University of Virginia Library

Actus Quartus.

Scena Prima.

CORISCA.
My heart and thoughts till now were so much set
To train that foolish Nymph into my net,
That my dear Hair (which by that Rogue was ta'ne
From me) and how to get it back again
I quite forgot: O how it troubled me
To pay that ransome for my liberty!
But't had been worse t'have been a prisoner
To such a beast: Who though he doth not bear
A mouses heart, might have mouz'd me: For I
Have (to say truth) fool'd him sufficiently:
And like a Horse-leech did him suck and drein
As long as he had blood in any vein.
And now hee's mov'd I love him not; and mov'd
He well might be, if him I e're had lov'd.
How can one love a creature that doth want
All that is lovely? As a stinking plant
Which the Physitian gather'd for the use
He had of it; when he hath strain'd the juice
And vertue out, is on the dunghill thrown;
So having squeez'd him, I with him have done.
Now will I see if Coridon into
The cave's descended. Hah! what do I view?
Wake I? or sleep I? or am drunk? but now
This cave's mouth open was I'm sure; then how
Comes it now shut? and with a ponderous
And massie stone rowl'd down upon it thus?
Earth-quake I'm sure't unhenge it there was none.
Would I knew certainly that Coridon
And Amarillis were within; and then
I car'd not how it came. Hee's in the den,
If (as Lisetta said) he parted were
From home so long ago. Both may be there,
And by Mirtillo shut together. “Love,
“Prickt with disdain, hath strength enough to move
“The world, much more a stone. Should it be true,
Mirtillo could not have deviz'd to doe
Ought more according to my heart then this,
Though he Corisca had enthron'd in his
In stead of Amarillis. I will goe
The back way in, that I the truth may know.

Scena secunda.

Dorinda, Linco.
Dor.
But Linco, didst not thou know me indeed?

Lin.
Who could have known thee in this savage weed
For meek Dorinda? But if I had been
A ravenous hound (as I am Linco) then
I to thy cost had known thee for a beast.
What do I see? What do I see?

Dor.
Thou seest
A sad effect of Love; a sad and strange
Effect of loving (Linco.)

Lin.
Wondrous change!
Thou a young Maid, so soft, so delicate,
That wert (me thinks) an infant but of late,
Whom in mine arms I bore (as I may say)
A very little childe but yesterday,
And steering thy weak steps, taught thee to name
(When I thy Father serv'd) Daddy and Mam,
Who like a tim'rous Doe (before thy heart
Was made a prey t'insulting Love) didst start
At every thing that on the sudden stirr'd,
At every winde, at every little bird
That shook a bough, each Lizard that but ran
Out of a bush, made thee look pale and wan;
Now all alone o're hils, through woods do'st passe
Fearlesse of hounds or savage beasts.

Dor.
Alas!
“She whom Love wounds no other wound doth fear.

Lin.
Indeed fair Nymph, Love shew'd his godhead here,
From woman to a man transforming thee,
Or rather to a wolf.

Dor.
If thou couldst see
Into my brest (O Linco!) then thou'dst say,
A living wolf upon my heart doth prey
As on a harmlesse lamb.

Lin.
Is Silvio
That wolf?

Dor.
Alas, who else can be't?

Lin.
And so
'Cause he's a wolf, thou a shee-wolf wouldst be,
To try, since on thy humane visage he
Was not enamour'd, if he would at least
Affect thee in the likenesse of a beast,
As being of his kind. But prethee where
Gotst thou these robes?

Dor.
I'le tell thee: I did hear
Silvio would chase to day the noble Bore
At Erimanthus foot; and there before
The morning peept, was I from wood to wood
Hunting the Hunter; by a crystall flood
From which our flocks did climb the hils, I found
Melampo the most beauteous Silvio's hound,
Who having quench'd his thirst there as I ghesse,
Lay to repose him on the neighb'ring grasse.
I, who love any thing that's Silvio's,
Even the very ground on which he goes,
And shadow which his beauteous limbs do cast;
Much more the dog on which his love is plac't,
Stooping laid sudden hold on him, who came
Along with me as gently as a lamb.
And whilst t'was in my thoughts to lead him back
Unto his Lord and mine, hoping to make
A friend of him with what he held so deer,
He came himself to seek him, and stopt here.
Deer Linco, I'le not lose thee so much time,
As to tell all that's past 'twixt me and him;
This onely, to be brief, After a long
Preface of oathes on one another strung,
And treach'rous promises, this cruell swain
Flung from me full of Anger and disdain,
Both with his own Melampo (to his Lord
So true) and with my deer and sweet reward.

Lin.
O cruell Silvio! ruthlesse swain! But what
Didst thou do then (Dorinda?) didst thou not
Hate him for this?

Dor.
Rather (as if the fire
Of his disdain Loves fire had been) his ire
Increast my former flame. His steps I trace,
And thus pursuing him towards the chace,
I met (hard by) with my Lupino, whom
Before a little I had parted from.
When straight it came into my head, that I
In his attire, and in the company
Of shepherds might be thought a shepherd too,
And undiscover'd my fair Silvio view.

Lin.
In a wolves likenesse amongst hounds? and none
Bite thee? 'Tis much (Dorinda) thou hast done.

