 | Amyntas |  |
Scen. 2.
Amaryllis. Vrania. Doryllis. Laurinda.Vra.
Sweet Amaryllis!
Ama.
Stay me not Vrania!
Do.
More Cupids, more bees, more stinging yet!
Ama.
Dishevel'd haire, poore ornament of the head
I'le teare you from my crowne! what dost thou here?
Weake chaines! my pride presum'd you had a powre
To fetter Heroes! and in amorous Gives
Lead any sheapheard captive!
Vra.
Amaryllis.
Ama.
But Damon breakes thee like a spiders loome!
And thou poore face that wer't so oft beli'de
For fair and beauteous, by my flattering glasse;
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That but my selfe nere yet inchanted any.
My will is fixt!
Lau.
Where goe you, Amaryllis?
Ama.
Since Damon hates my life I'le goe and see
If I can please him in my death: if hee'le but deigne
To kisse me, and accept my latest breath,
I shall salute the Gods a happy soule.
—This dart I'le give him; and upon my knees
Beg till I have obtain'd to dye by him:
Death from that hand is welcome.
Lau.
I will shew you
A way most probable to redeeme his love.
Ama.
I shall wrong you, Laurinda! No injoy him,
The treasure of the Earth: my latest words
Shall be praiers for you: mild Vrania,
Sister in blood to Damon, not in affection,
Nymph take this whistle, 'twas a Tritons once,
With which I call my Lamb-kins when they stray;
'Tis Amaryllis last bequeathment to you.
Vra.
Live happy sheapheardesse and weare it still!
Ama.
Laurinda, my great legacy is yours,
Gentle-ungentle Damon.
Lau.
I re-bequeath him to my Amarylis:
Come therefore amorous maid, be rul'd by mee;
This night wee'le sleepe together.
Do.
And shee too
Should dreame of Damon.—
Lau.
Dorylas, goe to Thestylis
T'excuse her this nights absence, Amaryllis
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And two together make a statesmans head.
—Begon to Thestylis.
Do.
So, I am sure
Still Cupids factor: well ere long I see
There will be many an heire the more for mee.
Vra.
My Bellamore y'are under good protection;
The Temple gates will close unlesse I hast.
Lau.
Vrania, a happy night unto you!
Vra.
The like to her that pitties the distressed Amaryllis.
Exeunt Lau. Ama. Vrania.
Dor.
So so, this hony with the very thought
Has made my mouth so lickorish that I must
Have something to appease the appetite.
Have at Iocastus orchard! dainty Apples,
How lovely they looke! Why these are Dorylas sweet-hearts.
Now must I be the Princely Oberon,
And in a royall humour with the rest
Of royall Fairies attendant goe in state
To rob an orchard: I have hid my robes
On purpose in a hollow tree. Heaven blesse mee!
What Pucke, what Goblins this?
Claius. Dorylas.
Cla.
Thrice Sacred Valley,
I kisse thy hallowed Earth!
Do.
Another lover,
Enamour'd of the Ground!
Cl.
Faine would I speake
And aske for Amaryllis: but my feare
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Do.
Slid; I thinke he takes mee
For Oberon already.
Cl.
Youth, can you tell mee
How I may speak to night with Amaryllis?
Da.
Age, by no meanes to night: this night shee lodges
With fair Laurinda, old Medorus daughter.
Cl.
Can you instruct me then how I may meet Amyntas?
Do.
Who, the madman? Every evening
He walkes abroad into the vallie here
With Thestylis. Farewell old walking Ivibush.
Exit Dor.
Claius solus.
Cla.
I see the smoake steame from the Cottage tops,
The fearfull huswife rakes the embers up.
All hush to bed. Sure no man will disturbe mee.
O blessed vally! I the wretched Claius
Salute thy happy soyle, I that have liv'd
Pelted with angry curses in a place
As horrid as my griefes, the Lylibæan mountaines,
These sixteene frozen winters, there have I
Beene with rude out-lawes, living by such sinnes
As runne o'th' score with justice 'gainst my prayers & wishes.
And when I would have tumbled down a rock,
Some secret powre restrain'd me: There I lately heard
By a disconsolate Pilgrim that sought death,
That my Amyntas wits (ah me!) were marr'd.
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When my poore boy was lost. Lost said I?—O Phœbus,
If there be soveraigne power in juice of hearbs,
And that the teeming earth yeeld medicinall flowres
To cure all maladies, I have sought the skill;
No leafe no root hath scap'd mee: I may boast it,
I have been natures diligent Apothecary.
Be lucky my emplaister! I have temper'd
The surest Recipe the worlds garden yeelds;
'Twould put Orestes in his wits again.
I know I step upon my death: the Oracle
Desires my blood for sacrifice, and Pilumnus
For his old hate still seekes it: make long stay
I dare not, only I desire t'apply
My medicine and be gone. Who's this I spy?
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