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Actus Secundus.
Enter Albert, Aminta.Alb.
Alas, deere soule ye faint.
Amint.
You speak the language
Which I should use to you; heaven knows, my weaknes
Is not for what I suffer in my selfe,
But to imagine what you endure, and to what fate
Your cruell Starrs reserve ye.
Alb.
Doe not adde to my afflictions
By your tender pitties; sure we have chang'd Sexes;
You bear calamity with a fortitude
Would become a man; I like a weake girle suffer.
Amint.
O! but your wounds,
How fearfully they gape? and every one
To me is a Sepulchre; if I lov'd truly,
Wse men affirm that true love can doe wonders,
This bath'd in my warme teares, would soon be cur'd,
And leave no orifice behind; pray give me leave
To play the Surgeon, and bind 'em up;
The raw ayre rancles 'em.
Alb.
Sweet, we want meanes.
Amint.
Love can supply all wants.
Alb.
What have ye done Sweet?
Oh sacriledge to beauty: there's no haire
Of these pure locks, by which the greatest King
Would not be gladly bound, and love his Fetters.
Amint.
O Albert, I offer this sacrifice of service
To the Altar of your staid temperance, and still adore it;
When with a violent hand you made me yours,
I cursed the doer: but now I consider,
How long I was in your power? and with what honour
You entertain'd me? it being seldome seen,
That youth and heat of blood could ere prescribe
Laws to it selfe; your goodnesse is the Lethe,
In which I drown your injuries, and now live
Truly to serve ye: how doe you Sir?
Receive you the least ease from my service?
If you doe, I am largely recompenc'd.
Alb.
You good Angels,
That are ingag'd, when mans ability failes,
To reward goodnesse: look upon this Lady
Though hunger gripes my croaking entrailes,
Yet when I kisse these rubies, me thinkes
I'm at a banquet a refreshing banquet;
Speak my blesse't one art not hungry?
Amint.
Indeed I could eat, to beare you company.
Alb.
Blush unkind nature,
If thou hast power: or being to heare
Thy self, and by such innocence accus'd;
Must Print a thousand kinds of shames, upon
Thy various face: canst thou supply a drunkard,
And with a prodigall hand, reach choice of wines,
Till he cast up thy blessings? or a glutton,
That robbs the Elements, to sooth his palat,
And only eats to beget Appetite,
Not to be satisfied? and suffer here
A Virgin, which the Saints would make their guest,
To pine for hunger? ha, if my sence
Hornes within.
Deceive me not, these notes take being
From the breath of men; confirme me my Aminta;
Again, this way the gentle wind conveyes it to us,
Heare you nothing?
Amint.
Yes, it seemes free hunters Musicke;
Alb.
Still 'tis lowder; and I remember the Portugals
Inform'd us, they had often heard such sounds,
But ne're could touch the shore from whence it came;
Follow me, my Aminta: my good genius,
Shew me the way still; still we are directed;
When we gaine the top of this neer rising hill
Exit. and Enter above.
We shall know further.
Alb.
Curteous Zephyrus
On his dewie wings, carries perfumes to cheer us;
The ayre cleers too;
And now, we may discerne another Island,
And questionlesse, the seat of fortunate men:
O that we could arrive there;
Amint.
No Albert, 'tis not to be hop'd;
This envious Torrent's cruelly interpos'd;
We have no Vessell that may transport us;
Nor hath nature given us wing's to flye.
Alb.
Better try all hazards,
Then perish here remedilesse; I feele
New vigor in me, and a spirit that dares
More then a man, to serve my faire Aminta;
These Armes shall be my oares, with which I'le swim;
And my zeale to save thy innocent selfe,
Like wings, shall beare me up above the brackish waves.
6
Well ye then leave me?
Alb.
Till now I nere was wretched.
My best Aminta, I sweare by goodnesse
Tis nor hope, nor feare, of my selfe, that invites me
To this extreame; tis to supply thy wants; and believe me
Though pleasure met me in most ravishing formes,
And happinesse courted me to entertaine her,
I would nor eate nor sleepe till I return'd
And crown'd thee with my fortunes.
Amin.
O but your absence.
Alb.
