University of Virginia Library

Actvs 4.

Scen I.

Mopsus, Thestylis.
Mop.
I would have you to know Thestylis, so I would,
I am no dog, but mortall flesh and blood
As you are.

Thes.
O be patient gentle Mopsus.

Mop.
Slid, fetch and carry!

Thes.
Nay good sweet heart
Be not so angry.

Mop.
Angry? why 'twould anger
A dog indeed to be so us'd, a dog!
I would not use a dog so: bid a dog
That comes of a good house to fetch and carry!
Discourteous! let him get dogs of his own,
For I have got my neck out of the collar.
Let him unkennell's Oracles himselfe
For Mopsus, if I starte or spring him one
I'le dye the dogs death, and be hang'd: mad foole!

Thes.
But Mopsus, you may now securely visit
Mee and my house: Amyntas, heaven be prais'd,
Is now recover'd of his wits again.

Mop.
How? and grown wise!

Thes.
Ceres be prais'd as ever.

Mop.
Shut up your doores then; Carduus Benedictus
Or Dragon water may doe good upon him.

Thes.
What mean you Mopsus?

Mop.
Mean I? what mean you
To invite me to your house when 'tis infected?

Thes.
Infected?

Mop.
I, Amyntas has the Wits.
And doe you think I'le keepe him company?
Though, as I told you still, I am suspitious
Iocastus is the man that must—

The.
Doe what?

Mop.
It grieves me to think of it.

The.
Out with't man.

Mop.
That must interpret; I have cause to think
(With sorrow be it spoken) he will prove
The verier foole, but let him; yet now my Augury
That never failes me, tells mee certainly
That I shall have thee, Thestylis, yet ere night;
It was an owle—

Scen. 2.

Claius. Amyntas.
Amy.
What Deity lives here? the soule of Phœbus
Breaths in this powerfull man: sure Æculapius
Revisits earth againe; and in this shape
Deales health amongst us! I before was nothing
But bruit and beast: O tell me by what reliques
Of heavenly fire have you inspir'd me with
This better soule of reason! worthy sir,
If y'are some God (as lesse I cannot deeme you)
That pittying of my miseries, came downe
From heaven to cure mee, tell mee, that I may
With sacrifice adore you.

Mop.
Adore him?
Are there such Ruffian Gods in heaven as he?
Such beggarly Deities?

Amyn.
If you will conceale it,
And I by ignorance omit to pay
Those sacred duties that I ought, be pleas'd
To pardon me.

Mop.
Heighday! well Thestylis,
You may be glad your house is not infected;
Hee's ten times madder now then ere he was,
To deify this rude ill-favour'd Silvan,
This fellow with the beard all over: Thestylis,
I dare not stay; unlesse my heeles maintaine
My safety I shall turne a dog againe.

Exit Mopsus.
Clai.
I am as you are, mortall; 'tis my skill
In Physick, and experience in the rare
Vertue of herbes, that wrought this miracle;
No Divinity, or power in me.

Thest.
Amyntas, when shall wee requite this kindnesse?

Amynt.
Never, I would willingly
Have sacrific'd unto him, but his modesty
Will not permit it: though he will not suffer us
T'adore him as a God; yet we may pay
A reverence to him as a father.

Claius.
O those words doe touch the quick!

Amyn.
For if he be
A father that begot this flesh, this clay,
What's he to whom we owe our second birth
Of soule and reason? Father, I must call you
By that name, father.

Claius.
Now the floudgates open,
(aside
And the full streame of teares will issue out:)
Traitors, you will betray me!

Thest.
Sir, why weepe you?

Claius.
To thinke of this man's father—O I lov'd him
As dearely as my selfe (my words and all
Breake out suspitious!) has he not a daughter?
As I remember well, he said her name was—

The.
Amaryllis.

Cla.
Yes, I had almost
Forgot it, I would faine have seene her too.

Thest.
You cannot now, because to night she lodg'd
With one Laurinda.

Scen. 3.

