Il pastor fido or The faithfull Shepheard |
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[Act. 3.]
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 | Il pastor fido |  |
[Act. 3.]
Chorus.Great was her fault and errour sure,
That did occasion all our teene:
Who loues great lawes holy and pure
(Breaking her faith) did violate
And thereby did illuminate
The mortal rage of our immortall queene.
Of many harmlesse soules haue done vs good,
So faith to euery vertue roote
The ornament of euery soule well borne,
In heauen hath surely set his foote,
That worthily are faithlesse held in scorne.
So nature truth would euer happie make,
Eu'n for the true almightie makers sake.
Blind mortalls you that haue so deep desire
To get and to possesse
A guilded carkasse of a painted tire,
That like a naked shadow walkes on still,
Seeking her sepulchre by gesse:
What loue, or rather fond will,
Hath witcht your hart dead beautie to pursue?
Rich treasures are loues follies found. The true
And liuely loue is of the soule:
All other subiects want what loue requires,
Therfore they not deserue these amorous desires.
The soule because it onely loues againe,
Is onely worthie of this louing paine.
It is a pretie thing to kisse
The delicate vermilion Rose
Of some faire cheeke, they that haue prou'd that blisse
(Right happie Louers) so will say. Yet those
Will say againe kisses are dead and vaine,
Where beautie kist restores it not againe.
The strokes of two inamour'd lips are those
Where mouth on mouth loues sweetest vengeance showes,
Those are true kisses where with equall wills
We euer giue and take againe our fills.
Kisse but a curious mouth, a daintie hand,
A breast, a brow, or what you can demand,
You will confesse no part in woman is,
Saue for sweet mouth that doth deserue a kisse,
By which two soules with liuely spirits meet,
Making liue rubres kindly entergreet,
So mongst themselues those sowly sprighfull kisses
Great things bewray, and sweetest secret blisses
To others hidden, to themselues well knowne.
Such ioy, nay such sweet life doth louing proue,
Soule knit to soule by th'earthly knot of loue.
Kisses that kisses meet, do paint vnmou'd,
Th'incounters of two harts, louing belou'd.
Scene 1.
Mirtillo.O spring, the gentle childhood of the yeare,
Mother of floures, fresh hearbs, & fresh desires,
Thou turn'st againe, but with thee do not turne
The happie dayes of my delightfull ioyes:
Thou turnst, thou turnst, but with thee turnst nought else
Saue of the losse of my deare trusures lorne,
The miserable wretched memorie.
Thou art the same thou wert, so fresh, so faire,
But I am not as I was wont to be,
So deare to other eyes. Oh bitter sweets of loue,
Much worser t'is to leese you once possest,
Then neuer to haue you enioy'd at all,
Much like the griefe to chaunge a happie state,
The memorie of any good that wasts,
Consumes it selfe as th'other is consum'd.
But if my hopes be not as is their vse,
Of brittle glasse, or that my deep desire
Make not my hope much greater then the truth,
Here shall I see the sun beames of mine eyes.
Here if I be not mockt I shall her see
Stay her quick feete at sound of my lament.
Here shall my greedie eyes after long fast
Receiue sweet foode from her diuinest looke.
Here will she turne her son'raigne lights on mee,
If not gentle, yet cruell will they bee.
If not the meanes to breed mine inward ioy,
So fierce, yet as I die to mine annoy.
O happie day sigh'd for long time in vaine,
Loue thou dost graunt me sight of her faire eies,
I meane made bright as is the morning Sun,
Hither Ergasto sent me, where he said
Corisca and my beauteous Amarillo
Would be together playing at blind man buffe:
Yet here see I none blind, saue my blind will,
That wandring seekes her sight by other meanes
But findes it not. O poyson to my food,
This long delay blindeth my heart with feare.
My cruell desteny will neuer chaunge.
Each houre, each moment that a Louer staies
Expecting his contentment, seemes a world.
But who doth know? perhaps I staid too long,
And here Corisca hath attended mee.
Ay me! If this be true, then welcome death.
Sce. 2.
Amarillis. Mirtillo. Chorus of Nimphs. Corisca.[Amarillis.]
Behold the buffe!
(Mi.)
Behold indeed! ah sight.
Am.
Why stay ye now?
(Mir.)
Ah voice that hast at once
Both wounded me and healed me againe?
Am.
Where be ye? what do ye? Lisetta you
That so desir'd this sport, where are you now?
Where is Corisca? and where be the rest?
Mir!
Now may't be truly said that loue is blinde,
And hath a scarce that bindeth vp his eyes.
Ama.
Come list to me! guide me cleare of these trees,
There set me in the plaine, you round about
A circle make and so begin the play.
Mir.
What shall I do? I see not how this sport
Can do me good, nor I Corisca see that is
The load-starre of my hopes. Heauens aide me.
Am.
Why are ye come? think ye nought else to do
But blind mine eies? Where are ye let's begin?
Cho. Nim.
Blind loue I do not trust to thee,
That makes desires full of obscuritie.
Thou hast for all sight and lesser troath,
Blind or not blind thou tempest in vaine,
For I can shift me in this plaine.
Blind thou dost see through A rons eies,
Blind thou best sighted safely ties.
Now that I am at libertie.
I were a foole to trust to thee.
In iest nor earnest Ile not stay,
Because thou kill'st when thou dost play.
Am.
But ye play too far off, ye should touch me.
Mir.
