Il pastor fido or The faithfull Shepheard |
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 | Il pastor fido |  |
[Act. 5.]
SCENA. 1.
Vranio, Carino.[Vranio.]
The place is euer good, where any thriues:
And euery place is natiue, to the wise.
Car.
True (good Uranio) I by proofe can tell,
That young, did leaue my fathers house, and sought
Strange places out, and now turne home gray hear'd,
That earst departed hence with golden lookes;
Yet is our natiue soyle sweete vnto him
That hath his sence: Nature doth make it deare,
Like to the Adamant, whom though the Marriner
Is borne, and sometime where it dyes; yet still
The hidden vertue wherewith it beholdes,
The Northren Pole it neuer doth forgoe:
So he that goes farre from his natiue soyle,
And often times in straunger land doth dwell,
Yet he retaines the loue he to it bore.
O my Arcadia, now I greet thy ground,
And welcome good Uranio, for t'is meete
You do partake my ioyes, as you haue done my toyle.
Ura.
I may pertake your toyle, but not content,
When I remember how farre hence I left
My house and little houshold off: well may I rest
My limbes, but well I wot my hart will mone,
Nor saue thy selfe, could any thing haue drawne
Me from Elidis now: yet I know not
What cause hath made you trauaile to this place.
Car.
Thou knowst my deare Mirtillo, whom the heauens
Haue giu'n me: for my Sonne came hither sicke,
Heere to get health, according to the Oracle,
Which sayd onely Arcadia could restore it him:
Two monthes he hath been heere, and I not able to
Abide that stay, went to the Oracle
To know of his returne: which answered thus.
Returne thou to thy Countrey, where thou shalt
Liue merrily with thy Mirtillo deare:
Heauens haue determined great thinges of him;
Nor shalt thou laugh but in Arcadia.
Thou then my deare companion, merrie bee,
Thou hast a share in all my good, nor will
Carino smile, if my Uranio grieue.
Ura.
All labours that I for Carino take,
Heue their reward: but for to short the way,
I pray you tell what made you trauaile first.
Car.
A youthfull loue I vnto Musicke bore,
And greedinesse of forraine fame disdayning that
Arcadia onely should me prayse, made me
Seeke out Elide and Pisa famoue so,
With Purple next to Vertue euermore;
So that he Phebus seem'd: when I deuout
Vnto his powre did consecrate my Lute:
Then left I Pisa, and to Micene went,
And afterwardes to Argos, where I was
At first, adored like a God: but twilbe too
Too troublesome to tell the storie of my life.
I many fortunes tride sometime disdaind,
Sometime respected like a power deuine:
Now rich, then poore; now downe, then vp aloft:
But in the change of place, my fortunes neuer changd,
I learnd to know and sigh my former libertie;
And leauing Argos, I returned to
My homely Bowre I in Elidis had;
Where (Gods be prays'd) I did Mirtillo buy,
Who since, hath comforted all mine annoyes.
Ur.
Thrise happie they who can conteine their thoughts
And not through vaine and most immoderate hope,
Loose the sweete tasted fruite of moderate good.
Cu
Who would haue thought t'haue waxed poore in gold
I thought t'haue found in royall Paliaces
People of more humanitie, then heere,
Which is the noble ornament of worthy sprightes;
But I (Uranio) found the contrarie:
People in name and wordes right curtuous,
But in good deedes most scarse, and Pitties foes:
People in face, gentle and pleasant still;
But fiercer then th'outragious swelling Sea:
People with countenaunce all of charitie,
But throughly Couetous, and fraught with Enuie:
The greater showes they make, the lesse troth they meane
That which is vertue otherwhere, is there but vice:
Vprightest deedes, true loue, pittie sinceere,
Inviolable fayth, of hand and hart,
A life most innocent; these they esteeme
But cowards still, and men of sillie wittes:
Follies and vanities, that are rediculous,
In holinesse, by others downefalles and their losse,
Rich still to grow, to builde their reputation
On others infamie, to lay fine snares
To trap the innocent; these are the vertues of that place.
No merrit, worth, reuerence of age,
Of law, or of degree, no raines of shame,
Respect of loue or blood, nor memorie
Of any good receiued: and to conclude,
nothing to reuerend, pure, or iust can be,
That seemes forbidden to these gulfes of pride,
Of honour so ambitious: so couetous
Of getting still. Now I that alwayes liu'd
Vnwarie of their snares, and in my forehead had
All my thoughts written, my hart discouered;
You well may iudge, I was an open marke
To the suspicious shaftes of enuious folkes.
Ur.
What can be happie in that caytiue land,
Where Enuie euer Vertue doth commaund?
Ca.
If since I trauailed, my Muse had had
As good a cause to laugh as t'had to weepe,
Perhaps my stile would haue been fit t'haue sung
The armes, and honours, of my noble Lord,
So that he needed not to haue enuyed
The braue Meonian trumpet of Achilles fame.
I might haue made my Countries browes been girt
With happie Laurell too: But too inhumane is this age,
And too vnhappie guist of Poetrie.
The Swans desire a quiet nest, a gentle ayre,
Pernassius neuer knew this byting care.
Who quarrels with his fate and fortune still,
His voyce must needes be hoarse, his song but ill:
But now t'is time to seeke Mirtillo out.
Oh how this Countrey's chaungd! I scarcely know't:
But Straungers neuer want a guide that haue a tongue,
We will enquire to the next harbour house,
Where thou thy wearie limmes mayst well repose.
SCE. 2.
Titirus, Nuntio.[Titirus.]
Which plaine I first (my child) of thee? thy life
Or honestie? He plaine thine honestie,
Because thy sire (though mortall) honest was:
And in thy steed my life I'le plaine and spend,
Of thy life and thine honestie to see an end.
O Montane, onely thou with thy deuices
And ill-cund Oracles, and with thy loue,
And proud despiser of my daughter, to this end,
Hast brought my child. Oh doubtfull Oracles,
How vaine you bee? and honestie gainst loue
In youthfull hartes a weake defence doth proue,
A woman whom no match hath euer sought,
Is euill guarded from this common thought.
Nun.
If dead he be not, or that through the ayre
No windes haue carried him, him might I finde:
But see him now, when least I thought I should:
O late for mee, for thee too quickly found,
Except the newes were better that I bring.
