University of Virginia Library

SCE. 8.

Siluio.
O Goddesse, that no Goddesse art, but of
An idle people, blinde and vaine: who with
Impurest mindes and fond Religion,
Hallowes the Aulters and great Temples too.
VVhat, sayd I Temples? wicked Theaters
Or beastly deedes, to colour their dishonest actes
With titles of thy famous Deitie,
Because thy shames in others shames made lesse,
Let lose the raines of their lasciuiousnesse.
Thou foe to Reason, plotter of misdeedes,
Corrupter to our soules, calamitie
To the whole worlde; thou daughter of the Sea,
And of that treacherous monster rightly borne,
That with the breath of hope dost first borne,
That with the breath of hope dost first intice
These humane brestes, but afterward dost mooue
A thousand stormes of sighes, of teares, of plaintes:
Thou mayst be better calld Mother of tempestes and
Of rage, then Mother of Loue:
To what a miserie hast thou throwne downe
Those wretched Louers? now mayst thou vaunt thy selfe
To be omnipotent, if thou canst saue
That poore Nimphs life, whom with thy snares thou hast
Conducted to this miserable death.
O happy day I hallowd my chast minde
To thee my onely Goddesse Cinthia,
Such power on earth to soules of better sort,
As thou art light in heau'n aboue the Starres.
Much better are those studious practises
Then those which Venus vnchast seruantes vse:
Thy seruantes kill both Beares and ougly Boores,
Her seruantes are of Beares and Boores still slaine.
Oh Bowe and matchles Shaftes, my power and my delight,
Vaine fantastiue Loue, come prooue thyne armes,
Effeminate with mine: but fie ,too much
I honour thee poore weake and wreckling child,
And for thou shalt me heare, I'le speake aloud.
A rod to chastise thee will be inough,—ynough,
VVhat art thou Eccho that so soundes againe?
Or rather Loue, that answerest loudly so?—y so.
I could haue wisht no better match; but tell
Me then, Art thou (by heauen) hee—eauen hee
The sonne of her that for Aaenis did
So miserably burne, in whom nought good is:—Goddesse.
A Goddesse? no, the Concubine of Mars,
In whom lasciuiousnesse doth wholly lye.—wholly a lye.
O fine, thy tongue doth clacke against the warre,
Wilt thou come foorth? thoughts: but darkly dare—y dare,
I helde thee for a coward still, art thou a bastard too
Dost thou that title brauely skorne—y skorne.
O God, then art thou Uulcares sonne, by that
Lame Smith begot.—God.
A God? of what? of Winds, nadd with base mearth—earth.
God of the earth? makes thou thy toes to rue:—t'iue.
VVith what dost thou still punish those that striue,
And obstinately do contende with Loue?—with Loue.
Nay soft, when shall crook't Loue(tell me good foole)
Enter my brest? I warrent t'is too straight:—straight,
What, shall I fall in loue so sodainely?—sodainely,
What is her name that I must then adore?—Dore.
Dorinda foole, thou canst not speake out yet,
But dost not thou meane hers—ee'n her.
Dorinda whom I hate; but who shall force my will;—I will.
What weapons wilt thou vse? perhaps thy Bow,—thy Bow
My Bow? not till it be by thy leawd folly broken,—broken
My broken armes incounter me, and who
Shall breake them? thou?—thou.
Fie fie thou art drunke, goe sleepe goe sleepe: but stay,
These maruailes must be done: but wheare?—heare.
O foole, and I am gone, how thou art loden with
Wit-robbing Grapes that grew vpon the Vine.—Diuine
But soft, I see, or els mee thinkes I see
Something that's like a Woolfe in yonder Groue.
T'is sure a Woolfe: How monstrous great it is.
This day for me is destenied to prayse:
Good Goddesse, with great fauours dost thou shew
To triumph in one day ouer two Beastes:
In thy great name, I loose this shaft, the swiftest and
The sharpest which my Quiuer holdes.
Great Archeresse, direct thou my right hand,
And here I vow to sacrifize the spoyles
Vnto thy name. O daintie blow, blow falne
Eu'n where my hand and eye it destenyed.
Ah that I had my Dart, it to dispatch,
Before it get into the Woodes away.
But heere be Stones, what need I any else?
Heere's scarcely one, I need none now: heere is
Another Shaft will pierce it to the quicke.
What's this I see? vnhappie Siluio?
I'haue shot a Shepheard in a Woluish shape.
O bitter chaunce! O euer miserable!
[illeg.] lee thinkes I know the wretch, ti's Linco that
Doth hold him vp. Oh deadly shaft! Oh most
Vnhappie Vow! I guiltie of another blood?
I thus the causer of anothers death?
I that haue been so liberall of my life,
So large a spender of my blood for others health?
So, cast away thy weapons, and go liue
All glorilesse. But see where he doth come,
A great deale lesse vnhappy then thy selfe.