Dor.
This (Linco) was no miracle: for they
Durst not touch her who was their Masters prey.
There I, out of the tents, amidst the crue
Of neighb'ring shepherds that were met to view
The famous passe-time, stood admiring more
To see the Huntsman, then the hunted Bore:
At every motion of the furious beast,
My cold heart shiv'red in my brest:
At every action of the brave young man
My soul with all her touch'd affections ran
In to his aid. But my extreme delight
Again was poyson'd with the horrid sight
Of the fierce Bore, whose strength and vast
Proportion, all proportion past.
As an impetuous whirlwind in a great
And sudden storm, which all that it doth meet
(Houses, and trees, and stones) before it bears,
All it can get within its circle tears
To pieces in an instant: so the Bore
Wheeling about (his tusks all foam and gore)
Pil'd in one heap dogs slain, spears knapt, men wounded.
How oft did I desire to have compounded
For Silvio's life, with the inraged Swine!
And for his blood; t'have giv'n the Monster mine!
How oft was I about to run between,
And with my body his fair body screen!
Spare cruell Bore, (how often did I cry!)
Spare my fair Silvio's brest of Ivory;
Thus to my self I spake, and sigh'd, and pray'd;
When his fierce dog (arm'd with a brest-plate made
Of hard and scaly barks of trees) he slipt
After the beast, now prouder, being dipt
Throughly in blood, and lifted from the ground
On slaughter'd trunks. The valour of that hound
(Linco) exceeds beliefe: and Silvio
Not without reason surely loves him so.
As a chaft Lion, which now meets, now turns
From an untamed Buls well brandish'd horns,
If once he come with his strong paw to seize
Upon his shoulder, masters him with ease:
So bold Melampo shunning with fine slights
The Bores short turns, and rapid motion, lights
At length upon his ear; which having bit
Quite through, and lugg'd him twice or thrice by it,
He with his teeth so naild him to the ground,
That at his vast bulk now a mortall wound
Might levell'd be with greater certainty,
(Before but slghtly hurt) then suddenly
My lovely Silvio (calling on the name
Of Dian) Goddesse do thou give me aim
(Quoth he) the horrid head is thine. This sed,
His golden Quiver's swiftest shaft to th'head
He drew; which flying to that very point
Where the left shoulder knits with the neck joint,
There wounded the fierce Bore, so down he fell.
Then I took breath, seeing my Silvio well,
And out of danger. Happy beast! to die
So sweet a death, as by that hand, which I
Would beg my end from.

Lin.
But what then became
Of the slain beast?

Dor.
I know not; for I came
Away, for fear of being known; but, I
Suppose, the head to th'Temple solemnly
They'l bear, according to my Silvio's vow.

Lin.
But wilt thou not get out of these weeds now?

Dor.
Yes: but my garments with my other geer
Lupino has, who promis'd to stay here
With them, but fails. Dear Linco, if thou love
Me, seek him for me up and down this grove:
Far off he cannot be; mean while I'le take
A little rest (dost see there?) in that Brake;
There I'le expect thee; for I am ore-come
With wearinesse and sleep, and will not home
Accoutred thus.

Lin.
I go: but stir not then
Out of that place till I return agen.

Scena tertia.

Chorus, Ergasto.
Cho.
Have ye heard Shepherds that our Demy-God
(Montano's and Alcides worthy blood)
This day hath freed us from that dreadfull beast
Which all Arcadia lately did infest?
And that he is preparing himself now
I'th'Temple for it to perform his vow?
If for so great a benefit wee'd show
Our gratitude, to meet him let us go,
And joyn our tongues and hearts together there,
To honour him as our Deliverer.
“Which honour, though it be reward too small
“For such a fair and valiant soul; 'tis all
“Vertue can have on earth.

Erg.
O sad disaster!
O bitter chance! O wound that hath no plaister!
O day to be for ever steep'd in tears!

Cho.
What dolefull voice is this that strikes our ears?

Erg.
Starres, that are enemies to man alwayes,
Why do you mock our faith? why do you raise
Our hope on high, that when it falls again
The precipice may be with greater pain?

Cho.
Ergasto by his voice; and it is hee.

Erg.
But why do I accuse Heav'n wrongfully?
Accuse thy self Ergasto: Thou alone,
Thou, thou against the steel didst knock the stone;
Thou layd'st the match unto the tinder; whence
A flame unquenchable is kindled since.
But Heav'n doth know, I for the best did do it,
And pitie onely did induce me to it.
O ill starr'd Lovers! wretched Titiro!
Poor Amarillis! childlesse Father! O
Mourning Montano! O Arcadia gone
In a consumption far! and we undone!
In short, most sad, all I have seen! or see!
Or speak! or hear! or think!

Cho.
What may this be
(Alas!) that in one accident alone
Includes a generall desolation?
This way hee bends his course, let us go meet
Him (swains).

Erg.
Eternall Gods! is it not yet
Time to abate your wrath?

Cho.
Unfold to us
(Courteous Ergasto) what afflicts thee thus.
What dost thou moane?

Erg.
Your ruine and mine own:
The ruine of Arcadia I moane.

Cho.
Alas! why so?

Erg.
The very staffe, the stay
Of all our hope is broke, is pull'd away.

Cho.
Speak plainer.

Erg.
Titiro's daughter, that sole prop
Of her old House, and Father, the sole hope
Of our deliverance, promis'd here below,
Above decreed to marry Silvio,
As th'onely means that should Arcadia save;
That Heav'nly Maid, so sober, and so grave,
That President of honour (crown'd with Lillies
Of chastitie) that peerlesse Amarillis;
Shee, she (alas! I have no heart, no breath
To tell it you).

Cho.
Is dead?

Erg.
Is neer her death.

Cho.
Alas! what have we heard?