Ti.
Bringes thou the weapon that hath slaine my child?
Nun.
Not this, but lesse: But how heard you this newes?
Ti.
Why liues she then?
Nun.
Shee liues, and may do still,
For in her choyce it is to liue or die.
Ti.
Oh blest be thou that liftes me vp from death:
But how is she vnsafe, since at her choyce it is
To liue or die?
Nun.
Because she will not liue.
Ti.
Shee will not liue? What madnesse makes her thus
Nun.
Anothers death: and if thou dost not moue her,
Shee is so bent, as others send in vaine
Their praying wordes.
Ti.
Why stay we? let vs goe!
Nun.
What, soft and faire, the Temples gates are shut,
And know you not how it vnlawfull is
For any one saue sacerdotall foote,
To touch the sacred ground, vntill such time
The Sacrifize vnto the Aulters come,
Adorned with the Sanctuarie rites?
How if shee'ffect her purpose in the while?
Nun.
Shee cannot, for shee's kept.
Ti.
in meane time,
Then tell truely how all this is come to passe?
Nun.
Thy mournefull child now come before the Priest
With lookes of feare and griefe, that teares brought foorth,
Not onely from vs by, but by my troth,
Eu'n from the pillers of the Temples selfe
And hardest stones, that seemd to feele the same,
Was in a trice accus'd, conuic't, condemn'd.
Ti.
O wretched child, and why was she condemn'd?
Nun.
Because the groundes of her defence were small:
Besides, a certaine Nimph, whom she did call
In testimonie of her innocence,
Was absent now, and none could finde her out:
And fearefull signes, and monstrous accidents
Of horrour in the Temple proou'd the doubt,
As dolorous to vs, as strange and rare,
Not seene since we did feele heauenly ire
That did reuenge Amintas loue betrayde,
The first beginning of our miserie.
Diana swet out blood, the Earth did shake,
The sacred Caue did bellow out vnwonted howlings
And dire deadly cries:
Withall, it breath'd out such a stinking mist,
As Plutoes impare kingdome hath no worse.
And now with sacred order goes the Priest
To bring thy daughter to her bloodie ende,
The whilst Mirtillo (wondrous thing to tell)
Offer'd by his owne death, to giue her life,
Crying, vnbind those handes (vnworthie stringes)
And in her sleed that should be sacrifiz'd
Vnto Diana, draue me to the Aulters
A Sacrifize to my faire Amarillis.
Ti.
O admirable deede of faythfull loue
And noble hart.
Nu.
Now heare a miracle:
Shee that before so fearefull was to die,
Chaung'd on the sodaine by Mirtilloes wordes,
Thus answeres with a bold vndaunted hart:
Life to her death, that by thy life doth liue.
O miracle vniust: on Ministers, on on, why do you stay?
Leade me foorthwith vnto mine end: Ile no such pittie I,
Mirtill replies, Liue cruell pitteous loue,
My hart his spightfull pittie doth reproue:
To me it longes to die. Nay then to me
(She answeres) that by Law condemned am:
And heere anew begins a wondrous strife,
As though that life were death, and death were life.
(O soules well borne) O couple worthy of
Eternall honour, neuer dying prayse:
O liuing, and ô dying glorious louers.
Had I so many tongues, so many voyces,
As Heauen hath eyes, or Ocean sea hath sandes;
All would be dumbe and hoarse in setting out
Their wondrous and incomprehended prayse.
Eternall Childe of heauen, O glorious Dame,
That mortall deedes enchroniclest to time,
Write thou this Historie, and it infold
In solid Diamond with wordes of gold.
Ti.
But what end had this mortall quarrell then?
Nun.
Mirtillo vanquisheth? O rare debate,
Where dead on lyuing getts the victorie.
The Priest speakes to your Child, be quiet Nimph,
We cannot change this doome, for he must die
That offers death, our Law commaunds it so:
And after bids, your Daughter should be kept,
Least griefes extreame should bring her desperate death
Thus stood the state When Montane sent me for thee.
Ti.
In sooth tis true, sweete scented Flowers shall cease
To dwell on Riuers bankes, and Woodes in Spring
Shall be without their Leaues, before a Mayde
Adorn'd with youth, shall set sweete Loue at naught:
But if we stay still heere how shall we know
When it is time vnto the Church to go?
Nun.
Heere best of all, for in this place alas,
Shall the good Shepheard sacrifized be.
And why not in the Church?
Nu.
Because there where
The fault is done, the punishment must be.
Ti.
And why not in the Caue? there was the fault.
Nun.
Because to open skyes it must be hallow'd.
Ti.
And how knowst thou all these misteriall rites?
Nun.
From the High-priest, who from Tireno had them,
For true Amintas and vntrue Lucrine,
Were sacrifized so: But now tis time to goe;
See where the sacred Pempe softly descendes:
T'were well done of vs by this other way,
To go vnto the Temple to thy daughter.
Finis Sce. 2. Act. 5.
ACTVS. 5 SCE. 3.
Chorus of Shepheards, Chorus of Priestes, Montanus, Mirtillo.Chorus of Shep.
Oh daughter of great Joue, sister of Phebus bright,
Thou second Titan, to the blinder world that giuest light
Cho. Pri.
Thou that with thy well temper'd vitall ray,
Thy brothers wondrous heate doth well allay,
Which mak'st sweete Nature happely bring foorth
Rich firtile birthes of Hearbes, of Beastes, of Men:
As thou his heate dost quench, so calme thine ire
That sets Arcadiaes wretched hartes on fire.
Cho. Sh.
O daughter of great Ioue. &c.
Mon.
Yea sacred Priestes, the Aulters ready make,
Shepheardes deuout, reiterate your soundes,
And call vpon the name of our great Goddesse.
Cho. Sh.
O daughter of great Ioue. &c.
Mon.
Now Shepheards stand aside, nor you my seruants
Come not neare, except I call for you.
Valiant young man that to giue life els where,
Abandonest thine owne, die comforted thus farre:
T'is but a speedie sigh, which you must passe;
For so seemes death to noble minded sprightes,
That once perform'd, this enuious age,
With thousandes of her yeeres shall not deface
The memorie of such a gentle deed:
But for the Law commaundes thee sacrifiz'd,
To dye without a word: Before thou kneelst,
If thou hast ought to say, say it, and hold thy peace
For euer after that.
