University of Virginia Library

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.
And since you ti'de me, do vntie me too,
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
And doth assaile the straunger on his way,
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,
How many dresse the earth in braue attire:
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,
Arming her cruell voyce in silence so,
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
Of Bacchus dames as you had bene of them,
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
Death to mine honour as vnto thy life.
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.