University of Virginia Library

ACTUS, 3.

SCENA 1.

Sylvia, Delia.
Q.
Tell me what you thinke on earth
The greatest blisse?

A.
Riches, honor, and high birth.

Q.
Ah, what is this?
If love be banished the heart,
The joy of Nature, not of Art?

[Q.]
What's honor worth, or high descent?
Or ample wealth,
If cares do breed us discontent,
Or want of health?

A.
It is the order of the Fates,
That these should waite on highest states.

Cho.

Del.
Madam, you're overheard.

Sy.
I care not Delia.
Although my libertie, and free discourse
Be here denide me, yet the Aire is common:
To it then will I utter my complaints,
Or to thee, friend, to whom my love will dare
To shew the secrets of my heart, for others
I do not care, nor feare; so thou be faithfull.

Del.
Madam, I have no life, but what I wish
May be imploy'd to do your beauties serice;
My tongue is rul'd by yours: what you would have
It speake, it shall; else further then my thoughts
Nothing shall venter, that you leaue to me:
And those my thoughts, Ile keepe to such restraint,
As they shall never come within my dreames,
Lest they betray your counsells: this I vow
Religiously by—

Syl.
Hold, I will not
Have thee to sweare, nor would I thou shouldst thinke,
That I so much suspect thee, as to urge
An Oath; I know thou hast too much of goodnesse
(That's bred within thee) to betray a trust:
And therefore without further circumstance,
I'le let thee know my fortunes, part of which
I'me sure th'hast heard already.

Del.
Madam, I have,
And wisht that they had sorted to your wishes.

Syl.
I thanke thee Delia, but my evill Genius,
That has pursu'd my innocence with hate,
Brought me from thence where I had set my heart,
Unto this cursed Court, which, though it be
My place of birth and breeding, I doe finde
Nothing but torment, and affliction in it.

Del.
I guesse the cause sweet Madam, but that's past
And now forgotten: if you cleere your looks,
Your Father will inlarge you, and ne're thinke
On what you did, but that you are his daughter.

Syl.
Alas my Delia, thou dost mistake,
My liberty is of no worth to me,
Since that my love, I feare, will ne're be free:
Nor doe I care what idle Ladies talke
Of my departure, or my strange disguise,
To colour my intents; I am above
Their envie or their malice:
But for th'unluckie chance that sent to me
The over-curious eyes of him I hate,
Thou know'st the man.

De.
Yes, you meane Cleander,
Sonne to Eubulus, who is now your keeper:
What Starre directed him to finde you out?

Syl.
His love forsooth, for so he colour'd his
Unseason'd boldnesse, told me, he was not able
To want my sight: and so, when every one
Had given o're their strict enquirie of me,
He onely with too much officiousnesse,
Observ'd me in the Woods, walking alone:
And when I would have shunn'd him (which perhaps
Had I not done, he had not so well knowne me)
He came, and utter'd, as his manner was,
His tedious complaints; untill at length
He brought me with him, making no resistance:
And to ingratiate himselfe the more,
He said he would convey me where my Father
Should have no knowledge of me: I refused it;
Willing however to be ridde of him.
And now you know, it is a full Moneth since
I did returne to Court, but left my heart
Behinde me in those fields, wherein I joy'd.

Del.
Madam, has not the Court more pleasure in it,
Then the dull Countrie, which can represent
Nothing, but what does taste of solitude?
'Twas something else that carried you away.

Syl.
Tis true my Delia; for though thou wert
Privie to my departure, yet the cause
Thou couldst not tell, which I will now unfold,
And thinke I trust my honor in thy hands,
And maiden modestie: 'twas love that did it.

Del.
Love Madam? sure it is impossible
You should finde any thing there worth your love.

Syl.
Thou know'st the shepheards, that do dwell about
This place (which for their entertainements onely
The King my father built) did use to come,
As now they do, being sent for unto Court:
I ever lik't their sports, their harmelesse mirth,
And their contentions, which were voide of malice,
And wisht I had bin borne just such a one.