Vrania.
Amy.
O my Vrania, welcome,
Amyntas bids thee so, I that 'till now
Was not Amyntas: come my joy, and meet mee
Full of our happinesse!

Vra.
Grant Ceres now
My hopes be faithfull to me: my Amyntas,
How come your thoughts so setled?

Amyn.
O Vrania,
Here, here he stands, to whom I owe my selfe,
And thou owest me: we reverence in our Temples
Marble, and brasse, whose statues serve for nothing
But to hang cobwebs on: oh! how much rather
Should we adore this Deity, that bestowed
Such happinesse upon us!

Vra.
Would we knew.
How to deserve it.

Cla.
So you may Vrania,
If you will grant me one request.

Vra.
Command it.

Cla.
I would intreat you presently to vow
Virginity to Ceres, that Amyntas
No more may toyle his brain in thinking what
To give you for a Dowry.

Vra.
Sir, J will
Presently about it, I'le only first
Get some unknown disguise.

Claius.
I dare stay here
No longer, for I must begon ere yet
The light betrayes me.

Vra.
Happinesse attend you!

Cla.
Remember it Vrania.

Amyn.
Farewell father.

Exeunt Vran. Amynt. Thestyl.
Claius Solus.
Clai.
Thus like a bat, or owle I spend my age
In night or darknesse, as asham'd of day,
And fearefull of the light: the sunne and I
Dare never be acquainted. O guilt, guilt,
Thou and thy daughter feare are punishments
Perpetuall, every whistling of the wind
Doth seeme the noise of apprehenders; shadowes
Affright me more then men. Each step I tread
Is danger. Life? why to live longer should we
Not live at all: I heare a noise: false timorousnesse
Deceive me not,—my eyes instruct me too,
Heaven shield me—

Scen. 4.

Alexis. Damon.
Alex.
How early, Damon, doe lovers rise?

Cla.
Tis he, I heare his name, good mole away.

Exit.
Dam.
No Larkes so soon, Alexis.

Alex.
He that of us shall have Laurinda, Damon,
Will not be up so soone: ha! would you Damon?

Dam.
Alexis, no, but if I misse Laurinda,
My sleepe shall be eternall.

Alex.
I much wonder the Sunne so soone can rise!

Da.
Did he lay his head in faire Laurinda's lap,

Alexis.
We should have but short daies.

Alex.
No summer, Damon.

Dam.
Thetis to her is browne.

Alex.
And he doth rise
From her to gaze on faire Laurinda's eyes.

Dam.
O now I long to meet our Arbitresse.

Alex.
On whom depends our only happinesse.

Dam.
It must be the first Virgin that we greet
From Ceres Temple.

Alex.
Yes, the first we meet.

Dam.
I heare no noise of any yet that move.

Alex.
Devotion's not so early up as love.

Dam.
See how Aurora blushes! we suppose
Where Tithon lay to night.

Alex.
That modest rose
He grafted there.

Dam.
O heaven, 'tis all I seeke,
To make that colour in Laurinda's cheeke.

Alex.
The virgins now come from the Temple.

Dam.
Appeale unto the first.

Scen. 5.

The virgins passe over the stage with waxe candles in their hands, Amaryllis goes the first, but she is staid by Damon, as unknown to be Amaryllis, she being vail'd and having on her head the garland that Laurinda took from Damon.
Amar.
Ceres has heard my prayers,
For all my morning orisons beg'd no more
Then one kind word from Damon.

Dam.
Amaryllis!

Alex.
That name breaths life & soul to poore Alexis.

Amar.
The same;—why startle you? you have not met
A poyson, Damon.

Dam.
Yes, a thousand vipers
Have stung my soule.

Alex.
As many joyes crown mine
With happinesse.

Dam.
Would I had met this morning
Infectious vapors nursing plagues, not thee;
No curse but that had power to ruin mee!

Alex.
No other blessing hath preserved mee.

Amar.
What should this mean, my Damon? how have I
Displeas'd you, sweet? heaven knowes it is my praier
More then for heaven, to please you.

