University of Virginia Library

Scene V.

Enter (to him) Charita in the habit of a Sheepherdesse.
Lys.
Faire Birds which daily in the Aire do move,
And singing praise the Object of my Love,
What equall to her merits do you see?

(appearing among the Trees)
Ch.
What doe's this Fool alone? what are his thoughts?

Lys.
But I to mutes in vaine my speed apply,
I'de better speak to th'Eccho of these groves,
Who oft to reason with us Sheepherds love's.

(sitting down behinde a Tree)
Ch.
I'le be his Eccho, 'twill be a rare Scene.

Lys.
Nymph I, of Love unheard-of torments, beare,
I've often spoke it, did'st thou never heare?

Ch.
Here—

Lys.
Good She replies:—but since my griefs, by chance,
Are known, how shall I cure their great abundance?

Ch.
Dance—

Lys.
Well sing or Whistle, and I'le daunce with you:
Charita sayes she loves me,—is it true?

Ch.
True—

Lys.
But I can nought obtaine, though I ne're cease
T'entreat her ease the paines that me oppresse.

Ch.
Presse—

Lys.
Well said, I'le now beleeve thee, 't shall be done,
(rising)
And to demand her aide I'le straitway run.

Ch.
Run—

Lys.
Farewell. So may thy minion ev'ry day,
Narcissus visit thee where e're thou stay.

Ch.
Stay—

Lys.
Stop me? did'st thou not say my torments by
Her sight should all be cured happily?

Ch.
I-ly—

Lys.
Leave jesting, and my cruell paines abate,
What must I hope for then? her love or hate?

Ch.
Her hate—

Lys.
What shall I doe, alas, if weeping I
Cannot her minde appease? sad Tragedy!

Ch.
Dy—

Lys.
But what death shall I choose, if, so abhor'd
I begge her aide, and she will none accord?

Ch.
A-cord—

Lys.
A Cord? ah you surprize me now, you know,
I have no Cord, but that on Cupids bow:
Nymph, is not that the Cord for which you call?
Answer.

Ch.
No 'tis a Cord to hang thy selfe withall.

Lys.
Foolish, and sottish Nymph, you prate too much;
Whence comes this humour in you? are you drunk?
Or knowing th'art lesse faire than my Charita,
Envy or shame hath made thee talke so fast.
I see her—my faire Starre!

(Charita enters the Stage)
Ch.
What are you doing?

Lys.
Before a Goddess men ought thus to kneel,
(kneels)
And ever with all reverence receive
The influence of her Divine aspects.

Ch.
No, Sheepherd no, I hate all such respects,
These adorations may seem good at Paris,
But here men ought to live in a full freedom.

Lys.
'Tis true, 'twas ever granted unto Sheepherds;
Oh high design, and rare, inspir'd by love!
To quit foul Paris for this pleasant place!
What a delicious life shall we enjoy?
The Gods themselves, the Gods do envy us.
Sometimes assembled, we shall laugh and dance,
Sometimes we shall retire againe alone,
Sitting sometimes in shades, sometimes on Fearne,
Where thou shalt call Me Sheepherd, and I Thee
My Sheepherdess, and placing Love between us,
Play at a thousand pretty little games,
And sometimes gather—Charita—my soul—
Help—help thy Sheepherd that's now swooning—ah—
Cruel dost thou recoile?

Ch.
Have I not reason?
If you should swoon your fall may crush me too,
To me your body does not seem so light,
But that it well may hurt your Sheepherdess.

Lys.
Go, th'art inhumane, and I now perceive
Th'ast no remorse for all th'ill th'ast done me;
Thy heart's of Brass, Steele, Marble, and of Stone.

Char.
What have I done that merits this reproach?
Have I, that I should now be thus abus'd,
Provok'd you by neglect, or have I scratch'd you?

Lys.
Yes, but you have no sense (malignant Beauty)
The nailes of your aspect do daily claw me.
And, the sharp rayes of your so glittering looks
Have given me here a wound will nere be heal'd.

Char.
'Tis true; their force is somewhat terrible,
Yet do not think the wound's incurable;
Ile cure you—but farewell untill anon.

Lys.
Hard Anaxarete! art gone so soon?
See how thine Iphis grieves at thy departure.

Char.
I hast to finde the Sheepherdesse Lucida,
Th'expect her at the Nymph's.—

Lys.
Thou mak'st me tremble!
Why dost thou aggravate so great a grief?

Char.
D'ee feare to see her?

Lys.
Ah!—I've cause to feare,
No Sheepherd hath more reason to complaine,
I fly what me pursues, and love what flies me.

Char.
You still are angry when she followes you—
But oft disdaine, conceales a reall flame,
And y'are more tractable perhaps in private.

Lys.
With her in private? no believe me, faire One,
The heart of Lysis is so chain'd to thee,
That thou shalt have it chast, pure, and unmixt,
Entire: and sooner than Ile turn to change,
Or other beauty shall have power t'ensnare me.
Rivers shall run revolted from the Seas;
Those liquid Courts shall want their Nayædes,
The Hamadriades, and the Faunes forsake
The Woods, and all the World new Orders take,
And Wolves against the Doggs our Flocks defend.—

Char.
This solemne Oath hath given me faith at once,
Farewell kinde Sheepherd.—

Lys.
Sheepherds Farewell.
My heart's committed to you, have a care on't;—
Go my dear Lambs, seek Pasture farther off,
For Sol's too scorching rayes by shining here,
Hath burnt the grass, and left these places bare.