Del.
Your state is better Madam as you are.

Syl.
But I confesse the rather, cause there was
One amongst them, of a more comely grace
(Though none of them did seeme uncomely to me)
Call'd Thyrsis; and with him me thought I could
Draw out my life, rather then any other,
Such things my fancie then suggested to me:
So well he sung, so passionate his love
Shew'd in his verse, thereto so well exprest,
As any one would judge it naturall:
Yet never felt he flame, till this of me:
Often he came, and oftner was desir'd
Of me, nor did I shame in publique there
Before my father, to commend his graces;
Which when I did, the whole Court, as they use,
Consented with me, and did strive to make them
Greater then I, or any else could thinke them:
At last I was surpriz'd, I could not helpe it;
My Fate with love consenting, so would have it
Then did I leave the Court, I've told thee all.

Del.
Tis strange, but Madam, though in that disguise,
How could you hope, a stranger, to be lov'd
Of him you held so deare?

Syl.
I fain'd my selfe
Of Smyrna, and from thence some Goats I had,
And Sheepe, with them a rich commoditie.
Neare him I bought me land to feed them; he
Seem'd glad of it, and thinking me a stranger,
Us'd me with such civilitie and friendship,
As one would little looke for of a shepheard;
And did defend me from the avarice
Of the old shepheards, which did thinke to make
A prey of what I had. At length I saw,
He did addresse himselfe with feare to me,
Still gazing on me: knowing my love to him,
I easily beleev'd he lov'd me too:
For love, alas, is ever credulous.
And though I was resolv'd, having my end,
(Which was no more, then to discourse with him)
Never to let him know what flame I felt:
Yet when I saw his teares, and heard his vowes,
(Perswasive speakers for affection)
I could not choose but open to his view
My loving heart; yet with this caution,
That he should ever beare respect unto
My honor, and my virgin chastitie:
Which then he vow'd, and his ambition
Never was more then to attaine a kisse,
Which yet he hardly got: thou seest, sweete Delia,
How willingly I dwell upon this Theame.
But canst thou helpe me now, that I have open'd
My wound unto thee.

Del.
Alas, I would I could
Invent the way to cure you; I should soone
Apply my helpe: yet stay, this day it is
The shepheards come to Court.

Syl.
'Tis true, they come;
But what is that to me, if Thyrsis come not?
Or if he come, how shall he know me his,
Or I injoy his companie?

Del.
Let me alone
To worke out that.

Syl.
Thou dreamst, thou canst not do it.

Del.
Ile undertake it, but how shall I know him
Without inquiring, which must breede suspition.

Syl.
True, and beware thou aske; the Majestie
Which sits upon his brow, will say 'tis he,
Thyrsis my love; but yet perhaps at this time,
If I my selfe not flatter, thou shalt know him,
By his eies cast downe, and folding of his armes,
And often sighs, that interrupt his words.
For if his sorrow weares the liveries,
Which mine does for his absence, by these signes
Thou shalt descrie him.

Del.
These are silent markes:
Yet will I not despaire to finde him out.

Syl.
But when thou hast, what wilt thou say to him?

Del.
Give me but leave to use my mother wit,
You would be gone together, would you not?

Syl.
Thou speak'st my thoughts: do this, and I will crowne
Thy faith, thou shalt be Queene in steed of me.

Del.
If you could crowne me with your vertues Madam,
I should be a Queene indeed; in the meane time,
As I am Delia, Ile do this busines.

Sil.
Do it, and when th'hast don, the God of love
Reward thee with thine owne desires for this.

Del.
Madam withdraw, I heare your keepers comming.

SCENA 2.

Cleander
, Eubulus.
Sir you have put a bridle on my passions,
And given my soule the libertie it wisht:
I now intreate your pardon, for beginning
A thing of so great consequence without
Leave and advice from you.