Da.
O my torture!
Fly hence as farre as hell, and hide thy head
Lower then darknesse; would thou had'st been acting
Incest or murder, when thou cam'st to pray:
Thou hadst in any thing sinn'd lesse then this:
Vnseasonable devotion!

Amar.
Can it be
A sin to pray for Damon?

Dam.
Thou had'st blest mee
Had'st thou sate all this while in some dark cell
Loading my head with curses.

Ama.
Innocence
Let me not understand you.

Da.
I'le not stand
To her award, she is a partiall judge,
And will decree unjustly.

Ama.
How, to Damon?
To him she loves so deerely?

Dam.
That's the reason;
Shee does confesse, Alexis, that she loves me,
That's argument enough against her.

Amar.
Ceres, these obscure passions move me.

Alex.
I'le instruct you,
Take here the paper, pen and inke.

Ama.
Why yet sir
I know no more.

Alex.
You are to passe your censure,
Being the first Nymph that we have met this morning,
Which of us two must have the faire Laurinda.
Write your award; our mutuall oathes doe bind us
Not to deny't.

Da.
'Tis a meere plot contriv'd
Betwixt this cursed Nymph, and you, Alexis.

Alex.
Damon you wrong us both.

Dam.
Where did you steale
This Garland? it was mine.

Amar.
For that I love it,
Because it once was thine.

Da.
For that I hate it,
'Cause it is thine, had it been true to mee,
Me thinkes as soone as it had toucht thy head
It should have withered.

Amar.
So it would have done
Had it not first touch't yours. Laurinda gave me
This Garland, but nere told me of this accident.

Da.
Alexis, you deale false, 'tis a conspiracy
'Twixt you and her.

Alex.
How can it? you know, Damon,
I have not beene one minute from your presence.

Da.
You tooke your time while I was sleeping.

Alex.
Neither,
Nor I nor you could sleepe one winke this night,
The expectation of this morning tryall
Did keepe us both awake.

Da.
I doe not know,
But there is some trick in't, and I'le appeale
From her too partiall sentence.

Ale.
I'le the while goe fetch Laurinda, shee shall force you stand
Vnto her tryall.

Exit.
Amar.
Damon, thy harsh language is more then death
Vnto me.

Da.
I doe charge you to teare the paper,
And refuse to judge between us.

Amar.
No, I am resolv'd to write what I determine.

Da.
Now thou hast indeed a time wherein thou maist
Revenge my scorne. Take it, but I'le prevent thee.

he strikes her.
Amar.
Welcome death!
From him all things are so. Damon, fly hence,
Thou hast shed bloud here in the Sacred Valley,
Make hast away or thou art lost for ever.

Dam.
Thy counsell's good, no matter whose the guilt.

Exit Damon.
Ama.
What was it he said last?—Thou hast indeed
A time wherein thou maist revenge my scorne.
—With love, no otherwise: and there thou shalt not
Prevent mee, Damon. I will write—This inke
Deserves not to record the name of Damon,
Tis black and ugly; thou thy selfe hast furnisht mee
With that of better colour. 'Tis my blood
That's truly Cupids inke: love ought to write
Only with that;—This paper is too course;
O that I had my heart, to write it there!
But so it is already. Would I had
A Parchment made of my own skin, in that
To write the truth of my affection,
A wonder to posterity!—Hand make hast
As my bloud does, or I shall faint I feare
Ere I have done my story.—

Scen. 6.

Enter Dorylas.
Dor.
These milkemaids are the daintiest rogues, they kisse
As sweet as sillibubs, surely Oberon
Lives a delitious life! Ha! who lies here?
A Nymph? If't were but now in Oberons power
To steale away her maidenhead, as she sleepes:
O 'twould be excellent sport, to see how shee
Would misse it when she wakes: what misery 'tis
To be a boy; why could not my good father
Have got me five yeares sooner? here had been
A purchase: well, 'tis but five yeares longer
And I shall hope to see a merrier world.
No body neere too! Slid the very thought's
Enough to make me man oth sudden, well
I'le kisse her though.

