University of Virginia Library

Act. 1.

Scene. 1.

Siluio. Linco.
[Siluio.]
Go you that haue enclos'd the dreadfull beast,
And giue the signe that's vsuall to our hunting,
Go swell your eyes and harts with hornes and shoutes.
If there be any swaine of Cinthia's troupe
In all Arcadia, delighted in her sports,
Whose generous affects are stung with care,
Or glory of these woods: let him come forth
And follow me, where in a circle small
(Though to our valure large) inclosed is
The ougly Bore, monster of nature & these woods.
That vast and fierce (by many harmes well knowne)
Inhabitant of Erimanthus, plague to the fields,
Terror to country clownes. Go then preuent
Not onely, but prouoke with hornes shrill sound,
Blushing Aurora out. Linco wee'le goe
And worship first the Gods: for there t'is best
We any worke begin.

Lin.
Siluio I praise
Thy worshipping the Gods, but yet to trouble them
That are their ministers I do not praise.
The keepers of the temple are a sleepe,
They cannot see the day break for the mountaines top.

Sil.
To thee perhaps, that art not yet awake,
All things do seeme a sleepe.

(Lin.)
O Siluio,
Did nature on these youthfull yeares of thine
Bestow such beautie to be cast away?
Had I but such a ruddie cheeke? so fresh?
Farwell to woods, I'ld follow other sports:
I'ld weare my dayes in mirth: all sommer tide
In daintie shades, winter by the fire side.

Sil.
Thy counsell (Linco) is like vnto thy selfe.

Lin.
At other pleasures would I aime, were I Siluio.

Sil.
So would I, were I Linco, but I Siluio am,
Therefore I Siluioes deeds do like, not Lincoes.

Lin.
O foole, that seekst so farre for hurtfull beasts,
And ha'st one lodg'd so neare thy dwelling house.

Sil.
Art thou in earnest? or dost thou but iest?

Lin.
Thou iests, not I.

(Sil.)
And is he then so neare?

Lin.
As neare as t'is to thee.

(Sil.).
Where? in what wood?

Lin.
Siluio thou art the wood: the ougly beast
That's harbour'd there, is this thy beastlinesse.

Sil.
Was't not well gest of me thou didst but iest?

Lin.
A Nymphe so faire, so delicate! but tush
Why do I call her Nymphe, a Goddesse rather.
More fresh more daintie, then the morning rose.
More soft, more purely white then swanny downe.
(For whom there's not a shepheard mongst vs all so braue,
But sighes, and sighes in vaine) for thee alone
Reserues her selfe, ordaind by heau'n and men:
And yet thou neither thinkst of sighes or plaints.
O happie boy (though most vnworthily)
Thou that mighst her enioy, still fliest her Siluio,
Still her despisest. Is not then thy heart
Made of a beast, or or of hard Iron rather?

Sil.
If to relinquish loue be crueltie,
Then is it vertue, and I not repent
That I haue banisht loue my hart: but ioy
That thereby I haue ouercome this loue,
A beast more daungerous then th'other farre.

Lin.
How hast thou ouercome that which thou neuer prou'd.

Sil.
Not prouing it, I haue it ouercome.

Lin.
O if thou hadst but prou'd it Siluio once,
If thou but knewst what a high fauour t'were,
To be belou'd, and louing to possesse
A louing hart, It' am sure thou then wouldst say,
Sweet louely life why hast thou staid so long?
These woods and beasts leaue foolish child, and loue.

Sil.
Linco, I sweare a thousand and Nymphs I'le giue
For one poore beast that my Melampo kills:
Let them that haue a better taste then I
In these delights possesse them, I wil none.

Lin.
Dost thou tast ought, since loue thou dost not tast,
The onely cause that the world tasteth all?
Beleeue me boy, the time wil one day come
Thou wilt it taste. For loue once in our life
Will show what force he hath. Beleeue me childe,
No greater paine can any liuing proue,
Then in old limmes the liuely sting of loue.
Yet if in youth loue wound, that loue may heale:
But come it once in that same frozen age,
Wherefore oftentimes the disabilitie,
More then the wound we plaine. O mortall then,
And most intollerable are those paines.
If thou seekest pittie, ill if thou findst it not,
But if thou findst it ten time worse, do not
Protract it til thy better time be past,
For if loue do assaile thy hoary heares,
Thy silly flesh a double torment teares.
Of this which when thou wouldst thou canst not,
These woods and beasts leaue foolish boy & loue.