Erg.
Nothing as yet:
She dies a malefactresse: That, That's it.

Cho.
A malefactresse Amarillis? how
Ergasto?

Erg.
Caught with an Adult'rer now.
And, if ye stay a little longer here,
Led pinion'd to the Temple ye shall see her.

Cho.
“O female structures, glorious and most fair,
“But weak withall! O chastitie, how rare
Art thou! and shall it then be truly taxt,
No woman's chast but shee that ne're was akst?

Erg.
Indeed, when she that's vertue's self doth fall,
We well may doubt the vertue of them all.

Cho.
Pray, if it will not too much trouble be,
Tell the whole story to these swains and me.

Erg.
I will: The Priest early to day (ye know)
Did with this wretched Nymph's sad Father go
Unto the sacred Temple; with one care
Both moved, to facilitate with pray'r
Their childrens desired marriage. For this end
At once their incense did to heav'n ascend,
At once their offrings bled, their sacrifice
At once was done with due solemnities,
And such glad auspice, that no entrails e're
Were fairer seen, no flame was more sincere,
And lesse ecclips'd with smoke: mov'd with such signes,
Thus the blind prophet speaks, and thus divines;
This day (Montano) shall thy Silvio love:
Thy Daughter (Titiro) a wife shall prove:
Go and prepare the Marriage. O absurd,
And vain depending on an Augur's word!
And thou as blind in soul, as in thy eyes!
If thou hadst said, Prepare her Obsequies,
Then a true Prophet thou hadst prov'd indeed.
Yet all the standers by were comforted,
And the old Fathers wept for joy apace,
And Titiro was parted from the place.
When in the Temple suddenly were heard
Sinister omens, and dire signes appear'd
Boading Heav'ns wrath. At which (alas!) if each
Stood there astonisht and berest of speech
After so fair beginnings, Friends, judge you.
Mean while the Priests themselves alone withdrew
Into an inner room: and whilst they there
And we without intent in praying were,
Devout and weeping; puffing through the presse
The curled Satyr (loe!) demands accesse
Unto the Priests. I (Porter of that place)
Admit him: Hee then (O he has a face
To bring ill news!) cry'd; Fathers, if your Pray'r
Find not the Gods, your vows and incense are
Not acceptable, and your sacrifice;
If from your altars an impure flame rise,
Think it not strange, that likewise is impure
Which is committing now hard by your door,
In Ericina's cave: a false Nymph there
Is breaking with a base adulterer
Your lawes, and her own faith. Send with me now
Your Ministers, and I will shew them how
I'th'act to take 'em. Then (O humane mind,
When thy Fate's neer, how dull thou art! how blind!)
The good Priests breath'd: supposing 'twas no more
But remove them, and Heaven would as before
Look on their sacrifice beni'nely. Thereupon
they order their chief Minister
Nicandro presently to take that guide,
And bring both Lovers to the Temple ty'd:
With all his under-ministers he goes,
Pursuing that vile Satyr through a close
And crooked way into the cave. The Maid,
Strook with their torches sudden light, assay'd
From where she was to run out of the door,
Which that base dog had stopt (it seems) before.

Cho.
And what did he the while?

Erg.
He went his waies
When he had led Nicandro to the place.
But (friends) I cannot tell the generall
Astonishment that fell upon us all,
When it the Daughter prov'd of Titiro:
Who taken, in a trice (I do not know
Out of what place) forth bold Mirtillo flew,
And a sharp dart which he was arm'd with threw
Like lightning at Nicandro: which, if it
The place that it was aimed at had hit,
Had sent him to the shades: But (whether I
May call it Fortune, or agility)
At the same instant the one aim'd his blow,
The other stept a little backward; so
The mortall steel past by, leaving his brest
Untoucht, and in his coat of skins did rest,
Into the which (I know not how) 'twas wove
So intricately, that Mirtillo strove
In vain to pull it out; and so he too
Was taken.

Cho.
And with him what did they do?

Erg.
He to the Temple by himself was brought.

Cho.
For what?

Erg.
To try if he'd discover ought
Touching the fact in question. Perhaps too
Th'affront he in their Minister did do
Unto the priestly majesty might some
Penance deserve. Would yet I might have come
To comfort my poor friend!

Cho.
What hindred thee?

Erg.
The waiters at the altar may not be
Admitted to delinquents: therefore I
Sequesterd from the other company,
Go by my self unto the Temple; where
With many a prayer and devouter tear
I'le beg of Heaven that it would chase away
This sullen storm that overclouds our day.
Deer Shepherds rest in peace, and joyn with ours
Your pray'rs, to batter the celestiall towers.

Cho.
We will, when we have paid to Silvio
That duty first we to his goodnesse owe.
O ye great Gods! now, now, if ever, prove
Your anger lesse eternall then your love.

Scena quarta.

