 | The Shepheards Holy-Day |  |
ACT. 4.
SCENA 1.
Thyrsis, Delia.
Here I am come unto a place, where griefe
I've heard there is no roome for loves laments:
For either they enjoy, or else forget,
Thrice happy men, to whom love gives such leave:
It may be that this place, or people may
Worke so with me, and melt this frozen heart:
Ah foole, that canst beleeve the change of place,
Or ayre, can change thy minde; the love thou bearst,
Is woven so within thy thoughts, that as
Out of this piece thy Sylvia wrought for thee,
Thou canst not take her name forth, but withall
Thou must deface the whole: so Thyrsis thinke
The winde that here may rise, or heat, or raine
Thou maist auoide, thy love will still remaine,
And when thou diest, then may it die with thee;
Till then resolve to endure thy misery.
Del.
This is the garden, which I saw him go to,
And that is he, for all the markes she gave me
To know him by, he beares.
Thy.
A heavinesse
Weighs downe my head, and would invite me to
Repose my selfe; Ile take the offer, here
Ile rest awhile, for I have need of it.
Del.
How if I be deceiv'd, and this should proove
Another man: what then? I can excuse it;
He's layd already, and I feare, asleepe,
Ile stay untill he wake, but then suppose
That any body come, and take me here,
It is a hansome youth, see what a grace
Shewes it selfe in his feature, such a face
Might take the heart of any Lady living,
I, though she were a Princesse: shepheard: what
Not yet? his sleepes are sound.
Thy.
Ah Sylvia,
Preserve thy life, oh let me die; Alas
I do but dreame; me thought I saw my selfe
Condemn'd to die, and Sylvia to save me,
Offerd her selfe, and would needs die for me:
'Twas a sweet shadow, let me court this dreame.
Del.
He must not sleepe againe: shepheard looke up.
Thy.
Who envies me this small repose, indeed
I do not often sleepe: ha, who are you?
Del.
Sent to thee, from thy Sylvia, shepheard rise
And follow me.
Thy.
Doe I dreame still? what are you?
Came you from heaven where my Sylvia is,
And must I thither? whosoere you are,
An Angell, or a feind, in such a name
You come, as I'me conjurd to follow you:
But I must die first: Here is to be with thee.
Del.
Stay, hold thy hand, I live, thy Sylvia lives
To make thee happy, if thou wilt goe to her.
Thy.
You're habited like those I've seene at Court,
And courtisie they say is ever there,
Yet mingled with deceit: if you do meane
Too sad to raise mirth out of. There's no ill
That I have done to you, or any else,
Unlesse my constancy be here a sinne.
Del.
His griefes have made him wilde, I have no time
Left me to use perswasions, or to make
This truth apparant to you; on my word
You shall be safe, and if you dare beleeve me,
Ile bring you where your love is; follow me.
Thy.
Why should I doubt, or feare to goe with her?
Ill does he call for physicke, whom the Law
Has doom'd to die: There's no condition
Can prove worse to me then my present one.
Pray lead me where you please, I'me sure of this,
To one that's desperate, no way's amisse.
SCENA 2.
Euarchus, Eubulus, Cleander, Attendants.Ev.
All leave the roome. Eubulus, I'me resolv'd
To hold an easier hand over my daughter
Then I was wont: Therefore I sent Cleander
To bring her to my presence, though she have
Wrong'd her great birth and breeding by her follies,
Yet I consider that she is my daughter,
And this restraint cannot but harden her
In her fond resolutions: have you sought
Of her departure?
Eub.
Sir, I have tryed,
By all the waies that fit a subject, to
Enquire a truth of one that is his Princesse.
Eu.
And what have you discover'd?
Eub.
Nothing more
Then what my son Cleander did before.
Eu.
I have heard his relation: but I wonder
How for a whole moneths time, she should abide
Within our confines, when so great a search,
Through all our Countryes, and lowd proclamations
Were made for her recovery.
Eub.
Tis true.
She herein was ingenuous, and confest,
That she foresaw what search would be made for her,
Therefore with some about her she had plotted,
To hire a barke, that might convey her hence,
In a disguise to Smyrna, where she stayd,
Till time did fit her; that with safety
She might returne in habite of a Nymph,
Unto the place, where then Cleander found her:
But why she left the Court, she will not tell.
Eu.
I will not force her to't: some little time
Perhaps may make discovery of that secret:
But unto thee my faithfull Counsellor.
(As unto one my heart hath still bin open)
I will discover what my purpose is,
Eub.
I should beleeve, they're sent for to delight
Your Majesty, as they were wont.
Eu.
No Eubulus,
But for a greater end; I feare my daughter,
And therefore I have sent for her to see
These sports, with purpose to observe her lookes,
For I suspect she loves some shepheard there.
