University of Virginia Library

Act. 2.

Scen. 1.

Oronte, Perindo, Sireno, Ormino.
Oront.
Let all the rest stay there:
And thou Perindo follow me, and see
Those two old Shepheards come along with thee.

Siren.
Quickly Ormino come, do'st thou not hear?

Orm.
Where fear of danger wounds a trembling soul
The foot goes slowly on.

Perin.
Great Sir, we all are ready, but will you
Without attendance, or without your Guard
Thus wander here alone?

Oronte.
In such sweet fields, amidst a sort of men
So harmless as these are, we have no need
With armed Squadrons to secure our Guard.
I left my Tents that here I might enjoy
The fresh delightful air, which in these fields
Breaths with a gentle gale, and so allayes
The horrour of the rough tempestuous blasts
Which did infest the Sea
And he that will enjoy the pleasure of
Such pleasant fields must not be troubled with
The State and Pomp with which we use to grace
Our City Train.
O blessed Meddow! O delightful Grove!
See with what pleasing shadows it doth shield
The flowers from withering in the scorching heat
Of the Suns burning beams. Behold a true,
A perfect Pastoral Scene, wherein we see
The Sea on this hand, and the Hills on that;
And round about us, Flowers, and springing Plants,
Fresh Rivers, Shades, and the bright Heavens above
Have fram'd a glorious Theater.
Come forward friends, and whil'st the gentle Ayr
Thus sweetly breaths, I will pursue at length
The sad relation of your Childrens Fate.

Orm.
For pitties sake, great Sir, tell me, doth yet
My Thirsis live? tell me but that, and then
The rest tell at your leisure.

