University of Virginia Library

Actus II.

Scæna I.

Enter Demophil, Spodaia, Philistus, Clariana.
Demo.
Nay, shee is lost for ever, and her name
Which us'd to be so comfortable, now
Is poyson to our thoughts, and to augment
Our misery paints forth our former happinesse,
O Callidora, O my Callidora!
I shall ne're see thee more.

Spo.
If cursed Aphron
Hath caryed her away, and tryumphs now
In the destruction of our hoary age
'Twere better shee were dead;

Dem.
'Twere better we were all dead; the enjoying
Of tedious life is a worse punishment
Then losing of my Daughter; Oh! my friends,
Why have I lived so long?

Cla.
Good Sir be comforted: Brother speake to them.

Spo.
Would I had dyed, when first I brought thee forth
My Girle, my best Girle, then I should have slept
In quiet, and not wept now.

Phi.
I am halfe a statue
Freeze me up quite yee Gods, and let me be
My owne sad monument.

Cla.
Alas! you doe but hurt your selves with weeping;
Consider pray, it may be she'le come back.

Dem.
Oh! never, never, 'tis impossible
As to call back sixteene, and with vaine Rhetoricke
Perswade my lifes fresh Aprill to returne,
Shee's dead, or else farre worse, kept up by Aphron
Whom if I could but see, me thinkes new bloud
Would creepe into my veines, and my faint sinewes
Renew themselves, I doubt not but to find
Strength enough yet to be reveng'd of Aphron.

Sp.
Would I were with thee, Girle, where ere thou art.

Cla.
For shame good Brother, see if you can comfort them,
Me thinkes you should say something.

Phi.
Doe you thinke
My griefes so light? or was the interest
So small which I had in her? I a comforter?
Alas! she was my wife, for we were married
In our affection, in our vowes; and nothing
Stopt the enjoying of each other, but
The thinne partition of some ceremonies.
I lost my hopes, my expectations,
My joyes, nay more, I lost my selfe with her;
You have a son, yet left behind, whose memorie
May sweeten all this gall.

Spo.
I, we had one,
But fate's so cruell to us, and such dangers
Attend a travelling man, that 'twere presumption
To say we have him; we have sent for him
To blot out the remembrance of his sister:
But whether we shall ever see him here,
The Gods can only tell, we barely hope.

Dem.
This newes, alas!
Will be but a sad welcome to him.

Phi.
Why doe I play thus with my misery?
'Tis vaine to thinke I can live here without her,
Ile seeke her where e're she is; patience in this
Would be a vice, and men might justly say
My love was but a flash of winged lightning,
And not a Vestall flame, which alwayes shines
His woing is a complement, not passion,
Who can if fortune snatch away his Mistris,
Spend some few teares, then take another choyce,
Mine is not so; Oh Callidora!

Cla.
Fye Brother, you're a man,
And should not be shaken with every wind,
If it were possible to call her back
with mourning, mourning were a piety,
But since it cannot, you must give me leave
To call it folly:

Phi.
So it is;
And I will therefore shape some other course,
This dolefull place shall never see me more,
Vnlesse it see her too in my embraces,
You sister may retyre unto my Farme,
Adjoyning to the woods;
And my estate I leave for you to manage,
If I find her, expect me there, if not
Doe you live happier then your Brother hath:

Cla.
Alas! how can I if you leave me? but
I hope your resolutions may be altered.

Ph.
Never, farewell: good Demophil,
Farewell Spodaia, temper your laments;
If I returne we shall againe be happy.

Spo.
You shall not want my prayers.

Dem.

The Gods that pitty Lovers (if there bee
any) attend upon you.

Cla.
Will you needs goe?

Ph.
I knit delayes; 'twere time I were now ready,
And I shall sinne if I seeme dull or slow
In anything which touches Callidora,

Dem.
Oh! that name wounds me; we'le beare you company
A little way, and Clariana looke
To see us often at your Countrey Farme,
Wee'le sigh, and grieve together.

Exeunt.
Enter Alupis and Palæmon.
Alu.

Pa.
Shee hath undone me; I have plow'd the Sea,
And begot storming billowes,

Al.
Can no perswasions move her?

Pa.
No more then thy least breath can stirre an oake,
Which hath this many yeares scorn'd the fierce warres
Of all the winds.

Al.
'Tis a good hearing; then
She'le cost you no more payres of Turtle Doves,
Nor garlands knit with amorous conceits,
I doe perceive some ragges of the Court fashions
Visibly creeping now into the woods,
The more hee shewes his love, the more shee slights him,
Yet will take any gift of him, as willingly
As Countrey Justices the Hens and Geese
Of their offending neighbours; this is right;
Now if I lov'd this wench I would so handle her,
I'de teach her what the difference were betwixt
One who had seene the Court and Citie tricks,
And a meere shepheard.

