Corisca, that
Excellent mistresse of lyes, that at so deare a rate
That hast betraied me so many waies perfidous Corisca.
Co.
I am Corisca gentle Satir, but not now
So pleasing to thine eyes as I haue bene.
Sa.
I gentle wicked wretch, I was not so
When me thou lefst to follow Coridon.
Co.
I left thee for another.
(Sa.)
See, see a wonder,
This is newes indeed. But when I stole
Faire Lillies bowe, Cloris scarfe, Daphnes rich roabe,
And Siluiaes buskins, then thou promi'st me
Thy loue thou gau'st another should be my reward.
The daintie garland which I gaue to thee,
Thou gau'st to Nisus. And when me thou mad'st
To watch so many frostie night both in
The caue, the woods, and by the riuer side,
And euer mockedst me, was I not gentle then?
Beleeue me now thou shalt me pay for all.
Co.
Thou stranglest me as if I were a dogge.
Sa.
Now see if thou canst runne away againe.
Thy pollicies shall not auaile thee now.
If but thy head hold on t'is vaine to striue.
Co.
Good Satir giue me leaue to speak to thee.
Sa.
Speak then
(Co.)
How can I speak? let me go:
Vpon my faith I will not runne away.
Sa.
What faith oh faithlesse woman hast? Dar'st thou
Yet speak of faith to me? Ile carry thee
Into the darkest caue this mountaine hath:
Where neuer Sunne nor humane steppe approach't,
Il'e hide the rest there thou with my delight
And with thy scorne shalt feele what! wil do with thee.
Co.
And canst thou be so cruel to that haire
For which thou oft hast sworne t'were sweet to die,
And that thou coulst not suffer too much ill for me?
Oh heauens, oh fates, whom shall a woman trust?
Sa.
Ah wicked, thinkst thou to deceiue me yet?
Canst thou yet tempt me with thy subtilties?
Co.
Oh gentle Satir do not make a scorne
Of her that thee adores. If so thy hart
Thy feete, if euer I offended thee (Ô Idole of
My soule) I pardon craue. By these same strong
And more then manlike knees which I embrace,
By that same loue thou sometime bar'st to me,
By that same sweetnesse which thou wont'st to draw
Thou said'st out of mine eyes calling them starres,
Now wretched fountaines of these bitter teares,
I pray thee pittie me, let me but go.
Sa.
The wretch hath almost mou'd me, should I but trust
Affection onely I were ouercome.
But to be short, I wil not trust thee, striue no more.
For all this humblenesse thou art Corisca still.
Co.
Oh me my head, stay yet do not deny
Me one poore fauour yet.
(Sa.)
What fauour's that?
Co.
Heare me but once.
(Sa.)
Thou think'st with fained words
And forged teares to mollifie my heart.
Co.
Ah curteous Satir, what wilt thou make of me?
Sa.
Wee'le trie.
(Co.)
No pittie then?
(Sa.)
No pittie I.
Co.
Art thou resolu'd of this?
(Sa.)
I am resolu'd.
Hast thou now made an end of all thy charmes?
Co.
Oh villaine indiscreet, vnseasonable.
Halfe a man, halfe a goat, and all a beast:
Dryed Carogne, defect of wicked nature.
Dost thou beleeue Corisca loues not thee?
It is most true. What should I loue in thee:
This goodly bunch of that be slauered beard,
These goatlike eares, that stinking toothlesse caue?
Sa.
Oh witch are these to me?
(Co.)
These are to thee.
Sa.
Ribald to me?
(Co.)
Halfe goat to thee.
(Sa.)
And do
Not I with these my hands thrust out thy bitches tongue?
Co.
I if thou durst.
(Sa.)
A silly woman in my hands,
Dares braue me? dares despise me thus? Well I'le.
Co.
Villaine what wilt thou do?
(Sa.)
Ile eate thee quick.
Co.
Where be thy teeth?
(Sa.)
Oh heauens who can endure
I'le pay you home, come on.
(Co.)
I wil not come.
Sa.
That will I see.
(Co.)
Spite of thy hart I will not.
Sa.
Come on, wee'le see who hath the stronger, thou
Well let vs see.
(Sa.)
Go too:
(Co.)
Satir hold fast.
Farewell, I would thy necke were broke.
Exit Co.
Sa.
O me my head, my backe, my side. Oh what
A fall is this? I scarce can turne my selfe.
And is she gone and left her head behind?
Vnusuall wonder. Nimphs and shepheards come,
Behold a witchcraft tucke of one that's fled
And liues without a head! How light it is?
It hath no braines, there commeth out no blood.
Why looke I so? Oh foole she gone without a head,
Thou art without a head that seest not
How thou art mockt. Treacherous perfidous witch,
Is't not inough th'ast made thy hart to lie,
Thy face, thy words, thy laughter and thy lookes,
But that thy haire must lie. Poets behold
Your natiue gold, your amber pure, that you
So fondly praise, for shame your subiect chaunge,
In steed whereof sing me a witches subtiltie,
That robbeth sepulchres and rotten heads
To dresse her owne. As well you may go praise
Megeraes viprous monstrous haires. Louers
Behold, and be ashamed wretches now,
Make this the meanes your sences to recouer
That are insnar'd in such without more plaines.
But why stay I to publish out her shame?
This haire my tongue so famous made erewhile,
I will go proue to make againe as vile.
Finis Act. 2.
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