Eub.
It cannot be: she will not staine her birth
With such ignoble love; yet I confesse,
Revolving all the causes of her strange
Departure, I could fixe on none but that.
Eu.
Well, if she do so, I will let her forth,
Forth of my blood, and whosoere he be
Whose fortune markt him out to be the object
Of this her love, shall finde Ixions Fate,
He shall embrace a shadow; by my life
They both shall die.
Eub.
O my gracious Lord,
Remember she's your daughter.
Eu.
I, thou still
Dost plead for her, but yet am I her King
As well as father, private men respect
Their profits, and their private interests
Of kindred, but the actions of a King,
To honor, and renowne must be directed:
Cleander enters.
Consider that, and then thou wilt forget her.
Cleander, welcome, how does Calligone?
Why dost not answere? art thou frighted man?
Cle.
I know not how to answere any thing,
Unlesse your Majesty will signe my pardon.
Eu.
Why what's the matter, speake, and speak it freely
Cle.
Then know great soveraigne that when I went
As full of joy, as speed, with your glad message,
I found the Princesse.
Eu.
What, not dead, I hope?
Cle.
Dead to her honor.
Eu.
Ha!
Cle.
In short my Lord,
I found her walking in the garden with
A shepheard, (more of him I cannot tell)
But she was habited in that attire
She wore, when from the woods I brought her home,
I slipt away, not being seene by them,
And if you please to goe, perhaps great Sir,
You still may finde them there.
Eu.
How now Eubulus,
Are my presages true? shall I then sleepe
With this disgrace, and let my neighbour Princes
Mocke at my humble fortunes, when they heare
The daughter of Euarchus matcht her selfe
With a base shepheard? Goe Eubulus quickly,
Here take my signet, let this be your warrant
To put them both to death.
Eub.
How? both my Lord?
I, both.
Eub.
Your daughter too?
Eu.
Why do you question me?
Haue I not said they both shall die: dispatch.
Let me not see thee, till they both be dead.
Exit.
Eub.
What hast thou done? thou rash inhumane boy?
Depriv'd thy father of a childe, thy selfe
Of thine owne sister, whom but now thou knewst.
Well may the King take that deare life away,
Which he did never give: I will goe tell him,
I am her father: but I loose my life
If I do that, as guilty of a treason.
Go Murderer, hadst thou no pittie in thee?
Cle.
Sir I do feele so much of griefe within me,
For this my act, that if my blood will serve
To save her life, Ile make no price of it:
Yet could I not imagine, that the King
Would have bin so inrag'd; or if he would,
I had no time to thinke of it before.
Eu.
No time? who bid thee hasten to the ruine
Of thy poore father, and thy family?
The messages which come to do us hurt,
Are speedy: but the good come slowly on,
Cle.
But Sir, remember what a straight we're in:
It will concerne us, to invent some way
To save my sister, though the shepheard die;
He will deserve it for his bold attempt.
Eub.
Go take thy way, whither thou wilt thy selfe,
Exit.
Cle.
What luck is this? This is more haste then speed:
I am resolv'd (though my life lie at stake)
To stand the fury of th'inraged King:
Who knowes but he may be as sorry for
His suddaine act, as I for mine. 'Tis here
To save her, though it cost her lover deare.
SCENA 3.
Sylvia, Thyrsis, Cleander.
Nay stay a little Thyrsis, we are safe,
My warie keepers now are with the King.
Thy.
Madam, for my poore selfe I doe not feare,
But when I thinke on you, and how your name,
And state that is so eminent, must needs
Receive a certaine scandall, and foule blot,
If we be seene together, blame me not,
Though I do feare or doubt: What cruell fate
Angry with men, that gave us hearts alike,
And fortunes so asunder; you're a Cedar,
I a poore shrub, that may looke up unto you
With adoration, but ne're reach your height.
Syl.
But Thyrsis I do love you; love and death
Do not much differ, they make all things equall:
The Monuments of Kings may shew for them
What they have bin, but looke upon their dust,
You'le finde the same: and if 'mongst living men
Nature has printed in the face of many,
The characters of noblenesse and worth,
Whose fortune envies them a worthy place,
In birth, or honor. When the greatest men
Whom she has courted, beare the marks of slaves,
Love sure will looke on those, and lay aside
The Accidents of wealth and noble blood,
And in our thoughts wil equall them with Kings.
Thy.
'Tis true divinest Lady, that the soules
Of all men are alike, of the same substance
By the same maker into all infus'd,
But yet the severall matters which they worke on,
How different they are I neede not tell you:
And as these outward Organs give our soules
Or more, or lesse roome, as they are contriv'd,
To shew their lustre; so againe comes fortune,
And darkens them, to whom the Gods have given
A soule divine, and body capable
Of that divinity, and excellence:
But 'tis the order of the Fates, whose causes
We must not looke into: But you deare Madam,
Nature, and fortune have conspir'd to make
The happiest alive.
