University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Daphne, Sylvia, Chorus.
Daph.
Thanks to the Gods, that all our tears
Were needless, all our plaints and fears
In vain, since she for whom we mourn'd
Is living, and in health return'd:
Long mayst thou live, and Heaven protect
The Life, which you too much neglect.
Nerina in confusion said
Such things as made us think you dead:
I wish, to've sav'd us so much grief,
She had been dumb, or others deaf.

Sylvia.
The risque was great, and had you seen
The mighty danger I was in,
You would your self have said so too.

Daph.
Not if I had n't known it true.
Tell me the risque you ran, and how
You scap't the danger.

Sylvia.
You shall know.
Too day I at the Chase pursu'd
A Wolf so far into the Wood
I lost my Game, I lost the track,
And turn'd on purpose to come back,
When with seven other Wolves I found
The Beast, and knew him by his wound:
Round some dead Animal they stood,
And tore its flesh, and lickt its blood:
The Wolf I shot soon spy'd me out,
And left his prey to meet his foe.
I with my Dart oppos'd his way,
Tho, mistress of my art, you know
I very seldom miss my blow,
Yet by bad luck I mist it now,
And my Dart rested in a Bough:
The Wolf at this more furious grew,
And got so near me, that I knew
My Bow would stand in little stead;
So to preserve my self I fled.
And as I fled I was methought
By somethng which oppos'd me, caught.
The Veil I wore hitcht in a Tree,
And with my hair entangled me.
I pull'd my Veil, I tore my hair,
And yet was forc'd to leave it there.
Wing'd by my fright away I flew
Like air, and so got safe to you.
Why, Daphne, are you now so sad:
What, can't my safety make you glad?

Dap.
You live, I'm glad to find it true,
And wish another was as safe as you.

Sylv.
Perhaps you hate me, you appear
No more concern'd to see me here.

Daph.
I hate you not, I joy in your return,
But for anothers death must mourn.

Sylv.
Whose?

Daph.
Poor Amintas.

Sylvia.
Tell me how
He dy'd.

Daph.
Ah! that I want to know;
We are not certain yet he's dead,
But we believe't.

Sylvia.
What hast thou said!
Ah, Daphne, say to what alas,
Do people attribute the cause?

Daph.
Thy death.

Sylvia.
Explain your self.

Daph.
The news
He heard will certainly produce
Some dreadful deed, Despair will lend
Him arms, to help him to his end.

Sylvia.
It may be your suspicions are in vain,
And, he as well as I, may rise again
From Death; besides 'tis very rare
For men to let their troubles go so far.

Daph.
Sylvia, little dost thou know
What some men in Love will do:
Thou dost little think how much
Every accident will touch
Hearts of Flesh, and not of Stone,
Not so cruel as thy own.
Hadst thou known the man that dyes
Lov'd thee better than his Eyes,
Thou wouldst have been less severe,
And prevented his despair.
Had you seen him but to day,
After you were ran away.
Sylvia, you'd with reason fear,
Your disdain has gone too far.
‘Such ingratitude you show'd,
‘To the man to whom you ow'd,
‘Life and Honour, all that's dear,
‘I can tell for I was there.
‘I can witness what was done,
‘Saw him save you, and you run,
‘VVhen sure, after that had past
‘He deserv'd to be embrac'd.
Then I saw him take his Dart,
Turn the point against his heart,
Strike his breast, and from the wound
Saw the blood flow on the ground.
I came in, and much ado
Hinder'd him a second blow.
Sylvia, thus you see how far
Some are hurry'd by despair.
So much may by this be guest,
We have cause to dread the rest.

Sylvia.
What have I heard?

Daph.
Things indeed,
Enough, alas, to make thee dread
What thou art yet to hear.
Thence as we were coming back
We met the Nymph, who by mistake
Inform'd us you were slain; the youth,
Without examining the truth,
Believ'd, despair'd, and in the heat
Of grief, sell breathless at our feet.
We took him up, he breath'd again,
We strove to comfort him in vain;
For all the reasons we could give,
Could not prevail on him to live:
But rushing forth, away he fled
To death, and I believe is dead.

Syl.
D'ye really believe it?

Daph.
Yes.

Syl.
Ah! why
Did you not follow him, and fly
Fast as his fury, to prevent
The consequence of his intent.
Ah let us seek him out, and strive
To make him yet consent to live.
Since he that for my Death would dye,
Should for my Life revive.

Daph.
We follow'd, but he flew like wind:
He left us panting far behind;
And long e're this has done what he design'd.
Whither then, Sylvia, would you run?
And who shall tell us where the wretch is gone?

Syl.
Ah, let us go where grief and pity lead;
Haste, Daphne haste, or he'll be dead;
By himself murder'd.

Daph.
You would save
The unhappy Lover from the Grave,
To murder him your self: To you
You think the Glory's only due.
But you've no reason to repine,
For let the blow be his or thine,
Twill be his death, and thou mayst see;
With comfort, that he dy'd for thee.

Syl.
Daph. It torments my mind
When I consider how unkind,
How cruel I have been:
Pride I call'd Honour once, perhaps
'Twas Honour, but 'twas too severe;
And such as will, if he is dead,
Sharpen my grief, my cruelty reprove,
And force me to repent I wrong'd his Love.

Daph.
Oh Heaven! She's pitiful, repents,
Her heart grows tender, she relents;
She weeps—
Is thy pride humbled then? O strange!
Whence, Sylvia, comes this mighty change?
Whence all these tears, from Pity or from Love?

Syl.
Pity, not Love, attracts my tears

Daph.
Pity's Love's Messenger, and shews,
As Lightning before Thunder goes,
Love is not far.

Chorus.
When he'd surprize a Maid
Who of his Empire is afraid,
Who by false honour would defend her heart,
And be secure against his Dart,
He takes his Servant Pity's shape,
And in that figure few escape
His snares, he slily wins on every heart,
And beaten off by force, prevails by art.

Daph.
Love at first in storms appears,
Waited on by sighs and tears:
Love has touch'd thee, tho too late,
Into fondness turn'd thy hate.
Ah Amintas, Sylvia's chang'd,
Weeps for Love, and thou'rt reveng'd.
Now thou mayst the Conquest boast,
Which if living thou hadst lost.
Thou hast Dying left behind
Such a sting in Sylvia's mind,
As will work more mischief there,
Than thou ever feltst for her.
Bees thus can't their Stings outlive,
But perish with the wounds they give.
If thou'rt, as I believe, a Spirit, fled
From the bright mansions of the dead;
From heavenly Groves, and sacred streams,
To play unseen about her Limbs,
See, Sylvia weeps, behold how much she's mov'd,
You lov'd alive, and are when dead belov'd.
‘If Destiny had so decreed,
‘That thou shouldst for thy Mistress bleed;
‘If in her thoughts she had resolv'd that this,
‘Whene're she sold her Love, should be the price,
‘'Tis thine, now thou hast done thy part,
‘And with thy Life hast bought her heart.

Chor.
‘Too vainly sold, and bought too dear;
‘For him too hard, too infamous for her.

Syl.
Oh that my Love could fetch again his breath,
Or my heart purchase him of Death.
Oh that my Life could be the price,
I'd gladly part with it for his.

Daph.
Too late you're pitiful and wise,
Your tears are useless, and in vain your sighs.