University of Virginia Library

SCEN 4.

Takes hold of her as she flyes.

Picus Camilla.
Pic.
Staye, my Camilla, Albeit thou beest so
Eger on the Deere, Staye, and lend an eare
Vnto a Misers case

Cam.
Away, I say,
The vauntlay is already layne and I
Must be at downfall of the Deere, Away,
And let not light Camilla of her way.

Pic.
The game is not so Scant in Elue and Scarce
But that thou mayst strike hundreth Harts yet
Before the western Sun, But for the Hearte
Of Picus ner'e againe his lyke

Cam.
Stand off,
Or I will hit thee with my bowe

Pic.
The Bowe
Of Dian neuer went with half that force
Into the Numbles of a wounded Deere
As thyne, Camilla, to the Hearte of Picus.

Cam.
Wouldst haue mee do?

Pic.
As from thy eyes thou lentst
The sore, wouldst thy self t'apply the Cauter.
Then lyke Telephus of Myse to resound
One speare gaue the Salue one speare gaue the wound.

Cam.
Picus, The darts Camillas eyes do hurle
Be euer Pestilent vnto that Man
Dareth depriue her of her flowre, Then
According what reason or consequence
Should they lyke Telephus or still or kill?

Pic.
The Flyes, they say Cantharides euen as
Within their corps circumference they beare
A deadly Poyson, so do they carry
A Cordiall Medcine in their wing, A Fish
Sea Pastinaca hight, as good he is
For wholesome Nourishment of man, so
In closet of his Tayle he conteyneth
A dire and mortall sting, Then why, Camilla,
As from thy eyes thou dartest scalding Bolts
Hable to make fell Tyraunts hide their heds,
From some where els thou shouldest not deliuer
An equall sluce of waues to quench the same!

Cam.
Lou'st mee, Picus, and thou sayst? say

Pic.
Madame,
By this eternall Beame I vowe I do
And none besyde, in Eluida, but you.

Cam.
Then Seruaunt (For so now I will call you)
Doe but include in hollowe of this oake,
And when I haue blowne to the Deere his death
(For so my Lady chargd on her displeasure)
I will returne

Pic.
I do obeye

Cam.
Then Come.

Pic.
Camilla, Camilla, my Camilla.

Cam.
What makes my seruaunt with that vehence
To recall his Camilla so

Pic.
Thou hast
Inclosed mee, o Camilla, among
A Sort of Bees, whose merciles stings do prick
Mee to the quick

Cam.
Alas deare Hearte,

Pic.
And with
Frightfull murmurs do build their circling Nests
Within myne eares.

Cam.
O sillie mee begone.

Pic.
Camilla, I do feele the Pangues of death.

Cam.
Speake no more

Pic.
Shift mee some where els

Cam.
Alas
I can not, yet if my Teares may serue to
Alay the Rigour of thy smart Behold
Them shed abundantly

Pic.
Reach mee a bough
I may abate their Furyes at the least.

Cam.
I must away, Behold the Deere at Bea,
And the whole crewe of Huntresses all, with
wind of Horne, do now come in to the Fall,
I must away, or I shall be shent sure.
So sweet, deare Lord Picus, my life, my ioye,
Tarry you there but till I come to you.

Pic.
Ha, now I see thou art deluded, Pice,
Camilla, Camilla, why Camilla?
Ha, gone? And I left in misery here?
Then Picus burst thou these fetterd Bands off
Of thy Affliction and with the Tyde
Of the Extremity beare thou now down
The strong opposed Bulwark of thy woe.
O Tyde of woe, o stall of wretchednes,
O Pill of Rewe, o Cup of Agonie,
O greife, o Pangue, o dire Calamity.
See these malicious Elues by God create
For pleasant sustenance of man do fix,
Lyke vnto a Band of eger Myrmidous,
Their biting speares in furrowes of my Flesh,
Behold the Swarme hauing not where lo light,
With Idle windings and with wanton Beas
Do wast vpon my partched lips their Tyme
Till they haue consumed their whole Thyme
As is to be seene in this point of Tyme,
And therefore in reuenge loe of the losse
Vpon you all you cursed womankind
In Bitternes and in the Spite of Gall
With Tyde belcht vp from botome of my hearte
I shed the copious venoume of my curse.
You race Imperfect, you Sinks of villany,
You Caterpillers, vipers and Scums of men,
Tyrants, Channells, I weene you were create
Vnto the woe of man, For had I beene
So wise as to haue known my suite had beene
An empty bladder chased with the wind,
Rather a barren sand that Fooles do till
I had Fore now your Treachery preuent,
But, o, the Phrygian's neuer wise but late,
And it may Picus set a seale vnto.
Then since no Remedy there is to wreake
On their heads auengment fairly expect thou
The mercy of the Gods, els to finish
In horrid paine and Anguish of thy doome
Within this Tortring shop thy Martyrdome.