 | Amyntas |  |
Scen. 4.
Amyntas. Vrania. Amaryllis. manet Mopsus.Amyn.
That which I have not, may not, cannot have!—
It is the moone! Vrania, thou shalt weare
The horned Goddesse at thy beauteous eare.
32
And spurre thee to her orbe.
Mop.
Oh good Amyntas!
Amyn.
—Why, art thou foundred Pegasus? Amaryllis,
Fetch him a peck of provender.
Vra.
Sweet Amyntas!
Amy.
What saies my Cytherea? wouldst thou eat
A golden Apple? if thou wilt, by Venus
I'le rob th'Hesperian Orchard.
Mop.
Ha ha he!
Amyn.
Ha? dost thou laugh old Charon? sirrah sculler,
Prepare thy boat!
Ama.
For what? deere brother speake!
Amyn.
Art thou my sister Helen? were we hatchd
In the same egshell?—Is your cock-boat ready?
Mop.
It is, an't please your Worship.
Amyn.
Very well!
Row me to hell!—no faster? I will have thee
Chain'd unto Pluto's gallies!
Vra.
Why to hell,
My deere Amyntas?
Amy.
Why? to borrow mony!
Ama.
Borrow there?
Amy.
I there! they say there be more Vsurers there
Then all the world besides:—see how the windes
Rise! Puffe—puffe Boreas.—what a cloud comes yonder?
Take heed of that wave Charon! ha? give mee
The oares!—so so: the boat is overthrown,
Now Charons drown'd: but I will swim to shore—
33
O Ceres, now behold him! can thy eyes
Looke on so sad an object, and not melt
Them and thy heart to pitty?
Ama.
How this greefe
Racks my tormented soule? but the neglect
Of Damon more afflicts mee: the whole Senate
Of heaven decrees my ruine.
Vra.
And mine too.
Come Amaryllis let's weepe both together,
Contending in our sorrowes!
Ama.
Would to Ceres
That I were dead!
Vra.
And I had nere been borne!
Ama.
Then had not I been wretched!
Vra.
Then Amyntas
Might have been happy.
Mop.
Nay if you begin
Once to talke wisely, 'Tis above high time,
That I were gone: farewell Bellerophon!
I must goe seek my Thestylis; shee's not here.
Exit.
Amy.
My armes are weary;—now I sinke I sinke!
Farewell Vrania.—
Ama.
Alas what strange distraction,
Tosse his distemperd braine!
Vra.
Yet still his love to me
Lives constant.
Amy.
Styx I thank thee! That curld wave
Hath tos'd mee on the shore—come Sysiphus.
I'le rowle thy stone a while: mee thinkes this labour
Doth looke like Love! does it not so, Tysiphone?
34
Mine is that restlesse toile.
Amy.
I'st so, Erynnis?
You are an idle huswife, goe and spin
At poore Ixions wheele!
Vra.
Amyntas.
Amyn.
Ha?
Am I known here?
Vra.
Amyntas, deere Amyntas—
Amyn.
Who calls Amyntas? beauteous Proserpine?
Tis shee.—Fair Empresse of th'Elysian shades,
Ceres bright daughter intercede for mee,
To thy incensed mother: prithee bid her
Leave talking riddles, wilt thou?
Vra.
How shall I
Apply my selfe to his wild passions!
Ama.
Seeme to be
What he conceives you.
Amy.
Queene of darknesse,
Thou supreme Lady of eternall night,
Grant my petitions! wilt thou beg of Ceres
That I may have Vrania?
Vra.
Tis my praier,
And shall be ever, I will promise thee
Shee shall have none but him.
Amyn.
Thankes Proserpine!
Vra.
Come sweet Amyntas, rest thy troubled head
Here in my lap:—Now here I hold at once
My sorrow and my comfort: Nay ly still.
Amyn.
I will: but Proserpine—
Vra.
Nay, good Amyntas.—
35
Should Pluto chance to spy me, would not hee
Be jealous of me?
Vran.
No.
Amy.
Tysiphone,
Tell not Vrania of it, least she feare
I am in love with Proserpine: doe not Fury!
Ama.
I will not.
Vra.
Pray ly still!
Amy.
You Proserpine,
There is in Sicilie the fairest Virgin
That ever blest the land, that ever breath'd,
Sweeter then Zephyrus! didst thou never heare
Of one Vrania?
Vr.
Yes.
Amy.
This poore Vrania
Loves an unfortunate sheapheard, one that's mad, Tysiphone,
Canst thou believe it? Elegant Vrania
(I cannot speak it without teares) still loves
Amyntas, the distracted mad Amyntas.
I'st not a constant Nymph?—But I will goe
And carry all Elysium on my back,
And that shall be her joynture.
Vra.
Good Amyntas,
Rest here a while!—
Amy.
Why weepe you Proserpine?
Vr.
Because Vrania weepes to see Amyntas
So restlesse and unquiet.
Amy.
Does shee so?
Then will I ly as calme as doth the Sea,
36
I will not move a haire, not let a nerve
Or Pulse to beat, least I disturbe her! Hush,—
Shee sleepes!
Vra.
And so doe you.
Amy.
You talk too loud,
You'l waken my Vrania:
Vra.
If Amyntas,
Her deere Amyntas would but take his rest,
Vrania could not want it.
Amy.
Not so loud!
Ama.
What a sad paire are wee?
Vra.
How miserable?
Hee that I love is not!—
Ama.
And he that I
Doe love, loves not; or, if he love, not mee.
Vra.
I have undone Amyntas!
Ama.
And my Damon
Has undone me.
Vr.
My kindnesse ruin'd him.
Ama.
But his unkindnesse, me; unhappy me!
Vra.
More wretched I, for Damon has his reason,
And he may love.
Ama.
But does not: thy Amyntas
Returnes thee mutuall love.
Vra.
True, Amaryllis,
But he has lost his reason; mine has love,
No reason.
Ama.
Mine has reason, but no love.
O mee!
37
My Amaryllis, how thy griefes
Meete full with mine to make the truest story
Of perfect sorrow that ere eye bedew'd
With teares of Pitty!
Ama.
Come Vrania:
Let's sit together like two marble monuments
Of ever weeping misery—
Enter Damon.
Da.
Minds in love,
Doe count their daies by minutes, measure howres
By every sand that drops through the slow glasse;
And for each vie a teare.
Ama.
If so, my Damon,
How many times hath thy unkindnesse ruin'd
Sad Amaryllis? every frowne is mortall.
Dam.
Ill luck, to seeke my love and finde my hate!
Ama.
Be not so cruell to mee! Gentle Damon,
—Accept this witnesse of my love, it is
The story of poore Echo, that for love
Of her Narcissus pin'd into a voice.
Da.
Doe thou so too!
Ama.
Damon, suppose I should,
And then the Gods for thy contempt of mee
Should plague thee like Narcisus.
Da.
Amaryllis,
They cannot doe it: I have fixt my love
So firme on my Laurinda, that for her
I e're shall hate my selfe?
Ama.
—Prithee love accept it,
'Twas wrought by mine own hand
38
For that I hate it!
Vra.
Fy Brother, can you be of the same stock,
Issue, and bloud with mee, and yet so cruell?
Da.
Nor can I, sister, dote like you on any
That is the cursed brat of Lalage.
Amy.
Saist thou so Centaure?—
Vra.
Good Amyntas hold,
This is the Sacred Vally: here 'tis death,
For to shed human blood.
Da.
Still idly you complaine
To crosse mee, Amaryllis, but in vaine!
Exit.
Ama.
O, I am sick to death!
Amy.
What a brave show
The monsters braines would make?
| Amyntas | |