Sil.
As though there were no life but that which nurst
These amorous follies and fond extasies.

Lin.
Tell me if in this pleasant time now flowres renew,
And the world waxeth yong againe; thou shouldst
In stead of flowry valleyes, fragrant fields,
And well clad woods: see but the oake, the ashe, the pine,
Without their leauy heares: graslesse the ground:
The meadowes want their floures. Wouldst thou not say
The world doth languish? nature did decay?
Now that same horror, that same miracle,
That monstrous noueltie thou hast thy selfe.
As loue in old men is ridiculous:
So youth without loue is vnnaturall.
Looke but about (Siluio) what the world hath
Worthy to be admir'd. Loue onely made
The heauens, the earth, the seas themselues do loue.
And that same starre that the dayes breake foretells,
Tasteth the flames of her thrise puissant sonne.
And at that houre, because perhaps she leaues
The stolne delights and bosome of her loue:
She darteth downe abroad her sparkling smiles.
Beasts in the woods do loue; and in the seas
The speedie Dolphins and the mightie Whales.
The bird that sweetly sings, and wantonly
Doth flie, now from the oake vnto the ashe,
Then from the ashe vnto the mirtill tree:
Sayes in her language I in loue do burne.
(Would I might heare my Siluio answere her the same!)
The Bull amid the heard doth loudly lowe,
Yet are those lowes but bidding to loues feasts.
The Lyon in the wood doth bray, and yet
Those brayes are not the voice of rage, but loue.
Well to conclude, all things do loue but thou,
Thou onely Siluio art in heauen, in earth,
In seas, a soule vncaple of loue.
Leaue, leaue these woods, these beasts, and learne to loue.

Sil.
Was then my youth committed to thy charge?
That in these soft effeminate desires.
Of wanton loue, thou shouldst it nurse and traine?
Remembrest not what thou, and what I am?

Lin.
I am a man, and humane me esteeme,
With thee a man, or rather shouldst be so,
I speake of humane things. Which if thou skornst
Take heed least in dishumaning thy selfe,
A beast thou proue not sooner then a God.

Sil.
Neither so famous nor so valiant
Had bene that monster-famer, of whose blood
I do deriue my selfe, had he not tamed loue.

Lin.
See blind child how thou erst: where hadst thou bene
Had not that famous Hercules first lou'd?
The greatest cause he monsters tam'd was loue.
Knowest thou not that faire Omphale to please,
He did not onely chaunge his Lions skin
Into a womans gowne; but also turn'd
His knottie club into a spindell and a rocke.
So was he wont from trouble and from toyle
To take his ease, and all alone retire
To her faire lappe, the hauen of happie loue.
As rugged Iron with purer mettall mixt
Is made more fit (refin'd) for noble vse:
So fierce & vntam'd strength that in his proper rage
Doth often breake: yet with the sweets of loue
Well temper'd proueth truly generous.
Then if thou dost desire to imitate
Great Hercules, and to be worthy of his race,
Though that thou wilt not leaue these sauadge woods
Doo: follow them: but do not leaue to loue,
A Loue so lawfull as your Amarillis.
That you Dorinda flie I you excuse,
For t'were vnfit your mind on honour set,
Should be made hot in these amorous thefts:
A mightie wrong vnto your worthy spouse.

Sil.
What saist thou Linco? shee's not yet my spouse.

Lin.
Hast thou not solemnely receiu'd her faith?
Take heed proud boy, do not prouoke the gods.

Sil.
The gift of heauen is humane libertie,
May we not force repell, that force receiue?

Lin.
Nay if thou would'st but vnderstand! the heauens
Hereto do tye thee that haue promised,
So many fauours at thy nuptiall feast.

Sil.
I'm sure that gods haue other things to do
Then trouble and molest them with these toyes.
Linco, nor this, nor that loue pleaseth me,
I was a huntsman not a louer borne,
Thou that dost folow loue thy pleasure take.

Exit Sil.
Lin.
Thou cruel boy descended of the gods,
I scarce beleeue thou wert begot by man,
Which if thou wert, thou sooner wert begot
With venome of Meger and Ptisifo,
Then Venus pleasure which men so commend.