Oron.
Give ear I say;
When I within the spacious Hall had plac't
Those Troops of little Infants, so to be
Presented there to the grand Signiors view,
As if the World had then grown young again:
Whilst he beheld them all attentively,
And view'd them severally one by one;
Amongst the rest who seem'd more rudely bred,
Saucie and bold: Your children gave themselves
With such a comely wantonness to play
The little momes, and with such activeness,
To beautifie their harmless innocence;
That his great spirit mollifide therewith,
Seem'd with a smile somwhat to qualifie
The terrour of his more severe aspect;
And reaching forth his hand (that hand which us'd
Onely to manage Scepters, and rude Arms)
Gently he stroakt them underneath the chin:
And though he kist them not, yet men might see
Upon his lips th' affection of his heart,
And that to me he said, Mark me Oronte,
Me-thinks I see in these two little Imps
The signs of two such admirable souls,
As that it seems (if in the outward shape
Of humane visage, heaven use to write
The marks of Fate, or I ought understand)
(And more than he doth no man understand)
That these two children are by destiny
Design'd to more than ordinary ends,
And to some great atchivements; therefore see
They be not with the rest conducted to
The Grand Serraglo; but be it thy care
To see them Educated by themselves;
And here in Court, instructed in more free,
And generous Arts, and taught to spend their time
In studies, fitter for their Genius.
I undertook the charge, and they became
So dear to me, as though I never saw,
Child of mine own, nor had the joy to know
A fathers happiness, yet did I feel,
My heart possessed with a fathers care.
And fraught with as much love to your young babes
As they had been mine own.
And whilst your children thus encreast in years,
Above their years in them did still increase
Beauty and judgement: but beyond all this,
Ile tell you now a wonder: That quaint boy
The little God of love, as it should seem,
And as I verily beleeve it true,
Playing with them as children use to play:
By chance did hurt them both, and with his darts.
Made large wide wounds, in their small tender hearts,
Oh what a dear delight it was to see,
Two little pretty loving souls express,
Their pretty childish loves, with tongues which yet
Could hardly mutter either Pap or Mam,
For scarcely could they draw their vital breath,
Before they both had learned to breath out
Deep sighes of love: and scarcely were their eyes,
Open to see the Suns bright shining beams,
Before they knew with sweet delight to gaze
And dart forth amorous looks.
Sometimes you might behold those tender hands,
Which scarcely yet knew how to smooth the Tears
Of their beloved Nurse, already grown,
So pompt and nimble in loves gentle art;
As they had Learnt to strooke each others cheekes
And frame unto themselves Rings quaintly wreath'd
Within their curled Locks.
And if at any time that native grace
Which deck't their lovely faces did appear,
More beautiful then other, they would then
As if it were by stealth run to embrace,
And hug each other with delightful kisses:
So that whilst they thus wantonly did woe,
Love seem'd himself to play the wanton too.
And hence the King enamoured with their wiles,
One day cal'd to me, and bespake me thus:
So ripe a love as this cannot be held
The meer effect of such young tender years.
It must proceed from Heaven, and Heavens power
Doth never work in vain: It is decreed.
These two must one day be made man and wife
And I am pleas'd with what the Heavens will.
But ah the Heavens are too far esloign'd,
Above our reach, nor can our humane sence.
Attain to see what is decreed above:
For long it was not, ere a sickness seas'd
The bold grand Signor, and possest him so,
As he already thought his fatal hour
Approaching neer, already he dispos'd
Himself to take his last farewel on Earth.
And yet among his greater cares, and when
His heart was thus encumbred with thoughts:
He could not then forget to think upon
His two beloved lovers, whom he caus'd,
To be conducted to his Royal view,
And placed there, where he thus unto them spake.
My little children, I must shortly pay
The debt I owe to nature, nor shall I,
Live here to see you both enjoyn'd in one.
I am too old, and you of too young years,
Yet I will see you both betroth'd; this knot
Doth neither pass your judgement, nor your age.
Reach each your hand to other, and let Heaven
Prosper the plighting of so pure a faith,
Confirm'd with hands of so much innocence:
Thus they t'wixt joy and grief, joyn'd both their hands
And weeping seal'd their promise with a kiss.
Whilst that great King drew forth a Hoop of Gold.
Which underneath his Pillow, he had plac't.
In whose round Circle were engrav'd by art
Certain Egyptian Characters, and to confirm
What there was writ, with more authority:
His Sacred Image, was cut out thereon:
The Hoop was double, so that either part
When it divided was, made one entire
And perfect circle, but the Charracters
Were then defac't, and cut off in the midst.
Whose half on this part was, and half on that.
The King devided them, and then begirt
With either parts the naked tender necks
Of his two spoused Imps: And to them said
This one day shall be witnesse of your Love
And of the favour which I bear you both.
Which said he turn'd his face as it appeares
Or to restrain, or to conceal his tears,
And I remov'd your children streight from thence
And with such goods as then most precious were
Conveigh'd them to my Castle, as afraid,
(Oh fond and foolish humane providence!)
Of those foul broyls and rapines, which are wont
Most commonly to wait upon our funerals,
At such great Princes falls.
In this mean space a false alarum spread
As false a rumour that the King was dead:
And those that wish't it did beleeve it true.
'Mongst whom the King of Smyrna past for one,
Who thus emboldened on a suddain flew,
Upon the Thracian confines, and advanc't
His armes so far, till at the last he came
Unto that Castle and begirt it round
By night, took, sackt, and burnt it to the ground.

Orm.
And were our children there, (Ay-me consum'd)
In that so fatal flame?

Oron.
One of my servants whom the darksome shade
Of gloomy night befriended to escape
The enemies fierce hand, assur'd me that
One of the Smyrna souldiers snatch't them both
Alive out of the flames.

Orm.
And live they prisoners then in Smyrna still?

Oron.
I fear it much. For mark,
The news of all this barbarous excess
Arrived soon at Court, when yet the King
Had onely so much sence and livelyhood
As serv'd to hear it told: He heard the wrong
And injuries he suffer'd, and his heart
Inflam'd therewith. Just anger did so warm
His frozen blood, as that it soon recal'd
His flitting soul, that it might once more prove,
A trusty Minister to execute,
His just revenging wrath:
But his faint enemy when once he heard
That he yet lived, the rumour of whose death
Had onely given courage to his fears.
Betook him quickly to a shameful flight,
And to appease the Kings just anger first,
And next, that with more ease he might escape.
Unto Bisantium, he sent the spoyls;
And all the prisoners he had.

Orm.
And our poor children too?

