 | The Shepheards Holy-Day |  |
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.
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