Corisca.
Empale ye triumph-decking Lawrell boughs,
Empale my glorious and victorious brows.
Into Love's lists (hedg'd round about with flame)
This day I came, I saw, I overcame:
This day hath Heav'n and Earth, Nature and Art,
Fortune and Fate, Friend and Foe ta'ne my part.
Ev'n that base Satyr who abhorres me so
Hath helpt me too, as if he too did go
Some share with me. How much more happily
Did fortune bring Mirtillo in, then I
Contriv'd to have brought Coridon? to make
Her crime more show of likelihood to take?
And though Mirtillo's apprehended too,
That matters not; they soon will let him go:
Th'Adultresse onely payes the penaltie.
O famous triumph! Solemn victorie!
If lying may deserve a trophie, I
Deserve a trophie for my amorous lye;
Which from this tongue and bosome hath done more
For me then Love with all his charms before.
But this is not a time to talk: Withdraw
Thy self Corisca, till the doom of Law
Fall on thy Rivals head, for fear that she
T'excuse her self, should lay the blame on thee.
Or that the Priest himself should wish to know
What thou canst say, before he give the blow.
“When a mine springs, 'tis good to stand aloof;
“A lying tongue requires a flying hoof.
I'le hide me in those woods, and there will make
Some stay, till it be time to come and take
Possession of my joyes. O! it hath hit
Beyond all thought. Successe hath crown'd my wit.

Scena quinta.

Nicandro, Amarillis.
Nic.
A heart of flint, or rather none had he
Nor humane sense, that could not pitie thee,
Unhappy Nymph! and for thy sorrow grieve
The more, by how much lesse they can believe
This should befall thee, who have known thee best.
For were it but to see a Maid distrest
Of venerable count'nance, and that show'd
So vertuous and so excellently good;
One that for heav'nly beauty merited
Temples and Sacrifices, to be led
Unto the Temple as a Sacrifice,
Who could behold it without melting eyes?
But he that should consider further, how,
And for what purpose thou wert born; That thou
Art Daughter unto Titiro, and shoud
Have married been unto Montano's bloud,
(Two the most lov'd and honour'd shall I say
Shepherds, or Fathers of Arcadia?)
And that being such, so great, so famous, and
So beautifull a Nymph, and that did stand
By nature so remote from thy death's brink,
Thou shouldst be now condemn'd. He that doth think
On this and weeps not, wails not thy mishap,
Is not a man, but wolf in humane shape.

Am.
If my mishap had come through mine own fault,
And the effect had been of an ill thought
As of a deed that seems ill, it had been
Lesse grievous to mee to have death pay sinne;
And very just it were I should have spilt
My bloud to wash my impure soul from guilt,
To quench Heav'ns wrath; and since man too had wrong,
Pay what to human justice did belong:
So might I still a crying conscience,
And mortifi'd with a due inward sense
Of deserv'd death, render my self more fit
To die, and through that purgatory get
Perchance to Paradise. But now in all
My pride of youth and fortune thus to fall,
Thus innocent, is a sad case, a sad—
Nicandro.

Nic.
Nymph, would to Heav'n men had
Sinn'd against thee, rather then thou 'gainst Heav'n.
For satisfaction might be easier giv'n
To thee for thy wrong'd Fame, then unto it
For its wrong'd Deities. Nor know I yet
Who wrong'd thee but thy self. Wert thou not caught
Alone with the adult'rer in a vault?
To Silvio precontracted wert not thou?
And so thy nuptiall faith hast broken? How
Then innocent?

Am.
For all this have not I
Transgrest the Law: and innocently dye.

Nic.
Not Natures law perchance, Love where thou wilt.
But that of Men and Heav'n, Love without guilt.

Am.
Both men and Heav'n (if all our fortune be
Deriv'd from thence) transgrest have against me.
For what but an ill destiny could bid
That I should die for what another did?

Nic.
What was that Nymph? bridle thy tongue (with highflown
grief transported ev'n to blasphemie).
“The ils we suffer our own sins pull down:
“Heav'n pardons many wrongs, but it doth none.

Am.
I blame in Heaven onely my own starre:
But one that hath deceiv'd me, more by farre.

Nic.
Then blame thy self, thy self thou didst deceive.

Am.
I did when I a coz'ner did believe.

Nic.
“They who desire to be deceiv'd, are not.

Am.
Dost think me naught?

Nic.
Nay ask thy actions that.

Am.
“Actions are oft false comments on our hearts.

Nic.
“Yet those we see, and not the inward parts.

Am.
“The heart may be seen too with th'eys o'th'mind.

Nic.
“Whithout the senses help those eyes are blind.

Am.
“The senses must submit to reasons sway.

Nic.
“Reason in point of fact must sense obay.

Am.
Well; I am sure an honest heart I have.

Nic.
Prethee who brought thee then into the cave?

Am.
My folly and too much credulity.

Nic.
Thou trustedst with a friend thy honesty?

Am.
I trusted a friends honestie.

Nic.
Thy blood?
Was that the friend thou wouldst have understood?

Am.
Ormino's Sister, who betraid me thither.

Nic.
“'Tis sweet when Lovers are betraid together.

Am.
Mirtillo enterd without my consent.

Nic.
How enter'dst thou then? and for what intent?

Am.
Let this suffice, 'twas not for him I came.

Nic.
It cannot, if no other cause thou name.

Am.
Examine him about my innocence.

Nic.
Him? who hath been the cause of thy offence?

Am.
Call her to witnesse who betraid me hath.

Nic.
Why should we hear a witnesse without faith?

Am.
By chast Diana's dreadfull name I swear.

Nic.
Thou by thy deeds art perjur'd unto her.
Nymph, I am plain, I cannot flatter thee
Into a hope which in extremitie
Will leave thee more confounded; these are dreams:
“A troubled fountain cannot yeeld pure streams,
“Nor a bad heart good words. And where the deed
“Is evident, Defence offence doth breed.
What dost thou talk? thou shouldst have guarded more
Then thy life now, thy chastitie before.
Why do'st thou cheat thy self?