Oront.
Those onely wanted, those were onely they
Were missing whom alone the King desired,
And for this cause, a far more mortal war,
And a more deadly hatred he proclaim'd
Against the King of Smyrna, if ere long
Untouch't uncharm'd; he did not send him back
Those pretty slaves, whom he alone did lack.
The one denies to have them in his power,
The other will by no means give belief
To such a lean excuse: but needs will have
His children or a most severe revenge:
Thus both sides vow themselves to Armes again.
And by the fierceness of a cruel War,
The fruitful fields of Smyrna are layd wast
And buryed in destruction, so that now,
Smal hope remains that ever we shall see
Your children more whom we have thus in vain
Laboured to finde under the ruines of
That poor decaying Kingdom.

Orm.
O most unhappy children!

Sir.
But parents more unhappy far then they.

Oront.
Unhappy children, and unhappy Sires.
But yet in this more happy then the rest,
That their unhappiness hath been bewail'd
With floods of tears sent from his sacred eyes,
And blood of thousand shed in their revenge.

Orm.
Unhapy tears, unhappy blood so shed,
Unable to restore life to the dead.

Per.
These poor old Shepherds weep, and at their plaint,
Oronte seems a little troubled.
'Twere not amiss then to divert them: Sir,
The Sun already mounts the highest track,
Of his most glorious Sphere, that to the West
He may descend with a more swift carreer,
And yet (as you know well) no choise is made
Of such young Infants as we come to finde.
No Trumpet yet accustomed to proclaim
Your safe arrival here, hath summon'd them
To meet you in the Temple.

Oront.
Let us return then to our Tents, and you
Sad Shepherds lead us to some shady path,
Towards the Sea, and let this comfort you.
Dead or alive, where ere your children be,
In Heaven or Earth, they needs must win the love
Of men below, or of the gods above.

Sir.
Kind, gentle, Sir, The gods above vouchsafe
To you that comfort which cannot be found,
For us on this uncomfortable ground.

Scen. 2.

Serpilla. Celia.
Serp.
VVhat ho! Celia.

Celia.
Woes me, speak softly.

Serp.
Why what i'st that thou fear'st?

Celia.
Do'st thou not see my Father there?

Serp.
Hee's going hence, and cannot hear us speak,
But thou in vain do'st hide thy self from me:
Those very sighs which now thou breathest sorth.
Into the ayre, (whilst yet thou do'st beleeve
That nothing in these Woods can hear thy plaints,
But Heaven it self) have told me thy distress.
And courage Wench, 'tis a disease of love,
Which is not mortal, 'tis a pleasing ill,
Which generates encrease, but doth not kill.
But whereon do'st thou look, turn, turn again,
Thy face this way, alas poor silly soul
Thy blushing cheeks speak what thy tongue for shame
Dares not profess; and in that language which
Nature permits them, tells me that their part,
Lies in the flame which doth consume thy heart.
If thou do'st love, then why do'st thou for shame
Conceal thy love? Why do'st thou keep it clos'd
Within thy brest? and bear a rugged brow:
A fair smooth cheek, is a rich Theatre
On which true love ascending from the heart.
Glories to such his power.
Even I my self once lov'd Ergasto well,
And thy fair Mother lov'd Ormino too:
Yet neither of us both are now asham'd
That still the valleys eccho out our loves.
Ægeria, burns in young Armillo's flame.
Urinda loves Licandor, and thy dear
Beloved Cloris: that fair lovely Maid.
Cloris that once profest her self to love
So great a stranger; if thou know'st it not,
Lives onely now, and onely sucks in ayre,
To breath it out in sighs of sad despare.
And though from thee she doth conceal her flame,
Because she thinks thee so insensible,
Of loves kinde heat, yet unto me she tells
Her amorous thoughts: And whilst I with disdain,
Reproov'd her once for too much cruelty
In living without love she sadly said,
Oh no, Serpilla no, poor Cloris lives
Without a lover, but not without love.
I love a Shepherd in another world.
And such an one as though for ought I know,
He now lies buryed in an earthen Urn.
Yet I resolve the ashes of his bones,
Shall be the onely fuel to my flame,
Oh happy maid whom fate hath so far blest
To burn in one love, and no more:

Celia.
Oh me most wretched then!

Serp.
What doth afflict thee, is the falshood of
Thy faithless lover cause of this despair?