Pa.
Lions are tam'd, and become slaves to men,
And Tygres oft forget the cruelty
They suckt from their fierce mothers; but, a woman
Ah me! a woman!—

Al.
Yet if I saw such wonders in her face
As you doe, I should never doubt to win her.

Pa.
How pray? if gifts would doe it, she hath had
The daintiest Lambes, the hope of all my flock,
I let my apples hang for her to gather,
The painfull Bee did never load my hives,
With honey which she tasted not.

Al.
You mistake me Friend; I meane not so.

Pa.
How then? if Poetry would do't, what shade
Hath not beene Auditor of my amorous pipe?
What bankes are not acquainted with her prayses?
Which I have sung in verses, and the sheepheards
Say they are good ones, nay they call me Poet,
Although I am not easie to beleeve them.

Al.
No, no, no; that's not the way.

Pa.
Why how?
If shew of griefe had Rhetorick enough
To move her, I dare sweare she had beene mine
Long before this, what day did ere peepe forth
In which I wept not dulier then the morning?
Which of the winds hath not my sighes encreas'd
At sundry times? how often have I cryed
Hylace, Hylace, till the docile woods
Have answered Hylace; and every valley
As if it were my Rivall, sounded Hylace.

Al.
I, and you were a most rare foole for doing so,
Why 'twas that poyson'd all; Had I a Mistris
I'de almost beat her, by this light, I would,
For they are much about your Spaniels nature,
But whilst you cry deare Hylace, ô Hylace!
Pitty the tortures of my burning heart,
She'le alwayes mince it, like a Citizens wife,
At the first asking; though her tickled bloud
Leapes at the very mention; therefore now
Leave off your whining tricks, and take my counsell.
First then be merry; For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Pal.
'Tis a hard lesson for my mind to learne,
But I would force my selfe, if that would helpe me:

Al.
Why thou shalt see it will; next I would have thee
To laugh at her, and mocke her pittifully;
Study for jeeres against next time you see her,
I'le goe along with you, and helpe to abuse her,
Till we have made her cry, worse then e're you did;
When we have us'd her thus a little while,
Shee'le be as tame and gentle.—

Pa.
But alas!
This will provoke her more.

Al.
Ile warrant thee: besides, what if it should?
She hath refus'd you utterly already.
And cannot hurt you worse; come, come, be rul'd;
And follow me, we'le put it straight in practize.
For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Pa.
A match; Ile try alwayes; she can but scorne me,
There is this good in depth of misery
That men may attempt any thing, they know
The worst before hand.

Exeunt.
Enter Callidorus.
How happy is that man, who in these woods
With secure silence weares away his time!
Who is acquainted better with himselfe
Then others; who so great a stranger is
To Citie follyes, that he knowes them not.
He sits all day upon some mossie hill
His rurall throne, arm'd with his crooke, his scepter,
A flowry garland is his country crowne;
The gentle lambes and sheepe his loyall subjects
Which every yeare pay him their fleecy tribute;
Thus in an humble statelinesse and majestie
He tunes his pipe, the woods best melody,
And is at once, what many Monarches are not
Both King and Poet. I could gladly wish
To spend the rest of my unprofitable,
And needlesse dayes in their innocuous sports,
But then my father, mother, and my brother
Recurse unto my thoughts, and straight plucke downe
The resolution I had built before;
Love names Philistus to me, and o'th' sudden
The woods seeme base, and all their harmlesse pleasures
The daughters of necessity, not vertue.
Thus with my selfe I wage a warre, and am
To my owne rest a traytor; I would faine
Goe home, but still the thought of Aphron frights me.
How now? who's here? ô 'tis faire Hylace
The grumbling shepheards daughter.
Enter Hylace.
Brightest of all those starres that paint the woods,
And grace these shady habitations,
You're welcome, how shall I requite the benefit
Which you bestow upon so poore a stranger
With your faire presence?

Hyl.
If it be any curtesie, 'tis one
Which J would gladly doe you, I have brought
A rurall present, some of our owne apples,
My father and my mother are so hard,
They watch'd the tree, or else they had beene more,
Such as they are, if they can please your tast,
My wish is crown'd.

Cal.
O you're too kind,
And teach that duty to me which I ought
To have perform'd; I would I could returne
The halfe of your deserts! but I am poore
In every thing but thankes.

Hy.
Your acceptation only is reward
Too great for me.

