 | Filli Di Sciro. Or Phillis of Scyros |  |
1
ACT. 1.
SCENA 1.
MELISSO, SIRENO.Mel.
Behold the dawning light, give ear unto
The gentle murmurings of the morning Air,
Which is high Heavens sacring Bell, that calls
The drowsie birds, to pay their homage to
The rising Sun.
And tell me then, if ever man yet saw,
So fair a morning, breath so sweet a gale,
Out of the gloomy bosome of so foul a night?
See with what dear delight it seems to steal
The Stars from Heaven, and store the earth with Flowers,
O blessed Banks! do not these Roses look,
Like stars sent from their sphere to adorn this Brook?
Sir.
It seems a dream Melisso, for of late
The world was out of course; the troubled Clouds
Labour'd, as over-whelmed with the Sea;
And the bright Heavens as darkned with her Waves,
Thunder-bolts shot themselves through furious Gusts,
Which threatned nothing but a boisterous storm,
And ever now, and then, a fearfull light,
Blaz'd from the skies; which by those flashing beams,
Seem'd in a triumph to shew forth their power.
The blustring winds strove by their whirling blasts,
To shake the deep foundations of the earth:
2
And scorning to be kept within the Banks,
Of muddy clay, seem'd to out-face the Air;
And I amazed cried, shall then the earth,
Be by another Sea from Heaven o're-whelm'd?
To tell the truth, I durst not then presume,
To stir out of my Cell surpris'd with fear,
To look upon the Weather-beaten fields:
Or see these flowers all torn up by the roots,
And view the Corn lie shaken with the storm,
Here boughs torn from the trees, there trees rent up,
And every where th'unhappy Trophies then
Of Heaven warring against sinfull men.
And yet, behold I see these gentle Plants
Adorn'd, and deckt, with their green tresses still.
There's not a leaf, which faln from off a Bow,
Lies withered by the tree, from which it fell.
Each Valley, Meadow, and each fertile field,
More fruitful now then ever, do I see,
Enamel'd with fair flowers, mixt with green hearbs,
And braging as it were, of heavens high Grace.
O Wonderfull! shall then the injuries
Of heaven, become Earths greatest happiness?
And such foul stormes produce such fruitfulness?
Mel.
Sireno, heaven never varies from these Laws,
And these Eternall bounds, to which its ty'd;
But it foretels some fearful prodigie;
For 'tis the Master of all future chance.
And all the lights, and all the turns it brings,
Are tongues which talk in a celestial tone:
And if it Thunder, or send lightning forth,
Even that's a muttering language, which it speaks.
And haply, this vain terrour, which the night
Brought upon us fond men, to which succeeds,
Beyond all humane hope, so blith a morn,
Is sent from thence, to tell us that we may,
After a short tempestuous storm of sad annoy,
Hope for the chearfull beams of unexpected joy.
3
Alas, Melisso, can it be beleev'd?
If Heaven had care of us, the Sun would sure;
Rather then thus display his glorious beams,
Conceal himself under those watry clouds,
From looking on these certain miseries,
Which now attend us.
Know'st thou not then, that on this wofull shore,
Oronte is arriv'd, the Minister
Of the Great King, and of our endlesse Woe?
Mel.
I know it not, who came but yesternight,
Just at the setting of the evening Sun,
With Cloris my dear daughter from the holy Isle,
Whither we went, as you know very well,
At the beginning of the youthfull spring:
And since in Scyros I have made abode,
Where I already have beheld the fields,
Three times wax yellow with the Summers heat
And thrice grow hoary with the Winters Frost.
I cannot call to mind, that ere I saw,
Any such man come here.
Sir.
'Tis true he comes not, but each fifteen years,
Yet leaves a sad remembrance here behind
Of an eternal Woe.
O Melisso, Melisso, ere thou see'st
Th' unlucky Batt, flie through the dusky air,
Or hear'st the night Owl shriek, thou yet shalt hear,
The wofull plaints of silly Infants, sound
The deep laments of Scyros.
But I must go, for time calls me, to hast
Unto the Temple, to adore the Gods.
Mel.
The Temple is yet shut; and is not far
Distant from hence, here we may stay a while,
Under this bright and spacious Hemisphere,
Untill the Sun send out his golden raies,
To gild the silver skies, and so extract
The morning beams, out of this dawning light:
Then with the rising Sun, and not before,
The sacred Priest sets ope the Temple dore:
4
Me, who this man is, what those ills he brings,
From whence and wherefore he arrived here.
For loves-sake, let me know, our common greeves,
That whilest all others mourn, I may not be
Carelesse alone to wail our misery.
Sir.
I'le tell thee then Meliss' and thou shalt hear,
In two short sighs, our long continued woes;
Thou canst not but already understand,
That when the Thracian bold, Grand Signior first
Mel.