Amar.
Oh I faint.

Dor.
She dreames;
Now shall I know all secrets: These same women
Are given so much to talke when they are awake
That they prate sleeping too.

Ama.
My blood congeales
Within my quill, and I can write no more.

Dor.
Love letters? she was troubled yester night
About inditeing, and she dreames on't now.
Poore sleepy secretary!

Ama.
I will fold it up
And send it; who's that's here? my eyes
Are dimme, ha, Dorylas!

Dor.
Now she dreames shee gives it me to carry;
I halfe feare I use to carry letters in my sleepe,
Wearying my selfe all night, and that's the reason
I am so loath to rise i'th' morning.

Ama.
Dorylas, carry this letter for mee.

Dor.
I thought so,
That's all that I can doe, carry their letters,
Or runne of errands: well, come five yeares hence
They may imploy me better. Vnto whom is it?

Amar.
Vnto Laurinda, take it.

Dor.
How, a red letter?

Amar.
Say I wish all health to her and Damon;
And being not able for to beare my griefes,
I sought a remedy from mine own speare and died.

Dor.
How dead? oh mee,
See how her blood hath stain'd the holy Valley!
Well you have done me wrong to kill your selfe,
Only to have me sacrifis'd on the Altar,
I nere deserv'd it.

Amar.
Fear not Dorylas.

Dor.
Fear not, to dye so like a calfe? oh Dorylas oh—

Ama.
Good Dorylas be gone, whilest yet my breath
Will give me leave to say it was not you.

Dor.
See that you doe, and so farewell.

Exit.
Amar.
Farewell!
How fearfull death is unto them, whose life
Had any sweetnesse in it! my daies have all
Been so oreworne with sorrow, that this wound
Is unto me rather a salve then sore,
More physick then disease: whither my journey
Shall lead me now; through what dark hideous place;
Among what monsters, hags and snake-hair'd Furies,
Am I to goe, I know not: but my life
Hath been so spotlesse, chast, and innocent,
My death so undeserv'd, I have no reason
(If there be Gods) but to expect the best;
Yet what doth most torment mee, is the thought
How long 'twill bee ere I again enjoy
My Damon's presence: untill then, Elysium
Will be no place of pleasure; and perchance
When he comes thither too, he then may slight mee
As much as now.—That very feare doth make thee
Dye, wretched Amaryllis!

Scen. 7.

Enter Claius.
Cla.
How no feare
Can make me loose the father! Death or danger
Threat what you can; I have no heart to goe
Back to the mountaines, 'till my eyes have seen
My Amaryllis!

Amar.
O was ever love
So cros'd as mine! was ever Nymph so wretched
As Amaryllis?

Cla.
Ha! I heard the sound
Of Amarillis; where's that blessed creature,
That owes the name? are you the Virgin?

Ama.
Yes,
That fatall name is mine. I shall anon
Be nothing but the name.

Cla.
O speak, what hand,
What barbarous Tigers issue, what cursed whelpe
Of Beares or Lyon, had the marble heart
To wound so sweet a Nymph?

Amar.
O sir, my bloud
Calls none but fortune guilty. I by chance
Stumbled on mine own dart, and hurt my selfe.

Clai.
Then I have hearbs to cure it: heaven I thank thee
That didst instruct me hither! still the bloud
Flowes like a scarlet torrent, whose quick streame
Will not be checkt: speak Amarillis, quickly,
What hand this sinne hath stain'd, upon whose soule
This bloud writes murther; till you see the man
Before your eyes, that gave the hurt, all hope
In Physick is despaire:—She will not speak,
And now the cure growes to the last. Yet here
I have a Recipe will revive her spirits, Applies a medicine and rubs her tēples.