Syl.
Ay me most wretched!
What pleasure can there be in highest state,
Which is so crost in love, the greatest good,
Thy.
Yet some do reckon it the greatest ill,
A passion of the minde, form'd in the fancy,
And bred to be the worst disease of reason.
Syl.
They that thinke so, are such as love excludes,
Men full of age, or foule deformitie.
No Thyrsis, let not us prophane that deity:
Love is divine, the seed of every thing,
The cause why now we live, and all the world.
Thy.
Love is divine, for if religion
Binds us to love, the Gods who never yet
Reveald themselves in any thing to us
But their bright Images, the fairest creatures,
Who are our daily objects; loving them,
Wee exercise religion: let us not
Be scrupulous, or feare; the Gods have care
Of us, and of our piety.
Syl.
But take heed,
We cannot be too warie: many things
Oppose our wills, yet if you thinke it fit,
And this nights silence will so favour us,
Weele goe together: if we quit this Countrie,
It is no matter, all the world to me
Will be Arcadia, if I may injoy
Thy company, my love.
Thy.
No Sylvia,
(Pardon mee deare, if still I call you so)
Enjoy your fortunes, thinke how much your honor
It is enough that I have ever lov'd you:
Now let me at the light of your bright eie,
Burne like the bird whose fires renew her nest,
I shall leave you behind me to the world,
The Phenix of true love and constancy:
Nor is that bird more glorious in her flames,
Then I shall be in mine, though they consume me.
Syl.
It must not be, for know my dearest shepheard,
I shall not tell one minute after thee;
I finde my soule so linkt to thine, that death
Cannot divide us.
Thy.
What then shall we do?
Shall we resolve to live thus, till we gaze
Our eies out first, and then lose all our senses
In their succession? shall we strive to leave
Our soules breath'd forth upon each others lips?
Come let us practise: this our envious Fates
Cannot deny us.
Cleander enters.
Cle.
What a sight were this
To meete her father? This would make him mad
Indeed, and execute his rage himselfe.
Madam, your father's here.
Syl.
Ha Delia!
Cleander, is it thou? then I'me betraid
The second time, but must thy fortune make thee
The instrument of my undoing still?
Cla.
Shepheard, I will not honor thee so much
Thou wilt pay deare for: And I hope thy death
Will take away the blot of this disgrace
Th'hast laid upon the Princesse.
Thy.
If you do this,
Youle make me happy, it was this I lookt for,
My triviall acts of life, this of my death
Will recompence with glory; I shall die
To save my Princesse, and whats more, to save
The life of her life, her unspotted honor.
Blest Lady, though you are as innocent
And chaste as purest Virgins, that have yet
Seene nothing in a dreame to warme their blood,
Yet the malicious world, the censuring people,
That haste to cast durt on the fairest things,
Will hardly spare you, if it once be knowne
That we were here together: As for me,
My life is nothing but variety
Of griefe and troubles, which with constancy
I have borne yet: tis time that now I die,
Before I do accuse the Gods that have
Brought me to this, and so pull on my death
A punishment. Will you be mercifull,
And end me quickly?
Cle.
Shepheard, know for this
Thy resolution, which in noble bloods
I scarce have found, I willingly would grant
What thou desir'st. But somthing must be knowne
Syl.
I know Cleander, it is me you aime at:
I do confesse this shepheard is my love;
For his sake I did leave the Court, and thee,
Unworthy as thou art, to be his Rivall.
Cle.
Madam, my duty bids me speake to you,
Not as a lover now; but as you are
My Princesse, and the daughter of my King.
I would not for the world have those desires
Which I had then; for sure my bolder love
Would have transgrest the limits of all duty,
And would have dar'd to tell you, that this shepheard
Was not a match for great Arcadias heire,
Nor yet one fit for my Competitor.
'Tis not his outward feature, (which how faire
It is I do not question) that can make him
Noble, or wise: Whereas my birth, deriv'd
From ancient Kings, and yeares not far unsuiting
Those of your owne; to these my education
(To you well knowne,) perhaps might make me worthy
Of being your servant.
Syl.
Canst thou looke on this,
This piece Cleander, and not blush to boast
Thy follies thus, seeking to take away
From his full vertue, if but this one act
Of his appeare unto the world? (as know
It shall; for Ile not shame to publish him,
Though I die for it) will it not devoure
And like a grave will burie all thy honors?
Do, take his life, and glory in that act,
But be thou sure, in him thou shalt kill two.
Cle.
What meane you, madam?
