 | The Faithful Shepherdess |  |
224
Actus Quartus.
Scena Prima.
Enter Perigot.Per.
She is untrue, unconstant, and unkind,
She's gone, she's gone, blow high thou North-west wind,
And raise the Sea to Mountains, let the Trees
That dare oppose thy raging fury, leefe
Their firm foundation, creep into the Earth,
And shake the world, as at the monstrous birth
Of some new Prodigy, whilst I constant stand,
Holding this trustie Boar-spear in my hand,
And falling thus upon it.
Enter Amaryllis, running.
Amar.
Stay thy dead doing hand, thou art too hot
Against thy self, believe me comely Swain,
If that thou dyest, not all the showers of Rain
The heavy clods send down can wash away
That foul unmanly guilt, the world will lay
Upon thee. Yet thy love untainted stands:
Believe me, she is constant, not the sands
Can be so hardly numbred as she won:
I do not trifle, Shepherd, by the Moon,
And all those lesser lights our eyes do view,
All that I told thee Perigot, is true:
Then be a free man, put away despair,
And will to dye, smooth gently up that fair
Dejected forehead: be as when those eyes
Took the first heat.
Per.
Alas he double dyes,
That would believe, but cannot; 'tis not well
Ye keep me thus from dying, here to dwell
With many worse companions: but oh death,
I am not yet inamour'd of this breath
So much, but I dare leave it, 'tis not pain
In forcing of a wound, nor after gain
Of many dayes, can hold me from my will:
'Tis not my self, but Amoret, bids kill.
Ama.
Stay but a little, little, but one hour,
And if I do not show thee through the power
Of herbs and words I have, as dark as night,
My self turn'd to thy Amoret, in sight,
Her very figure, and the Robe she wears,
With tawny Buskins, and the hook she bears.
Of thine own Carving, where your names are set,
Wrought underneath with many a curious fret,
The Prim-Rose Chaplet, taudry lace and Ring,
Thou gavest her for her singing, with each thing
Else that she wears about her, let me feel
The first fell stroke of that Revenging steel.
Per.
I am contented, if there be a hope
To give it entertainment, for the scope
Of one poor hour; go; you shall find me next
Under yon shady Beech, even thus perplext,
And thus believing.
Ama.
Bind before I goe,
Thy soul by Pan unto me, not to doe
Harm or outragious wrong upon thy life,
Till my return.
Per.
By Pan, and by the strife
He had with Phœbus for the Mastery,
When Golden Midas judg'd their Minstreloy,
I will not.
[Exeunt.
Enter Satyr, with Alexis, hurt.
Satyr.
Softly gliding as I goe,
With this burthen full of woe,
Through still silence of the night,
Guided by the Gloe-worms light,
Hither am I come at last,
Many a Thicket have I past
Not a twig that durst deny me,
Not a bush that durst descry me,
To the little Bird that sleeps
On the tender spray: nor creeps
That hardy worm with pointed tail,
But if I be under sail,
Flying faster than the wind,
Leaving all the clouds behind,
But doth hide her tender head
In some hollow tree or bed
Of seeded Nettles: not a Hare
Can be started from his fare,
By my footing, nor a wish
Is more sudden, nor a fish
Can be found with greater ease,
Cut the vast unbounded seas,
Leaving neither print nor sound,
Than I, when nimbly on the ground,
I measure many a league an hour:
But behold the happy power;
That must ease me of my charge,
And by holy hand enlarge
The soul of this sad man, that yet
Lyes fast bound in deadly fit;
Heaven and great Pan succour it!
Hail thou beauty of the bower,
Whiter than the Paramour
Of my Master, let me crave
Thy vertuous help to keep from Grave
This poor Mortal that here lyes,
Waiting when the destinies
Will cut off his thred of life:
View the wound by cruel knife
Trencht into him.
Clor.
What art thou call'st me from my holy rites,
And with thy feared name of death affrights
My tender Ears? speak me thy name and will.
Satyr.