And 'till the last drop of her blood be clean
Exhausted from those azure veines, preserve her;
But then shee's lost for ever! Then, O Ceres,
If there be any in these groves, men, virgins,
Beast, bird, or trees, or any thing detesting
This horrid fact, reveale it! Sacred grasse
Whose hallowed greene this bloudy deed hath stain'd,
Aske nature for a tongue to name the murtherer!
I'le to the Temple:—If this place containe
Any Divinity, Piety, or Religion,
If there be any God at home, or Priest,
Ompha, or Oracle, Shrine, or Altar, speake
Who did it: who is guilty of this sinne,
That dyes the earth with bloud, & makes the heavens
Asham'd to stand a witnesse?

Scen. 8.

Enter Pilumnus. Corymbus.
Pilum.
What sad voyce
Disturbs our pious Orgyes?

Cor.
See, Pilumnus,
A virgin all in gore.

Pil.
Ceres defend us,
The Sacred Vally is prophan'd.

Cor.
The place
So deare to Ceres, all defil'd with bloud.

Pil.
By Ceres, and her holy Ompha, hee
That did it, with his blood shall satisfy
The Goddesse anger; who by blood offends
By his own sacrific'd, must make amends.

Cla.
I durst presume upon the power of art,
Did I but know the murtherer.

Pil.
Howsoever
'Tis death to him that did it.

Cor.
Speake his name
Faire virgin.

Ama.
O—if it be death to him
That did it, I have not the power to live
Behind him.

Cor.
Why, who was it then?

Ama.
My selfe,
And therefore in my death your law is satisfied,
The blood and act both mine.

Cla.
It is not so,
For had it been by her own hand, my skill
Could have preserv'd her life.

Amar.
It was my selfe,
Or one as deare.

Cla.
Who's that?

Ama.
I'le rather dye
Then name him, though it be a name I use
Oft to repeat, and every repetition
Is a new soule unto mee: 'tis a name
I have taught the birds to caroll, every
Laurell and Cedar beares it registred
Vpon his tender barke; it is a name
In which is all the life I yet have left;
A name I long to speake; yet I had rather
Dye all the severall sorts of death twice over
Then speake it once.

Clai.
I charge thee by that duty
Thou ow'st to me, Amarillis, that thou owest to me
Who gave thee life.—

Pil.
What should this mean Corymbus!

Cl.
And by the womb that bare thee, by the breasts
Of thy dead mother, Lalage,

Cor.
This is strange.

Cla.
Conceale him not! in plain, I am thy father
Thy father, Amarillis, that commands thee
By these gray haires to tell mee. I am Claius.

Pilum.
How, Claius! and so fortunatly found!

Claius.
I, glut your hate, Pilumnus; let your soule
That has so long thirsted to drinke my blood,
Swill till my veines are empty; and carowse
Deep in my heart, till you grow drunke, and reele,
And vomit up the surfet, that your cruelty
Quaft off with so much pleasure; I have stood
Long like a fatall oake, at which great Iove
Levels his thunder; all my boughes long since
Blasted and wither'd; now the trunke falls too.
Heaven end thy wrath in mee!

Pilum.
Blessed be Ceres!
What unexpected happines is here?
Rejoyce Sicilians; miserable lovers,
Crowne all your browes with roses, and adore
The Deity that sent him: he is come
Whose blood must quench the fire of Ceres wrath,
And kindle more auspitious flames of love
In every brest.

Cla.
I, doe, I feare not death.
Let every Virgins hand when I am slaine
Ring me a knell of Plaudits: let my Dirges
Be amorous Ditties, and in stead of weeping
Dance at my funerall! Tis no griefe for mee
To dye to make my countrymen some sport.
Here's one in whom I only wish to live
Another age.

Amar.
What joy have I to live,
That nere liv'd yet: the time that I have spent
Since first I wept, then, when I first had entrance
Into this world, this cold and sorrowfull world,
Was but a scene of sorrow; wretched I!
Fatall to both my parents! For my birth
Ruin'd my mother, and my death my father.
O Tragick life! I either should have been
Nere borne, or nere have died. When I began
To be, my sinne began, why should it then
Out live mee? for, though now I cease to be,
That still continues: Eyes, flow forth a pace,
And be asham'd to see my wound run blood
Faster then you drop teares—
Enter Damon.
See, here he comes.
His absence never untill now I wisht.