Suppose it but a dream; and as you may,
Endeavour to take rest; and when that sleep
Deceives your hunger with imagin'd food,
Thinke you have sent me for discovery
Of some most fortunate Continent, yet unknown,
Which you are to be Queen of.
And now ye Powers that ere heard Lovers prayers,
Or cherisht pure affection, looke on him
That is your Votary; and make it known
Against all stops, you can defend your own.
Exit.
Enter Hippolita, Crocale, Juletta.
Hip.
How did we lose Clarinda?
Cro.
When we beliv'd the Stag was spent, and would take soyle,
The sight of the blacke Lake which we suppos'd
He chose for his last refuge, frighted him more
Then we that did pursue him.
Jul.
That's usuall; for, death it selfe is not so terrible
To any beast of chase.
Hip.
Since we liv'd here, we nere could force one to it.
Cro.
Tis so dreadfull,
Birds that with their pinions cleave the Ayre
Dare not flie over it: when the Stag turn'd head,
And we even tyred with labour, Clarinda, as if
She were made of Ayre and Fire,
And had no part of earth in her, eagerly pursu'd him;
Nor need we feare her safety, this place yeelds not
Fawnes nor Satyres, or more lustfull men;
Here we live secure,
And have among our selves a Common-wealth,
Which in our selves begun, with us must end.
Jul.
I there's the misery.
Cro.
But being alone,
Allow me freedome but to speake my thoughts;
The strictnesse of our Governesse, that forbids us
On pain of death the sight and use of men,
Is more then tyranny: for her selfe, shee's past
Those youthfull heats, and feeles not the want
Of that which young mayds long for: and her daughter
The faire Clarinda, though in few yeeres
Improv'd in height and large proportion,
Came here so young,
That scarce remembring that she had a father,
She never dreames of man; and should she see one,
In my opinion, a would appeare a strange beast to her.
Jul.
Tis not so with us.
Hip.
For my part, I confesse it, I was not made
For this single life; nor doe I love hunting so,
But that I had rather be the Chace my selfe.
Cro.
By Venus (out upon me) I should have sworn
By Diana, I am of thy mind too wench;
And though I have tane an Oath, not alone
To detest, but never to thinke of man,
Every houre something tels me I am forsworn;
For I confesse imagination helps me sometimes,
And that's all is left for us to feed on,
We might starve else; for if I have any pleasure
In this life, but when I sleep, I am a Pagan;
Then from the Courtier to the Country clown,
I have strange visions.
Jul.
Visions Crocale?
Cro.
Yes, and fine visions too;
And visions I hope in dreames are harmlesse,
And not forbid by our Canons; the last night
(Troth tis a foolish one, but I must tell it)
As I lay in my cabin betwixt sleeping and waking,
Hip.
Upon your backe?
Cro.
How should a young mayd lie, foole,
When she would be intranc'd?
Hip.
We are instructed; forward I prethee.
Cro.
Me thought a sweet young man
In yeeres, some twenty, with a downy chin,
Promising a future beard, and yet no red one,
Stole slylie to my cabin, all unbrac'd,
Tooke me in his armes, and kiss'd me twenty times,
Yet still I slept.
Jul.
Fie; thy lips run over Crocale.
But to the rest.
Cro.
Lord, what a man is this thought I,
To doe this to a mayd!
Yet then for my life I could not wake.
The youth, a little danted, with a trembling hand
Heav'd up the clothes.
Hip.
Yet still you slept.
Cro.
Yfaith I did; and when, methoughts, he was warm by my side,
Thinking to catch him, I stretcht out both mine armes;
And when I felt him not, I shreekt out,
And wak'd for anger.
Hip.
Twas a pretty dream.
Enter Albert.
Cro.
I, if it had been a true one.
Jul.
But stay, what's here cast oth' shore?
Hip.
Tis a man;
Shall I shoot him?
Cro.
No, no, tis a handsome beast;
Would we had more o'the breed; stand close wenches,
And let's heare if he can speake.
Alb.
Doe I yet live?
Sure it is ayre I breathe; what place is this?
Sure something more then humane keeps residence here,
For I have past the Stygian gulph,
And touch upon the blessed shore? tis so;
This is the Elizian shade; these happy spirits,
That here enjoy all pleasures.
Hip.
He makes towards us.
Jul.
Stand, or Ile shoot.
Cro.