I am the Satyr that did fill
Your lap with early fruit, and will,
When I hap to gather more,
Bring ye better and more store:
Yet I come not empty now,
See a blossom from the bow,
But beshrew his heart that pull'd it,
And his perfect sight that cull'd it
From the other springing blooms;
For a sweeter youth the Grooms
Cannot show me, nor the downs,
Nor the many neighbouring towns;
Low in yonder glade I found him,
Softly in mine Arms I bound him,
Hither have I brought him sleeping
In a trance, his wounds fresh weeping,
In remembrance such youth may
Spring and perish in a day.
Clor.
Satyr, they wrong thee, that do term thee rude,
Though thou beest outward rough and tawny hu'd,
Thy manners are as gentle and as fair
As his, who brags himself, born only heir
To all Humanity: let me see the wound:
This Herb will stay the current being bound
Fast to the Orifice, and this restrain
Ulcers, and swellings, and such inward pain,
As the cold air hath forc'd into the sore:
This to draw out such putrifying gore
As inward falls.
Satyr.
Heaven grant it may doe good.
Clor.
Fairly wipe a way the blood:
Hold him gently till I fling
Water of a vertuous spring
On his temples; turn him twice
To the Moon beams, pinch him thrice,
That the labouring soul may draw
From his great eclipse.
Satyr.
I saw
His eye-lids moving.
Clo.
Give him breath,
All the danger of cold death
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And this unction, do I master
All the festred ill that may
Give him grief another day.
Satyr.
See he gathers up his spright
And begins to hunt for light;
Now he gapes and breaths again:
How the blood runs to the vein,
That erst was empty!
Alex.
O my heart,
My dearest, dearest Cloe, O the smart
Runs through my side: I feel some pointed thing
Pass through my Bowels, sharper than the sting
Of Scorpion.
Pan preserve me, what are you?
Do not hurt me, I am true
To my Cloe, though she flye,
And leave me to thy destiny.
There she stands, and will not lend
Her smooth white hand to help her friend:
But I am much mistaken, for that face
Bears more Austerity and modest grace,
More reproving and more awe
Than these eyes yet ever saw
In my Cloe. Oh my pain
Eagerly renews again.
Give me your help for his sake you love best.
Clor.
Shepherd, thou canst not possibly take rest,
Till thou hast laid aside all hearts desires
Provoking thought that stir up lusty fires,
Commerce with wanton eyes, strong blood, and will
To execute, these must be purg'd, untill
The vein grow whiter; then repent, and pray
Great Pan to keep you from the like decay,
And shall undertake your cure with ease.
Till when this vertuous Plaster will displease
Your tender sides; give me your hand and rise:
Help him a little Satyr, for his thighs
Yet are feeble.
Alex.
Sure I have lost much blood.
Satyr.
'Tis no matter, 'twas not good.
Mortal you must leave your wooing,
Though there be a joy in doing,
Yet it brings much grief behind it,
They best feel it, that do find it.
Clor.
Come bring him in, I will attend his sore
When you are well, take heed you lust no more.
Satyr.
Shepherd, see what comes of kissing,
By my head 'twere better missing.
Brightest, if there be remaining
Any service, without feigning
I will do it; were I set
To catch the nimble wind, or get
Shadows gliding on the green,
Or to steal from the great Queen
Of Fayries, all her beauty,
I would do it, so much duty
Do I owe those precious Eyes.
Cor.
I thank thee honest Satyr, if the cryes
Of any other that be hurt or ill,
Draw thee unto them, prithee do thy will
To bring them hither.
Satyr.
I will, and when the weather
Serves to Angle in the brook,
I will bring a silver hook,
With a line of finest silk,
And a rod as white as milk,
To deceive the little fish:
So I take my leave, and wish,
On this Bower may ever dwell
Spring, and Summer.
Clor.
Friend farewel.
[Exit.
Enter Amoret, seeking her Love.
Amor.