Dam.
My Conscience brings me back, the feet of guilt
Goe slow and dull, 'tis hard to run away
From that we beare about us!

Cla.
The Murtherer
Is in this place, the issue of her blood
Is stop'd oth' sudden. Cruell man, 'tis thou
Hast done this bloudy act, that will disgrace
The story of our nation, and imprint
So deepe a blemish in the age we live in
For savage Barbarisme, that eternity
Shall nere weare out: Pilumnus, on my knees
I beg the justice of Sicilian lawes
Against this monster.

Pilum.
Claius, 'tis your hate,
And old revenge instructs you to accuse
My Sonne: you would have fellowes in your death,
And to that purpose you pretend, I know not
What mysteries of art!

Cla.
Speak Amaryllis
I'st not this wolfe?

Pilum.
Say, virgin, was it hee?

Ama.
O, I am angry with my blood for stopping!
This coward ebbe against my will betraies mee;
The streame is turn'd, my eyes run faster now.

Pilum.
Can you accuse my sonne?

Amar.
By Ceres, no;
I have no heart to doe it: does that face
Look cruell? doe those eyes sparkle with hate,
Or malice? Tell me, Father, lookes that brow
As if it could but frowne? Say, can you thinke
Tis possible Damon could have the heart
To wound a Virgin? surely barbarous cruelty
Dwels not in such a brest: mercy, and mildnesse,
Courtesy, love, and sweetnesse breath in him,
Not Anger, wrath, or murther; Damon was not
Fed at a Thracian teat, Venus did send
Her Doves to nurse him, and can he be cruell?
Whence should he learne so much of barbarisme
As thus to wrong a Virgin? if he wound mee
Tis only from his eyes, where loves blind God
Whets his pil'd arrowes; He besides, you know,
Had never cause to wrong mee, for the knowes
Alwaies I lov'd him: Father, doe not wrong
An innocent; his soule is white, and pure,
Tis sinne to thinke there lives a sinne in him;
Impiety to accuse him.

Clai.
In his lookes
He carries guilt, whose horror breeds this strange
And obstinate silence: shame, and his conscience
Will not permit him to deny it.

Amar.
Tis, alas,
His modest, bashfull nature, and pure innocence,
That makes him silent: think you that bright rose
That buds within his cheekes, was planted there
By guilt or shame? no, he has alwaies been
So unacquainted with all act of sinne,
That but to be suspected strikes him dumb
With wonder and amazement. For by Ceres
(I think my oath be lawfull) I my selfe
Was cause of this.

Cla.
Still I am confident
'Twas hee.

Pilum.
It is your envy makes you so.

Scen. 9.

Alexis. Laurinda.
Lau.
—I will Alexis,
And so he must if oathes be any tye.

Alex.
To lovers they are none, we break those bonds
As easily as threds of silke: A bracelet
Made of your maidens haire's a stronger chaine
Then twenty cobweb oathes, which while we break
Venus but laughs: it must be your perswasion
That works him to it.

Lau.
Damon, you must stand
To what you promis'd, how shall I believe
Those other oathes you sweare, if you respect
This one no better: It was my device
To have her judge, was it not, Amarillis?
How, all in blood!

Cla.
Yes, this unmercifull man
(If he be man that can doe such a crime)
Has wounded her.

Amar.
Indeed it was not hee.

Pil.
You see her selfe frees him.

Lau.
When last we left her
She was with Damon.

Ama.
Pray believe her not,
She speaks it out of anger, I nere saw
Damon to day before.

Alex.
And when we left 'em
He was incens'd.

Amar.
You are no competent witnesse;
You are his Rivall in Laurinda's love,
And speak not truth but malice, 'tis a plot
To ruin innocence.

Lau.

The Letter.
Alex.
Now I expect to hear my blessed doome.

Lau.
Alexis well deserves, but Damon more;
I wish you him I wisht my selfe before.