Mir.
Father, let it be lawfull that I call thee so,
For though thou gau'st not, yet thou tak'st my life:
My bodie to the ground I do bequeath, my soule
To her that is my life: But if she die,
As she hath threatned to do; aye mee,
What part of me shall then remaine aliue,
Oh death were sweete, if but my mortall parts
Might die, and that my soule did not desire the same:
But if his pittie ought deserues that dyes,
For soueraigne pittie then courteous father,
Prouide she do not die; and with that hope
More comforted, Ile pay my destenies,
Though with my death you me from her disioyne,
Yet make her liue, that she may me retaine.
Mon.
Scarse I containe from teares: ô frayle mankind!
Be of good cheare my sonne, I promise thy desire,
I sweare it by this head, this hand take thou for pledge.
Mir.
Then comforted, I die all comforted:
To thee my Amarillis do I come,
Soule of the faythfull Shepheard, as thine owne
Do thou receiue, for in thy loued name
My wordes and life I will determine straight:
So now to death I kneele, and hold my peace.
Mon.
On sacred Ministers, kindle the flame
With Frankensence and Mirrhe, and Incense throw thereon
That the thicke vapoure may on high ascend.
Cho. Sh.
O daughter of great Ioue. &c.
ACT. 5. SCE. 4.
Carino, Montanio, Nicander, Mirtillo, Chorus of Shepheards.Car.
What Countrymen are here, so brauely furnished
Almost all in a Liuerie? Oh what a show
Trust mee, I thinke it is some Sacrifize.
Mon.
Reach mee (Nicander) the golden Bason,
That containes the iuice of Bacchus fruite.
Ni.
Behold t'is ready here.
Mon.
So may this faultles blood
Thy brest (Oh sacred Goddesse) mollifie,
As do these falling droppes of Wine extinguish
This blasing flame. So, take the Bason, there;
Giue me the siluer Ewer now:
Ni.
Behold the Ewer.
M.
So may thine anger cease with that same faithles Nimph
Prouok't as doth this fire, this falling streame extinguish.
Car.
This is some Sacrifize, but where's the holocaust?
Mon.
Now all is fit, there wantes nought but the end.
Giue me the Axe.
Ca.
If I be not deceiu'd,
I see a thing that by his backe seemeth a man:
He kneeles: he is perhappes the holocaust.
O wretch tis so, the Priest holdes him by th'ead:
And hast thou not vnhappy countrey yet,
After so many yeeres heauens rage appeasd?
Cho. Sh.
O daughter of great Ioue, sister of Phebus bright,
Thou second Titan, to the blinder world that giue'st light.
Mon.
Reuengefull Goddesse that for priuate fault,
Dost publicke punishment on vs inflict,
(Whether it be thy onely will, or els
Eternall prouidence immutable commaund)
Since the infected blood of (Lucrina false)
Might not thy burning iustice then appease,
Drinke now this innocent and voluntarie Sacrifize,
No lesser faythfull then Amintas was,
That at thy sacred Aulter in thy dire reuenge I kill.
Cho. Sh.
O daughter of great Ioue, sister of Phebus bright,
Thou second Titan, to the blinder world that giuest light.
Mon.
Oh how I feele my hart waxe tender now,
Binding my senses with vnusuall maze:
So both my hart not dares, my handes vnable are
To lift this Axe.
Car.
Ile see this wretches face,
And then depart: for pittie will not let me stay.
Mon.
Perhaps against the Sunne my strength doth faile,
Turne thou thy dying face toward this hill.
So now, tis well.
Car.
O wretch! what do I see?
My sonne Mirtillo, Is not this my sonne?
Mon.
So now I can.
Car.
It is euen so.
Mon.
Who lets my blow?
Car.
What dost thou sacred Priest?
Mo.
O man prophane,
Why hast thou held this holy Axe? how darest
Thou thy rash handes inpose vpon the same?
Car.
O my Mirtillo, how camst thou to this?
Nic.
Goe dotard old and foolish insolent.
Car.
I neuer thought t'haue thee imbraced thus.
Nic.
Patch stand aside, thou mayst not handle thinges
Sacred vnto the Gods, with handes impure.
Car.
Deare to thee Gods am also I, that by
Their good direction hither came euen now.
Mo.
Nicander cease, heare him, and turne him hence.
Car.
Then courteous Priest, before thy sword doth light
Vpon his necke, Why dyes this wretched Boy?
I, why the Goddesse thou ador'st, beseech thee tell?
Mon.
By such a heauenly power thou coniur'st mee,
That I were wicked, if I thee denied:
But what wil't profit thee?
Ca.
More then thou think'st.
Mon.
Because he for an other willing is to die.
Car.
Dye for an other? then I for him will dye:
For pittie then, thy falling blow direct,
In stead of his, vpon this wretched necke.
Mon.
Thou dotest friend.
Ca.
And will you me denie
That which you graunt another man?
Mo.
Thou art
A Stranger man.
Ca.
How if I were not so?
Mon.
Nor could'st thou, for he dyes but by exchange.
But tell me, what art thou? thy habite shewes
Thou art a Stranger, no Arcadian borne.
Car.
I an Arcadian am.
Mo.
I not remember
That I euer saw thee earst.
Car.
Heere was I borne,
Carino cald, and father of this wretch.
Mon.
Art thou Mirtilloes father then? thou com'st
Vnluckily both for thy selfe and mee:
Stand now aside, least with thy fathers teares,
Car.
If thou a father wert?
Mon.
I am a father man,
A tender father of an onely sonne:
Yet were this same, my Siluioes head, my hand
Should be as ready for't as t'is for this:
For he this sacred habite shall vnworthy weare,
That to a publique good, his priuate doth preferre.
Car.
O let me kisse him yet before he dye.
Mo.
Thou mayst not man.
Car.
Art thou so cruell sonne?
Thou wilt not answere thy sad father once.
Mir.
Good father hold your peace.
Mo.
O wretched wee
The holocaust contaminate ô Gods.
Mir.
The life you gaue, I cannot better giue,
Then for her sake, who sole deserues to liue.
