University of Virginia Library

ACT I. THYRSIS.

A Pastoral.

SCENE a Green before a Wood.
Enter Montano and Dorinda in Shepherds Habit.
Dor.
I shall be known.

Mon.
You need not fear;
Your habit will secure you here.
On me you safely may depend,
You know I ever was your friend.
In this Disguise, if People knew
You were not lost, who'd think of you?
Among the Trees we'll stay unseen,
And hear what passes on the Green:
The Swains will quickly leave their Sheep,
To play beneath the Shades, or sleep;
Then Thyrsis comes, and you may hear
What ground you have for what you fear.

Dor.
Delicious shades! Ye oft have seen
How blest I formerly have been,
When I have met my Thyrsis here,
And heard him sigh, and heard him swear:
But oh! he falsly sigh'd and swore,
That then he lov'd Dorinda more
Than Doves their Mates, than Ews their Lambs,
Than tender Kids their fawning Dams;
Than Streams the Banks they glide along,
Or joyful Birds their vernal Song:
But Streams still kiss their Banks: The Spring
Still tempts the joyful Birds to sing:
Kids ne'er their fawning Dams forget,
Nor Ews their Lambs, nor Doves their Mates:
Yet he is chang'd, and thinks no more
Of me, or what he falsly swore.

Mon.
He chang'd not till he thought you dead.

Dor.
And hardly wept to lose a Maid
Whom once he lov'd, he swore, at least,
And I believ'd he lov'd me best.
But who that hears my wrongs, will now
Believe a Shepherd for his Vow?
Ye Maids! that shall within this Grove
Be tempted with the voice of Love,
Refuse to hear, the Charmers shun,
For if you trust 'em, you're undone.

Mon.
If Thyrsis loves, he loves in vain,
Your Sister likes another Swain.

Dor.
Tho Cleomira shou'd refuse
His suit, will that his Fault excuse?

Mon.
Ne'er think him faulty, till you know
How far the Youth has broke his Vow.
Had you been dead, his hopes were gone,
And he had then been free.

Dor.
So soon?
Montano, you of old have seen
The Shepherds oft forsake the Green,
For years to mourn in Cypress Groves,
For such Misfortunes in their Loves.
To bath with Tears their Virgin's Graves,
Sigh to the Winds, and weep in Caves:
To Rocks, to Trees, of Fate complain,
And not pretend to love again.
While Thyrsis ne'er forsook his Sheep,
And scarce cou'd condescend to weep:
Nor sigh'd in Caves, nor to the Wind,
Nor told the Waves they were unkind;
But once or twice for Custom sigh'd,
And chose my Sister for his Bride.

Mon.
You only was belov'd in her:
He saw, and lik'd your Picture there.
You must confess his Love was due
To her, for what she has like you.
You're sick, Dorinda; cease your fears.

Dor.
See—He that makes me sick appears.

Mon.
No, by these Symptoms I can tell
He comes that is to make you well.

Exeunt.
Enter Thyrsis. Damon following at a distance.
Thyr.
I should not fancy this Retreat,
This silence, nor this Shade so sweet,
Did not my Thoughts when I am here,
Run all on her I love so dear.
That I wou'd part with all I have,
For some small Hutt or little Cave,
Within the Covert of this Grove,
To spend my Life with her I love.
But she prefers another Swain,
And I'm condemn'd to love in vain.
When e're we pipe, his Tunes are best,
When e're we dance, 'tis I'm the jest.
She likes his step, she likes his mein,
And he's the Master of the Green.
The fairest Garlands she can weave,
She thinks not fine enough to give
To him; but what's on me bestow'd
Is all too fine, and all too good.
Her Ribbands, and her Crook are his:
Nay, once by chance, I saw 'em kiss.
And yet, alas! I can't forbear
To love, and serve, and think of her.
Will she then ne're on me bestow
Part of those Joys she lets him know?

Damon.
(shewing himself)
No.

Thyrs.
What make you here insulting Swain?
Go mind your business on the Plain:
Go feed your Lambs, and watch your Sheep,
'Tis true, thou hast but few to keep:
But out of few to lose but one,
The loss is great, and thou'rt undone.

Da.
And yet, proud youth, tho thou hast more,
Who envies thee thy Father's store?
Where-e're thou driv'st thy Flocks to graze,
The Nymphs and Shepherds leave the place.
They, hate thy Pipe, and dread thy voice,
Our Lambs are frighted at the noise,
Thy Songs and Dances are at best
The Goatherd's scorn, and Ploughman's jest.
Thy Songs are bad, thy steps are rude;
But we confess thy Flocks are good.
Go watch 'em then, for great's thy charge,
Thy Herds are vast, thy Pastures large;
Thy Men may sleep, thy Boys may play,
Thy Flocks may rove, thy Herds may stray;
And when thy Flocks and Herds are gone,
Poor Thyrsis thou art quite undone.

Thyr.
No more of such disputes as these,
But go, and let me sleep in peace.

