 | Amyntas |  |
80
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
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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
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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!
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