Exit Lin.

Sce. 2.

Mirtillo. Ergasto.
[Mirtillo.]
Cruell Amarillis, that with thy bitter name
Most bitterly dost teach me to complaine
Whiter then whitest Lillies and more faire,
But deafer and more fierce then th'adder is.
Since with my words I do so much offend,
In silence will I die: but yet these plaines
These mountaines and these woods, shal cry for me,
Whom I so oft haue learned to resound
That loued name. For me my plaints shall tell
The plaining fountains and the murm'ring windes:
Pittie and griefe shall speake out of my face,
And in the end though all things else proue dombe,
My verie death shal tell my martirdome.

Er.
Loue (deare Mirtillo)'s like a fire inclosde,
Which straightly kept, more fiercely flames at last,
Thou shouldst not haue so long conceald from me
The fire, since it thou couldst not hide.
How often haue I said Mirtillo burnes,
But in a silent flame and so consumes.

Mi.
My selfe I harmed her not to offend
(Curteous Ergasto) and should yet be dombe,
But strict necessitie hath made me bold.
I heare a voice which through my scared eares
Woundeth alas my wretched heart with noise
Of Amarillis nighing nuptiall feast,
Who speakes ought els to me he holds his peace.
Nor dare I further search, as wel for feare
To giue suspition of my loue, as for to finde
That which I would not. Well! I know (Ergasto)
It fits not with my poore and base estate
To hope at all a Nymphe so rarely qualifide,
Of bloud and spright truly celestiall,
Should proue my wife. O no, I know too well,
The lowlinesse of my poore humble starre,
My desteny's to burne! not to delight
Was I brought forth, but since my cruell fates
Haue made me loue my death more then my life,
I am content to die, so that my death
Might please her that's the cause thereof;
And that she would but grace my latest gaspe
With her faire eyes, and once before she made
Another by her marriage fortunate,
She would but heare me speake. Curreous Ergasto,
If thou lou'st me, helpe me with this fauour,
Aide me herein, if thou tak'st pittie of my case.

Er.
A poore desire of loue; and light reward
Of him that dies: but dang'rous; enterprise.
Wretched were she, should but her father know
She had bow'd downe her eares to her louers words,
Or should she be accused to the priest
Her father in lawe, for this perhaps she shunnes
To speake with you, that els doth loue you well,
Although she it conceales; for women though
They be more fraile in their desires,
Yet are they craftier in hiding them;
If this be true, how can she show more loue
Then thus in shunning you? she heares in vaine,
And shunnes with pittie that can giue no helpe.
It is sound counsell, soone to cease desiring,
When we cannot attaine to our aspiring.

Mi.
Oh were this true, could I but this beleeue,
Thrise happie paine. Thrise fortunate distresse.
But tell me sweet Ergusto, tell me tiue,
Which is the shepheard whom the starres so friend?

Ergust.
Knowst thou not Siluio Montane's onely sonne?
Dianaes priest: that rich and famous shepheard,
That gallant youth? He is the very same.

Mi.
Most happie youth, that hast in tender yeares
Found fate so ripe. I do not enuy thee,
But plaine my selfe.

(Erg.)
Nor need you enuy him
That pittie more then enuy doth deserue.

Mi.
Pittie! and why?

(Erg.)
Because he loues her not.

Mi.
And liues he? hath a hart? and is not blinde?
Or hath she on my wretched hart spent all her flames?
And her faire eyes blowne all their loues on mee?
Why should they giue a Iemme so precious
To one that neither knowes it, nor regards it?

Erg.
For that the heauens the health of Arcady
Do promise at these nuptialls. Know you not
How we do stil appease our goddesse wrath,
Each yeare with guiltlesse blood of some poore Nymphe?
A mortall and a miserable tribute.

Mi.
T'is newes to mee, that am a new inhabitant,
As't pleaseth loue and my poore desteny:
That did before inhabit sauadge woods,
But what I pray you was that greeuous fault
That kindled rage in a celestiall brest?