O mightie Gods! what do I see? am I
In heauen or earth? y' haue no such harmonie.
Co. Nim.
But you that blind and faithlesse proue,
That calleth me to play this houre,
Behold I play and with my hand
Hit your backe and by you stand.
I play and round about you run,
And for I trust not you I shun.
Here am I now and there againe,
Whilst you take me striue in vaine.
The reason is my hart is free,
Therefore you cannot handle mee.
Ama.
I thought I had Licoris caught, and I
Haue got a tree. I heare you laugh full well.
Mir.
Oh would I were that tree. Me thinkes I see Corisca
Hidden in yonder shrubs, she nods to mee,
Tis eu'n she, she beckens still to mee.
Cho. Nim.
Free harts haue euer feet to fly,
And so (entising powre) haue I
Yet will you tempt me in to traine?
In faith (sweet) no: t's all in vaine.
The reason is my hart is free,
Therefore you cannot handle mee.
Ama.
I would this tree were burn'd, now had I thought
I had Elisa ta'en.
(Mir.)
Yet doth Corisca point,
She threatens me, sh'would haue me put my selfe
Among these Nimphes.
(Ama.)
Belike thus I all day
Must play with trees.
(Co.)
I must spite of my hart
Vntill she come thro thy armes? let her take thee,
Giue me thy cart (foole) go and meet with her.
Mir.
How ill agree my hart with my desire?
Th'one dares so little, th'other seekes so much.
Ama.
T'is time I runne againe vnto the sport,
I almost weary am. Ere, fie: you make
Me run too much, in faith y'are too blame.
Cho. Nim.
Now looke about triumphant powre,
That the world atribute dost deuoure.
Now bearst thou mocks and many a bat,
And like an Owle th'art wondred at.
About whom birds flicke thicke and round,
VVhilst them she sirues in vaine to wound.
So art thou loue this instant tide
Laught at and mockt on euery side.
Some hit backe and some thy face,
Sparing thee neither time nor place.
It will not boote thee spread thy wings,
Nor that thy pinions whistling flings.
Catch how thou wilt thou getst not mee,
The reason is my hart is free. (Amarillis takes Mirtillo now.)
Him thou hast caught is no wonder,
For loueholds all his sences vnder.
Exeunt Cho. Nim.
Sce. 3.
Amarillis. Mirtillo. Corisca.[Amarillis.]
In faith Auglaura I haue catcht you now.
Wil you be gone? nay soft Ile hold you fast.
Co.
Trust me had I not vnawares to him
Thrust him on her, this labour had bene lost.
Ama.
What not a word? are you she or not she?
Co.
Here do I take this dart, and in this groue
I turne me to obserue what followeth.
Ama.
So now I know Corisca are you not?
T'is so you are so great and haue no haue,
I could haue wisht no better match then this.
Quickly my hart, and I will pay thee with
The sweetest kisse thou euer hadst. Why stai'st?
Me thinkes your hands do shake. Put to your teeth,
If with your nailes you cannot do the deed.
How tedious y' are? Let me alone,
My selfe will rid me of this trouble soone:
But see how many knots haue made me sure.
Ah that I may but make you play this part.
So now I see. Ay me what do I see?
Let me alone (traytor) ay wretched me.
Mir.
Stand stil my soule.
(Am.)
Let me alone I say,
Dare you thus offer force to Nimphs A glaure,
Elisa treachours where are you become?
Let me alone.
(Mir.)
Behold I let you go.
Ama.
This is Coriscaes craft, well keep you that
Which you haue not deseru'd.
(Mir.)
Why flie you hence?
(Cruell) behold my death, behold this dart
Shall pierce my woful brest.
(Am.)
What wil you do?
Mir.
That which perhaps grieues you most cruell Nimph.
That any else beside your selfe should do.
Am.
Oh me, me thinkes I am halfe dead.
Mir.
But if this worke belong alone to you,
Behold my brest, here take this fatall dart.
Ama.
Death you haue merited. But tell me who
Hath made you boldly thus presume?
(Mi.)
My loue
Ama.
Loue is no cause of any villain act.
Mi.
Loue trust me t'was in me. I made me respectiue:
And since you first laid hold on me lesse cause
You haue to call my action villanie.
Yea eu'n when I by so commodious meanes
Might be made bold to vse the lawes of loue,
Yet did I quake a Louer to be found.
Ama.
Cast not my blind deeds in my teeth I pray.
Mir.
My much more loue makes me more blind then you.
Ama.
Prayers and fine conceits, not snares and thefts,
Discreetest Louers vse.
(Mir.)
As sauadge beast
With hunger hunted, from the woods breakes forth
So I that onely by your beauteous eyes
Do liue: since that sweet foode me haue forbad,
Either you crueltie or else my fate
A starued Louer issuing from those woods
Where I haue suffered long and wretched fast,
Haue for my health assaid this stratageme
Which loues necessitie vpon me thrust.
Now blame not me Nimph cruell) blame your selfe,
For praiers and conceits true loues discretion
As you them call, you not attend from me,
You haue bereau'd with shunning me the meanes
To loue discreetly.
(Ama.)
Discreetly might you to do
To leaue to follow that which flies you so,
In vaine you know you do pursue me still.
What is't you seeke of me?
(Mir.)
Onely one time
Daine but to heare me, ere I wretched die.
Ama.
T's well for you, the fauour that you aske.
You haue alreadie had: now get you hence.
Mir.