Syl.
Not to live a minute,
After his death.
Gle.
That all the Gods forbid.
Syl.
No, they command it rather, that have made
Our soules but one: Cleander, thou wert wont
To be more courteous; and I do see
Some pitie in thee: if not for pitties sake,
Yet for thine owne good spare this life, and take
Mine; for thou knowst, when I am dead, this kingdome
Thy father will inherit, or thy selfe.
Tis but the waiting of an old mans death,
Who cannot long out-live me: will you do't?
Thy.
Sir, you are noble, I do see you are,
You lov'd this Lady once: by that dear love
(With me it was a conjuration
To draw my soule out, whilst I was so happy)
I do beseech you spare her noble life,
Her death will sit full heavie on your soule,
And in your height of Kingly dignities
Disturbe that head, which crownes will give no rest to.
To take my life is justice.
Syl.
Rather mine;
I have offended in first loving him,
Thy.
Be not so cruell madam to your selfe
And me, to envy me a death so noble.
Sir, as you hope your love shall ever prosper,
Your great designes, your fights, (what ere they are)
As you do hope for peace in your last houre,
And that the earth may lightly cloath your ashes,
Dispatch me quickly, send me to my death.
Cle.
A strange contention! Madam will you please
A little to retire: Tis your honor
That I do strive to save, as well as life:
Pray do not crosse my purpose, I shall do
Something that you may thanke me for.
Syl.
Cleander,
Save but the shepheard, and Ile crowne thy merit.
Cle.
Will you be pleasd to enter here?
Syl.
But sweare
That thou wilt save him.
Cle.
I shall do my best,
I dare not sweare, for tis not in my power
To do what you command.
Syl.
But will you sweare
To let me know of it before he die?
Cle.
I will by heaven.
Syl.
Then I take my leave.
And Thyrsis be thou sure, what ever Fate
Attends thy life, the same does governe mine:
One kisse I must not be deny'd.
Fy Madam,
How low is this in you?
Syl.
Then thus we part,
To meete againe, I hope.
Thy.
Downe stubborne heart,
Wilt thou not breake yet? In my death I finde
Nothing that's terrible, but this Farewell
Presents my soule with all the paines of hell.
SCENA 4.
Mirtillus, Chorus of shepheards.1 shep.
I'me sorry that this busines went not forward.
2 shep.
So am not I, we're rid of so much trouble.
2 shep.
Yet it is strange the King should send for us,
And when we were come, command us to returne.
Mi.
No, 'tis not strange, it was his will to do so:
But if you have an itch of dancing, friends,
Next holy-day we'le ha't amongst our selves,
And every man shall dance with his owne sweetheart:
What say you shepheards, wil't not be as well?
1 shep.
It will be very fine. But where is Thyrsis?
2. shep.
I, where is he! you went along with him,
Where did you leave him?
Mi.
Walking in a garden,
Where when I came to call him, he was gon.
2 shep.
It seemes he cares not for our company.
Neither for yours nor any mans besides.
1 shep.
He is much alter'd, since his love was lost;
Methinks he is nothing like the man he was.
Mi.
Well then beware my friends how you ingage
Your selves in love: He is a faire example,
And Hylas too, he's drooping for his mistresse:
Daphnis is mad, they say; if you have a minde
To die, or to runne mad, then be in love.
2 shep.
See where he comes, in what a fume he is.
Mi.
I do not like his fumes: pray let's away.
SCENA 5.
Daphnis, to him Dorinda.
He will not now be found the Traitor: but
Where e're he be, nor heaven, nor hell shall save him
From my revenge. To take away the life
Of that sweet innocent, without whose sight
He knew I could not live, and to do this
Under the name of freindship: O you Gods,
What age can parallell so great a mischeife?
This is his Magicke glasse, which had the vertue
To make her mine, but sent her to the Gods.
Blest soule, I will revenge thy death, and then
Ile follow thee my selfe.
Do.
Daphnis, my love,
Da.
Now love deliver me;
And must you come to trouble me? Be gon;
I cannot stay to heare thy tedious follies.
Do.
Were all your vowes then made but to abuse me?
Are there not paines to punish perjur'd men?
And will they not ore'take you?
Da.
'Las poore foole,
The Gods doe laugh at such slight perjuries
As come from lovers.
Do.
Yet it was no conquest
To deceive one that would be credulous,
A simple maide that lov'd you.
Da.
Then I see
There is no end of womens reasoning;
Or else this might suffice thee, that I cannot
No nor I will not love thee.
Do.
Never?
Da.
Never.
Do.
Goe cruell man, and if the God of love
Will heare my prayers, thou in thy love shalt thrive,
As I in mine: that when thou art forlorne,
Thou maist remember her thou now doest scorne.
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