This place is Ominous, for here I lost
My Love and almost life, and since have crost
All these Woods over, never a Nook or Dell,
Where any little Bird, or Beast doth dwell,
But I have sought him, never a bending brow
Of any Hill or Glade, the wind sings through,
Nor a green bank, nor shade where Shepherds use
To sit and Riddle, sweetly pipe, or chuse
Their Valentines, that I have mist, to find
My love in. Perigot, Oh too unkind,
Why hast thou fled me? whither art thou gone?
How have I wrong'd thee? was my love alone
To thee worthy this scorn'd recompence? 'tis well,
I am content to feel it: but I tell
Thee Shepherd, and these lusty woods shall hear,
Forsaken Amoret is yet as clear
Of any stranger fire, as Heaven is
From foul corruption, or the deep Abysse
From light and happiness; and thou mayst know
All this for truth, and how that fatal blow
Thou gav'st me, never from desert of mine,
Fell on my life, but from suspect of thine,
Or fury more than madness; therefore, here,
Since I have lost my life, my love, my dear,
Upon this cursed place, and on this green,
That first divorc'd us, shortly shall be seen
A sight of so great pity, that each eye
Shall dayly spend his spring in memory
Of my untimely fall.
Enter Amaryllis.
Amar.
I am not blind,
Nor is it through the working of my mind,
That this shows Amoret; forsake me all
That dwell upon the soul, but what men call
Wonder, or more than wonder, miracle,
For sure so strange as this the Oracle
Never gave answer of, it passeth dreams,
Or mad-mens fancy, when the many streams
Of new imaginations rise and fall:
'Tis but an hour since these Ears heard her call
For pity to young Perigot; whilest he,
Directed by his fury bloodily
Lanc't up her brest, which bloodless fell and cold;
And if belief may credit what was told,
After all this, the Melancholy Swain
Took her into his arms being almost slain,
And to the bottom of the holy well
Flung her, for ever with the waves to dwell.
'Tis she, the very same, 'tis Amoret,
And living yet, the great powers will not let
Their vertuous love be crost. Maid, wipe away
Those heavy drops of sorrow, and allay
The storm that yet goes high, which not deprest,
Breaks heart and life, and all before it rest:
Thy Perigot—
Amor.
Where, which is Perigot?
Amar.
Sits there below, lamenting much, god wot,
Thee thy and fortune, go and comfort him,
And thou shalt find him underneath a brim
Of failing Pines that edge yon Mountain in.
Amo.
I go, I run, Heaven grant me I may win
His soul again.
[Exit Amoret.
Enter Sullen.
Sull.
Stay Amaryllis, stay,
Ye are too fleet, 'tis two hours yet to day.
I have perform'd my promise, let us sit
And warm our bloods together till the fit
Come lively on us.
Amar.
Friend you are too keen,
The morning riseth and we shall be seen,
Forbear a little.
Sull.
I can stay no longer.
Amar.
Hold Shepherd hold, learn not to be a wronger
Of your word, was not your promise laid,
To break their loves first?
Sull.
I have done it Maid.
Amar.
No, they are yet unbroken, met again,
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Is from the finest Lawn.
Sull.
I say they are
Now at this present parted, and so far,
That they shall never meet.
Amar.
Swain 'tis not so,
For do but to yon hanging Mountain go,
And there believe your eyes.
Sull.
You do but hold
Off with delayes and trifles; farewell cold
And frozen bashfulness, unfit for men;
Thus I salute thee Virgin.
Amar.
And thus then,
I bid you follow, catch me if you can.
[Exit.
Sull.
And if I stay behind I am no man.
[Exit running after her.
Enter Perigot.
Per.
Night do not steal away: I woo thee yet
To hold a hard hand o're the rusty bit
That guides the lazy Team: go back again,
Bootes, thou that driv'st thy frozen Wain
Round as a Ring, and bring a second Night
To hide my sorrows from the coming light;
Let not the eyes of men stare on my face,
And read my falling, give me some black place
Where never Sun-beam shot his wholesome light,
That I may sit and pour out my sad spright
Like running water, never to be known
After the forced fall and sound is gone.