Ah Nimph that which I haue already said,
Is but a drop of that huge ample sea
Of my complaints, if not for pittie sake,
Yet for your pleasure not heare (cruell) but
The latest accents of a dying voice.
Ama.
To ease your mind and me this cumber rid,
I graunt to heare you, but with this condition,
Speake small, part soone, and neuer turne againe.
Mir.
In too too small a bundle (cruell Nimphe)
You do ccommaund me binde my huge desires,
Which measure, but by thought nought cou'd containe:
That I you loue, and loue more then life,
If you deny to know, aske but these woods
And they will tell, and tell you with them will
Their beasts, their trees & stones of these great rocks
Which I so oft haue tender made to melt
At sound of my complaints. But what make I
Such proofe of loue where such rare beautie is?
See but how many beauteous things the skies containe,
Thence shall you see the force of my desire,
For as the waters fall, the fire doth rise,
The ayre doth flie, the earth lies firmly still,
And all these same the skies do compasse round.
Eu'n so to you as to their chiefest good,
My soule doth flie, and my poore thoughts do run
With all affection to your louelie beauties:
He that from their deare obiect would them turne,
Might first turne from their vsuall course the skies,
The earth, the ayre, the water, and the fire.
And quite remooue the earth from off his seate.
But why commaund you me so speake but small?
Small shall I tell, if I but tell you shall
That I must die, and [illeg.] shall dying doo,
If I but see what is my turne too.
Ay me, what shall I do? which may out-last
My miserable loue? When I am dead,
Yet cruell soule haue pitie on my paines.
Ah faire! ah deare! sometime so sweete a cause
Why I did liue whilst my good fates were pleasd.
Turne hitherward those starry lights of loue,
Let me them see once meeke and full of pitie
Before I die. So may my death be sweet.
As they haue bene good guides vnto my life,
So let them be vnto my death, and that
Sweet looke which first begat my loue, beget
My death let my louer Hesperus become
The dimming starre of my decaying day.
But you obdurate, neuer pitie feele,
Whil'st I more humble, you more haughtie me.
And can you heare me and not speake a word?
Whom do I speake too wretch a marble stone?
If you will say nought else yet bid me die,
And you shal see what force your words wil haue.
Ah wicked loue, this is a miserie extream,
A Nimph so cruell so desirous of my death,
Because I aske it as a fauour, scornes to grief,
Least it might fauour mine exceeding wo.
Ama.
If I as well to answere as to heare,
You promis'd had, iust cause you might haue found
To haue condemn'd my silence for vniust.
You call me cruell, imagining perhaps
By that reproofe more easily to drawe
Me to the contrary. No know (Mirtillo)
I am no more delighted with the sound
Of that desertlesse and disliked praise
You to my beautie giue then discontent
To heare you call me cruell and vniust.
I graunt this crueltie to any else a fault,
But to a louer vertue t's and honestie,
Which in a woman you call crueltie.
But be it as you wou'd blame-worthy fault,
To be vnkinde to one that loues. Tell me,
When was Amarillis cruell vnto you?
Perhaps when reason would not giue me leaue
To vse this pitie: yet how I it vs'd
Your selfe can iudge, when you from death I sau'd:
I meane when you among a noble sort of maides,
A lustfull Louer in a womans cloathes
Banded your selfe, and durst contaminate
Their purest sports, mingling mong kisses innocent,
Kisses lasciuious and impure: which to remember
I am asham'd. But heauens my witnesse are,
I knew you not, and after I you knew,
I scornd your deed and kept my soule vntoucht
From your lasciuiousnesse, not suffering at all
The venome there so runne to my chaste beast.
You violated nothing saue th out side
Or these my hos. A mouth kist but by force
Spits out the kisse, and kill the shame withall.
But tell me you, what fruite had you receiu'd
Of your rash theft, had I discouered you
Vnto those Nymphes? The Thracian Orfeus had not bene
So lamentably torne on Ebers bankes
Had not you help't, her pittie whom you cruell call.
That pittie which was fit for me giue, I euer gaue
For other t'is in vaine you either aske or hope:
If you me loue, then loue mine honestie,
My safetie loue, and loue my life withall.
Thou art too farre from that which thou desir'st,
The heauens forbid the earth contraries it,
Death is the punishment thereof. And aboue all
Mine honestie defies forbidden acts:
Then with a safer keeper of her honours floure,
A soule well-borne will euer scorne to haue.
Then rest in peace Mirtillo giue ore this suite,
Get thee farre hence to liue if thou art bee'st wise.
T'abandon life for peeuish griefe or smart,
Is not the action of a valiant hart.
From that which pleaseth vertue, t'is t'abstaine,
If that which pleaseth breeds essence againe.
Mir.
To saue ones life is not within his power,
That hath his soule forsaken and giu'n ore.
Ama.
One arm'd in vertue conquereth all desire.
Mir.
Vertue small conquest gets where loue tryumphes.
Ama.
Who cannot what he would will he what he can.
Mir.
Oh loues necessitie no lawes endures.
Ama.
Distance of place may heale your wound againe.
Mir.
In vaine one flies from that his hart doth harbour.
Ama.
A new desire an old will quite displace.
Mir.
Had I another hart, another soule.
Ama.
Time will at last clearly this loue consume.
Mir.
I after loue hath quite consum'd my life.
Ama.
Why then your wounds will not be cur'd at all?
Mir.
Neuer till death.
(Ama.)
