University of Virginia Library

ACTUS SECUND.

SCENA PRIM.

Thyrsis
, Montanus.
To them Mirtillus.
This day the Sunne shot forth his beames as faire
As ere he did, and through the trembling aire
Coole Zephyrus with gentle murmuring
Breath'd a new freshnesse on each Tree and Plant:
My Kids as gamesome too, as ere they were;
All shew a face of gladnesse but my selfe.

Mon.
And why not you aswell by their example?

Thy.
Not in this life, here joy would be untimely:
The Gods reserve for me their comforts in
Th'Elyzian fields, or else they mocke my sorrows.

Mon.
O say not so, they're just and pittifull.

Thyr.
They are, but Father, (so I still must call you)
When in the sadnesse of my soule I askt
Before the Altar of our great Apollo,
What should become of me, or where my love
Bright Silvia was, whether alive or dead,
Why should the Oracle reply, Goe home,
Thou shalt enjoy thy Silvia?

Mon.
What more could you
Desire to heare?

Th.
I, but when greedily
I askt the time, the answere was, That day
Thou art not Thirsis, nor she Silvia.
Then in this life I'me sure it must not be,
For I was Thyrsis ever call'd, and she
Knowne by no other name then Sylvia.

Mon.
It may be for your importunity
You might deserve this answere, or else is it
Because the Gods speake not their mysteries
To be conceiv'd by every vulgar sence?
I now remember what Acrisius,
The wise and vertuous Acrisius
Was wont to say.

Th.
Why? what said he?
Does it concerne me ought?

Mon.
It may do sonne,
He bid us flie all curiositie.
Seeking to know what future time may bring
To us, which onely Gods above do know,
And if at any time they do impart
This knowledge unto us, it is inwrapt
In such a mist, as we shall neere see through it:
Because, said he, we have enough to doe
With what is present: the celestiall powers
Would not cut of our hopes, nor multiply
Our cares, by shewing us our destinie.

Thy.
Oh this discourse to a despairing lover,
What comfort does it bring? for heavens sake leave it,
And me; for I am best, I finde, alone:
Yet stay, there's something that I faine would aske you:
You said this Circle here about my necke
Has so continu'd from my infancie,
When first you tooke me up.

Mon.
Tis true, that Circle
Hung loosely then about your necke, which since
Is filld with it. I left it there, because
I saw some letters that were wrought about it.

Thy.
And may they not be read?

Mon.
I thinke they may:
But I could never finde so greate a Clerke,
As could tell how t'expound the meaning of them.

Thy.
My life is nothing but a Mystery;
That which I was, and that which I shall be,
Is equally unknowne. Now, if you'le leave me
Unto my thoughts, they'le keepe me companie.

Mon.
I will, but here is one come to supplie me.

Enter to him Mirtillus.
Mi.
Sings.

Th.
True Mirtillus,
And yet I doe not envie thee the pleasure,
Thou hast in thy dispers'd affections.

M.
You would, if your head were right once; but love,
Your love does make an Asse of all your reason.

Th.
Sure, a true lover is more rationall
Then you, that love at randome every where.

Mi.
I doe not thinke so; all the reason love
Has left you, to imploy in this discourse,
Will hardly bring me to confesse it to you.

Th.
Why? all mens actions have some proper end,
Whereto their meanes and strict endeavours tend:
Else there would be nought but perplexitie
In humane life, and all uncertaintie.

Mi.
Well, what will you inferre on this?

Thy.
That you,
Who know no end at all of wild desire,
Must in your wandring fancie see this way
Leads unto madnesse, when too late you finde
That nothing satisfies a boundlesse minde.

Mi.
I, but I do confine my selfe to two,
Or three at most; in this varietie
I please my selfe, for what is wanting in
One, I may finde it in another.

Th.
No.
Not in another, one is the onely Centre
The line of love is drawne to, must have all
Perfections in her, all that's good and faire,
Or else her Lover must beleeve her so.

Mi.
I, there's your error, that's the ground of all
Your teares, and sighs, your fruitlesse hopes and feares,
When she perhaps has not so much t'adorne her
As the least grace your thoughts bestow upon her.

Th.
Well, be it so; and yet this faire Idea
Which I have fram'd unto my selfe, does argue
Vertue in me; so that if she be lost,
Or dead, (ay me! the sad remembrance of
My Sylvia causes this) yet I must love,
Because the Character is indelible,
Writ in my heart, and heaven is witnesse to it.

Mi.
Well, I'le no more of this, I'le be converted,
Rather then call this griefe to your remembrance.