Enter Amoret looking for Perigot.
Amo.
This is the bottom: speak if thou be here,
My Perigot, thy Amoret; thy dear
Calls on thy loved Name.
Per.
What art thou darest
Tread these forbidden paths, where death and care
Dwell on the face of darkness?
Amo.
'Tis thy friend,
Thy Amoret, come hither to give end
To these consumings; look up gentle Boy,
I have forgot those Pains and dear annoy
I suffer'd for thy sake, and am content
To be thy love again, why hast thou rent
Those curled locks, where I have often hung
Riband and Damask-roses, and have flung
Waters distil'd to make thee fresh and gay,
Sweeter than the Nosegayes on a Bridal day?
Why dost thou cross thine Arms, and hang thy face
Down to thy bosom, letting fall apace
From those two little Heavens upon the ground
Showers of more price, more Orient, and more round
Than those that hang upon the Moons pale brow?
Cease these complainings, Shepherd, I am now
The same I ever was, as kind and free,
And can forgive before you ask of me.
Indeed I can and will.
Per.
So spoke my fair.
O you great working powers of Earth and Air,
Water and forming fire, why have you lent
Your hidden vertues of so ill intent?
Even such a face, so fair, so bright of hue
Had Amoret, such words so smooth and new,
Came flying from her tongue; such was her eye,
And such the pointed sparkle that did flye
Forth like a bleeding shaft; all is the same,
The Robe and Buskins, painted Hook, and frame,
Of all her Body. O me, Amoret!
Amo.
Shepherd, what means this Riddle? who hath set
So strong a difference 'twixt my self and me
That I am grown another? look and see
The Ring thou gav'st me, and about my wrist
That curious Bracelet thou thy self didst twist
From those fair Tresses: knowst thou Amoret?
Hath not some newer love forc'd thee forget
Thy Ancient faith?
Per.
Still nearer to my love;
These be the very words she oft did prove
Upon my temper, so she still would take
Wonder into her face, and silent make
Signs with her head and hand, as who would say,
Shepherd remember this another day.
Amo.
Am I not Amoret? where was I lost?
Can there be Heaven, and time, and men, and most
Of these unconstant? Faith where art thou fled?
Are all the vows and protestations dead,
The hands help up, the wishes, and the heart,
Is there not one remaining, not a part
Of all these to be found? why then I see
Men never knew that vertue Constancie.
Per.
Men ever were most blessed, till crass fate
Brought Love and Women forth, unfortunate
To all that ever tasted of their smiles,
Whose actions are all double, full of wiles:
Like to the subtil Hare, that 'fore the Hounds
Makes many turnings, leaps and many rounds,
This way and that way, to deceive the scent
Of her pursuers.
Amo.
'Tis but to prevent
Their speedy coming on that seek her fall,
The hands of cruel men, more Bestial,
And of a nature more refusing good
Than Beasts themselves, or Fishes of the Flood.
Per.
Thou art all these, and more than nature meant,
When she created all, frowns, joys, content;
Extream fire for an hour, and presently
Colder than sleepy poyson, or the Sea,
Upon whose face sits a continual frost:
Your actions ever driven to the most,
Then down again as low, that none can find
The rise or falling of a Womans mind.
Amo.
Can there be any Age, or dayes, or time,
Or tongues of men, guilty so great a crime
As wronging simple Maid? O Perigot,
Thou that wast yesterday without a blot,
That men call blessed; thou that wast the spring
From whence our looser grooms drew all their best;
Thou that wast alwayes just, and alwayes blest
In faith and promise; thou that hadst the name
Of Vertuous given thee, and made good the same
Ev'en from thy Cradle; thou that wast that all
That men delighted in; Oh what a fall
Is this, to have been so, and now to be
The only best in wrong and infamie,
And I to live to know this! and by me
That lov'd thee dearer than mine eyes, or that
Which we esteem'd our honour, Virgin state;
Dearer than Swallows love the early morn,
Or Dogs of Chace the sound of merry Horn;
Dearer than thou canst love thy new Love, if thou hast
Another, and far dearer than the last;
Dearer than thou canst love thy self, though all
The self love were within thee that did fall
With that coy Swain that now is made a flower,
For whose dear sake, Echo weeps many a shower.