O sad beginning from a Tyrants name!
Sir.
Subdu'd unto his barbarous Empire all,
The Towns and Cities seated round the Coasts
Of the Ægean Sea.
He a most cruel tribute then impos'd.
Not of fine Wool, nor of our woolly flocks,
Not of our horned Heards, of Gold or Gems,
The baser off-spring, of Dame Natures Womb;
But of our proper Children, which to us
Are the dear gifts of Heaven, of those sweet Imps,
And tender Infants, which from two years old
Had not yet breath'd out five years of their Age.
Mel.
I know it well.
Sir.
He then doth every fifteen years imploy
A Captain, from these Coasts, to bear away
Those pretty little slaves, who from each place,
Some ten, a hundred, or a thousand takes;
According as the place abounds in store.
And from this most unhappy Island here,
Great onely in the sorrows which it feels,
Twenty, and twenty, he exacts by course,
Such as amongst a thousand chosen first
By his own will, shall by a cursed lot,
Be destin'd to his power:
That cursed lot, which fifteen years agone
Made poor Ormino, and my self, become,
Above all forlorn Parents, most forlorn;
(Alas I cannot hold from sad laments,
5
Then, then, I say, this self same man, this same
Oronte, snatcht from him Thirsis his son,
From me my daughter Phillis, and from both
Our very hearts; O me most wretched man!
Mel.
Could not the children of Ormino then,
And of Siren, which are descended from
The great Achilles, those young Imps of love
Through whom all Scyros is so famous grown
Be spar'd in Scyros? Is there no regard
In Kings, to those that are deriv'd from Kings?
Sir.
O no Melisso, no; Kings Royal blood,
Without a Royal Scepter brings smal good:
And who dos't thou beleeve, would think to find
Under a lowly Hut, a Shepheards Weed
Amidst our simple manners, Royal Seed?
Mel.
If men cannot, Sireno, yet Heaven should,
Bright Heaven, which sees, what yet the Sun nere saw
And Heaven may one day yet some pitty take,
And some Compassion of our Misery:
But tell me then, is he that's here arriv'd,
A Thracian Captain, and a Thracian born?
Sir.
A Thracian of Bisantium, and the great
Servant, and Favorite of the Thracian King
(If all be true, which when his fatal foot
Last trode in Scyros, I was made beleeve)
And his great charge it is to take a care,
Of all these tributes upon which his thoughts
Are so intentive, as he hath not past
One day of his due time since fifteen yeers
Are this day just compleat, and he return'd
Hither again, to renovate our woes.
As if both Winds and Waters had conspir'd,
To bring him flying hither.
Mel.
No more, new cares even now suggest themselves
Unto my thoughts, and bid me hast away.
Sir.
Go, and be happy, as thy heart can wish,
And I will to the Temple bend my steps:
6
Oronte lies lodg'd by the Ocean shore,
To learn at least, if my poor Phillis came
Alive unto the Thracian strand.
Scen 2.
Cloris. Melisso.Clo.
Celia, my Celia:
But shee's not here, nor answers to my call.
Mel.
Ah daughter Cloris!
Clo.
Alas my father! whither now so fast?
Why with so sad a look?
Mel.
To thee I come my child.
Clo.
To me so troubled? woes me what's the cause?
What is the sad misfortune that you bring?
Mel.
Thracians arriv'd in Scyros: to this shore,
Death comes conducted by thine enemies:
Thou know'st too well, how that great Tyrant seeks,
And thirsteth for thy bloud.
Clo.
Ah me Thirsis, ô Thirsis!
Ah my dearest Soul!
Mel.
But fear not daughter; and yet prithee fear,
Fear, yea and tremble too; a surer Guard,
Then fear is, cannot now preserve thee safe;
In thine own hands thy welfare then consists;
And to a tender maidens heart, an easier help
Cannot be well prescrib'd then fear.
Clo.
You are deceiv'd Sir: Heaven yet denies
To grant me such a favour, as to fear:
Whil'st I am unresolv'd, and cannot learn,
Whether my Thirsis be alive or dead.
I cannot well tell whether I should fear,
Or rather seek mine end,
O Thirsis, Thirsis!
If I a thousand times on thy loud name
7
So suddain danger, answer me, and say,
Art thou alive or dead?
Dead or alive my Thirsis, tell me, Dear
Where must I seek thee out, amongst the cold
And naked shadows of uncloathed souls,
Or amongst living Men?
Mel.
Poor silly fool; See how her fancy raves
Still upon love: Dost thou beleeve that death
Bears such an Amorous look, that thou darst play
Thus with thy love, whilest he sits on thy Brow?
Clo.