Eu.
Tis well Cleander,
It will behove you then to be reserv'd,
And locke this secret up: for 'tis no jesting
With Kings that may command our lives and fortunes:
You now perceive her whom we call the Princesse,
To be your sister, and the love you beare her,
Must be a brothers freindship, not a lovers
Passionate heate; but yet she must not know,
That I her father am, and you her brother:
And trust me son, had I not seene despaire
Of life in you, which this love brought you too,
I should not have reveal'd, what now you know.

Cle.
It was a comfort Sir, I doe confesse,
That came in time to rescue me from death,
So great her scorne was, and my love so violent.

Eu.
Now you're at peace, I hope.

Cle.
I am: but if
I be too curious in asking where
The Kings son is, I shall desire your pardon:
For sure it were injustice to deprive
So great a Prince, of that which he was borne too.

Eu.
You are too far inquisitive; yet because
I have ingag'd you in a secret of
As great importance, this I will not hide.
The King, I told you, when his wife grew neere
The time of her deliverie, sent to know
Of our great Oracle, whether the childe should be
Female, or Male, and what should be their fortune.

Cle.
What said the Oracle? have you the answere?

Eu.

Eu.
It is; and yet the King would needs interpret
That should it prove a man-childe, twas a Bastard:
And being loth that one not of his blood
(As he conceiv'd by this) should be his heire,
Told me in private, that if it were Male,
He would not have it live, yet fearing most
To publish his dishonor, and his wives,
He charg'd me not reveale it unto any,
But take the childe, and see it made away,
And make the world beleeve it was still borne.

Cle.
And did you so?

Eu.
No, for indeed I durst not
For any thing, become a murderer.

Cle.
How did you then?

Eu.
I went unto the Queene,
Shew'd her the state she was in, and besought her
To be as carefull of me, as I was
Of her, and we would worke a better end
Then she expected, so we both agree'd;
That if the Childe she then did labour with,
Prov'd to be Male, I should with care conceale
The birth of it, and put a female childe
Insteed of it, which I was to looke out.
It fortun'd that your Mother then was ready
To be deliver'd of your sister, and
Time and good fortune did conspire to save
The Kings child, and to make my daughter Princesse.

Cle.
But what did then become of the yong Prince?

Eu.
The Queene protesting to me, that it was
The Kings owne Childe, conjur'd me to preserve it,
Which as mine owne I could not; for already
Many tooke notice that my childe was female:
And therefore I was faine to publish her
As dead, and buried an emptie coffin.
I rode forth with the childe a full nights journey,
With purpose to deliver it to some
Plaine honest man, that would be carefull of it,
And not inquisitive to know whose childe
It was, but give it breeding as his owne:
When being frighted with the noise of Armes
Of some out-lawed theeves, that did infest
The place, I made all haste I could to scape 'em,
Considering my charge; for that I knew
If I were taken, though they spar'd my life,
The charge I had, must needs betray me to
The King, and then I could not hope for mercy:
I laid it downe there cover'd closely o're,
A circle 'bout his necke, wherein was writ,
In characters knowne onely to my selfe,
And to the King; in which I us'd to cloath
Secret dispatches, when I writ to him
From forraigne States, and within the Circle
I grav'd the Kings lesse Seale, which then I kept.
Some Gold besides, and Jewels there I left,
That whosoe're should finde him, might with that
Defray the charge of his education;
Howe're, next day I purpos'd to returne
With speede, and carrie it to some abode.

Cle.
But did the Queene know this?

Eu.
She did not,
Till my returne next day: then when I told her,
The childe was thence remov'd where I had left him,

Cle.
Belike those theeves had carried him away.

Eu.
'Tis probable.

Cle.
How could the Queene take this
So sad a storie?

Eu.
With such impatience,
That being weake before, she shortly di'd.

Cle.
But yet sir, with your favour might you not
Have made inquirie after him?