And am I thus rewarded for my flame?
Lov'd worthily to get a wantons name?
Come thou forsaken Willow, wind my head,
And noise it to the world my Love is dead:
I am forsaken, I am cast away,
And left for every lazy Groom to say,
I was unconstant, light, and sooner lost
Than the quick Clouds we see, or the chill Frost
When the hot Sun beats on it. Tell me yet,
Canst thou not love again thy Amoret?
Per.
Thou art not worthy of that blessed name,
I must not know thee, fling thy wanton flame
Upon some lighter blood, that may be hot
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Was ever yet unstain'd, and shall not now
Stoop to the meltings of a borrowed brow.
Amo.
Then hear me heaven, to whom I call for right,
And you fair twinkling stars that crown the night;
And hear me woods, and silence of this place,
And ye sad hours that move a sullen pace;
Hear me ye shadows that delight to dwell
In horrid darkness, and ye powers of Hell,
Whilst I breath out my last; I am that maid,
That yet untainted Amoret, that plaid
The careless prodigal, and gave away
My soul to this young man, that now dares say
I am a stranger, not the same, more wild;
And thus with much belief I was beguil'd.
I am that maid, that have delaid, deny'd,
And almost scorn'd the loves of all that try'd
To win me, but this swain, and yet confess
I have been woo'd by many with no less
Soul of affection, and have often had
Rings, Belts, and Cracknels sent me from the lad
That feeds his flocks down westward; Lambs and Doves
By young Alexis; Daphnis sent me gloves,
All which I gave to thee: nor these, nor they
That sent them did I smile on, or e're lay
Up to my after-memory. But why
Do I resolve to grieve, and not to dye?
Happy had been the stroke thou gav'st, if home;
By this time had I found a quiet room
Where every slave is free, and every brest
That living breeds new care, now lies at rest,
And thither will poor Amoret.
Per.
Thou must.
Was ever any man so loth to trust
His eyes as I? or was there ever yet
Any so like as this to Amoret?
For whose dear sake, I promise if there be
A living soul within thee, thus to free
Thy body from it.
[He hurts her again.
Amo.
So, this work hath end:
Farewel and live, be constant to thy friend
That loves thee next.
Enter Satyr, Perigot runs off.
Satyr.
See the day begins to break,
And the light shoots like a streak
Of subtil fire, the wind blows cold,
Whilst the morning doth unfold;
Now the Birds begin to rouse,
And the Squirril from the boughs
Leaps to get him Nuts and fruit;
The early Lark that erst was mute,
Carrols to the rising day
Many a note and many a lay:
Therefore here I end my watch,
Lest the wandring swain should catch
Harm, or lose himself.
Amo.
Ah me!
Satyr.
Speak again what e're thou be,
I am ready, speak I say:
By the dawning of the day,
By the power of night and Pan,
I inforce thee speak again.
Amo.
O I am most unhappy.
Satyr.
Yet more blood!
Sure these wanton Swains are wode.
Can there be a hand or heart
Dare commit so vile a part
As this Murther? By the Moon
That hid her self when this was done,
Never was a sweeter face:
I will bear her to the place
Where my Goddess keeps; and crave
Her to give her life, or grave.
[Exeunt.
Enter Clorin.
Clor.
Here whilst one patient takes his rest secure
I steal abroad to doe another Cure.
Pardon thou buryed body of my love,
That from thy side I dare so soon remove,
I will not prove unconstant, nor will leave
Thee for an hour alone. When I deceive
My first made vow, the wildest of the wood
Tear me, and o're thy Grave let out my blood;
I goe by wit to cure a lovers pain
Which no herb can; being done, I'le come again.