Till death: well heare mee now,
And looke my words be lawes vnto your deeds
How bee't I know to die is the more vsuall voice
Of an inamour'd tongue, then a desire
Or firme conceit his soule hath entertain'd,
Yet if by chaunce such a straunge folly hath
Possest thy minde, know then thy death will be
Now if thou lou'st me, liue and let it be
A token of thy wit henceforth thou shun
To see me, or to seeke my company.
Mir.
O cruell sentence! can I without life
Liue thinke you then? Or can I without death
Find end vnto my torment and my griefe?
Ama.
Well now t'is time you go (Mirtillo) hence!
Yow'le stay too long. Go comfort your selfe,
That infinit the troupe of wretched Louers is.
All wounds do bring with them their seuerall paine,
Nor can you onely of this loue complaine.
Mir.
Among these wretches I am not alone: but yet
A miserable spectacle am onely I,
Of dead and liuing, nor can liue nor die.
Ama.
Well go your waies.
(Mir.)
Ah sad departure,
End of my life, go I from you, and do not die?
And yet I feele the verie pangs of death,
That do giue life vnto mine exttasie,
To make my hart immortality to die.
Scene 4.
Amarillis.Oh Mirtillo! oh my dearest soule
Could'st thou but see into her hart whom thou
Call'st cruell Amarillis, then wouldst thou say
Thou hadst that pittie which thy hart desires.
Oh mindes too much infortunate in loue!
What bootes it thee my hart to be belou'd?
What bootes it me to haue so deare a Loue?
Why should the cruell fates so disvnite
Whō loue conioines? and why should traiterous loue
Conioyne them whom the destenies do part?
Oh happie sauadge beasts whom nature giues
No lawes in loue, saue verie loue it selfe.
Inhumane humane lawe, that punish'st
This loue with death, if't be so sweet to sin,
And not to sin so necessary bee,
Or law too hard that nature doth offend.
But tush she loues too litle that feares death,
Would gods death were the worst that's dut to sin.
Deare chastitie, th'inviolable powre
Of soules well-borne that hast my amorous will
Retein'd in chaines of holy rigour still:
To thee I consecrate my harmlesse sacrifize.
And thou my soule (Mirtillo) pardon me,
That cruell am where I should piteous bee.
Pardon her that in lookes and onely words
Doth seeme thy foe, but in my heart thy friend.
If thou wouldst be reueng'd, what greater paine
Wouldst thou inflict, then this my cruel griefe?
Thou art my heart, and shalt be spite of heauen
And earth, when thou dost plaine & sigh, and weep,
Thy teares become my bloud, thy sighes my breath:
And all thy paines they are not onely thine,
For I then feele, and they are turned mine.
Sce. 5.
Corisca. Amarillis.[Corisca.]
Hide you no more my Amarillis now.
Ama.
Wretch I discouered am.
(Co.)
I all haue heard,
Be not afraid, did I not say I lou'd you,
And yet you are afraid: and hides your selfe
From her that loues you so? Why do you blush?
This blushing is a common fault.
Ama.
Corisca I am conquer'd I confesse.
Co.
That which you cannot hide you wil confesse.
Ama.
And now I see too weake a thing doth proue
A womans heart t'encounter mightie loue.
Co.
Cruel vnto Mirtillo, but more cruel to your selfe.
Ama.
It is no crueltie that springs of pitie.
Co.
Cicute and Aconite do grow from holsome rootes.
I see no difference twixt this crueltie
That doth offend, and pitie helping not.
Ama.
Ah me Corisca!
(Co.)
These sighes good sister
For women of small worth.
(Ama.)
I could not be
Thus cruell but I should loue cherish hopelessly.
Therefore to shun him shewes I haue compassion
Of his ill and mine.
(Co.)
Why hopelessly?
Ama.
Do you not know I am espows'd to Siluio
And that the law each woman doomes to death
That violates her faith?
(Co.)
Oh simple foole,
Is this the let? Which is more auacient among vs,
Dianaes lawe or loues? this in our breasts
Is bred and growes with vs, Nature her selfe
With her owne hands imprints in our hearts breasts:
And where this law commands both heau'n & earth obey.
Ama.
But if the other law do take my life,
How can loues lawe restore it me againe?
Co.
You are too nice, were eu'ry woman so,
Had all such straight respects Good times farewell,
Small practisers are subiect to this paine.
The lawe doth neuer stretch vnto the wise.
Beleeue me should blame-worthy all be slaine,
The countre then would soone prooue womanlesse.
It needfull was, theft should forbidden bee
To them that closely could not couer theft.
This honestie is but an art to seeme so,
Let others as they list beleeue, Ile thinke so still.
Ama.
These are but vanities (Corisca) t'were best
Quickly to leaue that which we cannot hold.
Co.
And who forbids thee foole? This life's too short
To passe it ouer with one onely loue:
Men are too sparing of their fauours now,
(Whether't be for want, or else for frowardnesse)
The fresher that we are, the deare still:
Beautie and youth once gone w'are like Bee hiues
That hath no honey, no nor yet no waxe.
Let men prate on they do not feele our woes,
For their condition differs much from ours,
The elder that they grow, they grow the perfecter:
If they loose beautie, yet they wisedome gaine:
Conquers their greatest witts, strait fadeth all our good,
There cannot be a vilder thing to see
Then an old woman. Therfore ere thou age attaine,
Know me thy selfe, and vse it as thou shouldst.