Eu.
I durst not,
For feare of being discover'd; on your life
Take heed how you reveale this.

Cle.
I am charm'd.

Eu.
Then let us watch my daughter, for I feare
The flight she made was for some other end,
Then for retirement which she does pretend.

Cle.
Henceforth I shall obey her as my Princesse,
And love her as my sister, not my Mistresse.

Eu.
You shall do well: Come, let us to the King.

SCENA 3.

Hylas, Mirtillus, Chorus of Shepheards and Shepheardesses, representing Paris, Oenone, Uenus, and the Graces.
It was my dreame, and I will send it to her;
Though I my selfe by her too cruell sentence,
Must never see her face.

Mi.
Mirtillus reades.

Hy.
I knew I should be mock't, but I'le divert him;
What are these thou brought along with thee?

Mi.
The Masquers, Hylas, these are they must trip it
Before the King: dost like their properties?

Hy.
What Paris, and Oenone, the old storie?

Mi.
But newly made, and fashion'd to my purpose;
Brought hither to make good my owne positions
Against the company of puling lovers;
Which if I doe not, and with good effect,
Let me be one my selfe; and that's a torture
Worse then Apollo laid upon the Satyr,
When the rude villaine durst contend with him:
Looke this way Hylas, see Oenone here,
The fairest Nymph that ever Ida blest,
Court her departing shepheard, who is now
Turning his loue unto a fairer object;
And for his judgement in varietie
See how the seaborne Goddesse, and the Graces
Present their darling Helena to him
Be happy in thy choise, and draw a war
On thee, and thine, rather then set thy heart
Upon a stale delight: Do, let her weepe,
And say thou art inconstant. Be so still;
The Queene of love commands it: you that are
The old companions of your Paris here,
Moue in a well pac'd measure, that may shew
The Goddesse, how you are content for her
Faire sake to leave the honor of your woods:
But first let her, and all the Graces sing
The Invitation to your offering.

Venus
, and the Graces sing.
Cho.
Cho.
Cho.
Cho.

The Dance ended.
Enter a Messenger.
Nun.
Shepheards, if you have any pittie, come,
And see a woefull spectacle.

Mi.
What is't
That can be worth the breaking of our sports?

Nun.
The gentle Nymph Nerina.

Hy.
What of her?

Nun.
The last of her I thinke, she lies a dying,
And calls to speake with you.

Hy.
Curse of your follies;
Do I live here whilst she is dying there?

Mi.
But shepheard, what disease is't that so soone
Could spend his force upon her? she was well
This morning, when she made poore Hylas sicke.

Muu.
I know not, I am sent unto the well
Of Æsculapius to fetch some water
For her recovery. I must be gone.

Mi.
Shepheards here let us end. I thinke we are
Perfect in all the rest: This night the King
Must see't, resolve on that.

Cho.
We are all ready.

Mi.
Then lets away, and see what will betide
This gentle Nymph Nerina.

Cho.
We'le goe with you.

SCENA. 4.

Charinus
, Nerina, Dorinda, Hylas, Mirtillus, Nuntius.
Hold up thy head good childe, see he is come;
Bring me the water quickly, whilst there is
Some life in her: now chafe her good Dorinda.

Ne.
All is in vaine, I cannot live; deare father
Farewell: what shepheard's that lies on the ground?
Is it not Hylas?

Do.
Yes, it is he, Nerina.

Ne.
Alas poore shepheard, tis my greatest griefe,
That I have grieved him, I would beg life
For nothing but to make him satisfaction.

Mi.
Hylas, what on the ground? looke up and speake
Alas, he's dead.

Ne.
It cannot be: good father
Let me goe to him, and but touch his eare,
It may be that my voice may have more vertue.

Cha.
Do what thou wilt sweete heart: see my poore child
How charitable she is, being halfe dead
Her selfe, she pities others.

Ni.
Marke her finenesse,
Now at the brimm of death: she kisses him:
And tooke this way to mock her simple father;
O fine invention! sure a womans wit,
Does never faile her.