[Exit.
Enter Thenot.
The.
Poor Shepherd in this shade for ever lye,
And seeing thy fair Clorins Cabin, dye:
O hapless love, which being answer'd, ends;
And as a little infant cryes and bends
His tender Brows, when rowling of his eye
He hath espy'd some thing that glisters nigh
Which he would have, yet give it him, away
He throws it straight, and cryes afresh to play
With something else: such my affection, set
On that which I should loath, if I could get.
Enter Clorin.
Clor.
See where he lyes; did ever man but he
Love any woman for her Constancie
To her dead lover, which she needs must end
Before she can allow him for her friend,
And he himself must needs the cause destroy,
For which he loves, before he can enjoy?
Poor Shepherd, Heaven grant I at once may free
Thee from thy pain, and keep my loyaltie:
Shepherd, look up.
The.
Thy brightness doth amaze!
So Phœbus may at noon bid mortals gaze,
Thy glorious constancie appears so bright,
I dare not meet the Beams with my weak sight.
Clor.
Why dost thou pine away thy self for me?
The.
Why dost thou keep such spotless constancie?
Clor.
Thou holy Shepherd, see what for thy sake
Clorin, thy Clorin, now dare under take.
[He starts up.
The.
Stay there, thou constant Clorin, if there be
Yet any part of woman left in thee,
To make thee light: think yet before thou speak
Clor.
See what a holy vow for thee I break.
I that already have my fame far spread
For being constant to my lover dead.
The.
Think yet, dear Clorin, of your love, how true,
If you had dyed, he would have been to you.
Clor.
Yet all I'le lose for thee.
The.
Think but how blest
A constant woman is above the rest.
Clor.
And offer up my self, here on this ground,
To be dispos'd by thee.
The.
Why dost thou wound
His heart with malice, against woman more,
That hated all the Sex, but thee before?
How much more pleasant had it been to me
To dye, than to behold this change in thee?
Yet, yet, return, let not the woman sway.
Clor.
Insult not on her now, nor use delay,
Who for thy sake hath ventur'd all her fame.
The.
Thou hast not ventur'd, but bought certain shame,
Your Sexes curse, foul falshood must and shall,
I see, once in your lives, light on you all.
I hate thee now: yet turn.
Clor.
Be just to me:
Shall I at once both lose my fame and thee?
The.
Thou hadst no fame, that which thou didst like good,
Was but thy appetite that sway'd thy blood.
For that time to the best: for as a blast
That through a house comes, usually doth cast
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And blow some one thing to his proper room;
So did thy appetite, and not thy zeal,
Sway thee be chance to doe some one thing well.
Yet turn.
Clor.
Thou dost but try me if I would
Forsake thy dear imbraces, for my old
Love's, though he were alive: but do not fear.
The.
I do contemn thee now, and dare come near,
And gaze upon thee; for me thinks that grace,
Austeritie, which sate upon that face
Is gone, and thou like others: false maid see,
This is the gain of soul inconstancie.
[Exit.
Clor.
'Tis done, great Pan I give thee thanks for it,
What art could not have heal'd, is cur'd by wit.
Enter Thenot, again.
The.
Will ye be constant yet? will ye remove
Into the Cabin to your buried Love?
Clor.
No let me die, but by thy side remain.
The.
There's none shall know that thou didst ever stain
Thy worthy strictness, but shall honour'd be,
And I will lye again under this tree,
And pine and dye for thee with more delight,
Than I have sorrow now to know the light.
Clor.
Let me have thee, and I'le be where thou wilt.
The.
Thou art of womens race, and full of guilt.
Farewel all hope of that Sex, whilst I thought
There was one good, I fear'd to find one naught:
But since their minds I all alike espie,
Henceforth I'le choose as others, by mine eye.
Clor.
Blest be ye powers that give such quick redress,
And for my labours sent so good success.
I rather choose, though I a woman be,
He should speak ill of all, than die for me.
| The Faithful Shepherdess | |