What were a Lion worth did he not vse his strength?
What's a mans wit worth that lies idly by?
Eu'n so our beautie proper strength to vs,
As force to Lyons, wisedome vnto man,
We ought to vse whilst it we haue. Time flies
Away and yeares come on, our youth once lost
We like cut flowres neuer grow fresh againe:
And to our hoary haires loue well may runne,
But Louers will our wrinkled skinnes still shunne.
Ama.
Thou speakest this (Corisca) me to trie,
Not as thou think'st I am sure. But be assur'd
Except thou show'st some meanes how I may shun
This marriage bonds, my thought's irreuocable,
And I resolued am rather to die
Then any way to spot my chastitie.
Co.
I haue not seene so obstinate a foole,
But since you are resolu'd I am agreed.
But tell me do you thinke your Siluio is
As true a friend to faith as you to chastitie?
Ama.
Thou mak'st me smile. Siluio a friend to faith?
How can that be? hee's enemy to loue.
Co.
Siluio an enemy to loue? O foole,
These that are nice put thou no trust in them:
Loues theft is neuer so securely done
As hidden vnder vaile of honestie,
Thy Siluio loues (good Sister) but not thee.
Ama.
What goddesse is she? for she cannot bee
A mortall wight that lighted hath his loue.
Co.
Nor goddesse, nor a Nimph.
(Ama.)
What do you tell?
Co.
Know you Lisetta?
(Ama.)
She that your cattell keeps?
Co.
Eu'n she.
(Ama.)
Can it be true?
(Co.)
That same's his hart.
Ama.
Sure hee's prouided of a daintie Loue.
Co.
Each day he faines that he on hunting goes.
I eu'ry morning heare his cursed horne.
Co.
About noone-time when others busie are,
He his companions shuns, and comes alone
By a backe way, vnto my garden there,
Where a shadow hedge doth close it in,
There doth she heare his burning sighes his vowes,
And then she tells me all, and laughes at him.
Now heare what I thinke good to doo. Nay I
Haue don't for you alreadie. You know the law
That tyes vs to our faith, doth giue vs leaue
Finding our spowses in the act of perfidie,
Spite of our friends the marriage to denie,
And to prouide vs of an other if we list.
Ama.
That know I well, I haue examples two,
Leucipp to Ligurine, Armilla to Turingo,
Their faith once broke, they tooke their owne again.
Co.
Now heare! Lisetta by my appointment hath
Promist to meet th'vnwary Louer here
In this same Caue, and now he is the best
Contented youth that liues, attending but the houre
There would I haue you take him. Ile be there
To beare you witnesse oft't, for else we worke
In vaine, so are you free from this same noisome kno:
Both with your honour, and your fathers too.
Ama.
Oh braue inuentiō, good Corisca what's to do:
Co.
Obserue my words. In midst of this same caue
Vpon the right hand is a hollow stone,
I know not if by Art or nature made,
A litle Caue all linde with Iuy leaues,
To which a litle hole aloft giues light,
A fit and thankfull receptacle for loues theft.
Preuent their comming and attend them there:
Ile haste Lisetta forward, and as soone
As I perceiue your Siluio enter, so will I:
Step you to her, and as the custome is,
Weele carry both vnto the Priest, and there dissolue
This marriage knot.
(Ama.)
What to his father?
Co.
What matter's that? Think you Montanus dare
Ama.
Then closing vp mine eyes, I let my selfe
Be ledde by thee my deare, my faithfull guide.
Co.
But do not stay now, enter me betime.
Ama.
I'le to the Tmple first, and to the Gods
My prayers make, without whose aide no happy end
Can euer sort to mortall enterprise.
Co.
All places (Amarillis) temples are,
To hearts deuout, you'le slacke your time too much.
Ama.
Time's neuer lost in praying vnto them
That do commaund the time.
(Co.)
Go then dispatch.
Now if I erre not, am I at good passe,
Onely this staying troubles me, yet may it helpe,
I must goe make new snares to traine in Coridon.
Ile make him thinke that I will meet him there,
And after Amarillis send him soone,
Then by a secret way Ile bring Dianaes Priests:
Her shall they finde, and guiltie doome to death.
My riuall gone (Mirtillo) sure is mine,
See where he comes. Whilst Amarillis stayes
Ile somewhat trie him. Loue now once inspire
My tongue with words, my face with heau'nly fire.
Sce. 6.
Mirtillo. Corisca.[Mirtillo.]
Here weeping sprights of hell new torments heare,
New sorts of paine, a cruell mind behold
Included in a looke most mercifull,
My loue more fierce then the infernall pit,
Because my death cannot suffice to glut
Her greedie will, and that my life is but
A multitude of deathes commaund me liue,
That to them all my life might liuing giue.
Co.
Ile make as though I heard him not, I heare
A lamentable voyce plaine hereabouts,
I wonder who it is, oh my Mirtillo.
Mir.
So would I were a naked shade or dust.
Co.
How feele you now your selfe after your long
Mir.
Like a weake sick man that hath long desir'd
Forbidden drinke, at last gets it vnto his mouth
And drinks his death, ending at once both life & thirst.
So I long sicke, burn't and consumed in
This amorous drought, frō two faire fountains that
Ice do distill from out a rockie braine
Of an indurate heart,
Haue drunke the poyson that my life will kill,
Sooner then halfe of my desire fulfill.
Co.
