University of Virginia Library

Scene V.

Enter Lysis, Charita.
Ly.
Sweet places, where my Sun beneath your shade,
Having scorch'd me, repairs to take the aire,
Though to be lightned be your great advantage,
Yet suffer a poore Sheepherd to share with you.
Hide not Charita from th'most ardent—but
Gods! I'm deluded, or I see her sleeping.
'Tis she—oh happiness! hush gentle Zephyrs,
Breath without noise, my Goddess is asleep—
I must advance, but slowly, lest I wake her.
Trees, let your leaves be silent for a while:
Ye Brooks stand still, and you, ye foolish Bees,
That buzze so busily about her eares,
Fly hence, touch not the Roses which I see;
My fairest hath no flowers but for me.
(kneeles by her.)
How happy's Morpheus? O transcendent beauty,
In the worlds fairest eyes to have his Palace!
How he tasts Nectar sweet and most delicious!
And how his happinesse thy Sheepherd envies!
Oh if't were lawful—but thou insolent Fly,
Which on that fairest Nose presum'st to sit—
Ile make thee know what 'tis—

(beating away the Flie he strikes her on the face, which she pretends wakes her.)
Char.
Gods how you use me!
Why did you not awake me gentlier?

Ly.
Oh!—
Pardon an act of justice to my Flame,
Which thought it duty so to sacrifice.

Ch.
What have you caus'd me suffer by that blow?

Ly.
Love seldom gives a wound he cannot cure.
But though you feel some little pain by that,
Yet might that cursed Fly have stung you—for
You know that once Eudoxa.—

Char.
She did well:
But if it were her fault, it is not mine.

Ly.
At least for pity-sake.

(leaning towards her.)
Char.
What Sheepherd?—

Ly.
Cruel.
Thou daily dost permit the Sun to kiss thee,
And will not suffer that this amorous heart,
Should by thy snow seek to refesh his heat.

Char.
The sad condition that your heart is in.

Ly.
Thy hand of milk congeal'd may make the proof.

(kissing her hand.)
Char.
Good Gods!

Ly.
Absolve a Lover from that error;
I know the love of Sheepherds should be chast,
But yet their soules sometimes may be transported,
And Nature of her self is vitious.

Char.
Oh how the impure flames I finde in you,
Constraine me to regrate my Amaryllis!

Ly.
Amaryllis?

Char.
Oh!

Ly.
Did you love her?

Char.
I love her
More, though she's absent, than I do my self,
That I might see her?

Ly.
That you may easily
Remove what hides her from thy abused eyes,
See here thy Sheepherd.

Char.
What is't you would say?

Ly.
That Amaryllis onely breaths in me,
And my excessive love that could not be
Prevented, made me change my sex to see thee.

Char.
You would have chang'd to force the obstacles.

Ly.
That's nothing—Love works many other wonders.

Char.
Was it you then that in so neat a way,
Under a Womans habit did deceive us?
You that sage Hircan rescued from the fire?

Ly.
'Twas I, 'twas Lysis, thou light of my soule!
How ought'st thou then to prize such rare attempts!

Char.
Go guilty Sheepherd, go approach me not;
After an act so shamefull, and so base.—

Ly.
Oh you would try me,—

Char.
No do not believe it.
I hate a Sheepherd, whose besotted love
Shall dare to borrow aid from magick arts,
Heaven shall revenge me on thy injuries;
Fly then from hence, fly far from these our coasts;
And thus polluted with the greatest crimes,
Ne're shew thy self to my incensed eyes;
Tis my last order.—

Ex.
Ly.
Lestrigonian Beauty!
More fierce than is the Asp, or Dragon, come
Feast, if my death can satisfie thy rage,
Thy flesh-devouring eyes with that sweet sight.