Th.
Why? dost thou thinke I ever shall forget her?
Or that where ere I set my carefull foote,
As in this place, will it not tell me, that
Here Sylvia and I walkt hand in hand,
And here she pluckt a flower, and anon
She gave it me; and then we kiss't, and here
We mutually did vow each others love?

Mi.
Nay leave good Thyrsis, I did come to tell you,
This holy-day our Royall Prince Euarchus
Being remov'd to his house here neere adjoyning,
Sent to command us to attend his person,
With all our sports and wonted merriment,
Wherein you alwaies bore the chiefest part.
And I have heard, ('tis not to make you blush)
The Princesse has commended your rare Art
And hansome graces, which you gave your Musicke.
Come, you must goe with us, for Hylas is
So farre ingag'd in love, and neere his hopes,
He will not stirre unlesse his Mistresse goe.

Thy.
Alas Mirtillus, I have broke my Pipe,
My sighs are all the musicke which I now
Can make, and how unfit I am t'attend
So great an expectation, you may see.
Yet give me leave to thinke on it, at night
Perhaps Ile goe with you.

Mi.
Till then farewell.
The gentlest youth that ever plaid on Pipe:
But see, who's here? oh, 'tis my other Lover,
His Mistresse with him, I will not disturbe him.

SCENA SECUNDA.

Nerina
, Hylas, Mirtillus.
Shepheard, I would you'd leave to follow me.

Hy.
How can I sweetest, when my heart is with you?

Ne.
With me? then tell me where, and see how soone
I shall restore it you.

Aside.
Mi.
Oh, this is fine.

Hy.
It hangs upon your eies, where being scorcht
With their disdaine, and dazel'd with their lustre,
It flies for ease unto your rosie lips.
But beaten thence with many a harsh deniall,
Faine would it come for better harbour here,
But here for ever it must be an Exile:
For pittie then faire Nymph, receive it you;
And if you can, teach it the hardnesse of
Your owne, and make it marble as yours is.

Mi.
I see he is not such a Novice as
Aside.
I tooke him for; he can tell how to speake.

Ne.
Well, if my heart be such as you will make it,
I am so much the gladder; that it is
Of strength to be a fence unto my honour.

Hy.
In vaine a fence is made to guard the sheep,
Where no wolfe ever came.

Ne.
What if within
It keepe a dog of prey, would they be safe?
For my part Ile not cherish in my breast,
The man that would undoe my chastitie.

Hy.
Then cherish me, for you best know, I never
Attempted any thing to cast a spot
On that white Innocence, to which I am
A most religious votary.

Mi
More foole you;
Aside.
It may be if you had, it needed not
Ha' come to this.

Ne.
Yes, yes, you may remember,
I blush to tell it you, when first my thoughts
Were pure and simple, (as I hope they are
Still, and will so continue, whilst I flie
Such companie as you) I thought you one
Whom never any flame impure had toucht:
Then we converst without suspect together.

Hy.
And am I not so still? why do you now
Flie from me thus?

Ne.
The cause I shall tell you,
Since you will not remember; though it be
Unfit for me to speake, yet you shall know
How just my anger is.

Hy.
Ay me! most wretched!
What have I don?

Ne.
When tending of my flocks
Under the shade of yonder Mirtle tree.
(Which beares the guilt of your foule misdemeanour)
My maide Corisca cried out for my helpe,
Because a bee had stung her in the face:
You heard me speake in pittie of her smart,
A charme, my mother taught me, (that being said
Close to the place affected, takes away
The paine) which gave her ease, but you uncivill,
Turning my courtesie to your vile ends,
Fain'd you were stung too, and cried out, your lips
Had from the same sharpe point receiv'd a wound;
Prayd me to say the same charme over there.
I charitably lent my helpe to you,
Mistrusting nothing of your purposes,
When with ungentle hands you held me fast,
And for my thanks gave me a lustfull kisse,
Canst thou remember this, and yet not blush?
O impudence!

Hy.
You will excuse the heate
Of my desires; still I feele that sting
But dare not aske the cure, nor did I then
Do any hurt, but since you thinke it was
A fault, I do repent it, and am sorry
I did offend you so.

Mi.
Better, and better
He'le cry anon, he has already askt
Forgivenesse of her.

Ne.
Well shepheard looke
You never see me more, I cannot love
At all, or if at all, not you: let this
Settle your thoughts.