Cal.
How they blush?
A man may well imagine they were yours,
They beare so great a shew of modesty.

Hyl.
O you mock my boldnesse
To thrust into your company; but truly
I meant no hurt in't; my intents were vertuous.

Cal.
The Gods forbid that I should nurse a thought
So wicked, thou art innocent I know,
And pure as Venus Doves, or mountaine snow
Which no foot hath defil'd, thy soule is whiter?
(if there be any possibilitie of't)
Then that cleere skin which cloathes thy dainty body.

Hy.
Nay my good will deserves not to be jeer'd,
You know I am a rude and countrey wench.

Col.
Farre be it from my thoughts, I sweare I honour
And love those maiden vertues which adorne you.

Hy.
I would you did, as well as I doe you,
But the just Gods intend not me so happy,
And I must be contented—I'me undone.
Ent. Bellula
Here's Bellula; what is she growne my rivall?

Bell.
Blesse me! whom see I? Hylace? some cloud
Or friendly mist involve me.

Hy.
Nay Bellula; I see you well enough.

Cal.
Why doth the day start backe? are you so cruell
To shew us first the light, and having struck
Wonder into us snatch it from our sight?
If Spring crown'd with the glories of the earth
Appeare upon the heavenly Ram, and streight
Creepe back againe into a grey-hayr'd frost,
Men will accuse its forwardnesse.

Hy.
Pray heaven
Hee be not taken with her, shee's somewhat faire;
He did not speake so long a speech to mee
I'me sure of't, though I brought him apples.

Bell.
I did mistake my way; Pray pardon me.

Hyl.
I would you had else.

Cal.
I must thanke fortune then which lead you hither,
But you can stay a little while and blesse us?

Bel.
Yes (and Love knowes how willingly) alas!
I shall quite spoyle my garland ere I give it him,
With hiding it from Hylace, 'Pray Pan
Shee hath not stolne his heart already from him,
And cheated my intentions.

Hy.
I would faine be going, but if I should leave her
It may be I shall give her opportunity
To winne him from me, for I know she loveth him,
And hath perhaps a better tongue then I,
Although I should bee loth to yeeld to her
In beauty or complexion.

Bell.
Let me speake
In private with you; I am bold to bring
A garland to you, 'tis of the best flowers
Which I could gather, I was picking them
All yesterday.

Cal.
How you oblige me to you!
I thanke you sweetest, How they flourish still!
Sure they grow better, since your hand hath nipt them.

Bell.
They will doe, when your brow hath honour'd them,
Then they may well grow proud, and shine more freshly.

Call.
What perfumes dwell in them?
They owe these odours to your breath.

Hy.
Defend me yee good Gods, I thinke he kisses her,
How long they have beene talking? now perhaps
Shee's woing him; perhaps he forgets me
And will consent, I'le put him in remembrance;
You have not tasted of the apples yet,
And they were good ones truly.

Call.
I will doe presently best Hilace.

Hy.
That's something yet, would he would speake so alwayes.

Cal.
I would not change them for those glorious apples
Which give such fame to the Hesperian gardens.

Bell.
She hath out-gone me in her present now,
But I have got a Beechen cup at home
Curiously graven with the spreading leaves,
And gladsome burthen of a fruitfull vine,
Which Damon, the best Artist of these woods
Made and bestow'd upon me, I'le bring that tomorrow
And give it him, and then I'le warrant her
Shee will not goe beyond me.

Hy.
What have you got a chaplet? ôh!
This is I see of Bellula's composing.

Bell.
Why Hylace? you cannot make a better,
What flowers' pray doth it want?

Cal.
Poore soules I pitty them, and the more,
Because I have not beene my selfe a stranger
To these love passions, but I wonder
What they can find in me worth their affection
Truly I would faine satisfie them both,
But can doe neither; 'tis fates crime, not mine.

Ball.
Weither goe you shepheard?

Hyl.
You will not leave us will you?

Cal.
Indeed I ought not,
You have both me bought with your courtesies
And should divide me.

Hy.
Shee came last to you.

Bell.
She hath another love,
And kills Palæmon with her cruelty,
How can shee expect mercy from another?
In what a Labyrinth doth Love draw mortalls
And then blindfolds them! what a mist it throwes
Vpon their senses! if he be a God
As sure he is (his power could not be so great else)
He knowes the impossibilitie which Nature
Hath set betwixt us, yet entangles us,
And laughs to see us struggle. D'yee both love me?

Bell.
I doe I'me sure.

Hyl.
And I as much as she.

