 | The Enchanted Lovers |  |
8
SCENA II.
DIANA, MELINTUS, ISMENIA.Diana not seeing Melintus.
Diana.
True, I hate that horrid noise;
Now my free thought releas'd from such a trouble,
Enjoyes it self.
Melintus
to Diana.
So soon to quit the sports,
What was your fancy?
Diana.
To avoid discourse
That troubled me, and here I meet with new.
Melintus.
Can such a subject as brings homage to you,
Produce th'effect you speak?
Diana.
What doth not please me,
Both troubles and offends me.
Melintus.
You will one day
Quit those disdainful rigours?
Diana.
Yes, when you
Have neither hope, nor love.
Melintus.
D'ye entertain
Every one thus that loves you?
Diana.
If he be such
As you, I use him just in the same manner.
Melintus.
Surely the Shepheard Clidamant speeds better.
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'Tis then assuredly because he doth not
Resemble you.
Melintus.
He entertain'd discourse.
With you in gentle whispers at the Sports.
Diana.
I do confess it,
We talk'd of you; and of your little skill.
Melintus.
Your subject was more serious, without doubt.
Diana.
What e'r it was, yours, I am sure, offends me.
Remove this hated object from mine eyes;
Your presence will at last provoke my anger.
Melintus.
Can one displease you, speaking of your Loves?
Thou Husband'st for him that so sweet discourse.
Ismenia.
Every one knows that who but speaks Melintus,
Speaks jealous.
Melintus.
It is no secret what men think of thee;
Every one knows, that who speaks but Ismenia,
Speaks cocket.
Ismenia.
Really thou hast much reason
To be afflicted at that late discourse,
Clidamant merits much, and I'le oblige him.
Diana.
Leave us.
Melintus.
He doth expect you, and I trouble you;
But wee'l find out a way to cross his fortune.
Exit Melintus.
10
to Ismenia
He thinks that Clidamant enjoys my love.
Ismenia.
Thou hast no reason, Shepheardess, to draw him
Out of his errour: in the mean time wilt thou
Not yield thee to the faithful services,
The prayers and tears of the devout Thersander?
Wilt thou not love him yet? he that encourag'd
By thy fair presence, only to please thee,
Hath gain'd so many prizes, who to give
Thy anger no pretence, though he loves much,
Can more be silent, since the ardent flame
Wherewith he burns for thee, is only known,
To me, unto Thimantes, and thy self.
Diana.
Ne'r speak unto me of it.
Ismenia.
What! still cruel?
But hearken, I will give thee an advise
Shall touch thee; whilst we may, we should lay hold of
The flying time; he only maketh beauties,
And he destroys them; in the lovely season
That thine lasts, use the gifts which nature gives thee;
Thou wilt one day lose this fair lustre which
So charmeth hearts, and be an object of
Comtempt, as now thou art of adoration.
Diana.
Rather that love, whose Orator thou art,
Yet know'st his use so little, doth times office;
'Tis he that withereth a face; the cares,
The troubles and the griefs, which by his means
Possess a heart, deface the lovely features,
And mow the flowers, he is like time the Tyrant
Of all things; he in a few dayes dryes up
Our Roses, and our Lillies.
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Shepheardess,
Such fear hath smal foundation, quit this thought
For thy own interest; when love is once
Lodg'd in the heart, the ey hath then more light
The face receiveth thence its full perfection;
Then we esteem us, then we please our selves,
And know our utmost value, we correct
By art even to the least defect, we call
Our Glass to counsel in the ordering
Our gate, our carriage, and our countenance;
There our eye cheers with smiles, or kills with frowns,
Or faintly darts its glances, or with strength,
Either to wound neer hand, or further of;
Therefore once more for thy own interest,
I say unto thee, love, at least a little,
Thersander that adores thee.
Diana.
Really,
Thou dost surprise me, to speak thus unto me,
Thou that hast never yet had love, nor thought
Tending to that sick passion, thou that mak'st
So many Lovers only for thy glory,
Without remembring one of them, thou that
Pleasest thy self by turns in their discourse,
Thou that wilt again all, & conserve thee nothing.
Thou sufferest Thimantes to adore thee
To day; but tell me wilt thou entertain
His love to morrow?
Ismenia.
I love, but I have alwayes had my method
In love, the Lover that is troublesome
Unto me, is my Lover for a day;
I burn not yet for love, nor do I sigh for't:
I make a sport on't still, but ne'r a torment;
In thrusting no one of, I'm every day.
Attended by a multitude of servants
That present courtship to me, and all strive
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And raign as Princess; they suppose they please me
In putting up my praises; when I go
Unto the Temple, they fail not to follow,
And carefully to tread in all my steps.
I am not pleas'd to see in such brave Shepheards
A troop of slaves attending on my train;
I please them all in flattering their desires:
I'm much delighted, when I make them jealous,
Provided that their jealousy extend not
So far as, to betake themselves to arms
For th'honour of my beauty; this high point
Of evidences might, perhaps, enrage
Even all my other lovers.
