University of Virginia Library

SCE. 9.

Linco, Siluio, Dorinda.
[Linco.]
Leane thou thy selfe (my Daughter) on this arme.
Vnfortunate Dorinda.

Sil.
O mee! Dorinda? I am dead,

Der.
O Linco Linco, Oh my second father!

Sil.
It is Dorinda sure: Ah voyce, ah sight.

Dor.
Dorinda to sustaine, Linco hath been
A fatall office vnto thee: thou hardst
The first cryes that I euen gaue on earth,
And thou shalt heare the latest of my death:
And these thine Armes, that were my Cradle once,
Shall be my Coffin now.

Lin.
O child more deare
Then if thou wer't mine owne. I cannot speake,
Griefe hath my wordes dissolued into teares.

Sil.
On earth hold ope thy iawes and swallow mee.

Do.
Oh stay both pace and plaint(good Linco) for
The one my griefe, my wound the other doth increase.

Sil.
Oh what a hard reward most wretched Nimph,
Hast thou receiued for thy wondrous loue?

Lin.
Be of good cheer, thy wound not mortall is.

Dor.
I but Dorinda mortall, wilbe quickly dead:
But dost thou know who t'is hath wounded me?

Lin.
Let vs care for the lore, not for the offence,
For neuer did Reuenge yet heale a wound.

Sil.
Why stay I still? Shall I stay whilst they see me?
Haue I so bold a face! Fly Siluio fly
The punishment of that reuengefull sight,
Fly the iust edge of her sharpe cutting voice:
I cannot fly, fatall necessitie doth hold
Me heere, and makes me seeke whom most
I ought to shunne.

Dor.
Why Linco, must I die
Not knowing who hath giuen me my death?

Lin.
It Siluio is.

Dor.
Pitio.

Lin.
I know his shaft.

Dor.
On happie issue of my liues last end,
If I be slaine by such a louely friend.

Lin.
See where he is, with countenance him accusing.
Now heauens be praysd, y'are at good passe,
VVith this your bowe and shaftes omnipotent,
Hast thou not like a cunning Wood-man shot?
Tell mee, thou that of Siluio liust; was it no: I
That shot this daintie shoore? Oh Boy too wise,
Hadst thou bileeu'd this foolish aged man,
Had it not better been Answere me wretch.
What can thy hie be worth, if shee do die?
I know thou'le say thou thoughtst t'haue shot a Woolfe,
Although it were no fault to shoote
Not knowing (carelesse wandring chi'd) if t'were
A man or beast thou shorrt act what Heardsman, or
What Ploughman dost thou see attyr'd in other cloathes?
Ah Siluio, Siluio, who euersoweth witt so greene,
Doth euer reape ripe fruite of ignorance.
Thinke you (vaine Boy) this chaunce by chaunce did come?
Neuer without the powers deuine did such like happen:
Heauen is enrag'd at your supportlesse spight,
To loue and deepe despising so humane affectes.
Gods will not haue companions on the earth,
They are not pleasd with this austeritie:
Now thou art dumbe, thou wert not wont t'indure.

Do.
Siluio let Linco speake, he doth not know
What sou'raignetie thou o're Dorinda hast,
In life and death by the great power of Loue.
If thou hast shot me, thou hast shot thine owne:
Thou hitst the marke that's proper to thy shaft,
These handes that wounded me, haue follow'd right
The ayme of thy faire eyes. Siluio, behold her whom
Thou hatest so, behold her, as thou wouldst:
Thou wouldst me wounded haue, wounded I am:
Thou wish't me dead, I ready am for death,
What wouldst thou more? What can I giue thee more?
Ah cruell Boy, thou neuer wouldst beleeue
The wound by thee Loue made, canst thou deny
That which thy hand hath done? thou neuer sawst
The blood mine eyes did shed; seest thou this then,
That gusheth from my side: but if with pittie flow
All gentlenesse and valoure be not spent,
Do not denie me cruell soule, I pray,
At my last gaspe, one poore and onely sight
Death should be blest, if thou but thus wouldst say,
Goe rest in peace poore soule, I humbly pray.

Sil.
Ah my Dorinda, shall I call thee mine,
That art not mine, but when I thee must loose:
And when thou hast thy death receiued by mee,
Not when I might haue giu'n thee thy life:
Yet will I call thee mine, that mine shalt bee
Spight of my fortune: and since with thy life
I cannot haue thee, I'le haue thee in death:
All that thou seest in me, is ready for reuenge:
I kilde thee with these weapons, with the same
I'le kill my selfe: I cruell was to thee,
I now desire nothing but crueltie
I proudly thee despis'd, vpon my knees
I humbly thee adore, and pardon craue;
But not my lyse: Behold my Bowe, my Shaftes.
Wound not mine eyes or handes, th'are innocent:
But wound my brest, monster to pittie, foe
To loue: wound me this hart, that cruell was
To thee: behold, my brest is bare.