Dam.
You came not here to sleep to day,
I know your Business, and will stay.

Thyr.
There's Room enough within the Grove:
Go in, and leave me—

Dam.
With my Love?
My Cleomira? No, I'll stay,
And make her hear what both can say.

Thyr.
Thy Cleomira? Thou'rt a fool
To fancy she can be so dull
As once to think of leaving me,
And all that I possess, for thee

Dam.
What reason coud'st thou ever find
To hope the Shepherdess design'd
Her self for thee? When e're we play,
From thee she turns her head away:
When e're we dance she chuses me
To take her hand, and frowns on thee.

Thyr.
She frowns perhaps to let me know,
She's vext at what she's forc'd to do;
And if she turns her head aside,
'Tis more her Modesty than Pride.
Maids use those worst whom they like best,
And where they love they shew it least.

Cleomira runs over the Green as from the Wood.
Dam.
Stay, my Cleomira!

Thyr.
Stay!

Da.
Hold! You fright the Nymph away.

Thyr.
Hold! You fright her: Prithee see
How she looks and turns—

Dam.
To me.
Tell me why you are afraid?
Who cou'd hurt so fair a Maid?
Is your Spaniel run away?
Has the Woolf broke in to day?

Cleo.
No, but I have been pursu'd
By two Monsters of the Wood.

Dam.
Cease your trouble; never fear;
You are safe, while I am here.

Thyr.
Cease your fear, you need not fly,
You are safe, while I am by.

Cleo.
Should I trust my self to you,
What coud'st thou pretend to do?

[To Thyrsis.
Thyr.
I cou'd fight,

Dam.
And so cou'd I.

Thyr.
I cou'd bleed.

Dam.
And I cou'd dye:

Thyr.
I can—

Dam.
What you've done before;
Talk of Marriage to a score;
And when all thy Reasons fail,
Think thy Riches will prevail.
I can—

Thyr.
Boast of much desert
In bestowing of a heart,
Tho the present must be small
When with that you give your all.

Dam.
I have nothing else to plead.

Cleo.
Nothing else should here succeed.
Riches take at Court and Town,
Where there's nothing better known;
Love and Constancy must reign
In the limits of our Plain.
We that know what 'tis to live
On what Nature has to give;
On an Herb, or on a Plant;
How can we Provision want?
Ev'ry Wood and ev'ry Field
Stores of rich Provision yield;
He, and only he is poor,
Who is ever craving more.
He who thinks his Wealth above
Truth and Constancy in Love.
Let him not infect our Swains,
Let us drive him from the Plains:
Let the Maid, who e're he wooes,
All that he requests refuse—
Let me go, I see the Sun
Declines apace; I must be gone.

Dam.
As yet 'tis high, and you may stay:
The youth will make himself away.

Cleo.
You need not fear when Thyrsis grieves;
Dorinda's dead, yet Thyrsis lives—
Nay, let me go; the time is come
That I shall be expected home.
I loyter'd once, and lost a Kid,
And if I stay I shall be chid.

Dam.
Must I go too?

Cleo.
No, then they'll say
That we've agreed to Wed to day.
They won't believe the Satyrs drew
Me here, but I came here for you,
No, Damon, stay; the dangers gone,
And I may venture home alone.

[Exit.
Dam.
While I will to my charge repair,
And see that nothing's wanting there.
You, Thyrsis, too shou'd not forget,
Your Herds are large; your Flocks are great.
You see, 'tis now too late to sleep,
And you'll be wanted with your Sheep.
The Shade's too cool, the Maid is gone;
What then shou'd you do here alone?

Ex.
Thyr.
Hence with hope, and hence with care!
There's some comfort in despair.
Now I know the worst is past,
Something good may come at last:
Let me like a man endure
All my Pain, and hope no Cure.
Hope will but encrease my grief,
When 'tis so much past relief;
Hence with hope, and hence with Care,
There's some comfort in despair.
Oh, how much we do boast in vain
Of the quiets of the Plain!
How we idly talk of ease!
Love, alas! disturbs our Peace:
And where e're the Tyrant dwells,
Be't in Palaces or Cells,
Peace and soft Content remove;
War and Tumult wait on Love.
Once, and I call it oft to mind,
I lov'd a Maid, and she was kind.
Oh! How cou'd I once forget
How soft was every Word, how sweet
Was ev'ry Look! For me she chose
To leave her Lambs, to leave her Ews,
To hear me pipe beneath a Tree,
And all her Business was with me.
(Soft Music. Flutes are heard.
Hah! What friendly Notes are these,
That charm and sooth my mind to peace,
Some happy Swain within the Grove
Has met, and entertains his Love.
Music gives pleasure to the Blest,
And to the Miserable, Rest.