Diana.
Ha! how ill
Thou know'st love, and his maximes, I behold
Thy changes as so many crimes; for my part,
If my heart were ta'ne with an object once,
I could not pass from love unto contempt;
I should be fix'd unto my first Idea,
And that God wholly should possess my thoughts.
Ismenia.
Well then, Diana, love, if thou think'st fit,
Beyond the grave, and make so fair a fire
Arise beneath thy ashes.
Diana.
Oh, alas!
Ismenia.
What signify those sighs?
Diana.
They signify
The sorrow of the heart.
13
But whence proceeds
That sorrow? is it from thy brothers death,
Or from some lovers? come, deal plainly with me,
Dost thou not love Thersander yet at last?
Diana.
No, I assure thee.
Ismenia.
Speak, I'm very secret.
Diana.
I'le tell thee then, in Sevil I receiv'd
Both life and love, Cleagenor, Ismenia,
Is the name of the Conquerour, whose image
Is graven in my heart.
Ismenia.
O Gods! how this discourse
Hath cosened my thought, I was about
To give instructions;—but pursue.
Diana.
Our parents
Approv'd our love, and the day for our marriage
Already was appointed, when Nearchus,
Provoked by an infamous desire,
Came to solicit me unlawfully
In favour of his flame; this favourite
Unto the King after a passion painted,
And coloured with sighs, called his presents
To the assistance of his faith; but this
Proving effectless, he resolv'd my ruin;
He came with open force to satisfy
His beastly and unruly appetite;
And to that end would carry me away.
My Mother having notice at that instant
Of his design, made me to take a drink,
To frustrate it, and then, her subt'le policy
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Indeed the vertue of this drink procur'd me
So long a sleep, that it appear'd to be
The sleep of death; Nearchus terrified
With this sad news, came to behold it painted
Upon my face; remorse of conscience
Within his heart then, quarrel'd with his love:
His sad despair arm'd him to kill himself:
But whilst his soul was troubled herewith,
I was conveyed secretly into
A Bark; scarce had I yet finish'd my sleep,
But at my first waking I saw my self
Upon the Sea. My Mother then related
The whole adventure to me, and the secret
Imposture of my feigned death, when suddenly
A storm brake the discourse, horrour and death
March'd on the floods: alas, what shall I say?
Our vessel being carried by the fury
O'th' winds and waves, was split upon a rock,
The several pieces floated on the waters;
I know not which o'th' Gods took care of me
In putting one under my trembling hand,
Which making me pass on those moving graves
Through the disturbed empire of the winds,
Carried me to the shore in all apparence
Devoid of life; here in this quiet Island
Of Erithréa where Melissa raigns
My body found a receptacle; she
Returning at that instant from the chase,
Perceiv'd it lying, which th'enraged Sea
Yet threatened on its banks, and that same God
Which would compleat his miracle, inclin'd
Her heart to pitty at this spectacle:
She caus'd me to be carried to her Court:
It is unto her succour that I owe
15
My name, the better to assure my flight,
And so to disappoint Nearchus pursuit.
Ismenia.
How Shepheardess, is not thy Name Diana?
Diana.
No, Celia was my true and only name;
But for my safety I made to Melissa
A feign'd relation of the miseries
Of my sad life; since she receiv'd me
Into her palace, where I live with her,
And am now of her Court. Seven times the Sun
Hath finish'd his Carier, since I have seen,
Or heard news of my mother.
Ismenia.
Was Cleagenor
Inform'd of all this?
Diana.
Oh, alas! this is
One of the points that causeth my affliction:
Cleagenor surprised by the same
Imposture, came to see me in my bed,
As in my grave: I wonder that the noise
Of his redoubled cryes brake not my sleep:
The heat to revenge me dry'd all his tears:
He found his rival, and assaulted him;
They fought on equal terms; Nearchus fell
Under his arms for dead; Cleagenor
Was forc'd to fly t'avoid the fury of
Th'offended King: his sudden flight gave not
My Mother oportunity t'inform him
(As she intended) with the fiction
Of my pretended death: since his departure
'Tis now seven years compleat, in all which time
I've heard no news of him; so that I know not
Whether I mourn the living, or the dead;
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And to conceal my miserable fortune,
I feign'd a Brothers death.
Ismenia.
I'm sensible
Of thy misfortune, and will bear a part
In thy sad grief, if that will make it lesse;
I no more now condemne thy sighs, nor tears;
But yet at last preserve thy beauty from
Those murthering sorrows; in this doubtfull case
Fix thy fair thoughts upon some other object;
If death hath seiz'd thy Servant, sure thou losest
Too many tears and sighs; or grant he live,
Ist probable that he will keep his constancy
For thee whom he thinks dead? but here's my Lover.
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