Mon.
Oh thus I thought his fathers teares would make
Him breake his scilence.
Mir.
Wretch with errour haue
I done the law of scilence, quite I had forgot.
Mon.
On Ministers, why do we stay so long?
Carry him to the Temple backe to th'holy Cell,
There take againe his voluntary vow.
Then bring him backe, and bring new Water too,
New Wine, new Fire: dispatch, the sunne growes low.
Finis Scena 4. Acta. 5.
ACTA 5. SCE. 5.
Montan. Carino, Dametas.[Montan.]
Bvt thanke thou heauens thou aged impudent,
Thou art his father? if thou wert not: well,
(I sweare by this same sacred habite on my head I weare)
Thou shouldst soone taste how ill I brooke thy boldnes.
Why, knowst thou who I am? knowst thou that with
This Rodd I rule affayres both humaine and diuine?
Car.
I cry you mercie holy sacred Priest.
Mon.
I suffered thee so long, till thou grow'st insolent.
Knowest thou not Rage that Iustice shineth vp,
The longer t'is delayde, the greater tis?
Tempestius furie neuer waigned rage,
In brestes magnanimus, but that one blast
Of Generous effect could coole the same:
But if I can not grace obtaine, let mee
Finde iustice yet, you can not that denie,
Law makers be not freed from the Lawes:
I aske you iustice, iustice graunt me then,
You are vniust, if you Mirtillo kill.
Mon.
Let me then know how I can be vniust?
Car.
Did you not tell me it vnlawfull was
To sacrifize a Strangers blood?
Mon.
I told you so,
And told you that which heauens did commaund.
Car.
He is a Stranger you would sacrifize.
Mon.
A Stranger, how? is he not then thy sonne?
Car.
Let it suffize, and seeke no further now.
Mon.
Perhappes because you not begot him heere.
Car.
Oft he least knowes, that most would vnderstand.
Mon.
Heere we the kindred meane, and not the place.
Car.
I call him Stranger, for I got him not.
Mon.
Is he thy sonne, and thou begots him not?
Car.
He is my sonne, though I begot him not.
Mon.
Didst thou not say that he was borne of thee?
Car.
I sayd he was my sonne, not borne of mee.
Mon
Extremitie of griefe hath made thee madd.
Car.
If I were madd, I should not feele my griefe.
Mon.
Thou art ore-madd, or els a lying man.
Car.
A lying man will neuer tell the trueth.
Mon.
How can it be sonne, and not sonne at once?
Car.
The sonne of loue, and not of nature hee's.
Mon.
Is he thy sonne? he is no Stranger then:
If not, thou hast no part at all in him:
Father or not, thus thou conuinced art.
Car.
With wordes and not with trueth, I am conuin'st.
Mon.
His fayth is doubted that his wordes contraries.
Car
Yet do I say thou dost a deed vniust.
Mon.
On this my head, and on my Siluioes head,
Let my injustice fall.
Car.
You will repent it.
Mon.
You shall repent, if you my duetie hinder.
I call to witnesse men and Gods.
(Mon.)
Gods you
To witnesse call, that you despised haue.
Car.
Since you'le not heare me, heare me heauen and earth
Mirtill a straunger is, and not my sonne,
You do prophane your holy sacrifice.
Mon.
Heauens aide me from this Bedlam man.
Who is his father since hee's not your sonne?
Car.
I cannot tell you, I am sure not I.
Mon.
See how he wauers, is he not of your bloud?
Car.
Oh no.
(Mon.)
Why do you call him sonne?
Car.
Because I from his cradle haue him nourisht still.
And euer lou'd him like my sonne.
Mon.
Bought you him? stole you him? where had you him?
Car.
A courteous straunger in Elides gaue me him
Mon.
And that same straunger, where had he the childe?
Car.
I gaue him
(Mon.)
Thou mou'st at once disdaine and laughter.
First thou him gau'st, and then hadst him in gift.
Car.
I gaue him that which I with him had found
Mon.
And where had you him?
(Car.)
In a lowe hole,
Of daintie Mutle trees vpon Alpheus banke:
And for this cause Mirtillo I him call'd.
Mon.
Here's a fine tale, what haue your woods no beasts?
Car.
Of many sorts.
(Mon.)
How scapte he being deuour'd:
Car.
A speedie Torrent brought him to this hole,
And left him in the bosome of a litle Ile,
On euery side desended with the streame.
Mon.
And were your streames so pitifull they drownd him not
Your Riuers gentle are that children nurse.
Car.
Laid in a cradle like a litle ship,
With other stuffe the waters wound together,
He was safe brought by chance vnto this hole.
Mon.
Laid in a cradle?
(Car.)
In a cradle laid.
Mon.
And but a childe?
(Car.)
I but a tender childe.
Mon.
How long was this agoe?
(Car.)
Cast vp your count
Is it not nineteene yeares since the great floud?
So long t'is since.
(Mon.)
Oh how I feele a horror shake
My bones.
(Car.)
He knowes not what to say:
Oh wicked act, orecome yet will not yeeld:
As in his force, I heare him murmur,
Yet he nill bewray that he conuinced is.
Mon.
What interest had the man you speake of in
That child? was he his sonne?
(Ca.)
I cannot tell.
Mon.
Had he no better knowledge then of it then thus?
Ca.
Nor that know I.
(Mon.)
Know you him if you see him?
Ca.
He seem'd a shepheard by his cloaths and face,
Of middle stature, of blacke haire his beard
And eye-browes were exceeding thicke.
(Mon.)
Shepheards
Come hither soone.
(Damet.)
Behold we are readie here.
Mon.
Which of these did he resemble then?
Ca.
Him whom you talke withall he did not onely seeme,
But tis the same, who though't be twentie yeares agoe,
Hath not a whit alter'd his auncient looke.
Mon.
Stand then aside, Dametas stay with me,
Tell me know'st thou this man?
(Da.)
Me seemeth so,
But yet I know not where.
(Ca.)
Him can I put in minde
Mon.
Let me alone, stand you aside a while.
Ca.
I your commaundement willingly obey.
Mon.