Hold, he makes no resistance.
Alb.
Be not offended Goddesses, that I fall
Thus prostrate at your feet: or if not such,
But Nymphs of Dian's traine, that range these groves,
Which you forbid to men; vouchsafe to know
I am a man, a wicked sinfull man; and yet not sold
So far to impudence, as to presume
To presse upon your privacies, or provoke
Your Heavenly angers; tis not for my selfe
I beg thus poorely, for I am already wounded,
Wounded to death, and faint; my last breath
Is for a Virgin comes as neere your selves
In all perfection, as whats mortall may
Resemble things divine. O pitty her,
And let your charity free her from that desart,
If Heavenly charity can reach to hell,
For sure that place comes neere it: and where ere
My ghost shall finde abode,
Eternally I shall powre blessings on ye.
Hip.
By my life I can not hurt him.
7
Though I lose my head for it, nor I.
Enter Clarinda.
I must pitty him and will.
Jul.
But stay, Clarinda.
Cla.
What new game have ye found here, ha!
What beast is this lies wallowing in his gore?
Cro.
Keep off.
Cla.
Wherefore, I pray? I nere turn'd
From a fell Lionesse rob'd of her whelps,
And shall I feare dead carrion?
Jul.
O but.
Cla.
But, what ist?
Hip.
It is infectious.
Cla.
Has it not a name?
Cro.
Yes, but such a name from which
As from the divell your mother commands us flie.
Cla.
Is it a man?
Cro.
It is.
Cla.
What a brave shape it has in death;
How excellent would it appeare had it life!
Why should it be infectious? I have heard
My mother say I had a father,
And was not he a man?
Cro.
Questionlesse Maddam.
Cla.
Your fathers too were men?
Jul.
Without doubt Lady.
Cla.
And without such it is impossible
We could have been.
Hip.
A sinne against nature to deny it.
Cla.
Nor can you or I have any hope to be a mother
Without the helpe of men.
Cro.
Impossible.
Cla.
Which of you then most barbarous, that knew
You from a man had being, and owe to it
The name of parent, durst presume to kill
The likenesse of that thing by which you are?
Whose Arrowes made these wounds? speake, or by Dian
Without distinction Ile let fly at ye all.
Jul.
Not mine.
Hip.
Nor mine.
Cro.
'Tis strange to see her mov'd thus.
Restraine your fury Maddam; had we kild him,
We had but perform'd your mothers command.
Cla.
But if she command unjust and cruell things,
We are not to obey it.
Cro.
We are innocent; some storm did cast
Him shipwrackt on the shore, as you see, wounded:
Nor durst we be Surgeons to such
Your mother doth appoint for death.
Cla.
Weake excuse; where's pity?
Where's soft compassion? cruel, and ungratefull!
Did providence offer to your charity
But one poore Subject to expresse it on,
And in't to shew our wants too; and could you
So carelesly neglect it?
Hip.
For ought I know, he's living yet;
And you may tempt your mother, by giving him succour.
Cla.
Ha, come neere I charge ye.
So, bend his body softly; rub his temples;
Nay, that shall be my Office: how the red
Steales into his pale lips! run and fetch the simples
With which my mother heald my arme
When last I was wounded by the Bore.
Cro.
Doe: but remember her to come after ye,
That she may behold her daughters charity.
Cla.
Now he breathes;
Exit Hippolita.
The ayre passing through the Arabian groves
Yeelds not so sweet an odour: prethee taste it;
Taste it good Crocale; yet I envy thee so great a blessing;
Tis not sinne to touch thesr Rubies, is it?
Iul.
Not, I thinke.
Cla.
Or thus to live Camelion like?
I could resigne my essence to live ever thus.
O welcome; raise him up Gently. Some soft hand
Bound up these wounds; a womans haire. What fury
For which my ignorance does not know a name,
Is crept into my bosome? But I forget
Enter Hipolita.
My pious work. Now if this juyce hath power,
Let it appeare; his eyelids ope: Prodigious!
Two Sunnes breake from these Orbes.
Alb.
Ha, where am I? what new vision's this?
To what Goddesse doe I owe this second life?
Sure thou art more then mortall:
And any Sacrifice of thanks or duty
In poor and wretched man to pay, comes short
Of your immortall bounty: but to shew
I am not unthankfull, thus in humility
I kisse the happy ground you have made sacred
By bearing of your waight.