Hy.
Oh, it distracts them more:
But since my presence is offensive to you,
I must obey, yet if I thought you would,
When I am dead, the Martyr of your beautie,
Shed one poore teare on my untimely grave,
And say that Hylas was unfortunate
To love, where he might not be lov'd againe,
My ashes would find rest, and so farewell
The fairest, but the cruellst Nymph alive.

Mi.
What will you leave her thus?

Hy.
I prithee, come,
The sentence of my banishment is past,
Never to be recall'd.

Mi.
Are these the hopes
You fed upon? O what a thing in Nature
Is a coy woman! or how great a foole
The man is, that will give her leave to rule.

SCENA TERTIA.

Nerina.
Alas my Hylas, my beloved soule,
Durst she, whom thou hast call'd cruell Nerina,
But speake her thoughts, thou wouldst not thinke her so,
To thee she is not cruell, but to her selfe:
That law which Nature hath writ in my heart,
Taught me to love thee, Hylas, and obey
My father too; who saies I must not love thee?
Oh disproportiond love and duty, how
Do you distract me? if I love my choise,
I must be disobedient; if obedient
I must be linkt to one I cannot love.
Then either love give me my libertie,
Or nature from my duty set me free.

Exit.

SCENA QUARTA.

Daphnis.
Nerina , since nor teares nor praiers can move
Thy stubborne heart, Ile see what gifts can do:
They of my ranke, whom most do deeme unworthy
Of any virgins love, being rough, and bred
To mannage the estates our fathers left us,
Unskild in those hid mysteries, which loues
Professors onely know, have yet a way
To gaine our wishes: first we get the father,
He knowes our pleasures, and gives his consent:
The daughters eies being blinded with our gifts
Cannot so soone spie our deformities,
But we may catch her to: This Alcon saies,
A man whom age and observation taught
What I must learne; yet though most women be
Such as he has deliver'd, my Nerina
Seemes not to have regard to what I give,
But holds me and my gifts both at one rate.
What can I hope then out of this poore present,
A looking-glasse, which though within our Plaines
'Tis seldome seene; yet I have heard in Citties,
They are as common as a locke of wooll:
However, if she take it, I am happy,
So Alcon tells me; and he knowes full well,
(He gave it me) that whosoe're shall looke
Her face in it, shall be at my dispose:
In confidence of this I will present it,
And see my Fortune; sure I must needs speed:
My friend, her father comes along with her.
But oh my Fate! is not that Nymph Dorinda
Which keepes them company? Yes, sure 'tis she;
A curse light on her importunitie.
Her father urges something, and I hope
On my behalfe; let me observe a little.

SCENA QUINTA.

Charinus, Nerina, Dorinda, Daphnis.
And as I oft have told you, I doe wish
To see you wise.

Do.
Is she not so Charinus?
Does she say any thing that's out of reason?

Cha.
Do not tell me of reason; I would heare
Of her obedience, therefore I say, be wise,
And doe as I would have you.

Do.
What would you
Have her to doe? you see she answers not
To contradict you.

Cha.
I will have her answer
To what I now demand, that is, to marry
Daphnis, and I will have her love him too.

Do.
Love him Charinus? that you cannot do:
Her body you may linke i'th' rights of Hymen,
Her will she must bestow her selfe, not you.

Da.
Oh, she was borne to be a plague unto me.

Aside.
Cha.
Why should she wish or hope for any thing,
But what I'de have her wish or hope for onely?
Come, to be short, answere me, and directly;
Are you content to marry Daphnis, say?

Ne.
What is your pleasure Father?

Cha.
You do not heare
It seemes, but what you list; I aske you once
Againe, if you will marry Daphnis, speake?

Ne.
Sir, I would marry whom you please to give me:
I neither can, nor ought to make my choice,
I would referre that to you: But you know
My inclination never lay to marry.

Cha.
I know you shal do that which I command.

Ne.
Now heaven forbid, that I who have thus long
Vow'd to Diana my Virginitie,
To follow her a Huntresse in these Woods,
Should yeeld my selfe to the impure delights
Of Hymen, and so violate my faith.

Cha.
A fine devotion, is it not? to make
A vow, and never aske your Father leave;
The Lawes will not permit it to be so.

Do.
The vow Charinus, is not made to men:
The Lawes have not to doe with that which is
Seal'd and recorded in the Court of Heaven.

Cha.
Do not tell me of vowes, I'le have her marry;
And marry Daphnis: Is he not rich and handsome?

Do.
Ay me! I would he were nor rich, nor handsome,
It may be then he would regard my sufferings.

Aside.
Cha.
No, Daughter, do not you beleeve, you can
Catch me with shifts and tricks: I see, I tell you,
Into your heart.