Now answere me Dametas, and take heed
You do not lye, tis almost twentie yeares
Since you return'd from seeking out my child,
Which the outragious Riuer bare away:
Did you not tell me you had search'd in vaine
All that same countrey, with Alpheus waters?
Da.
Why aske you this?
(Mon.)
Did not you tell me him
You could not finde?
(Da.)
I graunt I told you so.
Mon.
What child then was it (tell me) which you gaue
Vnto this stranger, which did know you here?
Da.
Will you I should remember what I did
So long agoe? old men forgetfull are.
Mon.
Is not he old? yet he remembers it.
Da.
Tush he doth rather dote.
(Mon.)
That shall we see,
Come hither straunger, come.
(Ca.)
I come.
(Da.)
Oh that
Thou wert as farre beneath the ground.
(Mon.)
Tell me
Is this the shepheard that gaue thee the gift?
Ca.
This same is he.
What gift is't thou speak'st of?
Ca.
Dost not remember in the temple of Olimpich Ioue,
Hauing had answere of the Oracle,
And being readie to depart, I met with thee,
And ask'd thee of the Oracle, which thou declaredst,
After I tooke thee home vnto my house,
Where didst thou not giue me an Infant childe,
Which in a cradle thou hadst lately found?
Da.
And what of that?
(Ca.)
This is that very child,
Which euer since I like mine owne haue kept,
And at these Aultars must be sacrific'd.
Da.
Oh force of Destiny.
(Mon.)
Yet wilt thou faine?
Is it not true which he hath told thee here?
Da.
Oh were I dead as sure as it is true.
Mon.
And wherfore didst thou giue anothers goods?
Da.
Oh maister seeke no more, let this suffice.
Mon.
Yet wilt thou hold me off and say no more?
Villaine thou dyest if I but aske againe.
Da.
Because the Oracle foretold me that the child
Should be in danger on his fathers hands
His death to haue if he returned home.
Ca.
All this is true, for this he told me then.
Mon.
Ay me, it is too manifest, the case is cleare.
Ca.
What resteth then, would you more proofe then this?
Mon.
The proofe's too great, too much haue you declar'd,
Too much I vnderstand, ô Carino, Carino,
How I change griefe and fortunes now with thine,
How thy affections now are waxen mine,
This is my sonne, oh most vnhappie sonne,
Of a more wretched father. More sauadge was
The water in him sauing, then in running quite away,
Since at these sacred Aultars by thy fathers hands
Thou must be slaine, a wofull sacrifice,
And thy poore bloud must wash thy natiue soyle.
Ca.
Art thou Mirtilloes father then? how lost you him?
Mon.
The deluge rauisht him, whom when I lost;
I left more safe, now found, I leese him most.
Ca.
Eternall prouidence which with thy counsell hast
Th'art great with childe of some huge monstrous birth.
Either great good or ill thou wilt bring forth.
Mon.
This t'was my sleepe foretold, deceitfull sleepe.
In ill too time, in good too lying still.
This was th'vnwonted pitie, and the sudden horror that
I felt to stay the axe and shake my bones:
For nature sure abhorres a stroke should come
From fathers hands, so vilde abhominable.
Car.
Will you then execute the wicked sacrifice?
Mon.
By other hands he may not at these Altars die.
Ca.
Why will the father murder then the sonne?
Mon.
So bids our law, and were it pietie to spare
Him since the true Amyntas would not spare himselfe?
Ca.
O wicked Fates, me whither haue ye brought?
Mon.
To see two fathers soueraigne pitie made a homicide.
Yours to Mirtillo, mine vnto the Gods,
His father you denying for to bee,
Him thought to saue, and him you lost thereby,
Thinking and seeking, I to kill your sonne,
Mine owne haue found, and must mine owne go kill.
Ca.
Behold the monster horrible this Fate brings forth.
O cruell chance (Mirtillo) ô my life.
Is this that which the Oracle told of thee?
Thus in my natiue soyle hast thou me happy made:
O sonne of me poore old and wretched man,
Lately my hope, my life, now my dispaire and death.
Mon.
To me Carino leaue these wofull teares,
I plaine my bloud: my bloud, why say I so,
Since I it shead? poore sonne why got I thee?
Why wert thou borne? did the milde waters saue thy life,
The cruell father might the same bereaue?
Sacred immortal powers, without whose deep insight
No waue doth stirre in seas, no blast in skies,
No leafe vpon the earth: what great offence
Haue I committed, that I worthy am
With my poore off-spring for to warre with heauen?
If I offended haue, oh yet my sonne
O Iupiter the great disdainfull blast
Would quickly suffocate my aged sence,
But if thy thunderbolts will not, my weapons shall.
The dolorous example Ile renew,
Of good Amyntas our beloued Priest,
My sonne amaz'd shall see his father slaine,
Ere I a father will go kill my sonne:
Die thou Montane, tis onely fit for thee,
O powers, I cannot say whether of heauen or hell,
That agitooke with griefe, dispairefull mindes,
Behold your fury thus it pleaseth you.
I nought desire saue onely speedie death,
A poore desire my wretched life to end,
Some comfort seemes to my sad spright to send
Ca.
Wretched old man, as greater flames do dimme
The lesser lights, euen so the sorrow I
Do of thy griefe conceiue, hath put out mine,
Thy case alone deserueth pittie now.
Sce. 6.
Tireme, Mon. Carino.[Tireme.]
Softly my sonne, and set thy feet secure,
Thou must vphold me in this rugged way,
Thou art my bodies eye, I am thy mindes,
And when thou com'st before the Priest, there stay,
Mon.
Is't not the reuerend Tirenio which I see?
Who blind on earth, yet seeth all in heauen?
Some great thing moues him thus, these many years
I sawe him not out of his holy Cell.
Ca.
God grant he bring vs happie newes.
Mon.
Father Tirenio, what's the newes with you
You from the temple? how comes this to passe?
Tire.
To you I come for news, yet bring you news
How oft blind eyes do aide the inward sight,
The whilst the minde vntraueld with wilde sights,
Withdrawes into it selfe, and Linceus eyes
Doth set a worke in sightlesse sences blinde,
The vnexpected things, that heauenly mixture temps with humane,
Because the Gods do not conuerse on earth,
Nor partly hold with mortall men at all.