Celia.
Oh peace Serpilla, peace, press me no more
To tell the horror of my deadly sore.

Serp.
Wilt thou not apprehend me then?
The world goes so (dear Daughter) that thou see'st,
Young tender loves breeding in youthful hearts,
Like to young harmless Doves, whilst one hath wings
And dares to fly; anothers downy plain:
But even then buds forth:
Whilst one swoln up with pride, bears out his Brest,
And in a murmuring tone, breaths out his love
Expressing by the circles which he makes,
The endless Labyrinths of loves great maze.
Another with his belly on the ground
Goes creeping on, and by his whining noyse
Sets out the passions of a childish love;
One peeps but even now out of the shell,
Whilst others sit to hatch their tender Chicks.
Do not then, do not cruel maid conceal
Thy passion still, though late, yet at the last
Heaven showrs down vengeance on a faithless love:
Knowst thou not what Pelorus, that Pelore,
Then whom yet never Nimph in Scyros knew
A faithfuller true lover; us'd to say?
Faith is a Deity by which true love
At first possest a place in Heaven above.
Love voyd of faith (quoth he) is neither love
Nor yet a God, but an infernal spirit
Which having in the foul sulphureous Lake
Of burning Phlegeton, kindled black flames,
Doth counterfeit therewith loves glorious light,
And so goes breathing forth his feigned fries:
For whose most horrible and wicked sin,
(Oh just and most deserved punishment!)
Which in the bottomless infernal Pit,
Disloyal lovers are tormented still
By those infernal Monsters in the shape,
Of their betrayed loves.
Do not then still delay to tell thy woe,
And if from grief I cannot set thee free,
Pitty at least shall bear thee company.

Celia.
What's that to me, that neither hope for help
Nor wish for pitty in my misery.

Serp.
At least, yet let me know thine enemie,
And I will never leave thee till he leave,
Either his life, or else that faithless love
Wherewith he thus torments thee.

Celia.
Life if thou wilt, but love must ne'r be left.

Serp.
Would'st thou then have him dye.

Celia.
By all means possible, and if I find,
No other hand to execute my just
And lawful vengeance, reason then perswades,
That mine own hand should take the due revenge
Of mine oppressed soul.

Serp.
Oh cruel jealousie, can then thy fierce
And poysonous bait possess a Maidens heart:
(But if I mean to mollifie her rage,
I then must sooth her in her own desires.)
Take courage Celia, for if there be need
Even I my self will with these hands pull out
That faithless heart of his: But tell me then,
Who is that false disloyal man, and how
Hath he disturbed thus thy quiet thoughts?

Celia.
Now that I finde thee bent to my desires,
Ile tell thee all, but see thou doe not change.

Serp.
Thou sooner shalt observe me change my soul,
Then any thing that I have now profest.

Celia.
And whosoe'r it be, see that thou take
No pitty to thy heart.

Serp.
I would be cruel to my very self,
Were I my selfe unfaithfull to my Love.

Celia.
Heare then, and I will tel thee now,
What rests conceal'd from all the world besides
How shall I find a tongue to utter it
But yet it bootes not to refrain my tongue
When I want power still to restrain my heart:
Look here Serpilla, look, here is that foul
That impious wretch, even here within me rests
My horrid enemy, Loe, I am she
Even I am she that carry in my brest
A faithless love, a foul infernal spirit.
Burnt in a two-fold flame.

Ser.
As sure as can be, this unhappy Nimph
Carries two youthful loves within her brest
'Twas long ere she conceiv'd, and now brings Twins.
Oh just revenge of love, and could he not
Make one shaft serve as able to subdue
Unto his Laws thy stiff rebllious heart?
But tell me then who are those fatal loves?

Celia.
To what end should I now conceal their names?
Know'st thou not Niso, and Amyntas yet.

Serp.
Who they that lay for thy delivery,
Wounded almost to death?

Celia.
Those very men.

Serp.
But how could love inflict a double wound,
Just in an instant, in thy stubborn heart?