Cla.
No Goddesse, friend: but made
Of that same brittle mould as you are;
One too acquainted with calamities,
And from that apt to pity. Charity ever
Findes in the act reward, and needs no Trumpet
In the receiver. O forbeare this duty;
I have a hand to meet with yours,
And lips to bid yours welcome.
Cro.
I see, that by instinct.
Though a young mayd hath never seen a man,
Touches have tittulations, and inform her.
Enter Rosella.
But here's our Governesse;
Now I expect a storme.
Ros.
Child of my flesh,
And not of my faire unspotted mind,
Un-hand this monster.
Cla.
Monster, mother?
Ros.
Yes; and every word he speakes, a Syrens note,
To drowne the carelesse hearer. Have I not taught thee
The falshood and the perjuries of men?
On whom, but for a woman to shew pity,
Is to be cruell to her selfe; the soveraignty
Proud and imperious men usurpe upon us,
We conferre on our selves, and love those fetters
We fasten to our freedomes. Have we, Clarinda,
Since thy fathers wrack, sought liberty,
To lose it un-compeld? did fortune guide,
Or rather destiny, our Barke, to which
We could appoint no Port, to this blest place,
Inhabited heretofore by warlike women,
That kept men in subjection? did we then
By their example, after we had lost
All we could love in man, here plant our selves,
With execrable oathes never to looke
On man, but as a monster? and wilt thou
Be the first president to infringe those vows
We made to Heaven?
Cla.
Heare me; and heare me with justice.
And as ye are delighted in the name
Of mother, heare a daughter that would be like you.
Should all women use this obstinate abstinence,
You would force upon us; in a few yeeres
The whole world would be peopled
Onely with beasts.
Hip.
We must and will have men.
Cro.
I or wee'l shake off all obedience.
Ros.
Are ye mad?
Can no perswasion alter ye? suppose
8
Can this Shiprackt wretch supply them all?
Alb.
Hear me great Lady?
I have fellowes in my misery, not far hence,
Divided only by this hellish River,
There live a company of wretched men
Such as your charity may make your slaves;
Imagine all the miseries mankind
May suffer under: and they groane beneath em.
Cla.
But are they like to you?
Jul.
Speak they your Language?
Cro.
Are they able, lusty men?
Alb.
They were good Ladyes;
And in their May of youth of gentle blood,
And such as may deserve ye; now cold and hunger
Hath lessen'd their perfection: but restor'd
To what they were, I doubt not they'l appeare
Worthy your favours.
Jul.
This is a blessing
We durst not hope for.
Cla.
Deere Mother, be not obdurate.
Ros.
Hear then my resolution: and labour not
To add to what i'le grant, for 'twill be fruitlesse,
You shall appear as good angels to these wretched men;
In a small Boat wee'l passe o're to 'em;
And bring 'em comfort: if you like their persons,
And they approve of yours: for wee'l force nothing;
And since we want ceremonies,
Each one shall choose a husband, and injoy
His company a month, but that expird
You shall no more come neer 'em; if you prove fruitful,
The Males yee shall return to them, the Females
We will reserve our selves: this is the utmost,
Yee shall 'ere obtaine: as yee think fit;
Yee may dismisse this stranger,
And prepare to morrow for the journey.
Exit.
Cla.
Come Sir, will ye walke?
We will shew ye our pleasant Bowers,
And something yee shall find to cheer your heart.
Alb.
Excellent Lady;
Though 'twill appear a wonder one neer starv'd
Should refuse rest and meat, I must not take
Your noble offer: I left in yonder desart
A Virgin almost pind.
Cla.
Shee's not your wife?
Alb.
No Lady, but my sister (tis now dangerous
To speak truth) to her I deeply vow'd
Not to tast food or rest, if fortune brought it me,
Till I bless'd her with my returne: now if you please
To afford me an easie passage to her,
And some meat for her recovery,
I shall live your slave: and thankfully
Shee shall ever acknowledge her life at your service.
Cla.
You plead so well, I can deny ye nothing;
I my selfe will see you furnisht;
And with the next Sun visit and relieve thee.
Alb.
Yee are all goodnesse—
Exit.
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