Erg.
I will report the dolefull tragedy
From the beginning of our misery,
That able are pittie and plaints to drawe
From these hard rocks, much more from humane brests.
In that same golden age when holy priesthood, and
The temples charge was not prohibited
To youth. A noble swaine Amintas call'd,
Priest at that time, loued Lucrina bright:
A beauteous Nymphe, exceeding faire: but therewithall
Exceeding false, and light. Long time she loued him,
Or at the least, she seemed so, with fained face
Nursing his pure affections with false hopes.
Whilst she no other suters had. But see
Th'vnconstant wretch! no sooner was she wooed
By a rude shepheard, but at first assault,
At his first sighe, she yeelded vp her loue:
Before Amintas dream't of Iealousie.
At last Amintas was forlorne, despide,
So that the wicked woman would nor see, nor heare
Him speake, now if the wretch did sigh,
Be thou the iudge that knowst his paine by proofe.

Mi.
Aye me, this griefe all other griefs exceeds.

Er.
After he had his heart recouered
From his complaints, he to his goddesse turnes,
And praying saves: Great Cinthia if I haue
At any time kindled with guiltlesse hands
Thy holy flames, reuenge thou then for me
This broken faith of my vnconstant Nimphe.
Diana heares the praiers of her priest,
And straight out-breathing rage, she takes her bowe
And shootes shafts of mennitable death
Into the bowels of Arcadia.
People of euery sexe, of euery age,
Soone perished, no succour could be found,
T'was bootlesse art to search for remedies,
For often on the patient the phisitian died.
One onely remedie did rest, which was
Strait to the nearest Oracle they went,
From whom they had an answere verie cleare,
But aboue measure deadly horrible.
Which was, our Cinthia was displeasd, and to
Appease her ire, either Lucrina or some else for her,
Must by Amintas hands be sacrifiz'd.
Who when she had long time in vaine complain'd,
And lookt for helpe from her new friend in vaine,
Was to the sacred Altars led with solemne pompe,
A wofull sacrifice. Where at those feete
Which had pursued her long time in vaine
At her betrayed Louers feete she bends
Her trembling knees, attending cruell death.
Amintas stretcheth out the holy sword,
Seeming to breath from his inflamed lippes,
Rage and reuenge; turning to her his face,
Speakes with a sigh, the messenger of death:
Lucrina for thy further paines, behold
What Louer thou hast left, and what pursude
Iudge by this blow. And with that very word
Striketh the blade into his wofull brest,
Falling a sacrifice vpon the sacrifice.
At such a straunge and cruell spectacle,
The Nymphe amazed stand twixt life and death,
Scarce yet assur'd whether she wounded were
With griefe, or with the sword. At last, assoone
As she recouered had, her spright, and speech,
She plaining saies. O faithfull valiant loue!
O too late knowne! that by thy death hast giu'n
Me life and death at once. If t'were a fault
To leaue thee so? behold I'le mend it now,
Eternally vniting both our soules,
And therewithall she takes the sword, all warme,
With the blood of her too late loued friend,
And strikes it through her hart, falling vpon
Amintas, that was scarcely dead as yet,
And felt perchance that fall. Such was their ende,
To such a wretched end did too much loue,
And too much trechery conduct them both.

Mi.
O wretched Shepheard, and yet fortunate,
That hadst so large and famous scope, to showe
Thy troth, and waken liuely pittie of thy death
Within anothers brest. But what did follow?
Was Cinthia pleasd, found they a remedie?

Er.
Somewhat it slak't, but yet not quite put out:
For after that a yeare was finished,
Her rage began a fresh, so that of force
They driuen were, vnto the Oracle:
To aske new counsell, but brought back againe
An answere much more wofull then the first.
Which was, to sacrifice them: and each after yeare,
A maid, or woman, to our angry power,
Eu'n till the third and past the fourth degree:
So should ones blood for many satisfie.
Besides, she did vpon th'vnhappie sexe,
Impose a wretched and a cruell lawe.
And (if you marke their nature) in obseruable.
A law recorded with vermilian blood:
What euer maid or woman broken had
Their faith in loue, and were contaminate,
If they should find none that would die for them
They were condemn'd without remission.
To these our greeuous great calamities,
The fathers hop'd to finde a happie ende,
By this desired marriage day. For afterward
Hauing demaunded of the Oracle
What end the heauens prescribed had our ill,
Answere was giu'n in such like words as these:
No end there is to that which you offends,
Till two of heauens issue loue vnite;
And for the auncient fault of that false wight,
A faithfull Shepheards pittie make amends.
Now is there not in all Arcadia
Other bowes left, of that celestiall roote:
Saue Amarillis, and this Siluio,
Th'one of Pans seed, th'other of Hercules.
Nor to our mischiefe yet hath neuer hapt,
That male and female met at any time
Till now. Therefore good reason Montane hath
To hope, though all things sort not to the Oracle,
Yet here's a good foundation laid: the rest
High fates haue in their bosomes bred,
And will bring forth at this great marriage day.