If my lov'd Thrisis be amongst the dead,
Death cannot but seem lovely then to me.
And if perhaps (dear Father) you have sought
Out of a needless pitty to my woe,
Still to conceal his death:
High Heaven then (I know not which to say)
Reward, or pardon, this your pious fraud,
For what is past already: But since Fate
By these rude Thracians hands, doth open now,
So large a Path unto my wished end;
Cease then at last that merciful deceit,
Which is to me so cruel: For if death
Have seiz'd upon my Thirsis, then I know
That Death and He expect me both below.
And since he sees me now so neer the Bark
That may transport me thither, loe me thinks
I see him come to meet me: and whilest he
Kinde loving soul, puts forth his hand to me,
Shall I turn back from him? Ay me!
Mel.
With those deep sighs, let all thy fancies end,
Thy Thirsis lives, I say, thy Thirsis lives;
But thou art too incredulous: I oft
Have sworn by Heaven and Earth tis true; yet thou
Wilt not beleeve it; see I swear again,
Again he lives, and to thy love he lives,
And to thy Spousal Rites, and to thy Life
His Life he still preserves.
8
Is it then true, and may it be beleev'd?
Lives yet my Thirsis? shall I ever see
That day, when I may see him once again?
Mel.
Thou shalt, if thou wilt but attend the time:
Clo.
But when, how long, how long shall that time be?
Mel.
Not long: Dost thou not see that Heaven which brings
And Marshals all our days, is restless still,
And in continual motion hastens on
With all the speed it can?
Suffer the Fates then to produce their Will
In their appointed time, and force them not
By an abortive Birth to bring thy Hopes,
To an untimely end.
Clo.
What shall I doe then, where, which way shall I
Defend my Life from cruel Thracians Hands,
Already I do fear and tremble.
Mel.
Even Hope it self, hath taught thee now to fear.
Clo.
Will you that in the Fields, the Woods, the Caves
I hide my self, or seek remoter parts?
Mel.
But what remoter Parts can be found out,
Where thou mayst follow either Beasts or Heards,
And not a Thracian trace thee by thy steps.
A Fair young Maid, if she remain alone
In secret places, cannot be secure
Where Thracians walk the Round.
Clo.
Will you that then I Sail-unto the Rocks?
Thither 'tis certain neither Beasts nor Heards
Can draw the greedy Thracians to pursue me,
Ile go, and if I cannot finde a Barke
Ready to waft me from this luckless Shore,
Though yet the troubled Sea, be not at rest
Ile Swim to save my Life.
Mel.
Fear makes thee now too bold: shal a weak Maid
By swimming, dare to press the angry Waves
Of a tumultuous Sea? Swim to the Rocks?
No, no, my Child, not in a well Rigd Boat.
The Coast is full of People, on the Shore
The Thracian Captain, keeps his Residence.
9
Is there no way left for me to escape?
Mel.
I with my Hooks and Nets, will towards the Sea,
Direct my steps, pretending there to fish,
And so shall spie which way the Thracians tend,
And 'ert be long return to thee again
With a more sure advice.
Clo.
And wretched I, what shall I do the while?
Mel.
Wait here abouts, in open view of all,
Th' art yet secure, and till I shall return
Leave all the care to me: Let none perceive
That either flight or fear, sits on thy Brow:
If Nimphs come here for shade, doubt not to put
Thy self into their company, discourse,
And laugh, and play, and pass the time away.
If thus the Thracians finde thee with thy fears,
Thou mayst perhaps pass unregarded.
And yet I know not how those eyes of thine
Send forth a sparkling light, which cannot shine,
In any eyes besides; it shewes it self
But too too glorious, such resplendant beams
Cannot remain conceal'd.
Let fall thy hair in some quaint wanton guise
Over thy forehead, that in part it may
Cover those darting looks: The less thou shewst,
Fair as thou art the less thou shalt appear
Like to thy self.
Clo.
See not my hair alone dis-cheveld, but
My Vail let loose; Oh me I'm too too rude.
Mel.
And yet th'art not less fair, but thy best guard
Consists in the discretion of thy words.
Dost thou remember what was taught thee, when
Thou wert a little pratling Girle: Canst thou
Answer to him shall ask thee who thou art?
Clo.
Yes, very well.
Mel.
Answer me then. What is thy name?
Clo.
Cloris,
Mel.
Where wert thou born?
Clo.
In Smyrna.
Mel.
Who begot thee there?
Clo.
Melisso of Armilla.
10
Thirsis?
Clo.
I know not who you mean.
Mel.
Eillis?
Clo.
I understand you not.
Mel.
Thracia?
Clo.
I never yet was there.
Mel.
Right, right, 'tis right, such thy Answers be
Beware of faultring if thou love thy life.
