University of Virginia Library

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,
If she be poore, yet is she well content.
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
Had I not promist him this marriage to disturbe,
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
This thought to me, thou hadst bene lose ere this.
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
Come you without your Nimphs, here shall you find
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.