Mi.
O poore Mirtillo! wretched man!
So many cruell enemies? such warres?
To worke my death cannot great Loue suffice?
But that the Fates, their armes will exercise.

Er.
This cruell loue (Mirtillo) feeds himselfe
With teares, and griefe, but's neuer satisfide.
I promise thee to set my wits a worke,
That the faire Nymphe shall heare thee speake. Lets goe!
These burning sighes do not as they do seeme,
Bring any cooling to th'inflamed hart:
But rather are huge and impetuous windes,
That blow the fire, and make it greater proue,
With swelling whirlwindes of tempestuous loue,
Which vnto wretched louers alwaies beares
Thick clouds of griefe, and showres of dreary teares.

Scene. 3.

Corisca.
Who euer sawe or heard a straunger, and
A fonder passion of this foolish loue?
Both loue, and hate, in one selfe hart combin'd,
With such a wondrous mixture: as I know not how,
Or which of them hath got the deeper roote.
If I Mirtilloes beautie do behold:
His gracious count'nance, good behauiour,
Actions, customes, words and manly lookes:
Loue me assailes, with such a puissant fire,
That I burne altogither. And it seemes
Other affections are quite vanquished with this.
But when I thinke vpon th'obstinate loue
He to another beares; and that for her
He doth despise (I will be bold to say)
My famous beautie of a thousand soft:
I hate him so, I so abhorre the man,
That t's impossible me thinkes at all,
One sparke of loue for him should touch my heart.
Thus with my selfe sometime I say: Oh if I could
Enioy my sweet Mirtillo! were he mine,
And had not others interest in him,
Oh more then any other happie Corisca.
And then in me vpflames such great good will,
And such a gentle loue to him; that I resolue
Straight to discouer all my hart to him,
To follow him, and humbly sue to him:
Nay more, eu'n to fall downe and worship him.
On th'other side, I all reclaimed say,
A nice proud foole? one that disdaineth me?
One that can loue another and despise my selfe?
One that can looke on me and not adore me?
One that can so defend him from my looke,
That he dies not for loue. And I that should
See him (as I haue many more ere this)
An humble suppliant before my feete,
Am humble suppliant at his feete my selfe.
Then such a rage at him possesseth mee,
That I disdain my thoughts should think on him,
Mine eyes should looke on him. His verie name
And all my loue, I worse then death do hate.
Then would I haue him the wofulst wight aliue:
And with these hands then could I kill the wretch.
Thus hate, and loue, spight, and desire make warre.
I that haue bene till now tormenting flame,
To thousand harts: must languish now my selfe,
And in my ill, know others wretchednesse.
I that so many yeares in cities, streets, courts,
Haue bene inuincible to worthy friends,
Mocking their many hopes, their great desires:
Now conquered am, with silly rusticke loue,
Of a base shepheards brat. Oh aboue all
Wretched Corisca now. What shall I do
To mitigate this amorous furious rage?
Whilst other women haue a heape of loues,
I haue no other but Mirtillo onely.
Am I not stoutly furnished? Oh thousand times,
Ill-counsell'd foole! that now reduced art
Into the pouertie of one sole loue:
Corisca was ne're such a foole before.
What's faith? what's constancy? but fables fain'd
By iealous men: and names of vanitie,
Simple women to deceiue. Faith in a womans hart,
(If faith in any womans hart there bee:)
Can neither vertue nor yet goodnesse bee.
But hard necessitie of loue, a wretched law
Of beautie weake that pleaseth onely one,
Because she is not gracious in the eyes of more.
A beautious Nymphe, sought too by multitudes
Of worthy louers, if she be content
With onely one, and all the rest despise,
Either she is no woman, or if so she be,
She is a foole. What's beautie worth vnseene?
Or seene, vnsought? or sought too but of one?
The more our louers be, the greater men,
The surer pledge haue we in this vild world.
That we are creatures glorious and rare,
The goodly splendor of a beautious Nymphe,
Is to haue many friends. So in good Townes
Wise men euer doo. It is a fault,
A foolish tricke, all to refuse for one.
What one cannot, many can well performe:
Some serue, some giue, some fit for other vse.
So in the Citie louely Ladies do,
Where I by wit, and by example too,
Of a great Lady learnd the Art of loue.
Corisca would she say. Let thy
Louers and thy garments be alike.
Haue many, vse, weare but one, and change often.
Too much conuersing breedeth noysomenesse,
And noysomenesse despight, which turnes to hate:
We cannot worser do, then fill our friends,
Let them go hungry rather from thee still.
So did I alwaies, alwaies louing store,
One for my hand, an other for mine eye:
The best I euer for my bosome kept,
None for my heart, as neare as ere I could.
And now I know not how Mirtillo comes
Me to torment, now must I sigh, and worse
Sigh for my selfe, deceiuing no man else.
Now must I robbe my limmes of their repose,
Mine eyes of sleepe, and watch the breake of day:
Now do I wander through these shadow'd woods,
Seeking the footsteps of my hated loue.
What must Corisca do? shall I entreat him?
No: my hate not giues me leaue. Ile giue him o're,
Nor will my loue consent. What shall I do?
Prayers and subtilties I will attempt:
I will bewray my loue, but not as mine,
If this preuaile not, then Ile make disdaine
Finde out a memorable huge reuenge.
Mirtillo if thou canst not like my loue,
Then shalt thou trie my hate. And Amarillis,
Thou shalt repent thou er'e my riuall wer't.
Well, to your costs you both shall quickly proue,
What rage in her can do that thus doth loue.