Does no man here us? See there comes a Nymph
Down from the Wood.
Clo.
Oh, oh 'tis Celia, Shee that hath my heart,
Shee whom I wandred up and down to find.
Mel.
Stay then with her.
Scen. 3.
Cloris. Celia.Clo.
O my sweet Celia, Scarce had I rob'd
The Fertile Earth of a few fragrant Flowers.
Before I lost the sight of the: But why
Turn'st thou away those eyes, and why those steps
In such a troubled guise? dost thou disdain
That I should look upon thee once again?
What suddain change is this? when first I came,
This morning to thy Lodg, scarce didst thou deign
To entertain me with a seeming smile:
Which yet discovered plainly that thy Heart
Answered not to thy looks: and when thou then
With thy neglecting Arms didst make a shew,
As if thou wouldst embrace me, thou didst not
Hug me close in thy bosom: but at last
From thy cold frozen Lips, thou didst let fall;
Not dart a kiss at me, and with a soft
Dull fainting voice, I knew not if thou saidst
Th'art welcome Cloris, but 'tis sure enough,
I could not here thee say, as thou wert wont,
(Whilst I was dear to thee) my life, my heart,
My gentle Cloris welcome.
After all this thou gav'st thy self to stray,
And wander up and down, troubled and sad,
11
I speak, thou wilt not answer me,
I look upon thy lovely Face, thou weepest,
And dost thou hate me then ingrateful Wench
What have I done, that could deserve thy hate?
Or rather, what 'ist that I have not done
To make thee love me? Are we still the same
That we were wont to be?
Am I still Cloris, art thou Celia?
Celia.
O grief that Wounds my Heart, Ah grant me but
So short a respit as may give me leave
To answer her, and yet conceal my grief.
Clo.
And wilt thou thou then discurtious as thou art,
Deny to me a part of these lost words
which thou so freely spendest in the Ayr?
Who must I speak to now, since thou deniest
To give me Answer? What 'ist I must doe?
Ayme, since thou, who only heretofore,
Wert wont to lessen my tormenting pains,
Art now she that torments me? but allas,
This happily is some prodigious signe,
Of my more desperate ruine, and perhaps
High Heaven hath decreed, my tears shall be
Eternal, since it now denyes to stay
Her that was wont to wipe them all away.
Celia.
Ah Cloris, Ah my Life!
Clo.
That same, my Life, comes from thy mouth per force.
I know it well enough, 'twas not thy Heart
That sent it thither.
Celia.
Let them dissemble then that can, my Tongue
Cannot tell how to give my heart the lye;
Hear me then Cloris, and I do not say
Life, of my Life, because my Life to me,
Is now a burden; but thou art not so.
I am no more that Celia, that I was.
Tis true: but what so ere I am, I fly,
And hate my self, not thee:
Thus far thou mayst know of me, but no more;
12
In secret horrors of the savage Woods,
Where through obscurity of darksome shades
I may not see my self.
Clo.
Ahyme, what new malignant Star
Hath Heaven produc't that can compel thy grief,
Thus to neglect it self? and shall I then
Forsake thee too? Not till I know thy ill.
Yet what but love, and his most intricate
Turmoyls, can trouble thus thy happy state?
I oft have heard the wisest lovers say
He knows no grief, that knows not loves delay.
For else what can it be? unless perhaps,
(And can that bring so great a misery?
Mongst other Nimphs upon some solemn day;
Thy Darts or Arrows, have not cleft the Mark;
Or by misfortune, happily thou hast lost
Thy goodly Ivory Bow: I see it not
Hang by thy side: Or is thy gentle Kid
Thy dearest dear delight (and this 'tis true
Is the most sad mishap ill luck can send)
Is he, I say, come to untimely end?
Celia.
He was at least the cause of all my woe
For by his means I did become the prey
Of Eurito the Centaur: whence arose
The spring and sourse of all my misery,
Clo.
Wert thou the Centaurs prey? and how? and when?
Do not conceal so strange an accident.
Colia.
Ile tell it thee, but ask me then no more.
Clo.
Be it as thou wilt have it.
Celia.
Hear then, and when I have declar'd,
The mournful story of my ravishment
Be thou content to leave me here alone.
Clo.
Go on I prethee.
Celia.
That very day when thou (about to take
Thy journey to those Solemn Festivals,
Which in the Holy Isle they celebrate
To the great Goddess) camest to take thy leave,
13
Those Tears which thy departure forct me to,
(As if I had foreseen (woes me) that soon,
I should have have far more urgent cause to give
Full scope to their impetuous Torrent)
I gave my self the liberty to sport
And dally with that nimble frisking Kid:
Whose gentle Gamesomeness, was wont to chear
All my sad froward thoughts; whilest they were such,
As could admit of any gamesomeness.