Alex.
O, I am ruin'd in the height of hope.
How like the hearb Solstitiall is a lover,
Now borne, now dead again, he buds, sprouts forth,
Flourishes, ripens, withers in a minute.

Lau.
Take him, the best of men, that ever eye
Beheld, and live with him for whom I dye.

Amarillis.

Dam.
Writ with blood? o let me kisse
My bill of Accusation! here my name
Lookes like my soule, all crimson, every line,
Word, syllable, and letter, weares the livery
Of my unnaturall action. Amarillis
That name of all is black, which was alone
Worthy so pretious inke; as if disdaining
The character of cruelty, which the rest
Were cloathd in: for as if that word alone
Did weare this mourning colour, to bewaile
The funerall of my vertue, that lies buried
Here in this living tombe, this moving sepulchre.

Lau.
Know murtherer I hate thy bed, and thee,
Unkind, unthankfull villaine.

Ama.
Nay, Laurinda,
You have bound your selfe to stand to my award;
The sentence now is past, and you must love him,
It cannot be revers'd; you are deceiv'd,
He is not guilty of this sinne, his love
To me, for mine, makes him against his conscience
Seeme to confesse it, but believe him not.

Lau.
Nor will, he is all falshood, and ingratitude.

Da.
Laurinda, you may spare in this harsh language
To utter your dislike: had you a beauty
More then immortall, and a face whose glory
Farre outshind Angels, I would make my choyce
Here, and no where but here; her vertue now
Moves a more noble flame within my brest
Then ere your beauty did; I am enamour'd
More of her soule, then ever yet I doted
Upon your face: I doe confesse the fact;
Pardon me vertuous maid, for though the action
Be worthy death, the object most condemnes mee!
Take me to death Corymbus; Amarillis,
I goe to write my story of repentance
With the same inke, wherewith thou wrotes before
The legend of thy love, farewell, farewell.

Exeunt Corymb. Dam.
Pil.
Laurinda, and Alexis, doe you call
The Sheapheards, and the virgins of Sicilia
To see him sacrific'd, whose death must make
There loves more fortunate; this day shall be
Happy to all Sicilians, but to mee.
Yet come thou cursed Claius, the sweet comfort
Which I shall take when my revenge is done,
Will something ease the sorrow for my sonne.

Clai.
Amarillis, prethee call Amyntas to mee,
And Thestylis: I faine would have mine eye
Behold them once again before I dye.

Ex. Pil. Cla.
Ale.
Come my Laurinda, through how many chances,
Suspicions, errors, sorrowes, doubts, and feares
Love leads us to our pleasures; many stormes
Have we sail'd through my Sweet, but who could feare
A tempest, that had hope to harbour here.

Ex. Alex. Lau.
Amarillis sola.
Amar.
All, all but the distressed Amarillis
Are happy, or lesse wretched; fair Laurinda
Is ready for a wedding, old Pilumnus
Hath lost a sonne, yet mitigates his griefe
In Claius death, my father Claius dies
Yet joyes to have the sonne of his old enemy
A partner of his sorrowes; my father looses
Only himselfe; and Damon too no more;
Amyntas but a father, onely I
Have lost all these; I have lost Claius, Damon,
And my selfe too; A father with Amyntas,
And all the rest in Damon, and which more
Affects mee, I am cause of all; Pilumnus
Had not else lost his sonne, nor had Amyntas
Wept for a Father, nor poore Thestylis
Bewail'd a brother; Damon might have liv'd,
And Claius but for mee; all circumstances
Concurre to make my miseries compleat,
And sorrowes perfect: for I lost my father
As soone as I had found him, and my Damon
As soone as I had found he lov'd mee: thus
All I can find is losse; o too too wretched,
Distressed virgin! when they both are dead
Visit their Ashes, and first weepe an howre
On Claius Vrne, then go, and spend another
At Damon's; thence again goe wet the tombe
Of thy dead father, and from thence returne
Back to thy lovers grave; thus spend thy age
In sorrowes; and till death doe end thy cares
Betwixt these two equally share thy teares.