Sce. 4.

Titirus. Montanus. Damætas.
[Titirus.]
So helpe me Gods, I know I now do speake
To one that vnderstands more then I do.
These Oracles are still more doubtfull then
We take them, for their words are like to kniues,
Which taken by the hafts, are fit for vse,
But by the edges held, they may do harme.
That Amarillis as you argue, is
By the high heauenly Destenies elected for
Arcadiaes vniuersall health: who ought
More to desire, or to esteeme the same
Then I that am her father? but when I regard
That which the Oracle foretold, ill do the signes
Agree with our great hopes: since loue should then
Vnite, how falls it out he flies from her?
How can hate and despight bring forth loues fruite?
Ill could he contradict had heau'ns ordain'd it.
But since he doth contrary it, t'is cleare,
Heauens do not will: for if so they would
That Amarillis should be Siluioes wise,
A Louer, not a Huntsman, him they would haue made.

Mon.
Do you not see he is a child as yet?
He hath attain'd scarcely to eighteene yeares,
All in good time he may yet taste of loue.

Tit.
Taste of a beast, heele neueuer woman like.

Mon.
Many things alter in a yong mans heart.

Tit.
But alwaies loue is naturall to youth.

Mon.
It is vnnaturall where yeares do want.

Ti.
Loue alwaies flowres in our green time of age.

Mon.
It doth but flowre, t'is quite without all fruit.

Ti.
With timely flowres loue euer brings forth fruit.
Hither I came not for to ieast (Montane)
Nor to contend with you. But I the father am
Of a deare onely child, and (if't be lawfull so to say)
A worthy child, and by your leaue of many sought.

Mon.
Titirus, if the Destenies haue not ordain'd
This marriage, yet the faith they gaue on earth,
Bindes them vntoo't, which if they violate,
They violate their vow to Cinthia,
Who is enrag'd gainst vs, how much thou knowst.
But for as much as I discouer can,
The secret counsailes of th'eternall powers:
This knot was knit by th'and of Desteny.
All to good end will sort, be of good cheere.
I'le tell you now a dreame I had last night.
I sawe a thing which makes my auncient hope
Reuiue within my heart, more then before.

Tit.
Dreames in the end proue dreames, but what saw you?

Mon.
Do you remember that fame wofull night,
When swelling Ladon ouerflowd his bankes,
So that the fishes swam where birds did breed,
And in a moment did the rauenous floud,
Take men and beasts by heapes and heards away.
(Oh sad remembrance) in that very night
I lost my child, more deare then was my heart:
Mine onely child, in cradle warmly laid.
Liuing, and dead, dearely belou'd of me.
The Torrent tooke him hence ere we could prooue
To giue him succour, being buried quite,
In terrour, sleepe, and darknesse of the night:
Nor could we euer find the cradle where he lay,
By which I gesse some whirlpit swallowd both.