That harmless Beast, or in his harmless shape
My perverse fortune, by a thousand trains
Of wanton sports, entic't me to that Shore
Where the proud Sea hath wrought it self so near
Unto the Woods, that shaddows seem to swim,
And flouds repose themselves under the shade.
There whilst I spent some time to gather up
Such Cockle Shels, as Nature had adorn'd
With various pride, that I might weave them streight,
Into a collor for my pretty Kid,
Behinde me I could hear the rushing noise
Of a rude boisterous creature, and ere scarce
I well could turn mine eyes, I might perceive
Close at my back, I know not which to say
A man or beast: Whose fury came so fast,
As flung the smaller Sands into my face,
And forc't me shut mine eyes:
Thus neither seeing how, nor yet by whom,
I felt my self snatcht up and born away.
Fain would I have cryed out, but my weak voice,
Not daring to put forth it self, retired
And fled in silence to my throbbing Heart.
Whilest I, as one half dead, could not recall
My straggling sences back, till I was brought
Into the inmost parts of those thick Woods.
And found my self become the wretched prey,
Of a most horrid Monster.
I found my self (and tremble yet to think
14
Of that mishapen Centaur, that foul fiend,
Whom thou mayst yet if thou hast so much heart,
Lodg'd in thine eyes, behold and wonder at
Thy self, within the Temple.
Clo.
Alas my hair stands upright on an end
To hear him but describ'd.
Celia.
There, to a sturdy Oak, he bound me fast
And re-enforct his base inhumane bonds
With the then danglinst Tresses of my hair,
Ingrateful hair, ill-nurtur'd wicked Locks!
The cruel wretch then took up from the foot
Both my loose tender garments, and at once
Rent them from end to end: Imagine then
Whether my crimson red, through shame was chang'd
Into a pale wan tincture, yea or no.
I that was looking towards Heaven then,
And with my cries imploring ayd from thence,
Upon a suddain to the Earth let fall
My shamefac't eyes, and shut them close, as if
Under mine eye-lids, I could cover all
My naked Members, but considering well
His fell intent, with a deep groaning sigh,
To him I said, behold me ready now
Fit for thy ravenous throat, come quickly, come,
And satiate thy beastly hunger.
Clo.
And why his hunger, say, poor silly wretch?
Celia.
That being once devour'd, I might at least
Within his paunch conceal my nakedness.
Clo.
And dost thou then beleeve, that Centaurs use
To feed upon young tender Maids?
Celia.
Nerea beleeves it not, but laught aloud
When first I told it her; but prithee say,
Why should he so desire to have me bound,
And naked as I was but that he might
Swallow me up alive, and with more ease
Conveigh me piece-meal gliding down his throat?
And even then he came with open Arms,
15
When, lo, two Shepheads running fast for hast
Came in unto my rescue.
Clo.
Oh! how my heart's reviv'd! and who were those
Whom Heaven in pitty chose out for thine ayde?
Celia.
Amyntas, old Sirenos Son, whose joy
And whole delights in Hunting, with his friend
Niso, a stranger, whom thou dost not know.
Ay me poor soul!
Clo.
What! art thou sighing still?
Celia.
I have good cause.
Clo.
But how came it to pass that in a place
So far remote, two Shepherds should arrive
Both at one instance?
Celia.
Amyntas, was within the Valley where
He stood to Watch his Toyls, and Niso came
From the Sea shore, whither but then the Winds
Had brought him from a Country far away,
And both brought thither by my shrieking cries:
They both arriv'd together; where the one
Lets fly his Dart, the other shoots a Shaft,
And neither one nor other mist his aime.
The cruel Centaur thus but lightly hurt
In his left shoulder, and in his right arme
Lost some small blood, which was supply'd with rage:
And so betwixt them three, there soon begun
A fierce and bloody fight, till that proud beast
Scorning that two such Stripling should have power
So to withstand his fury, thought at once
To strike a deadly blow, by which he meant
To speed them both, and brandashing his Beam,
The Tree which happily some pitty felt
Of my sad state, did so involve it in
The knotty intricacies of his boughs,
As it fell from his hand:
And he that found his Arme thus without armes,
And without heart, his heart betook him streight
To a most shameful slight, and from the Woods
16
It was his fortune to fall in those Toyls
Which to catch other beasts, Amyntas had
Before plac't in the Vale.
Clo.
And so the insolent proud villain was
Himself made now their prey.
Celia.
The Shepherds followed him; but yet not far
Ere they fell to the Earth, through loss of blood,
Which from their wounds did like a Torrent flow,
And ran even to my feet, sad Messenger
Of their approaching ends, to crave mine ayd.