But all these workes so great, so wonderfull,
Which the blind world to blinder chance ascribes,
Is nothing but celestiall counsell talke,
So speake th'eternall powers amongst themselues,
Whose voices though they touch not deafened eares,
Yet do they sound to hearts that vnderstand.
O foure, ô six times happy he that vnderstands it well,
The good Nicander as thou didst command,
Stayes to conduct the holy sacrifice,
But I retaind him by an accident
That's newly falne: the which (I know not) all
Vnwonted and confus'd, twixt hope and feare.
Dulleth my fence. I cannot vnderstand, and yet the lesse
I comprehend, the more I do conceiue.
Mon.
That which you know not wretch, I know too well,
But tell me can the Fates hide ought from thee?
That piercest to the deep'st of Destinies.
Tire.
If (sonne) the vse diuine of light propheticall
Were natures gift, and not the gift of heauen,
Then might'st thou see as well as I, that Fates
Secrets sometime denie our working mindes,
This onely tis that makes me come to thee,
That I might better be inform'd who tis
That is discouered father to the youth
That's doom'd to die (if I Nicander vnderstand.)
Mon.
That father you desire to know am I.
Tire.
You father of our Goddesse sacrifice?
Mon.
I am the wretched father of that wretched sonne.
Tire.
Of that same faithfull shepheard, that to giue
Life to an other, giues himselfe to death?
Mon.
His that by death giueth an other life,
Yet by that death kills him that gaue him life.
Tire.
And it this true?
(Mon.)
Behold my witnesse here.
Ca.
That which he saith is true.
(Tire.)
And who art thou?
I am Carino his father thought till now.
Ti.
Is this the childe the floud so bare away?
Mon.
The very same.
(Ti.)
And for this then dost thou
Mortanus call thy selfe a wretched father?
O monstrous blindnesse of these earthly mindes,
In what a darke profound and mystie night
Of errors be they drowned? when thou ô heauenly sonne
Dost not enlighten them: Montanus thou
Art blinder in thy minde then I of eyes,
That dost not see thy selfe the happiest father
And dearest to the gods that euer yet did child beget.
This was the secret which the Fates did hide.
This is that happy day, with so much bloud
So many teares we did expect.
This is the blessed end of our distresse.
O thou Montanus turne into thy selfe,
How is the famous Oracle forgot,
Printed i'the hearts of all Arcadia?
No end there is for that which you offends,
Till two of heauens issue loue vnite,
The teares of ioye, so satisfie my heart
I cannot vtter it. No end there is,
No end there is to that which you offends,
Till two of heauens issue loue vnite,
And for the auntient fault of that false wight,
A faithfull shepheards pitie make amends.
Tell me Montanus, is not this thy sonne
Heauens issue? is not Amarillis so?
Who hath vnited them but onely loue?
Siluio by parents force espowled was
To Amarillis, whom he hated still,
If thou the rest examine, you shall plainly see
The fatall voyce onely Mirtillo ment.
For since Amyntas chance where haue we seene
Such faith in loue that might coequall this?
Who since Amyntas willing was to die
For any Nymph, onely Mirtill except.
This is that faithfull Shepheards pitie, which deserues
To cancell that same auncient error of Lucrine.
Rather then with the sheading humane bloud,
Rendring vnto th'eternall iustice, that
Which female treacherie did take away.
Hence t'was no sooner he vnto the temple came,
There to renew his vow, but straight did cease
All those prodigious signes, now did
The holy Image sweat out bloud no more,
Nor shooke the ground, nor any noise nor stinch
Came from the Caue, saue gracious harmony,
And odours. O sweet mightie prouidence,
O heauenly Gods, had I all words, all hearts,
All to thy honour would I consecrate:
But to my power Ile render you your due.
Behold vpon my knees ô heauenly powers,
I praise your name, how much am I oblig'd
That you haue let me liue vntill this day?
An hundred yeares I haue alreadie worne,
And neuer yet was life so sweet as now:
I but begun to to liue, now am I borne againe.
Why leese I time with words that vnto deeds is due?
Helpe me vp sonne, without thee can I not
Vpraise these weake and feeble members sonne.
Mon.
Tirenio hath wak't such ioy in me
Vnited yet with such a myracle
As I scarce feele I ioy, nor can my soule
Confounded shewe me high reteined mirth,
O gracious pitie of the highest Gods,
O fortunate Arcadia, ô earth,
More happie then all earths beneath the sunne,
So deare's thy good, I haue forgot mine owne,
And my beloued sonnes, whom twise I lost,
And twise againe haue found, these seeme a drop
To the huge waues of thy great good: ô dreame,
O blessed dreame, celestiall vision rather.
Arcadia now thou waxest bright againe.
Ti.
Why stay we Montane now? heauens not expect
A sacrifice of rage, but thankes and loue,
Of marriage knot a sweet solemnitie:
But say how farre's to night?
(Mon.)
Not past one houre.
Ti.
Then to the Temple turne, where let thy sonne
Espowsed be to Amarillis straight, whom he may leade
Vnto his fathers house before the sunne be set,
So heauens commaund. Come, gow Montanus, gow.
Mon.
Take heed Tirenio we do not violate
Our holy law, can she her faith now giue
Vnto Martillo, which she Siluio gaue?
Ca.
And vnto Siluio may she giue her faith,
So said thy seruant, was Mirtillo call'd,
Though I more lik'd Mirtillo him to name.
Mon.
That's very true, I did reuiue his name
In this my younger sonne.
Ti.
That doubt's well clear'd, now let vs goe.
Mon.
Carino go with vs, this day Mirtillo hath
Two fathers sound, Montane a sonne, and thou a brother.
Ca.
In loue Mirtilloes father, and your brother,
In reuerence a seruant to you both:
And since you are so kinde to me, I pray you then
Bid my companion welcome for my sake.
Mon.
Most welcome both.
(Ca.)
Eternall heauenly powers,
How diuerse are your high vntroden waies
By which your fauours do on vs descend?
From those same crook't deceitfull pathes whereby
Our thoughts would faine mount vp into the sky?
Sce. 7.
Corisca Linco.[Corisca.]
Linco belike the spightfull Siluio
When least he ment, a Louer is become,
But what became of her?
(Lin.)