So much more mightie waxeth loue as from
Our hearts the force is he receiues (deare Mirtillo)
For as the Beare is wont with licking to giue shape
To her mishapen brood, that else were helplesse borne.
Eu'n so a Louer to his bare desire,
That in the birth was shapelesse, weake and fraile.
Giuing but forme and strength begotteth loue:
Which whilst t'is young and tender, then t'is sweet,
But waxing to more yeares, more cruell growes,
That in the end (Mirtillo) an mueterate affect
Is euer full of anguish and defect.
For whilst the mind on one thought onely beates,
It waxeth thicke by being too much fixt.
So loue that should be pleasure and delight,
Is turn'd to malancholy, and what worser is,
It proues at last, or death, or madnesse at the least:
Wherefore wise is that heart that often changeth loue.
Mir.
Ere I change will or thought, chang'd must my life
Be into death, for though the beautious Amarillis
Be most cruell, yet is she all my life:
Nor can this bodies bulke at once containe
More then one heart, more then one soule retaine.
Co.
O wretched shepheard, ill thou knowst to vse
Loue in his kind, loue one that hates thee, one
That flies from thee, fie man, I had rather die.
Mir.
As gold in sire, so faith in griefe's refinde,
Nor can (Corisca) amorous constancie
Shewe his great power, but thorough crueltie.
My sole content doth my heart burne or die,
Or languish ne're so much, light are the paines.
Plaints, torments, sighes, exile, and death it selfe,
For such a cause, for such a sweet respect.
That life before my faith shall broken bee,
So worse then death I hold inconstancie.
Co.
O braue exploit, Louer magnanimous,
Like an enraged beast or sencelesse rocke,
There cannot be a greater damned plague,
More mortall poyson to a soule in loue,
Then is this faith. Vnhappie is that heart
That let it selfe be guld with vaine fantasune:
Of this erronious and vnseasonable
Disturber of these amorous delights.
Tell me poore man with this thy foolish vertue of constancie,
What lou'st thou in her that doth thee despise?
Lou'st thou the beautie that is none of thine?
The ioy thou hast not? the pittie thou wantst?
The reward thou dost not hope for? if thou deem'st right,
Thou lou'st thine ill, thy grief, thy very death,
Th'art mad to hunt thus that thou canst not haue.
Lift vp thy selfe (Mirtillo) happily thou wantst
Some choise of friends, thou finds none to thy mind.
Mir.
More deare to me is paine for Amarillis,
Then any ioy a thousand else can giue:
If me my fate, forbid her to enioy,
For me then die all other kinds of ioy.
I fortunate in any other kinde of loue?
No though I would I could not:
Nor though I could I would not.
And if I thought in any time henceforth
My will would wish or power obtaine the same,
I would desire of heau'n and loue at once
Both will and power might quite be ta'ne away.
Co.
Wilt thou then die for her that thee disdaines?
Mir.
Who pitie not expects doth feare no paines.
Co.
Do not deceiue thy selfe, perhaps thou think'st
And that she loues thee well for all this showe.
Oh that thou knewst what vnto me shee euer sayes
Mir.
All these are trophees of my truest faith,
With which I will triumph ouer her cruell will,
Ouer my paines, and my distressed chance,
Ouer worlds fortune, and ouer death it selfe.
Co.
(What would he do, did he but know her loue?)
How I bewaile thee wretched phrensie man:
Tell me didst thou e're any loue besides?
Mir.
She was my first, and she my last shall be
Co.
For ought that I can see you neuer try'd
Loue but in cruell moodes, but in disdaine.
Oh if you had but prou'd him one time kind,
Proue him but so, & you shal see how sweet a thing
It is t'enioy a gratefull Nymph; sheel'e you adore.
Shee'le make your Amarillis bitter to your taste
How deare a thing it is wholy to haue
What you desire, and be nought bard thereof.
Here your Nymph sigh to coole your scalding sighs,
And after say (my deere) all that you see is yours.
If I be faire, I am onely faire for you:
Onely for you I cherish these my cheekes.
My lockes, my brest, your deare hearts onely lodge.
But this (alasse) is but a brooke to that
Great Sea of sweets which we in loue might taste,
Which none can vtter saue by proofe.
Mir.
Thousand times blest that vnder such a star is borne.
Co.
Here me (Mirtillo) how like I was t'haue said
My heart a Nymph as gentle as the winde
Doth blow vpon with haire of glistering gold,
As worthy of your loue as you of hers,
Praise of these woods, loue of a thousand hearts,
By worthy youthes in vaine sollicited,
You onely loues more then her heart, her life,
If you be wise do not dispise her then.
She like a shadow to thy selfe will be,
A faithfull follower of thy footsteps euer,
All houres of day and night at thy commaund.
Do not forsake this rare aduenture then,
No pleasure in this earth so sweet as this,
It will not cost a teare, no not a sigh.
A ioy accommodated to thy will,
A sweetnesse temp'red sweetly to thy taste,
Is't not a treasure worth the hauing (man)?
Leaue then the feet of flying hopelesse trace,
And her that followes thee, scorne not t'embrace.
I feed you not with hopes of vanitie,
If you desire to see her, you shall see her straight.
Mir.
My hart's no subiect for these loues delights.
Co.
Proue it but once, and then returne againe
Vnto thy sollitary griefe, so may'st thou see
What are those ioyes that in loues pleasures bee.
Mir.
A taste corrupted, pleasant things abhors.
Co.