I shall now tell thee Cloris, what will seem
A wonder to thee, yet it is most true:
Pitty to see their case, made me to strain
My self with so much force, as I got free
From all my bonds, even from those self same bonds
I freed my self, to give another aide,
Which I a thousand times had tried before
For mine own safety, and could not unloose.
When I was free, I had almost for hast
Run to them naked; but consider now
A strange affection.
Clo.
And what hast thou told yet, that is not strange?
Celia.
When I was got where those two Shepherds lay
Half dead, half living, and in reason should
Have stopt their bleeding wounds up with my Vail,
I first beheld the one, and then the other,
To this I went and afterwards to that,
Desiring still to help them both at once,
And yet gave help to neither, as not well
Resolv'd to whom I first should lend my help;
At last I did begin, but knew not where,
And whilst my hand, was busie about one
My heart ran to the other, so that I
Could not well know to which I wisht more ease.
Clo.
What didst thou do at last?
Celia.
All that I could, yet all was nothing worth:
Till those same fearful howlings, which 'gainst Heaven,
17
Made all the Valleys far and neer to Ring,
And drew both Nimphs and Sheapherds to those parts,
Where when they came, too soon to them appears
Two over-whelm'd in blood, and one in tears.
They speedily conveigh'd the wounded pair
To old Sirenos House, the Father of
Poor young Amyntas.
Clo.
And live they yet? yet their strength restor'd?
Celia.
I cannot tell.
Clo.
And canst thou take so little care for those
Who for thy safety thus ingaged their lives?
Sure thou art too ingrate.
Celia.
Cloris, no more, this is the Period, when
I must enjoyn thee silence, thou hast heard
All that thou didst demand, now let me part;
Ay me, what do I see?
Clo.
What hath she espyed out there? why did she turn
Her steps so suddainly another way?
Ho! Celia, it is a Shepherd, and I think,
It be Amyntas.
Scen. 4.
AMYNTAS.Thanks be to Heaven, I am now return'd
Once more to Sollace in these fertile Fields
To breath in open Ayr, and to behold
This glorious Sun again; Ye Sacred Gods,
If when to you I sent my humble prayers,
You did restore life to my liveless Limbs,
Give now a lively spirit to my soul
Whilest I with true devotion pay my vows,
And lowly thus adore this blessed Sun.
I do adore the Sun; but where alas,
Where is the Suns fair Idol, which above
This Sun I must adore? I pay my vows
18
But woes me, where is she that is my life?
I cannot see thee my sweet Celia, and yet
Thou art alone the life I must implore
And thou the Idol which I must adore.
Where art thou then, where dost thou hide thy self?
Celia that art the brightness of the Spheres,
Sent like a flash of lightening, first to smite
My tender heart, and then to vanish quite,
Thou fleddest from me then, when I could not
Remove my foot from deaths infernal snare:
But into what part canst thou wander now
Whither I will not follow thee, through Woods
Through lowly Valleys, and ore Mountains Tops:
I will pursue the still, though still in vain,
I hunt thy footsteps with Eternal pain.
It shall be my delight to lick the Earth,
Where thy fair foot hath trod; it may be known,
By the sweet Flowers, where they do thickest grow.
It shall be my delight to suck the Ayr,
Which once hath kist thy Face; it may be known
By the calm blasts where they do sweetest blow.
It shall be my delight still to admire,
And still admiring, seek thy beautious Rays
Amongst Vermillian Roses, and amongst
The whitest Lillies, and the fairest Flowers;
Amongst the glittering Stars, and in that Shpere,
Where the bright Sun most glorious doth appear.
But yet fond fool in vain mine eyes do gaze
First up to Heaven, and then down on Earth;
I see the Sun, Roses and Gilliflowers,
But cannot see my Celia, without whom
The Sun in all his glory gives no light,
Nor the best colour'd flowers can please my sight.
O you dead semblances of lively worth,
You are too dull displayers of her rich,
Of her diviner beauty; come my dear,
My dearest Celia come, for thou alone
Art to mine eyes, thine own true Paragon:
19
Is it not Niso? sure it must be he:
And then he's in pursuit to find me out;
My dear beloved Niso, he cannot
Without me well stay long in any place:
For since he lately came to make abode
With us in Scyros here, the Sun by day,
Nor yet the Stars by night have never seen
Him far off from my side.
What then shall I doe now, or how can I
Conceal from him, what turns love hath produc't
Within my amorous Soul? I yet am but
Young in loves school; but he hath learn't to love
From his first infancy, and now he bears
Grave ancient love, in lusty youthful years;
I may do well then to disclose my self
To him, whose long experience is fit
To give me good advice, and so procure,
Some help to ease me in my misery.
But shall Amyntas then, Amyntas who
Hath ever been a hunter, and profest
Himself an open enemy to love,
Confess himself to be a lover now?