Am.
O miserie!
Must I then dye, Nicandro? must I dye?
None left to hear? none to defend me left?
Of all abandon'd? of all hope bereft?
Onely of such a mocking pity made
The wretched object as affords no aid?

Nic.
Be patient Nymph, and give me cause to tell,
Though thou didst ill, yet that thou suffredst well.
Look up to heav'n, since thence thou drawst thy birth;
“All good or ill we meet with upon earth
“From thence as from a fountain doth distill.
“And as no good is here unmix'd with ill,
“So punishment, that's ill to flesh and blood,
“As to th'accompt we must make there is good.
And if my words have cut thee, 'tis but like
A faithfull Surgeon, who a vein doth strike,
Or thrusts his instrument into the wound
Where it is mortallest and most profound
(In being cruell, mercifull). Then be
Content with what is writ in Heav'n for thee.

Am.
O 'tis a cruell sentence, whether it
In heaven for me, or in earth be writ:
Yet writ in heav'n I'm certain it is not:
For there my innocence is known. But what
Doth that avail me, if that dye I must?
That's the straight narrow passage! to be dust,
Nicandro, that's the bitter cup! But oh!
By that compassion thou to me dost show,
Lead me not to the Temple yet: stay, stay.

Nic.
“Who fears to dye, dyes ev'ry hour o'th'day.
Why hang'st thou back? and draw'st a painfull breath?
“Death hath no ill in't, but the fear of death.
“And he that dies when he hath heard his doom,
“Flyes from his death.

Am.
Perchance some help may come.
Father, dear father, dost thou leave me too?
An onely daughters father, wilt thou do
Nothing to save me? Yet before I die
A parting kisse to me do not deny.
Two bosoms shall be pierced with one blow:
And from thy daughter's wound thy blood must flow.
O father! (once so sweet and deer a name,
Which I was never wont t'invoke in vain)
Thy belov'd Daughter's Wedding callst thou this?
To day a Bride; to day a Sacrifice.

Nic.
Good Nymph no more: why dost thou bootlesly
Stay thus tormenting both thy self and mee?
The time calls on: I must convey thee hence,
Nor with my duty longer may dispense.

Am.
Deer woods adieu then, my deer woods adieu:
Receive these sighs (my last ones) into you,
Till my cold shade, forc'd from her seat by dire
And unjust steel, to your lov'd shades retire.
(For sink to hell it can't, being innocent;
Nor soar to heav'n, laden with discontent.)
Mirtillo, (O Mirtillo!) most accurst
The day I saw, the day I pleas'd thee first!
Since I, whom thou above thy life didst love,
Became thy life, that thou my death mightst prove.
She dies condemn'd for kindnesse now to thee,
Whom thou hast still condemn'd of cruelty,
I might have broke my faith as cheap: Ay me!
Now without fault, or fruit I dye, or Thee
My deer Mirtill—

Nic.
Alas! she dies indeed.
(Poor wretch!) Come hither shepherds with all speed,
Help me to hold her up. (O piteous case!)
She finish'd in Mirtillo's name her Race.
(Unhappy maid!)—she breathes yet, and I feel
Some signes of life pant in her bosome still.
To the next fountain let us carry her;
Perchance cold water may recover there
Her fleeting spirits.—Stay, will not relief
Be cruelty to her who dies of grief,
To prevent dying by the Axe? How-e're,
Yet let not us our charitie forbear.
“Men ought to lend their aid in present woe:
“What is to come, none but the Gods foreknow.

Scena sexta.

Chorus of Huntsmen, Shepherds, with Silvio.
Ch. Hun.
O Glorious youth! true child of Hercules;
That kilst so soon such monstrous beasts as these!

Ch. Sh.
O glorious youth! by whom lies slain and queld
This Erimanthian Monster, (living) held
Invincible! Behold the horrid head,
Which seems to breath death when it self is dead!
This is the famous Trophie, noble Toile
Of him whom we our Demy-god do stile.
Extoll his great name (Shepherds) and this day
Keep ever solemn, ever holyday.

Cho. Hunts.
O glorious youth &c.

Ch. Sh.
O glorious youth! that do'st despise thine own
For others safeties. “Vertue climbes her Throne
“By these steep stairs: and the high Gods have set
“Before her Palace gates labour and sweat.
“He that would land at joy must wade through woes:
“Nor by unprofitable base repose
“Abhorring labour, but from gallant deeds
“And vertuous labour true repose proceeds.

Cho. Hunts.
O glorious youth, &c.

Ch. Sh.
O glorious youth! by whom these Plains depriv'd
Of tillage, and of tillers long, retriv'd
Their fruitfull honours have. The plough-man now
Securely goes after the lazie plough,
Sowes his plump seed, and from earth's pregnant womb
Expects the wish'd fruits when the season's come.
No more shall churlish tusk, or churlish foot
Trample them down, or tear them up by th'root.
Nor shall they prosper so as to sustain
A beast, to be their own, and others bane.

Cho. Hunts.
O glorious youth! &c.

Cho. Shep.
O glorious youth! as if presaging thine,
The Have'n to day doth in full glory shine.
Such peradventure was that famous Boar
Alcides slew, yet so thy act is more;
It being (Silvio) thy first labour, as
Of thy great Ancestor the third it was.
But with wilde Beasts thy infant valour playes,
To kill worse monsters in thy riper dayes.

Cho. Hunts.
O glorious youth! &c.