Celia.
Ile tell thee now a wounder.
Love that before had ever found me arm'd,
Against his shafts and all his subtile trains
By others wounds, and through anothers heart,
Found passage into mine. And whilst that they,
Wounded to death lay breathing forth their souls,
Love all besmeared with their goary blood,
Usurpt the shape of pitty, and then arm'd
Under this quaint disguise, the traiterous boy
Found means to wound my heart: and after that
Neglecting both mine Arrows, and my Bow,
Despising, Earth, the Sea, and Heaven it self,
I found no rest to my tormented soul,
Longer then I stood languishing, besides
Those wounded Shepherds, and with weeping eyes
Mixing my plaints with theirs.
There from their fainting foreheads, I did wipe,
The cold distilled sweat, there with these hands
Did I still dress their wounds, Oh cruel wounds
That whilst I drest them, could thus wound my soul,
Yet had I then some Truce with sorrow, when
I said within my self unhappy Maid,
What new found sighs are these, whence can proceed
This unaccustomed heat which boyleth thus
In thine inflamed heart? Ah silly fool
(Said then my heart to me) this is nought elese
But pitty; well deserved pitty: canst thou be
So ignorant, as not to know it then?
Or dost thou grudg them pitty, who to save
Thee from a fearful death, lye dying now?
Thus whilst I thought it pitty, and not love
Flatring my passion, I still nourisht it,
And still encreased my unknown desire,
But when I after came to know it well,
(Oh too too late discovery) when once,
I found them lovers, then too late I found
I was my self a woful lover too:
And by the light of their bright burning flame.
I saw mine own heart burning in the same.

Serp.
And art thou then with equal love belov'd?
By both of them again, this may abate
The wounding sorrows of thy troubled soul,
But how did'st thou discover their desires?

Celia.
By many, many, tokens, for me thought
I heard within my self a murmuring sound
Which eccho'd out their love, and then my heart
Answer'd that sound again, and yet deceipt
I know not how, did so obscure my sence
As I could not at first beleeve it true,
Till one day it fell out, that whilst the poor
Amyntas lying in tormenting pain,
Which day and night afflicted him so sore,
That he could hardly finde an hour to rest,
Pitty so wrought, as I obtained Truce,
Sometime with sorrow, that I might invite
With the soft accents of my slender voice
His heavy eyes to sleep.
When he with a sad sigh sent from his heart,
Darted a look at me, and to me said,
Ah my dear Celia, when I see thee not
I am but as one dead, and canst thou think?
That when I see thee then, 'tis possible
For me to sleep, before those glorious beams
Which shine out of thine eyes? I thus surpris'd,
Straight fled feom him, and ran unto the place
Where wounded Niso lay, opprest with pain,
And calling for mine ayd.
Where whilst I gently did unbinde his wound,
A stream of blood, I know not how gusht forth.
And stain'd my naked breast; which seen he said
Oh Celia, do not disdain the blood
Which by instinct of Nature flies to thee,
Thou art my heart, and when man dies 'tis known
That to his heart his blood descendeth down:
Thus in an instant both their loving souls
Lay open to my view, and I who then
Scarce knew that I did live, felt in my heart
(Which yet could not be angry at their love)
Those Maiden thoughts, which labour'd to awake
That usual disdain, which Maidens use
Against loves first assault: but then, alas,
I could not use it, but instead thereof,
Found that in spite of me those amorous plaints
Made in my soul an amorous eccho sound:
Yet did I fly with speed, but all too late,
For all the speed that I could seem to make,
I then fled from them, and will never see
Again my hearts desir'd felicity:
But though I fly them, 'tis impossible
To fly from love, who traces still my steps
By the cold drops of my distilling tears,
Even through most darksome shades, whereof I hide
My self from all besides, and sure I think
He knows me by my voice, and groaning sighs:
But to shun love, I yet can fly to death,
Why then Serpilla dost thou still delay
To ease me of this sad tormenting grief?
As ever thou didst pitty one distrest,
Pluck thou this faithless heart out of my brest.

Serp.
Poor miserable Maid, ah Celia!
My dearest Celia, dry up those tears.
Take comfort my sweet heart. although thy wound
Put thee to pain, it may be cur'd again:
Art thou asham'd that double love infests
Thy wounded soul? Love thou but one alone,
And let thy future faith take vengeance so
Of all thy former infidellity.

Celia.
Thy counsels vain Serpilla, for my wound
Is every way incureable, shall I,
Love onely one, and which, Ahme! and which
Shall I then leave to love?

