University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

LAURA. DIONE.
Dione.
I found her laid beside the crystal brook,
Nor rais'd she from the stream her settled look,
Till near side I stood; her head she rears,
Starts sudden, and her shrieks confess her fears.

Laura.
Did not thy words her thoughtful soul surprize,
And kindle sparkling anger in her eyes?

Dione.
Thus she reply'd, with rage and scorn possest.
‘Will importuning love ne'er give me rest?
‘Why am I thus in desarts wild pursued,
‘Like guilty consciences when stain'd with blood?
‘Sure boding ravens from the blasted oak,
‘Shall learn the name of Lycidas to croak,
‘To sound it in my ears! as swains pass by,
‘With look askance, they shake their heads and cry,
‘Lo! this is she for whom the shepherd dy'd!
‘Soon Lycidas, a victim to her pride,
‘Shall seek the grave; and in the glimm'ring glade,
‘With look all pale, shall glide the restless shade
‘Of the poor swain; while we with haggard eye
‘And bristed hair the fleeting phantom fly.
Still let their curses innocence upbraid:
Heav'n never will forsake the virtuous maid.

Laura.
Didst thou persist to touch her haughty breast!

Dione.
She still the more disdain'd, the more I prest.

Laura.
When you were gone, these walks a stranger crost,
He turn'd through ev'ry path, and wander'd lost;
To me he came; with courteous speech demands
Beneath what bowers repos'd the shepherd bands;
Then further asks me, if among that race
A shepherdess was found of courtly grace;
With profer'd bribes my faithful tongue essays;
But for no bribe the faithful tongue betrays.
In me Dione's safe. Far hence he speeds,
Where other hills resound with other reeds.

Dione.
Should he come back; suspicion's jealous eyes
Might trace my feature through the swain's disguise.
Now ev'ry noise and whistling wind I dread,
And in each sound approaches human tread.

Laura.
He said, he left your house involv'd in cares,
Sighs swell'd each breast, each eye o'erflow'd with tears;
For his lost child thy pensive father mourns,
And sunk in sorrow to the dust returns.
Go back, obedient daughter; hence depart,
And still the sighs that tear his anxious heart.
Soon shall Evander, wearied with disdain,
Forego these fields, and seek the town again.

Dione.
Think, Laura, what thy hasty thoughts persuade,
If I return, to love a victim made,
My wrathful sire will force his harsh command,
And with Cleanthes join my trembling hand.

Laura.
Trust a fond father; raise him from despair.

Dione.
I fly not him; I fly a life of care.
On the high nuptials of the court look round;
Where shall, alas, one happy pair be found!
There marriage is for servile int'rest sought:
Is love for wealth or power or title bought?
'Tis hence domestic jars their peace destroy,
And loose adult'ry steals the shameful joy.
But search we wide o'er all the blissful plains,
Where love alone, devoid of int'rest, reigns.
What concord in each happy pair appears!
How fondness strengthens with the rolling years!
Superior power ne'er thwarts their soft delights,
Nor jealous accusations wake their nights.

Laura.
May all those blessings on Dione fall.

Dione.
Grant me Evander, and I share them all.
Shall a fond parent give perpetual strife,
And doom his child to be a wretch for life?
Though he bequeath'd me all these woods and plains,
And all the flocks the russet down contains;
With all the golden harvests of the year,
Far as where yonder purple mountains rear;
Can these the broils of nuptial life prevent?
Can these, without Evander, give content?
But see he comes.

Laura.
—I'll to the vales repair,
Where wanders by the stream my fleecy care.
May'st thou the rage of this pew flame controul,
And wake Dione in his tender soul!
[Ex. Laura.