We carried her
To Siluioes house, whose mother her embrac't
With teares of ioy or griefe I know not whether,
Glad that her sonne is waxt a louing spowse,
But sory for the Nymphs mishap, and that
She is a stepdame euill furnished
Of two daughters in law: playning one-dead,
An other wounded.
(Co.)
Is Amarillis dead?
Lin.
She must die straight, for so doth fame report,
Who leesing one sonnes wife, hath found an other.
Co.
Then doth Dorinda liue?
(Lin.)
Liue. I t'were well
Thou wert so well.
(Co.)
Her wound not mortall was.
Lin.
Had she bene dead, yet Siluwes cunning would
Haue her reuiu'd.
(Co.)
What Art her heal'd so soone?
Lin.
From top to toe ile tell the wondrous cure.
About the wounded Nymph stood men and women,
Each with a ready hand; but trembling heart.
But faire Dorinda would not any should
Saue Siluio touch her, saying that the hand
Which was her hurt, should be her remedie.
Siluio, his mother, and I, stay'd there alone,
Working with counsell too one with his hand,
Siluio when gently he had wip'd away
The bloudie streames that stain'd her Iuory flesh,
Assayes to draw the shaft out of the wound,
But the vilde steale yeelding vnto his hand,
Left hidden in the wound the harmfull head.
Hence came the griefe, for t'was impossible
With cunning hand, or daintie instrument,
Or other meanes, to draw it out from thence.
Opening the wound perhaps with wider wound
He might haue found the steele with other steele.
So mought he do, or so he must haue done,
But too too pitious, and too louing now
Was Siluioes hand, for such like cruell pitie
By such hard meanes, loue neuer healeth wounds.
Although it seem'd to her that paine it selfe
Was pleasant now betweene her Siluioes hands.
He not amaz'd sayes thus: this head shall out,
And with lesse paine then any will beleeue.
I put it there, and though I be not able straight
To take it out, yet with the vse of hunting
I will restore the losse I haue by hunting.
I do remember now an hearbe that is well knowne
Vnto the sauadge Goate, when he is wounded
With some Huntsmans shaft: this they to vs,
Nature to them bewray'd, and t'is hard by.
All suddenly he parts vnto a neighbour hill,
He comes, and out he drawes the iuyce thereof,
And mingles it with veruine seed, and roote
Of Centaures bloud, making a playster soft,
Which on the wound he laies: vertue myraculous,
The pain straight ceas'd, the bloud was quickly staid,
The steele straightway without or toile or paine,
The workmans hand obeying, issues out.
And now her strength returnes to her againe,
As though she had not suffered wound at all:
Nor was it mortall, for it had vntoucht
Both left the bones and bellies outward runne,
And onely pierst into the musclouse flanke.
Co.
Great vertue of an hearb, but much more great
For fortune of a woman hast thou tolde.
Lin.
That which betweene them past when this was done,
Is better to be gess'd at then be told.
Dorinda sure is well, and with her side
Can serue her selfe to any vse she likes.
Thou think'st she hath endur'd more wounds by this,
But as the piercing weapons diuers are,
So are the wounds: of some the griefe is sharpe,
Of some t'is sweet, one healing waxeth sound,
The lesse an other heales, the sounder t'is.
In hunting he to shoote such pleasure found,
That now he loues he cannot choose but wound.
Co.
Still thou wilt be that amorous Linco.
Lin.
In mind but not in force my deare Corisca,
Greene bloomes desire within this aged tronke.
Co.
Now Amarillis hath resign'd her life,
I will go see what deare Mirtillo doth.
Sce. 3.
Ergasto. Corisca.Erg.
O day of wonders, day all loue, all grace,
All ioy ô happie land, ô heauens benigne.
Co.
See where Ergasto is, he comes in time.
Er.
Now all things ioyfull are, the earth the ayre,
The skies, the fire, the world, and all things laugh.
Our ioyes haue pierc't the lowest hell, nor is
There any place that not partakes our blisse.
How iocond is this man?
(Er.)
O happy woods
That often sigh'd and wept our wofull case,
Enioy our ioyes, and vse as many tongues
As leaues that leape at sound of these sweet windes,
Which fill'd with our reioycings calmely smile,
Sing they the sweet aduentures of these friends.
Co.
He speakes of Siluio and Dorinda sure,
Well, we must liue, teares are no sooner ebb'd,
But straight the floud of ioy comes huffing in
Or Amarillis, not a word he speakes
Onely takes care to ioy with them that ioy.
Why tis well done, for else this humane life
Would still be full of sighes: whither away
Ergasto go'st so pleasantly, vnto some marriage?
Er.
Euen so, but hast thou heard the happy chance
Of the two fortunate Louers? is't not rare Corisca?
Co.
To my contentment euen now I heard it all
Of Linco, and t'doth somewhat mittigate
The griefe I for my Amarillis feele.
Er.
Why Amarillis? Of whom think'st thou I speak?
Co.
Of Siluio and Dorinda man.
Er.
What Siluio? what Dorinda? thou know'st nought,
My ioy growes from a higher nobler roote.
I Amarillis and Mirtillo sing,
The best contented subiects of loues ring.
Co.
Why is not Amarillis dead:
(Er.)
How dead:
I tell thee shee's a bright and merrie Bride.
Co.
Was she not then condemned vnto death?
She was condemn'd, but soone releast againe.
Co.
Telst thou me dreames? or dreaming do I heare?
Er.
Thine eies shall tell thee if thou'lt stay a while,
Soone shalt thou see her with her faithfull friend
Come from the Temple, where they plighted haue
Their marriage troth, and so go to Montanus house
To reape sweet fruit of their long amorous, toiles,
O hadst thou seene (Corisca) the huge ioy,
The mightie noyse of ioyfull voyces, and
Th'innumerable troupes of men and women,
Thou should'st haue seene, old, young, sacred and prophane,
But litle lesse then mad or drunke with math.
Each reuerence to each them embraced there.
Some prais'd their pitie, some their constancie.
Some prais'd the gifts that Ioue, and some that nature gaue.
The hills, the dales, the meadowes did resound,
The glorious name of faithfull Shepheard,
From a poore Shepheard to become so soone
A Demy-god, and in a moment passe
From life to death, the neighbour obsequies
To chaunge for vnexpected and dispaired nuptialls.