He lays down on a Bank, while he sleeps a Satyr leaps out, and as he is going to strike, enter Dorinda and Montano. Dorinda comes up and Satyr runs away.
Dor.
Hold Villain—go in, Montano;
Nor stay to see a Virgin's weakness;
But save my blushes: Stay within,
And, when you see your time, appear.
Exit Mont.
He wakes, and as he lifts his Eyes,
They bring those glances to my view
Which charm'd me once, and if I gaze
I love and then am lost again.

Thyr.
Who talks of love, and being lost?
In words and with a voice so sweet,
That tho it wakes me from a dream
Where I began to taste of joy,
And feel Dorinda in my Arms,
Yet I am pleas'd.

Dor.
Perhaps to be reliev'd
From Dreams which troubl'd your repose,
And set a Maid before your Eyes,
Whom you were willing to forget.

Thyr.
Thy voice, fair youth, thy looks, prevent
My anger; but whoe're thou art
'Tis sure unkind to think me false,
Before thou know'st my guilt.

Dor.
I know
You have been guilty, if 'tis guilt to love
Another while the Virgin lives
To whom you have engag'd your heart,
To whom you vow'd you wou'd be true,
Till death should part ye—Did you not?
Yet, e're death parted ye, you chang'd,
And if to break a vow be guilt,
I know—

Thyr.
Nothing; for she I lov'd is dead,
They told thee false who said I chang'd
Till death, despair, and one so like
The Nymph I lov'd, so dear to her,
So kind to ev'ry one but me,
That not to love her had been worse
That not to scorn her when her pride,
Disdain'd my Sighs; till these prevaild
The lost Dorinda had my heart.

Dor.
But if the lost Dorinda lives
Cou'd you pretend to innocence,
Or say you had not broke your Vow?

Thyr.
But if the lost Dorinda lives!
Why that? Whence thou? and what thy Name?
Excuse me, lovely youth, from words,
And let me gaze upon thy Charms!
Oh! Ev'ry look revives my soul!
I see (or else I'm yet asleep)
The Graces that I lov'd in her.
But if the lost Dorinda lives!
That word, that last bewitching sound
Strikes to my heart, and to my mind.
Restores so many former joys,
That if thou art not her her self,
Thou art so like her, I forget
My Woes, and all that I have lost
To see thy Eyes, and hear thy voice.

Dor.
Oh! Thyrsis.

Falls in his Arms.
Thyr.
'Tis she! Dorinda! let me hold
Thee fast, and if I dream! Oh Heaven
Let me dream still, and never wake.

Enter Montano.
Mon.
Dorinda.

Thyr.
Dorinda lives!

Dor.
And Thyrsis loves!
My fears are gone, and joys succeeds.

Mon.
You Thyrsis are oblig'd to me
For what you hear, and what you see.

Thyr.
Oh how, Montano? Let me know,

Mon.
Be calm, and I will tell you how.
As I this morning watch'd my Sheep,
While you perhaps was fast asleep,
A youth came to me from the shore,
Whose Face, methought, I'd seen before;
But when he ask'd me, if I knew
Such Swains, and blush'd in naming you,
I kist him oft, and wept for joy,
To see Dorinda in the Boy.
She told me, when we thought her lost,
She safely reach'd the Delphian Coast.
How she came back, and why she came
In that disguise, and hid her name:
Your Marriage was resolv'd she heard,
And had she found it as she fear'd,
She vow'd, alas! in that disguise,
To make her life your sacrifice.

Dor.
Peace, good Montano, say no more,
For now that all our griefs are o're,
Bring no sad Prospects to our view,
Since I am safe, and she is true.

Enter Damon, Cleomira, Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
Damon.
Thyrsis here so late as this,
Sure there's something chanc'd amiss.
Music is heard.
'Tis past our sleeping time, 'tis cold,
The Flocks are driving to the Fold.
The Goats are milk'd, and we are come,

Thyr.
To sing Dorinda's welcom home.

Cleo.
My Sister here disguis'd!

Dor.
The same.

Cleo.
Oh say, when, how, and whence you came?

Mon.
I brought her here, but when and how
I'll tell you, as we go.

Thyr.
But e're we part,
Let each in Songs express his heart,
Let's dance and sing while we have light,
And talk and kiss away the night.
You Damon, with your Pipe attend,
My Rival once, but now my friend,
The gayest Tune's Dorinda's due,
The gayest Tune must come from you.
To you those honours I resign,
Dorinda only shall be mine.

Mon.
Her Welcom, Thyrsis, let us sing,
In Notes as sweet as for the Spring.
As when the Trees begin to bloom,
The Leaves to spread, the Buds to come;
When Vi'lets first the Fields adorn,
And warbling Birds salute the morn;
Feasts, Songs and Dances fill the Plain,
For joy that Summer comes again;
Such let Dorinda's welcom be,
And all rejoyce like him and me.

To Thyrsis.
SONG
[Mon., Thyr.]

Chorus.

A Dance of Clowns and Shepherds.
Thyr.
Thus merrily we'll homeward move,
While Hill and Vale, and Plain and Grove,
Ring with the sound of joyful Love.

Exeunt with Music.