Be not you cruel yet to rob her life,
That on your eye, depends, you know what t'is
To beg with pouertie, if you desire
Pitie your selfe, do it not her denie.
Mir.
What pitie can he giue that none can get?
In summe I am resolu'd whilst here I liue,
To keepe my faith to her how ere she proue,
Cruell or pitifull, or how she will.
Co.
(Oh truly blind, vnhappie sencelesse man)
To whom preseru'st thou faith? trust me I am loth
T'augment thy griefe, but for the loue I beare thee
I cannot choose. Thinkst Amarillis is vnkind
For zeale she to religion beares?
Or vnto chastitie? Thou art a foole,
The roome is occupied and thou must weepe
Whilst others laugh. What? now th'art dumbe.
Mir.
Now stands my life in midst twixt life and death,
Whilst I in doubt do stand, if to beleeue,
Or not beleeue, this makes me so amaz'd.
Co.
You'le not beleeue me then?
(Mir.)
Oh if I do,
Straight shall you see my miserable end.
Liue wretched man, liue and reuenged bee.
Mir.
Oh no it is not true, it cannot bee.
Co.
Well theres no remedie, I must rehearse
That which will vexe thy heart. Seest thou that caue?
That is the true custodian of her faith
And her religion. There thee to scorne she laughes,
There with thy torments doth she sauce the ioyes
Of thy thrise happie riuall. There to be plaine
Thy faithfull Amarillis oft is wont
To dally in the armes of a base shepheard shue.
Go sigh, preserue thy faith, there's thy reward.
Mir.
Dost thou tell true Corisca? may I beleeue thee?
Co.
The more thou seek'st, the worse thou findest still,
Mir.
But hast thou seene this thing Corisca?
Co.
I haue not seen't, yet may'st thou if thou wilt,
For euen this day is order ta'ne this houre,
That they may meete. Hide thee but somewhere here,
And thou shalt see her first go in, then he.
Mir.
Then comes my death.
(Co.)
See where she comes
Softly descending by the Temples way. Seest thou her?
Do not her stealing feete bewray her stealing heart?
Attend thou here and thou shalt see th'effect.
Mir.
Since I am here, the truth I now will see,
Till then, my life and death suspended bee.
Sce. 7.
Amarillis.Let neuer mortall enterprise be ta'ne in hand
Without this heauenly counsell, halfe confusde
And doubtfull was my heart when I went hence
Vnto the Temple, whence thankes be to heauen,
I do well comforted, and well dispos'd returne.
Me thought to my pure prayers and deuout,
I felt a spright celestiall mooue within me
Hartning my thoughts, that as it were did say,
What fear'st thou Amarillis? be assur'd.
So will I goe assur'd, heau'ns be my guide,
Fauour faire Mother of loue her pure desseignes,
Queene of the triple skie if e're thou prou'dst
Thy sunnes hotte fire, take pitie then of mine.
Guide hither curteous goddesse that same swaine
With swift and subtill feet that hath my faith.
And thou deare Caue into thy bosome take
Me, loues handmaid, and giue me leaue there to
Accomplish my desires. Why do I stay?
Here's none doth see or heare. Enter secure.
Oh Mirtillo, couldst thou but dream to find me here.
Sce. 8.
Mirtillo.What am I blind, or do I too much see?
Ah had I but bene borne without these eyes,
Or rather not at all had I bene borne.
Did spitefull fates reserue me thus aliue
To let me see so bad, so sad a sight?
Mirtill thy torments passe the paines of hell.
No: doubt no more: suspend not thy beliefe,
Thine eies, thine eares, haue seene, haue heard it true.
Thy loue an other ownes not by the lawe
Of earth, that bindes her vnto any one,
But by loues lawe that tyes her sole to thee.
O cruell Amarillis, wa'st not inough
To kill me wretch, but thou must scorne me too?
That faithlesse mouth that sometime grac't my ioies,
Did vomit out my hatefull name, because
She would not haue it in her heart to be
A poore partaker of her pleasures sweet.
Why stay'st thou now? she that did giue me life
Hath ta'n't away, and giu'n't an other man:
Yet wretch thou liu'st, thou dost not die. O die
Mirtillo, die to thy tormenting griefe,
As to thy ioy thou art alreadie dead.
Die dead Mirtillo, finish't is thy life.
Finish thy torment too: fleet wretched soule
Through this soure constrain'd and wayward death:
But what? And must I die without reuenge?
First will I make him die that giues me death:
Desire to liue so long I will retaine
Till iustly I haue that Vsurper slaine.
Yeeld Griefe vnto Reuenge: Pittie to Rage,
Death vnto life, till with my life I haue
Reueng'd the death, another guiltles gaue.
This Steele shall not drinke mine vnuenged blood,
My hand shall rage ere it shall pitteous bee.
What ere thou art that ioyst my comfortes all,
I'le make thee feele thy ruine in my fall.
I'le place me heere eu'n in this very Groue,
And as I see him but approach the Caue,
This Dart shall sodaine wound him in his side.
It shalbe cowardlike to strike him thus,
I'le challenge him to single combat, I:
Not so; for to this place so knowne and vsd,
Shepheards may come to hinder vs, and worse:
May search the cause that moou'd me to this fight,
Which to deny were wickednesse to faigne,
Will make me faythlesse held: and to discouer,
Will blot her name with endlesse infamie:
In whom albeit I like not what I see,
Yet what I lou'd I do, and euer shall.