This is somewhat (Corisca) but not halfe
Her to enioy, for whom he sought to die,
Her that disdaind to liue if he had dy'de,
This is fortune, this is such a sweet
As thought preuents, and yet thou art not glad.
Is not thy Amarillis then as deare to thee,
As my Martillo is to mee?
Co.
Yes, yes Argasto, see how glad I am.
Er.
O hadst thou seene but Amarillis when
She gaue Mirtill her hand for pledge, and tooke
His hand againe, thou easily hadst perceiu'd
A sweet but vnseene kisse: I could not say
Whether she tooke it, or she gaue it him.
Her cheekes would haue the purest colour stain'd,
Purple or Roses Art, or nature brings,
How modestie was arm'd in daintie shield
Of sanguine beautie, with force of that stroke
Vnto the strikor turned, whilst she all nice
Seemed as though she fled, but to recouer force
Shee might more sweetly encounter that same blow,
Leauing it doubtfull if this kisse were giuen or ta'ne,
With such a wondrous Art it graunted was.
This taken sweet, was like an action mixt
With rapine and with yeelding both at once,
And so courteous, that it seem'd to craue
The very thing that it denying gaue:
Such a restrain and such a speedlesse flight,
As mend the pace of the pursuer, might,
Of sweetest kisse, I cannot stay Corisca,
For mongst the ioyes there is no pleasure sure,
If gentle loue do not the same procure.
Co.
If he say true, then thou Corisca hast lost all.
Sce. 9.
Chorus of Shepheards, Corisca, Amarillis, Mirtillo.Cho. Sh.
Come holy Himeneus, come this euen
According to our vowes, and to our songs
Dresse thou these Louers as them best belongs.
Both t'one and t'other of the seed of heauen,
Knit thou the fatall knot this blessed eauen.
Co.
Ah me it is too true, this is the fruite
Thou from thy store of vanities must reape.
O thoughts, o my desires, no lesse vniust
Then false and vaine. Thus of an innocent
I sought the death to haue my beastly will,
So bloudie cruell was I then, so blinde.
Who opens now mine eyes? Ah wretch, I see
My fault most foule that seem'd felicitie.
Cho. Sh.
Come holy Himeneus, &c.
See faithfull Shepheard, after all thy teares,
All thy distresses, whither thou art come,
Is not this shee from thee was ta'ne away
By lawe of heauen and earth by cruell fate?
By her chaste will? and by thy poore estate?
By her faith giuen an other man, and by her death,
Behold Mirtillo now shee's onely thine.
This face, these eyes, this breast, these daintie hands,
All that thou seest, hear'st, and feel'st, so often sought
In vaine by thee, are now rewards become
Of thine vndaunted faith, yet thou art dombe.
Mir.
How can I speak, I scarce know if I breathe,
Nor what I see, I scarce beleeue I see:
Let Amarillis you that pleasure giue,
In her alone my soules affections liue.
Cho. Sh.
Come holy Himeneus, &c.
Cor.
What do ye now with me trecherous toies,
Valde frenzies of the body, spots of the soule?
You long inough haue me betrayed here,
Go get you to the earth, for earth you are,
Trophies of chastitie now may you proue.
Cho. Sh.
Come holy Hymeneus, &c.
Co.
Why triflest thou (Corisca)? now's fit time
Pardon to impetrate, fear'st thou thy paine?
Be bold thy paine cannot be greater then thy fault.
Beautious and blessed couple, of the skies
And earth belou'd, since to your glorious fate
This day hath meekely bow'd all earthly force,
Good reason she do bow that gainst the same
Hath set a worke all of her earthly force.
Now Amarillis I will not denie
I did desire the same which you desir'd,
But you enioy it, for you worthy were.
You do enioy the loyalst man aliue.
And you Mirtillo do enioy the chastest Nymph
That ere the world hath bred. Beleeue you me,
For I a whetstone was vnto your saith,
And to her chastitie. But courteous Nymph, before
Your anger do discend on me, behold
Your husbands face, there shall you finde the force
Both of my fau't, and of your pardon too:
For in the vertue of such worthinesse,
You cannot choose but cause of pardon finde.
Besides you felt alas the selfe same fire
That did inflame vnfortunate desire.
Ama.
I do not onely pardon thee Corisca, but
I count thee deare, th'effect beholding not the cause
For fire and sword, although they wounds do bring,
Yet those once heald to vs so whole th'are deare,
Howsoeuer now thou prou'st or friend, or foe,
I am well pleas'd, the Destinies did make
Thee the good instrument of my content.
Happie deceits, fortunate trecheries,
And if you please merrie with vs to be,
Come then and take part of our ioyes with vs.
Co.
I haue sufficient mirth you pardon me,
And that my heart is heald of her disease.
Mir.
And I (Corisca) pardon all thy harmes
Saue this delaying of my sweet content.
You and your mirth I to the Gods commend.
Cho. Sh.
Come holy Himeneus, &c.
Sce. 10.
Mirtillo. Amarillis. Chorus of Shepheard.Mir.
I am so tyed to paine, that in the midit
Of all my ioyes I needs must languish still:
Is't not inough this ceremonious pompe
Doth hold vs thus, but that Corisca must
Come in to hinder vs?
(Ama.)
Th'art too quick my deare.
Mir.
O my sweet treasure I am not secure,
Yet do I quake for feare of leesing thee.
This seemes a dreame, and still I am afraid
My sleep should breake, and thou my soule shouldst flye away.
In better proofe my sences would I sleepe,
That this sweet sight is not a dreaming sleepe.
Cho. Sh.
Come holy Himeneus rome this euen
According to our vowes, and to our songs
Dresse thou these Louers, as them best belongs.
Both t'one and t'other of the seed of heauen,
Knit thou the fatall knot this blessed eauen.
Chorus.
O happie two,
That plaints haue sow'd and reaped smyles,
In many bitter grieuous foyles
Haue you imbellist your desires,
Henceforth prepare your amorous fires,
And bolden vp your tender sprights,
Vnto your true sincere delights.
You cannot haue a sounder ioy,
There is no ill can you annoy.
This is true ioy, true pleasure, and true mirth,
T'which vertue got in patience giueth birth.
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