I am in love, but shame to say I am;
I therefore will take her advice that was
The Mistress of loves School, I will make known
The love, but not the lover, and so frame
Means to conceal my self, yet shew my flame.
Scen. 5.
AMYNTAS. NISO.Amyntas.
Whether Oh Niso?
Nis.
To Amyntas, but
Whether without his Niso, doth Amyntas go?
Amyn.
Unto the Temple, I:
Niso.
And thither I will bear thee company.
20
For I begin to faint; my hurt is cur'd,
But yet my feet tread not a steddy pace:
They tremble still, and still my dazling eyes
Deceive my sight, so that it seems my heart
Dare not rest confident on either part.
Amynt.
No marvel, since we scarcely yet have left
Those beds of sloth, wherein we both have lien
Wounded, and kept in dark obscurity
So long, that thrice the love-sick Moon hath woed
The Sun to re-inforce her borrowed light.
Niso.
Yet thou so lightly o'r these rugged fields
Do'st hast away, as I can scarce pursue
Thy foot-steeps with mine eyes.
Amynt.
O Niso! such a sweetness seems to breath
Of late, me-thinks, from earth and heaven both,
As 'tis no wonder if it do deceive
My trembling limbs, though faint with loss of blood,
Since it already hath deceiv'd my heart;
Which, as if I had never touch'd the ground,
Hath brought me flying hither.
Niso.
Some woody Deity perhaps hath caught
My gentle young Amyntas in his arms,
To waft him o'r the Plains.
Amynt.
Mock not, dear Nisis, no, it was a God,
Beleev't it was, but a celestial God;
No Godhead of the Woods, a God with wings,
That without wings can teach us men to fly.
But I disclose my self too far.
Niso.
Some jest or other now thou fain would'st put
Upon poor love, to laugh him stil to scorn:
But do not jest too far, Love is no Boy,
Beleeve me, Friend, that will be jested with.
Amynt.
Niso, thou do'st me wrong, I'm no such man;
Or if I be, 'tis thou led'st me the way.
Niso.
Who I? no, no, whilst we lay wounded both,
Nor Nymph, nor Shepheard came to visit us,
In whose discourse I found not something still
21
They told me that thou never mention'dst him
Without contempt and scorn, that in disdain
Of his great power, as Trophies of thy pride;
When other Shepheards in the long liv'd Oak,
Or in the tender bark of some young sprout
Had grav'd the marks of their eternal flame,
Thou there wouldst carve thy name, inlaced with
Th' inhumane title which proclaims the still
To be Amyntas the young Hunter, and to Love
An Enemy profest. And wilt thou now
Profess thy self a Lover?
Amynt.
This did I never do; but say I did,
Am I the first of Loves professed foes
Whom he hath overcome?
Niso.
I would thou wert, so I might see thee once
By Love in triumph brought into the troops
Of his sworn servants; then perhaps I might
With confidence unfold the wound that now
Lyes hid within, and grates my bleeding heart,
Whereas I yet dare scarce let go a sigh,
Lest thou shouldst once take notice when it breaths.
Woes me, how many have I forced back,
Even from my lips into my heart again!
And if at unawares one hath stoln out,
How have I fear'd lest while thou shouldst deride
My feeling passion, Love should in his rage
Let fly his Dart at me, for having spent
His treasures so profusely before those
Who do despise his power.
Amynt.
Niso, thou art deceiv'd; for even I
Can pitty others sighs, O that I could
As soon give ease to him that sighs for love!
Perhaps I might a Shepheard then restore
To life again, who now lyes at deaths door.
But thou that long hast learn't to know Loves wiles,
Hear but his case, and tell me then if yet
In all Loves kingdom there may be found out
22
Niso.
I in loves Kingdom nothing know, but how
With art to drop Salt tears upon the flame
That burns within my heart.
To weep and burn is all I know of love:
But is that Shepherd one whom I have seen?
Amyn.
Yes, thou hast seen him, and dost love him too,
As dearly as thy life.
Niso.
What's she for whom he mourns?
Amyn.
The fairest Nimph that ere these fruitful fields
Of Scyros here, have yet beheld display
The dangling Tresses of her golden Hair,
That every gentle blast might therein weave
A net to catch poor loving souls withal:
But more of her anone. Thou first shalt hear
The mournful story of her dying love:
Mournful indeed it is, and yet but short,
Since one short hour, brought him to misery:
Yet even he did once profess himself
Loves open enemy, till at the last,
His fate would have it so that by mis-chance
He too was wounded in his Nimphs defence:
Niso.
But for what cause?
Amyn.