Tit.
Who can gesse otherwise? and I remember now,
You told me of this your mishap before:
A memorable misaduenture sure,
And you may say, you haue two sonnes begot,
One to the woods, the other to the waues.

Mon.
Perhaps the pitious heauens will restore
My first sonnes losse, in him that liueth yet;
Still must we hope, now listen to my tale.
The time when light and darknesse stroue together,
This one for night, that other for the day,
Hauing watcht all the night before, with thought
To bring this marriage to a happie end,
At last, with length of wearinesse, mine eyes
A pleasing slumber closde, when I this vision sawe,
Me thought I sat on famous Alfeus banke,
Vnder a leauy plane tree with a bayted hooke,
Tempting the fishes in the streame, in midst
Whereof, there rose me thought an aged man:
His head and beard dropping downe siluer teares,
Who gently raught to me with both his hands
A naked childe, saying, behold thy sonne,
Take heed thou killst him not. And with that word
He diued downe againe. When straight the skies
Waxt blacke with cloudes, threatning a dismall showre,
And I afraid, the child tooke in mine armes,
Crying, ah heauens, and will you in an instant then,
Both giue and take away my child againe?
When on the sudden all the skie waxt cleare:
And in the Riuer sell a thousand bowes,
And thousand arrowes, broken all to shiuers.
The body of the plane tree trembled there,
And out of it there came a subtill voyce
Which said, Arcadia shalbe faire againe.
So is the Image of this gentle dreame
Fixt in my heart, that still me thinkes I see't:
But aboue all, the curteous aged man.
For this when you me met, I comming was
Vnto the temple for to sacrifize,
To giue my dreames presage prosperous successe.

Tit.
Our dreames are rather representments vaine
Of Idle hopes, then any things to come:
Onely daies thoughts made fables for the night.

Mon.
The mind doth not sleepe euer with the flesh,
But is more watchfull then, because the eyes
Do not lead it a wandring where they goe.

Tit.
Well, of our children what the heauens disposed haue,
Is quite vnknowne to vs, but sure it is,
Yours gainst the law of nature feeles not loue.
And mine hath but the bond of his faith giu'n
For her reward. I cannot say she loues,
But well I wot she hath made many loue:
And t'is vnlike, she tastes not that she makes
So many taste. Me thinkes shee's alter'd much
From that she was: for full of sport and mirth,
Shee's wont to be. But t'is a grieuous thing,
To keepe a woman married and vnmarried thus.
For like a Rose that in some garden growes,
How daintie t'is against the Sunne doth rise,
Perfuming with sweete odours round about,
Bidding the humming bees to honey feast:
But if you then neglect to gather it,
And suffer Titan in his middayes course
To scorch her sides, and burne her daintie seat,
Then ere Sun-set, discoloured she falls,
And nothing worth vpon the shadow'd hedge.
Euen so a maid whom mothers care doth keepe,
Shutting her heart from amorous desires.
But if the piercing lookes of hungry louers eyes
Come but to view her, if she heare him sigh,
Her heart soone ope's, her breast soone takes in loue:
Which if for shame she hide, or feare containe,
The silent wretch in deepe desire consumes.
So fadeth beautie if that fire endure,
And leesing time, good fortune's lost be sure.

Mon.
Be of good cheare, let not these humane feares,
Confound thy spright, let's put our trust i'th' Gods,
And pray to them (t'is meet) for good successe.
Our children are their off-spring, and be sure
They will not see them lost that others keepe.
Go'w, let vs to the Temple ioyntly goe,
And sacrifize you a hee Goat to Pan,
I a young Bull, to mightie Hercules.
He that the heard makes thriue, can therewithall
Make him thriue, that with the profits of his heard
Hallowes the Altars. Faithfull Dametas,
Go thou and fetch a young and louely Bull,
As anie's in the heard, and bring it by the mountaines way,
I at the Temple will attend for thee.

Tit.
A he Goat bring Dametas from my heard.