But what hope I to see, th'adult'rer die
That robd her of her honor, me my life?
But if I kill him, shall not then his blood
Be to the world a token of this deed?
Why feare I death? since I desire to die.
But then this murder once made plaine makes plaine
The cause whereby she shall incurre that infamie:
I'le enter then this Caue, and so assayle him,
I so, that pleaseth me: I'le steale in softly,
So that she shall not heare me. I beleeue
That in the secretst and the closest part
I gather by her wordes I shall her finde,
Therefore I will not enter in too faire.
The left side couer'd all with Yuie leaues:
Beneath th'other asscent there will I stand,
And time attend t'effect what I desire:
I'le beare my dead foe to my lyuing foe;
Thus of them both I shalbe well reueng'd:
Then with this selfe same Dart Ile pierce this brest,
So shall there be three pier'st without reliefe,
First two with Steele, the third with deadly griefe.
(Fierse) she shall see the miserable end
Of her belou'd, and her betrayed friend.
This Caue that should be harbour of her ioyes,
Of both her loues, and that which more I craue,
Of her great shame, may proue the happy graue.
And you the steppes that I in vaine haue followed,
Could you me speed of such a faythfull way?
Could you direct me to so deare a Bowre?
Behold I follow you. O Corisea, Corisea.
Now hast thou told too true, now I beleeue thee.
SCE. 9.
Satyre.Doth this man then beleeue Corisea, following her steps
Into the Caue of Ericina? Well, hee's mad,
He knowes her not; beleeue mee he had need
Haue better hold of her ingaged fayth,
Then I had of her heare: But knottes more stranged,
Then gaudy guiltes on her he cannot tie.
This damned Whoore hath sold her selfe to him,
And here shee'le pay the shamefull markets price.
Shee is within, her steps bewray the same.
This falles out for her punishment, and thy reuenge:
With this great ouerstunding stone close thou the Caue,
Goe then about, and fetch the Priest with thee:
By the hill way which few or none do know,
Let her be executed as the law commaunds,
For breach of marriage troth, which she to Coridon
For feare of me, so shall I be reueng'd
Of both at once. I'le leese no farther time:
From off this Elme I'le cut a bough, with which
I may more speedely remoue this stone: Oh how great it is!
How fast it stickes. I'le digge it round about.
This is a worke in deed: Where are my wonted forces:
Oh peruerse Starres! in spight of you I'le moou't.
Oh Pan Liccus, helpe me now, thou wert a louer once,
Reuenge thy loue disdaind, vpon Corisea.
So, in the name of thy great power it mooues.
So, in the power of thy great name it falles.
Now is the wicked Foxe ta'ne in the trappe.
Oh that all wicked Women were with thee within,
That with one fire they might be all destroyd.
Chorus.
How puissaunt art thou Loue,
Natures miracle, and the Worldes wonder?
What sauadge nation, or what rusticke hart
Is it that of thy power feeles no part?
But what Wit's so profound can pull a sunder
That powers strength?
Who feeles those flames thy fire lightes at length,
Immoderate and vaine,
Will say a mortall spright thou sole dost raigne
And liue, in the corporall and fleshly brest.
But who feeles after how a louer is
Wak'ned to Vertue, and how all those flames
Do tremble out at sight of honest shames,
(Unbrid' led blust'ring lustes brought downe to rest)
Will call thee Spright of high immortall blisse,
Hauing thy holy receptacle in the soule.
Rare miracle of humans and diuine aspectes,
(That blind) dost see, and Wisedome (mad) corrects,
Of sence and vnderstanding intellects,
Of reason and desire confus'd affects.
And so the heauens aboue dost thou controule
Yet (by your leaue) a wonder much more rare,
And more stupendious hath the world then you,
For how you make all wonders yeeld and bow
Is safety knowne. Your powers do berthe,
And being taken from vertue of a woman faire.
O Woman gusts of the high heauenly skie,
Or rather his who did their spangled gowne
So gorgious make vnto our mortall eye:
What hath it which a Womans beautie rush not downe,
In his vast brow a monstrous Ciclop like,
It onely one eye hath,
Which to beholding gazers giues no light,
But rather doth with terrour [illeg.] strike:
Yf it do sigh or speake, t'is like the wrath
Of an enraged Lion that would fight:
And not the skies alone but euen poore fielles,
Are blasted with the flames his lightning weildes.
Whilst thou with Lampes most sweete,
And with an amorous angelicke light
Of two Sunnes visible that neuer meete,
Dost alwayes the tempesteous troubled spright
Of thy beholder quiet and delight:
Sound, motion, light, that beautie doth assume,
State, daintinesse, and valew, do aright
Mixe such a harmony in that faire sight,
That skyes themselues with vanitie presume,
Yf lesse then Paradice those skies do shine
To Paragon with thee (thing most deuine)
Good reason hath that soueraigne creature (nam'd
A Man) to whom all mortall thinges do bow,
If thee beholding, higher cause allow
And yeeld to bee.
What though he rule and triumph truely fam'd,
It is not for high powers more worth do see
In him then is in thee,
Either of scepter or of victorie:
Because the Conqueror thou dost commaund:
And she must bee, for mans humanitie
Is subiect still to Beauties deitie.
Who will not trust this, but contrary saith,
Let him behold Mirtilloes wondrous fayth:
Yet Woman to thy worth this is a staine,
Loue is made to be so hopelesly and vaine.
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