Cho. Sh.
O glorious youth! how well are joyn'd in thee
Valour and pietie! See Cynthia, see
Thy devout Silvio's vow! behold with white
And crooked tusk, (as if in thy despight)
The proud head arm'd on this side and on that,
Seeming thy silver horns to emulate!
If then (O powerfull Goddesse) thou didst guide
The young mans shaft, he is in justice tyde
To dedicate the Trophie unto thee
By whom he did obtain the victorie.

Cho. Hunts.
O glorious youth, true child of Hercules,
That kill'st so soon such monstrous beasts as these!

Scena septima.

Coridon.
I have forborn till now to credit what
The Satyr told me of Corisca late,
Fearing it might be some malicious lye
Devis'd by him to shake my constancie.
For most improbable it seem'd, that she
In the same place where she expected me
(Unlesse the message which Lisetta brought
To me from her were false) should straight be caught
With an adulterer. And yet (the truth
To say) here's a shrewd token, and it doth
Perplex me much, to see the mouth o'th'den
Just in that manner he related then
Shut and damm'd up with such a massie stone.
Ah false Corisca! too well by mine own
Experience of thy ungracious deeds
I know thee now: stumbling so oft, thou needs
Must fall at last. So many frauds, so many
Lyes, and vow-breaches might have warned any
(Whom folly or affection did not blear)
That some such fearfull tumbling cast was neer.
'Twas well for me I tarried by the way;
A happy chance my father made me stay:
Though then I did suppose him foolishly
T'have been a tedious Remora. Had I
Come at Lisetta's hour, I might have seen
Something which poyson to my eyes had been.
But what shall I do now? arm'd with disdain,
Shall I revenge and mischief entertain?
No: I have lov'd her, and this act doth crave
My pity, not my anger. Shall I have
Pity on one deceiv'd me? Mee! she hath
Deceiv'd her self, leaving a man of faith,
To give her self a prey into the hand
Of an ignoble Swain, a stranger and
A vagabond, that will to morrow be
More wavering, more without faith then she.
Shall I take pains then to revenge a wrong
That carryes with it the revenge along?
And quenches all my indignation so,
'Tis turn'd to pitie? She hath scorn'd me though:
Sh'has honour'd me: for she who thus could chuse,
Highly commends the man she doth refuse.
She scorn'd me, who the way did never know,
How she should love receive, or how bestow.
Who lik'd at random still, or had this curse,
If two were offerd her, to take the worse.
But tell me Coridon, how can it be,
If scorn of being scorned move not thee
To take revenge; but that to have been crost
By such a losse should do't? I have not lost
Her whom I never had: My self I have
Regain'd, whom I unto another gave.
Nor can't a losse be termed to remain
Without a woman so unsure and vain.
In fine, What have I lost? Beautie without
Vertue: A head with all the brains pickt out:
A brest that hath no heart: A heart that hath
No soul in it: A soul that hath no faith.
A shade, a ghost, a carcasse of affection,
Which will to morrow turn to putrefaction.
Is this a losse? I will be bold to say't,
'Tis a great purchase and a fortunate.
Is there no woman in the world but she?
Can Coridon want Nymphs as fair as she,
And far more true? But she may well want one
Will love her with such faith as Coridon,
Whom she deserv'd not. Now if I should do
That which the Satyr did advise me to,
Accusing her of vow-breach, in my breath
I know it lies to have her put to death.
But I have not an heart so Aspine, I,
That with the wind of womans levitie
It should be mov'd. Too great a happinesse
And honour 'twere to their perfidiousnesse,
If with the trouble of a manly brest,
And breaking of the happy peace and rest
Of an ingenious soul, I were to be
Reveng'd upon Corisca now. For me
Then let her live: or (to expresse it better)
By me not die, Live for my Rivall let her.
Her life's revenge for me sufficient:
Live let her to dishonour; to repent:
I know not how to envie him, or loath
Her; but with all my heart do pity both.

Scena octava.