Do.
Siluio, I wound that brest? thou hadst not need
Let it be naked to mine eyes, if thou desirdst
I should it wound. O daintie beauteous rocke,
So often beaten by the waues and windes
Of my poore teares and sighes in vaine: and is it true,
Thou pittie feelst? or am I wretch but mockt:
I would not this same Alablaster skin
Should me deceiue, as this poore Beastes hath thee.
I wound thy brest? t'is well, Loue durst do so.
I aske no wore reuenge, then thou shouldst loue.
Blest be the day wherein I first did burne,
Blest be my teares and all my martirdomes:
I wish thy prayse, and no reuenge of thee.
But curteous Siluio, that dost kneele to her,
Whose Lord thou art; since mee thou needes wilt serue,
Let thy first seruice be, to rise when I thee bid:
The second, that thou liu'st: for mee, let heauens
Worke their will; in thee my hart will liue:
As long as thou dost liue, I cannot die.
But if it seeme vaiest my wound should be
Vnpunished, then breake this cruell Bowe,
Let that be all the mallice thou dost show.

Si.
Oh curtuous doome: and so't shalbe,
Thou deadly Wood shalt pay the price of others life,
Behold, I breake thee, and I render thee
Vnto the Woodes, a trunke vnprofitable:
And you my Shaftes that pierced haue the side
Of my faire Loue, because you brothers bee
I put you both togither, and deliuer you,
Roddes armd in vaine, and vainely feathered.
T'was true Loue tolde me late in Ecchoes voyce.
O powerfull tamer both of Gods and men:
Late enemie, now Lord of all my thoughtes,
If thou esteemest it glory to haue mollified
A proude obdurate hart, Defende me from
The fatall stroke of death' one onely blow
Killing Dorinda, will me with her kill:
So cruell death, if cruell death she proue,
Will triumph ouer thee triumphant loue.

Lin.
So wounded both, yet woundes most fortunate,
Were but Dorindaes sownd. Let's soone go seeke
Some remedie.

Dor.
Do not good Linco lead
Me to my fathers house in this attire.

Sil.
Shall my Dorinda go to other house
Then vnto mine? no sure: aliue or dead
This day I'le marrie thee.

Lin.
And in good time,
Since Amarillis hath lost life and marriage too.
O blessed couple! O eternall Gods!
Giue two their liues, giuing but one her health.

Dor.
Siluio I weary am, I cannot hold me on
My wounded side.

Sil.
Be of good cheere,
Thou shalt a burthen be to vs most deare.
Linco giue me thy hand.

Lin.
Hold there it is.

Sil.
Hold fast, and with our armes wee'le make a seate
For her. Sit there Dorinda, and with thy right hand
Hold Lincoes necke, and with thy left close mine:
Softly my hart, for rushing of thy wound.

Dor.
O now mee thinkes I am well.

Sil.
Linco hold fast.

Lin.
Do not you stagger, but go forward right,
This is a better triumph then a head.

Sil.
Tell me Dorinda, doth thy wound still pricke?

Dor.
It doth; but in thine armes my louelie treasure,
I hold eu'n pricking deare, and death a pleasure.

Chorus.
O sweete and golden age, when Milke
Unto the tender World was meate:
Whose Cradle was the harmelesse Wood,
Their dearer partes whose grasse like silke,
The Flockes vntoucht, did toy to eate:
Nor feard the World the spoyle of blood,
The troublous thoughts that do no good
Did not then make a cloudy vaile
To dimme our sunnes eternall light:
Now Reason being shut up quight,
Cloudes do our Wits skies ouer-haile:
From whence it is straunge landes we seeke for ease,
Ploughing with huge Oake trees the Ocean seaes.
This bootlesse superstitious voyce,
This subiect profit lesse then vaine,
Of ioyes, of titles, and of sleight,
Whom the mad World through worthlesse choyce,
Honor to name doth not disdaine,
Did not with tyranny delight,
To rule our mindes, but to sustaine
Trouble for troth, and for the right
To maintaine fayth a firme decree
Amonst us men of each degree,
Desire to do well was of right:
Care of true Honor, happy to be named,
Who what was lawfull pleasure to us framed.
Then in the pastures grouy shade,
Sweete Carroles and sharpe Madrigale.
Were flames vnto deare lawfull Loue:
There gentle Nimphes and Shepheards made
Thoughts of their wordes, and in the dales
Did Himen ioyes and kisses moue,
Farre sweeter, and of more behoue,
True louers onely did enioy
Loues liuely Roses and sweete Flowers,
Whilst Wily-craft found alwayes showers,
Showers of sharpe will, and wills annoy:
Were it in Woodes or Caues for quiet rest,
The name of Husband still was liked best,
Ealse wicked World, that courrest still
With thy base mercenary name
The soules chiefe good, and dost entice
To nourish thought of new found Will,
With likelihoodes restrained againe:
Unbridling euer secret vice,
Like to a Net layde by deuice
Among faire Flowers and sweet spread Leaves,
Thou cloathst vilde thoughtes in holy weedes,
Esteeming seeming goodnesse deedes,
By which the life with Art deceiue:
Nor dost thou care (this Honor is thy act)
What these it be, so Loue may hide the fact.
But thou great Honour, great by right,
Frame famous spirits in our hartes,
Thou true Lord of each Noble brest:
O thou that rulest Kinges of might,
Once turne thee into these our partes,
Which wanting thee, cannot be blest:
Make them from out their mortall rest,
With mightie and with powerfull stinges,
Who by a base vnwarthy will
Haue left to work thy pleasure still,
And left the worth of antique thinges:
Let's hope our ills a truce will one day take,
And let our hopes not wauer no nor shake:
Let's hope the setting sunne will rise againe,
And that the skyes when they most darke appeare,
Do dravv (though couer'd) after vvished cleare.