That thou shalt know hereafter; now observe
The Nimph thus far took pitty of his hurt
That many a time and oft, she bath'd his wounds
In the distilled flouds of lukewarm tears,
And sweetly breathing on them with her sighs
She seem'd to murmur out some powerful charme,
With which she hop't to mitigate his pain,
But whilst his tender hearted Surgeon thus
Applyed her salves of pitty to his wounds
She struck him to the heart, when he poor soul,
Finding he had receiv'd a mortal blow,
Su'd for relief, but in an instance she
Turn'd all her pitty into cruelty,
And flying thence, as from a Basilisque,
Could never since be drawn to see him more.
23
Oh my belov'd Amyntas, I must needs
Hug thee within these Armes, and kiss thee for
This pretty quaint disguise.
Amynt.
Canst thou imagine then who 'tis I mean?
Niso.
And canst thou think, I can be ignorant
Of him thou wouldst decipher, though his name
Be lock't up still in silence?
Amyn.
Do thou pronounce it then, for I confess
I blush so for him, that I dare not do't.
Niso.
I will, and (if thou do'st desire it) in a voyce
That's audible to all the world.
'Tis Niso, Niso, do not blush for me,
For I shall bless my fates that it is so.
Go thou that livest free from loves command,
And from his amorous bonds, lift up thy proud
Untamed Crest, to me this yoke is sweet,
And Niso doth profess himself to be
The Shepheard thus subdu'd to loves behest.
She that with pitty wounded him at first,
And kills him now with cruelty, is cal'd,
The fairest Celia, for Celia, alas
For Celia I burn, for her I sigh
It cannot be deny'd.
Amyn.
Though sigh for Celia? sure it cannot be,
Nor can I yet beleeve it can be so;
It is another fuel feeds thy flame,
And all thy sighs sound out another name.
Niso.
Wilt thou not then beleeve me? or is this
A gentle Artifice for my new love
To tax my fault, blame mine inconstancie?
If I have other fuel to my fire,
Or other heat to warme my fainting soul
That fuel is to Ashes burnt by this.
And all that heat extinguisht by this flame.
If any other name sound in my sighes,
'Tis barely then a name, a shaddow void
Of any subject, or a beauty spent
And long agone extinct,
24
I burn indeed, and so shall burning die,
Unless Amyntas help me speedily.
Amyn.
See, see, alas, he seeks to me for help
That gives me my deaths wound:
But I cannot beleeve thee yet; say how,
And when did Love possess thee thus?
Niso.
Whilst wounded there I lay, almost extinct,
Within the arms of death, the gentle gale
Of her sweet breathing sighs, under th' aspect
Of two heart-killing Stars (O fatal birth!)
My love at first took life,
And Love becoming thus the Son of Death,
In imitation of his Mothers power,
Kils me, and yet remains himself alive.
And thus I dye, yet even after death
My love must live, and love eternally.
Amynt.
Thus Love hath in one strait, and by one toyl
Within in one instant gain'd a double spoyl.
Niso.
As well then as thou feignest, thou do'st know
That under other shaddows thou hast now
From point to point declar'd my malady:
Nor can I tell how long my silence should
Thus blazon forth my wo.
Unless perhaps I told it in a dream,
Or talking idly at the point of death,
The Soul which then doth commonly reflect
More truly on her self, and so becomes
Far wiser than she was, hath publisht it
Of purpose, so to free her self from pain.
Or else, perhaps, to glory in the pride
Of that fierce cruelty that vanquisht me,
Fair Celia her self hath made it known.
Wilt thou not answer me, Amyntas, is't not so?
Amyntas, whither art thou gone out of thy self?
Thou seemest stupify'd, do'st thou not hear?
What strong imagination thus transports
Thy sences from their sence?
25
Doth Niso burn in love for Celia?
And is it true that he dissembles not?
But tell me then, what if another should
For love of Celia burn as well as he?
What saith thy heart, could it then leave to love?
Niso.
No, rather leave to live; ah me!
Thou strick'st my through, and through, if this be so
There is no way but death.
Amynt.
No, I'll dye first my self; clear up thy brow,
I spoke it but in jest.
Niso.
I prithee good Amyntas leave to use
Such bitter jests as these, they come too near:
I'll pardon thee this once, because thou hast
So little sense of Love.
Amynt.
What now is in my power shall be employ'd
To work thee some relief; but time goes on,
The Sun already from our Zenith bends
His course, to view the lowly Vales again,
And near the Temple old Narete staies
Attending, there to celebrate the pomp,
And solemn ceremonies of our Vow.
Come let's away, perhaps already he
Blames us for this delay.
Niso.
Go on, I'll follow thee: But if thou do'st
Desire indeed here to prolong my daies,
Defer not then a speedy remedy.
He that already hath shakt hands with death,
Hath little time to draw an idle broath.
| Filli Di Sciro. Or Phillis of Scyros | |