Ne.
Hylas, Hylas, speake,
Nerina calls thee; speake to thy Nerina.

Mi.
What cannot love doe? It revives the dead,
He's come to himselfe againe.

Hy.
What God is it,
That has the power to returne my soule
From the Elysian fields?

Mi.
It is no God,
A Goddesse rather, Hylas. 'Tis Nerina,
Looke where she is.

Hy.
Ah then I do not wonder
I cannot die, when my best soule comes to me:
Shall wee live ever thus?

Ne.
How faine I would
For thy sake, Hylas, but it cannot be:
I feele a heavy sleepe sit on my head,
And my strength failes me, helpe me sweet Dorinda,
Farewell for ever: oh I die, I die.

Hy.
And must I then be call'd to life againe,
To see my life expire before my face?
You Fates, if you will take a ransome for her,
Then take my life: but you are sure of that
Youle say already: for in her one death
Two lives are forfeit: Nerina, gentle Nymph,
The cause why now I live, open these eyes
Once more, and I shall flourish like those plants
The sunne gives life to: else I fall, and wither,
Leaving behinde naught but a worthlesse stemme:
Speake to thy Hylas, sweete Nerina, speake.

Cha.
Ay me! my daughter, hast thou liv'd, perhaps,
I might have seene thee married to Daphnis,
Now we must see thee buried: Ay me!

Ne.
Hylas.

Hy.
She lives, give me some more of that,
That water there, see now she comes againe:
O gentle destinies, but spare this thred,
And cut a thousand courser, speake Nerina,
Give me some comfort, give thy father some,
Or else behold three lives fall in thy death.

Ne.
You Fates, that keepe th'accompt of all our daies,
Adde but one minute to my life, that I
May quit my soule of those two heavy burthens
Which now oppresse it: Dry your eyes good father,
Remember that the Gods doe send us nothing
But for our good; and if my journey be
Shorter then yours, the lesse will be my trouble:
Will you forgive me father, that I have not
Paid so much duty to you, as I ow'd you:
Take my good will, I pray, insteed of it.

Cha.
See her good Nature: I childe, 'tis enough,
Thou alwaies wert obedient.

Ne.
Shall I dare
To speake my thoughts, and so discharge my soule
Of one loade yet?

Cha.
I, doe my childe, speake freely.

Ne.
I've heard you say, that no sinne was so heavy
As is ingratitude.

Cha.
'Tis true, Nerina,
How she remembers what her father said!

Ne.
Then be not angry, if I now must tell you,
That this poore shepheard, whose swolne eyes you see
Cover'd with teares, for many yeares now past
Has courted me: but still with such a love,
So full of truth and gentle services,
That should I not requite him with my love,
I should be guilty of ingratitude:
Therefore before I die, I pray give leave
That he may have my dying heart, which living,
I still debar'd him of. Hylas, thy hand.
O stay a little death: here, take thou mine,
And since I cannot live the wife of Hylas,
Yet let me die so: Sir, are you content?

Cha.
I am, with any thing that pleaseth thee.

Ne.
Tell me, are you so Hylas?

Hy.
O my love,
Aske me if I would live amongst the Gods,
But aske not this: Sir, have we your consent?

Cha.
You have, it is in vaine now to denie it:
You see, Dorinda, what her vow's come to.

Ne.
Then let me die, take me into thy Armes,
Sweet love, you'le see my coffin strew'd with flowers,
And you Dorinda, will you make a garland?
I die a virgine, though I die his wife.

Do.
Alas, she's gon.

Hy.
She's dead, and do I live?

Cha.
Looke to the shepheard there: oh my Nerina!

Do.
Vexe not her soule, I pray, with often calling,
You see she's dead.

Cha.
Then there is no hope left:
Pray helpe us shepheards now to beare her hence;
You'le come I hope to see her in her grave.