Silvio,
Eccho within.
But too much honour hence to thee would come,
Vile and unwarlike Boy, to chastise whom
(I speak't aloud) a rod's enough.
Enough.
What art thou that reply'st? Eccho? or Love?
That so doth imitate the same?
The same.
Most wish'd! but tell me true; Art thou hee?
Hee.
The son of her that for Adonis once
So miserably pin'd away?
Away.
Well: of that Goddesse who was found in bed
With Mars, when the stars shot to see her shame,
And the chast Moon blush'd at her folly?
Olly!
What madnesse 'tis to whistle to the winde!
Come (if thou darest) to the wide air,
I dare.
And I defie thee. But art thou her son
Legitimate, or else a by-blow?
I glow.
O! the Smith's son that's call'd a God:
A God.
Of what? the follies of the world?
The world.
The Bawd thou art. Art thou that terrible Boy
That tak'st such sharp revenge upon those wights
Who thy absurd commands digest not?
Jest not.
What punishments dost thou inflict on those
Who in rebellion persevere?
Severe.
And how shall I be punish'd, whose hard heart
Hath alwayes been at odds with Love?
With Love.
When (Sot), if my chaste brest be to those flames
More opposite then night to day?
To day.
So quickly shall I be in that streight?
Streight.
What's she can bring me to adoring?
Dorin.
Dorinda, is it not, my little childe,
Thou wouldst say in thy lithping gibberish?
Ish.
Shee whom I hate more then the Lamb the Wolf?
And who to this shall force my will?
I will.
And how? and with what Arms? and with what bow?
Shall it be happily with thine?
With thine.
Thou mean'st perchance, when by thy wantonnesse
It is unbent, and the nerve broken?
Broken.
Shall my own bow, after 'tis broken too,
Make war on me? and who shall break't? thou?
Thou.
'Tis plain now thou art drunk: go sleep. But say,
Where shall these miracles be wrought? here?
Here.
O fool! and I am going now from hence.
See if thou hast not prov'd thy self to day
A prophet with the wine inspir'd.
Inspir'd.
But stay, I see (unlesse I much mistake)
A greyish thing at couch in yonder Brake:
'Tis like a Wolf, and certainly 'tis one.
O what a huge one 'tis! how over-grown!
O day of prey to me! What favours are
These, courteous goddesse? in one day a pair
Of such wilde beasts to triumph ore? But why
Do I delay this work, my Deity?
The swiftest and the keenest shaft that is
In all my Quiver (let me see,—'tis this)
I do select: to thee I recommend it
(O Archeresse eternall) do thou send it
By Fortunes hand, and by thy pow'r divine
Guide it into the beast. His skin is thine.
And in thy name I shoot. O lucky hit!
Just where the eye and hand designed it.
Would now I had my javelin here, to make
An end of him at once, before he take
The wood for shelter: but the place shall yeeld
Me weapons. Not a stone in all the field?
But why do I seek weapons, having these?
This second arrow layes him at his ease.
Alas! what do I see? what hast thou done,
Unhappy Silvio? what hast thou run
Thy self into? Thou hast a shepherd slain
In a wolfe's skin. O action to remain
For ever overwhelm'd with grief! to lie
Under salt water everlastingly!
The wretch too I should know, and he that so
Doth lead and prop him up is Linco. O
Vile arrow! viler vow! but vilest Thou
That didst direct that arrow, hear that vow!
I guilty of anothers blood? I kill
Another? I that was so free to spill
My blood for others, and my life to give?
Throw down thy weapons, and inglorious live,
Shooter of men, hunter of men. But lo
The wretched Swain! then thee lesse wretched though.

Scena nona.

Linco, Silvio, Dorinda.
Lin.
Lean, daughter, on my arm with all thy weight,
(Wretched Dorinda) do.

Sil.
Dorinda's that?
I'm a dead man.

Dor.
O Linco, Linco! O
My second Father!

Sil.
'Tis Dorinda: woe,
Woe on thee Silvio!

Dor.
Linco, thou wert sure
Ordein'd by Fate to be a stay to poor
Dorinda. Thou receivedst my first cry
When I was born: Thou wilt, now I'm to dye,
My latest groan: and these thy arms which were
My cradle then, shall now become my biere.

Lin.
Ah daughter! (or more deer then if thou wert
My daughter) speak now to thee for my heart
I can't, grief melts each word into a tear.

Dor.
Not so fast Linco, if thou lov'st me: deer
Linco, nor go, nor weep so fast; one rakes
My wound too bad, t'other a new wound makes.

Sil.
(Poor Nymph! how ill have I repaid thy love!)

Lin.
Be of good comfort daughter, this will prove
No mortall wound.

Dor.
It may be so; but I
That am a Mortall, of this wound shall die.
Would I knew yet who hurt me!

Lin.
Get thee sound,
And let that passe: “Revenge ne're cur'd a wound.

Sil.
(Why dost thou stay? what mak'st thou in this place?
Woulst thou be seen by her? Hast thou the face?
Hast thou the heart t'indure it? Silvio, flee
From the sharp dart of her revenging eye:
Fly from her tongues just sword. I cannot go
From hence: and what it is I do not know,
But something holds me, and would make me run
To her whom I of all the world did shun.)

Dor.
Must I then die and not my Murtherer know?

Lin.
'Twas Silvio.

Dor.
How dost know 'twas Silvio?

Lin.
I know his shaft.

Dor.
Then welcom death, if I
Shall owe thee to so sweet an enemy!

Lin.
Look where he stands! we need demand no further,
His posture and his face confesse the murther
Alone. Now Heav'n be praised Silvio,
Thy all-destroying Arrowes and thy Bow
Th'hast pli'd so well about these woods, that now
Th'art gone out thy Arts-master. Tell me, thou
That dost like Silvio, not like Linco, who
Made this brave shoot, Linco or Silvio?
This 'tis for boyes to be so overwise:
Would thou hadst taken this old fools advice!
Answer, thou wretch: What lingring miserie,
What horrour shalt thou live in if she die?
I know thou't say, thou err'dst, and thought'st to strike
A Wolfe: as if 'twere nothing (school-boy like)
To shoot at all adventures, and not see,
Nor care, whether a man or beast it be.
What Goat-herd, or what plough-man doth not go
Clad in such skins? O Silvio, Silvio!
“Soon ripe, soon rotten. If thou think (fond childe)
This chance by chance befell thee, th'art beguild.
“These monstrous things without Divine decree
“Hap not to men. Dost thou not plainly see
How this thy unsupportable disdain
Of Love, the world, and all that is humane
Displeases Heav'n? “High Gods cannot abide
“A Rivall upon earth: and hate such pride,
“Although in vertue. Now th'art mute, that wert
Before this hap unsufferably pert.