Exeunt Mon. & Tur.
Da.
Both one and other I will well performe.
I pray the Gods (Montane) thy dreame do sort
Vnto as good an end as thou dost hope.
I know remembrance of thy sonne thou lost,
Inspires thee with a happie prophecie.

Sce. 5.

Satir
alone.
Like frost to grasse, like drought to gentle flowres,
Like lightning vnto corne, like wormes to seeds,
Like nets to deere, like lime to silly birds,
So to mankind is loue a cruell foe.
He that loue lik'ned vnto sire, knew well
His perfidous and wicked kind. For looke
But on this fire, how fine a thing it is,
But touch it, and t'is then a cruell thing.
The world hath not a monster more to dread.
It rauens worse then beasts, and strike more deepe
Then edged steele, and like the winde it flies:
And where it planteth his impetious feet,
Each force doth yeeld, all power giueth place.
Eu'n so this loue, if we it but behold,
In two faire eyes, and in a golden Tresse,
Oh how it pleaseth! oh how then it seemes
To breathe out ioy, and promise largely peace!
But if you it approach, and tempt it once,
So that it creepe and gather force in you,
Hircane no Tigres, Liby no Lyons hath,
Nor poisonous wormes, with teeth or stings so fierce,
That can surpasse, or equall loues disease,
More dreadfull then is hell, then death it selfe,
Sweete pitties foe, the minister of rage:
And to conclude, loue voyd of any loue.
Why speake I thus of loue? why blame him thus?
Is he the cause that the whole world in loue,
Or rather loue-dissembling, sinneth so?
Oh womans treacherie! that is the cause
That hath begotten loue this infamy.
How euer loue be in his nature good,
With them his goodnesse suddenly he leeseth.
They neuer suffer him to touch their hearts,
But in their faces onely build his bowre.
Their care, their pompe, and all their whole delight,
Is in the barke of a bepainted face.
T'is not in them now faith with faith to grace,
And to contend in loue with him that loues,
Into two breasts diuiding but one will:
Now all their labour is, with burnish'd gold
To die their haire, and tye it vp in curles,
Therein to snare vnwary louers in.
O what a stinking thing it is, to see them take
A Pencill vp, and paint their bloudlesse cheekes:
Hiding the faults of nature and of time,
Making the pale to blush, the wrinkled plaine,
The blacke seeme white, faults mending with farre worse.
Then with a paire of pincers do they pull
Their eye-browes till they smart againe.
But this is nothing, though it be too much,
For all their customes are alike to these.
What is it that they vse, which is not counterfeit?
Ope they their mouthes? they lie: mooue they their eyes?
They counterfeit their lookes: If so they sigh,
Their sighes dissembled are. In summe, each act,
Each looke, each gesture, is a verie lie.
Nor is this yet the worst. T'is their delight,
Them to deceiue eu'n most, that trust them most;
And loue them least, that are most worthy loue.
True faith to hate, worser then death it selfe:
These be the trickes that make loue so peruerse.
Then is the fault faithlesse Corisca thine?
Or rather mine, that haue beleeu'd thee so?
How many troubles haue I for thy sake sustaind?
I now repent, nay more I am ashamed.
Louers beleeue me, women once ador'd,
Are worser then the griesly powers of hell.
Strait by their valure vaunt they that they are
The same you by your folly fashion them.
Let go these baser sighes, praiers and plaints,
Fit weapons for women and children onely.
Once did I thinke that praiers, plaints, and sighes,
Might in a womans heart haue stirred vp
The flames of loue, but tush I was deceiu'd.
Then if thou wouldst thy mistresse conquer, leaue
These silly toyes, and close thou vp all loue.
Do that which loue and nature teacheth thee,
For modestie is but the outward vertue of
A womans face. Wherefore to handle her with modestie,
Is a meere fault, she though she vse it, loues it not.
A tender-harted Louer shalt thou not
Corisca euer find me more, but like a man
I will assaile and pierce thee through and through.
Twise haue I taken thee, and twise againe
Thou hast escap'd (I know not how) my hands:
But if thou com'st the third time in my reach,
I'le fetter thee for running then away.
T'hart wont to passe these woods, I like a hound
Will hunt thee out. Oh what a sweet reuenge
I meane to take: I meane to make thee proue
What t'is vniustly to betray thy Loue.

Exit.
Chorus.