Cal.
I pitty both of you, for you have sow'd
Vpon unthankfull sand, whose dry'd up wombe
Nature denyes to blesse with fruitfulnesse,
You are both fayre, and more then common graces
Inhabite in you both, Bellula's eyes
Shine like the lampe of Heaven, and so doth Hylaces.
Hylaces cheekes are deeper dy'd in scarlet
Then the chast mornings blushes, so are Bellula's,
And I protest I love you both. Yet cannot,
Yet must not enjoy either.

Bell.
You speake riddles.

Cal.
Which times commentarie
Must only explaine to you; and till then
Farewell good Bellula, farewell good Hylace,
I thanke you both.

Exit.
Hyl.
Alas! my hopes are strangled.

Exit.
Bell.
I will not yet despaire: He may grow milder,
He bade me farewell first; and lookt upon me
With a more stedfast eye, then upon her
When he departed hence: 'twas a good signe;
At least I will imagine it to be so,
Hope is the truest friend, and seldome leaves one.
Exit.
Enter Truga.
I doubt not but this will move him,
For they're good apples, but my teeth are gone,
I cannot bite them; but for all that though
Ile warrant you I can love a young Fellow
As well as any of them all: I that I can,
And kisse him too as sweetly. Oh! here's the mad-man.

Enter Aphron.
Ap.
Hercules, Hercules, ho Hercules, where are you?
Lend me thy club and skin, and when I ha'done,
Ile fling them to thee againe, why Hercules?
Pox on you, are you drunke? can you not answer?
Ile travell then without them, and doe wonders.

Tru.
I quake all over, worse then any fitt
Of the palsie which I have had this forty yeares
Could make me doe.

Ap.
So I ha' found the plot out,
First I'le climbe up, on Porter Atlas shoulders,
And then craule into Heaven, and I'me sure
I cannot chuse but find her there:

Tru.
What will become of me if he should see me?
Truly he's a good proper Gentleman,
If he were not mad, I would not be so 'fraid of him.

Ap.
What have I caught thee fayrest of all women?
Where hast thou hid thy selfe so long from Aphron?
Aphron who hath beene dead till this blest minute?

Tru.
Ha, ha, ha, whom doth he take me for!

Ap.
Thy skin is whiter then the snowy feathers
Of Leda's Swannes.

Tru.
Law you there now,—
I thought I was not so unhandsome, as they'd make me

Ap.
Thy haires are brighter then the Moones,
Then when she spreads her beames and fills her orbe

Trug.
Beshrew their heart that call this Gentleman mad,
He hath his senses Ile warrant him, about him,
As well as any fellow of them all.

Apu.
Thy teeth are like two Arches made of Ivory,
Of purest Ivory.

Tru.
I for those few I have,
I thinke they're white enough.

Ap.
Thou art as fresh as May is, and thy look
Is picture of the Spring.

Tru.
Nay, I am but some fourscore yeares and tenne
And beare my age well; yet Alupis sayes
I looke like January, but I'le teach the knave
Another tune Ile warrant him.

Ap.
Thy lips are cheryes, let me tast them sweet?

Tru.
You have begd so handsomly.

Ap.
Ha! yee good Gods defend me! 'tis a Witch, a Hag.

Trug.
What am I?

Ap.
A witch, one that did take the shape
Of my best Mistris, but thou couldst not long
Belye her purenesse.

Tru.
Now he's starke mad againe upon the sudden;
He had some sense even now.

Ap.
Thou lookst as if thou wert some wicked woman
Frighted out of the grave; defend me, how
Her eyes doe sinke into their ugly holes,
As if they were afraid to see the light.

Tru.
I will not be abus'd thus, that I will not
My haire was bright even now, and my lookes fresh:
Am I so quickly changed?

Ap.
Her breath infects the ayre, and sowes a pestilence
Where e're it comes; what hath she there?
J! these are apples made up with the stings
Of Scorpions, and the bloud of Basiliskes;
Which being swallowed up, a thousand paines
Eate on the heart, and gnaw the entrailes out

Tru.
Thou lyest; J, that thou do'st,
For these are honest apples, that they are;
I'me sure I gathered them my selfe.

Ap.
From the Stygian tree; Give them me quickly, or I will—

Tru.
What will you doe? pray take them.

Ap.
Get thee gone quickly, from me, for I know thee;
Thou art Tisiphone.

Tru.
'Tis false; for I know no such woman.
I'me glad I am got from him, would J had
My apples too, but 'tis no matter though,
J'le have a better gift for Callidorus
To morrow.

Ap.
The fiend is vanisht from me,
And hath left these behind for me to tast of,
But I will be too cunning; Thus I'le scatter them,
Now I have spoyld her plot; Vnhappy hee
Who finds them.

Exit.