Dor.
Silvio, give Linco leave to talk: for hee
Knows not what pow'r Love gave thee over me
Of life and death. If thou hadst strook my heart,
Th'hadst strook what's thine (mark proper for thy dart.)
Those hands to wound mee thy fair eyes have taught.
See Silvio her thou hat'st so! see her brought
To that extremity where thou wouldst see her!
Thou sought'st to wound her, see her wounded here!
To prey upon her, loe she is thy prey!
Thou sought'st her death, and loe she's dying! Say,
Wouldst thou ought else of her? What further joy
Can poor Dorinda yeeld thee? Cruell Boy!
And void of Bowels! thou wouldst ne're believe
That wound which from thy eyes I did receive:
This which thy hands have giv'n canst thou deny?
Those crystall showrs which issued from my eye,
Thou couldst not be perswaded were my blood:
What dost thou think now of this crimson flood
Which my side weeps? But (if orewhelm'd with scorn
That bravery be not wherewith thou wert born)
Deny me not (though cruell soul, yet brave)
Deny me not ('tis all the boon I crave)
When I shall sigh into thee my last breath,
One sigh of thine. O happy, happy death!
If thou vouchsafe to sweeten it with these
Kind words and pious; Soul depart in peace.

Sil.
Dorinda, my Dorinda, shall I say
(Alas!) when I must lose thee the same day
Th'art mine? now mine, when death to thee I give,
That wert not mine when I could make thee live?
Yes mine I'le call thee: and thou mine shalt be
In spight of my opposing destinie.
For if thy death our meeting souls disjoyn,
My death shall reunite us. All that's mine
Haste to revenge her: I have murder'd thee
With these curs'd arrows; with them murder me.
I have been cruell unto thee; and I
Desire from thee nothing but crueltie.
I scorn'd thee in my pride; look! with my knee
(Low louting to the earth) I worship thee,
And pardon of thee, but not life demand.
Take Shafts and Bow: But do not strike my hand
Or eye (bad ministers, 'tis true, yet still)
But ministers of an unguilty will:
Strike me this brest, this monster hence remove,
Sworn enemy of Pity, and of Love.
Strike me this heart, to thee so cruell. Loe,
My bared brest!

Dor.
I strike it, Silvio?
I strike that brest? sure if thou didst not mock,
Thou wouldst not shew't mee naked. O white rock!
Already by the windes and briny main
Of my rough sighs and tears oft strook in vain!
But dost thou breath? nor art to pity barr'd?
Art thou a tender brest, or marble hard?
I would not idolize fair Alablaster,
(Led by the humane likenesse) as thy Master
And mine, when on the outside he did look,
A harmlesse woman for a beast mistook.
I strike thee? strike thee Love. Nor can I wish
For my revenge a greater plague then this.
Yet must I blesse the day that I took fire,
My tears and martyrdome. All I desire
Is that thou praise my faith, my zeale, but no
Revenging me. But courteous Silvio,
(That to thy servant kneel'st) why this to me?
Or if Dorinda must thy Mistresse be,
Obey her then; the first command I give,
Is that thou rise; the second, that thou live.
Heav'ns Will be done with me: I shall survive
In thee, and cannot dye, whilest thou'rt alive.
But if thou thinkst unjust I should be found
Without all satisfaction for my wound,
Be that, which did it, punish'd. 'Twas that Bow:
Let that be broke; I'm well revenged so.

Lin.
(A very heavie doom).

Sil.
Come then thou mad,
Thou bloody actor of a deed so sad:
That thou maist ne're break thred of life again,
Thus do I break thee and thy thred in twain,
And send thee a uselesse trunk back to the wood.
Nor you (ill sanguin'd with an innocents blood!)
Which my deer Mistresse side so rudely rent,
(Brothers in ill) shall scape your punishment.
Not shafts, nor flights, but sticks, since yee shall want
Those wings and heads which garnisht you: Avant
Plum'd and disarmed Arms. How well, O Love,
Didst thou foretell me this from yonder grove
In a prophetick Eccho! O thou high
Conqu'rour of Gods and men, once enemy,
Now lord of all my thoughts! if 'tis thy glory
To tame a heart that's proud and refractory,
Divert Death's impious shaft, which with one blow
Slaying Dorinda, will slay Silvio
(Now thine): so cruell death, if it remove
Her hence, will triumph or'e triumphant Love.

Lin.
Now both are wounded: but the one in vain,
Unlesse the other's wound be heal'd again.
About it then.

Dor.
Ah Linco! do not (pray)
Carry me home disguis'd in this array.

Sil.
Why should Dorinda go to any house
But Silvio's? surely she shall be my Spouse
'Ere it be night, either alive, or dead.
And Silvio in life or death will wed
Dorinda.

Lin.
Now she may become thy Wife,
Since Amarillis is to marriage, life,
And vertue lost. Blest pair! Ye Gods (that doe
Wonders) with one cure now give life to two.

Dor.
O Silvio! I shall faint, my wounded thigh
Feebly supporting me.

Sil.
Good remedy
For that! take heart: th'art mine and Linco's care,
And I and Linco thy two crutches are.
Linco, thy hand.

Lin.
There 'tis.

Sil.
Hold fast: a chair
Let's make for her of our two arms. Rest here
Dorinda, suffring thy right hand t'imbrace
The neck of Linco, thy left mine: Now place
Thy body tenderly, that the hurt part
May not be strain'd.

Dor.
O cruell pricking dart!

Sil.
Sit at more ease, my Love.

Dor.
It is well now.

Sil.
Deer Linco do not stagger.

Lin.
Nor do thou
Swag with thine arme, but steddy go and wary
It will concern thee. Ah! we do not carry
A Boars head now in triumph.

Sil.
Say, my Deer,
How is it now?

Dor.
In pain; but leaning here
(My Heart) to be in pain, is pleas'd to be;
To languish, health; to die, eternity.

Chorus.