Ne.
Alas, I would you did,
Then your discourse would tend another way.

Cha.
Yes, you have made a vow I know, which is,
Whilst you are young, you will have all the Youth
To follow you with lies and flatteries.
Foole, they'le deceive you, when this colour fades,
Which will not alwaies last, and you goe crooked,
As if you sought your beautie lost i'th' ground:
Then they will laugh at you, and finde some other
Fit for their love; where if you doe as I
Command you, I have one will make you happie.

Ne.
Ay me most miserable!

Da.
Now I'le come in,
And see what I can doe with this my gift.

Cha.
Looke now, as if the Fates would have it so,
He comes just in the nicke of my discourse:
Come, use him kindly now, and then you shall
Redeeme what you have lost, my good opinion.

Ne.
O most ungratefull chance! how I doe hate
The sight of him!

Do.
Were it to me he came,
How happie would this faire encounter be!

Cha.
Daphnis, you're welcome, very welcome to me,
And to my Daughter: what is that you have there?

Da.
A present, which I meane to give my love.

Cha.
See but how true a lover Daphnis is;
His hand is never emptie when he comes:
Welcome him Daughter, looke what he has for you.

Da.
O good Charinus, none must looke in it,
But she herselfe to whom it is presented.

Cha.
I am an old man, I, and therefore care not
To see my wither'd face, and hoarie haire:
Give it that young thing, she knows what to doe with it,
Daughter, come hither, use him courteously,
And kindly too: (Be sure you take his gift.)
Daphnis, I'le leave you both together here;
My sheepe are shearing, I can stay no longer.

Da.
Farewell old man; health to my dearest Mistresse.

Ne.
And to you shepheard.

Do.
Daphnis am not I
Worthy to have a share in your salute?

Do.
How can I give thee part of that, whereof
I have no share my selfe?

Do.
If you would love
There, where you are belov'd againe, you might
Make your content such, as you would your selfe.

Da.
If you, Nerina, would vouchsafe to love
Him that loves you, and ever will, you might
Make your content such as you would your selfe.

Ne.
Shepheard, I oft have wisht you not to trouble
Me and your selfe with words: I cannot love you.

Da.
As oft Dorinda have I spoke to you,
To leave to trouble me: I cannot love you.

Do.
Will you then slight my love, because 'tis offer'd?

Da.
Will you then slight my love, because 'tis offer'd?

Ne.
Somebody else may love you, I cannot.

Da.
Somebody else may love you, I cannot.

Do.
O cruell words; how they do peirce my heart!

Da.
O cruell words, how they do peirce my heart!

Ne.
How can I helpe it, if your destinie
Lead you to love, where you may not obtaine?

Da.
How can I helpe it, if your destinie
Leade you to love, where you may not obtaine.

Do.
It is not destinie that injures me,
It is thy cruell will, and marble heart.

Da.
It is not destinie that injures me,
It is thy cruell will, and marble heart.

Ne.
No Daphnis, 'tis not hardnes of my heart,
Nor any crueltie that causes this.

Da.
Then 'tis disdaine of me.

Ne.
Nor is it that:
I do not see in Daphnis any thing
To cause disdaine.

Do.
Why do you not replie
In those same words to me, malicious Eccho?

Da.
Pray leave me, I have other businesse now
To trouble me; if you disdaine me not,
Faire Nymph, as you pretend, receive my offer.

Ne.
What's that?

Da.
My heart.

Do.
I will gentle Daphnis.

Da.
O importunitie!

Ne.
Give her thy heart,
She has deserv'd it, for she loves thee, Daphnis.

Da.
First I would teare it peecemeale here before you.

Do.
O me unfortunate! O cruell man!

Ne.
Stay good Dorinda, I'le goe with thee, stay.

Da.
Let her goe where she will, behold sweete saint
This Mirror here, the faithfull representer
Of that which I adore, your beautious forme,
When you do see in that how how lovely are
your lookes, you will not blame my love.

Ne.
If I refuse it,
My father will be angrie, let me see it:
Here take thy glasse againe: what ailes my head?
I know not where I am, it is so giddie:
And something like a drousinesse has seiz'd
My vitall spirits.

Da.
How do you love? not well?

Ne.
Heavy o'th suddaine; Ile goe home, & sleepe.

Da.
So, let her goe, and let this worke awhile.
Shee cast an eye upon me as she went,
That by its languishing did seeme to say,
Daphnis I'me thine, thou hast o'recome at last:
Alcon, th'hast made me happy by thy art.