Serp.
Love him of both, who best deserv's thy love.
Desert in love, hath an attractive power.

Celia.
But I cannot descern a difference:
For in mine eyes their merits which exceed
All othes mens, seem equal in themselves.

Serp.
Love him then whom thou first didst love thy self:
Time gives the priviledge to elder love.

Celia.
Both at a time, and in one instant both
My twin-like loves were born, and gathered strength.

Serp.
Love him alone then, who best loveth thee,
For love must ever give the Law to love.

Celia.
With equal freedom I have seen them both
For me shed tears, and breath heart wounding sighs
Yea both for me have spent their dearest blood.

Serp.
And yet it cannot be but that sometimes
Thy amorous thoughts like waves tost to and fro,
Must needs bend this way, rather than to that,
Pursue then him that conquers, love him best
To whom thy heart seems oftest to encline.

Celia.
In vain, I tell thee, still in vain thou tryest
To alter what the heavens have decreed.
'Tis true indeed that whilst I seem to stray
Out of my self, amidst my troubled thoughts
Me-thinks by stealth, Amyntas, or perhaps
Niso perswades me wholly to himself:
But scarce then can I say, Love I am thine,
When suddenly the other shews himself
All torn and wounded in my just defence,
And forceth me to pitty his distresse.
Thus in perpetual Wars the victory
Still flies from one to other, and remains
So small a while with either, as I doubt,
And know not unto whom to give the Crown,
But leave them both far short of their desart,
A poor reward, the conquest of my heart.

Serp.
I am convinc'd, and therefore must give way.
What can be urged more? If needs thou must
Be still unfaithfull, yet high heaven hath
For thy discharge made infidelity
It self seem innocent; nor can I find
Another refuge, thou canst fly unto,
Since thou mayst not love one still love them both.
And let this be thy comfort, thou mayst find
Within these fertile fields, others that feed
More than one sucking Infant at their breasts:
And see where Nerea comes just in the nick:
She that whilst any would beleeve her vows
Had both her hands full, and her lap of loves:
And with her comes Amyntas.

Celia.
Or stay, or follow me, for I must go
Like to the Bird of night, which still doth shun
The gladsom rayes of the bright shining Sun.

Serp.
Turn, turn again my Celia, hark a word.
But she nor turns, nor hearkens what I say,
And therefore I will follow her.

Scen. 3.

NEREA. AMINTAS.
Ner.
And wouldst thou then that I should speak of love
To Celia, and that for Niso too?
A hard employment to perswade a heart
Estrang'd from love, to love a stranger streight.

Amynt.
O gentle Nerea, full well I know
No enterprize in Love can seem too hard
For thee to undertake, who canst dispose
Of Loves great Empire as it pleaseth thee.

Ner.
Courteous Amyntas, time once was, 'tis true,
I could doe much, when in these lips I bore
Vermilian Roses, and in these curl'd locks
A golden treasure; but when beauty fades
All force of love decaies.

Amynt.
What then thy beauty for thy self could do
Thy wit can now procure for others too,
Amongst those locks where gold then glittering shon,
Love hath sowen judgements now, and on those lips
Where formerly Vermilan Roses grew
He hath plac'd honey, and the pleasing sound
Of sweet perswasive words, for where thou goest,
The most ingenuous Bee brings to the hive
The honey sweets of love.

Ner.
O true, but yet unpleasing Simile,
I am the Bee, which now to others bring
That honey which my self must never tast.
Such is the will of love, great love, who frees
No age from love, but hath decreed that those
Who in their younger yeares themselves did love
Shall in their age be others instruments,
To win their loves, that so all Ages may,
And all men living serve his powerfull will,
Either as tinder to endure his fire,
Or steeles which send out sparkles to raise that fire,
Either as burning flames of love to all,
Or bellows to encrease those flames withall.
O what soft, delicate, and tender things
In things of love, did Nature shoure on me!
In fine, I never brook'd, nor ever shall
To be entreated in a case of love,
And to deny my help.
Behold me then Amyntas ready prest
To do whatever thou canst ask of me.
But yet (my Son) how much more willingly
Should I receive those prayers which now thou mak'st
To me for others, were they for thy self.
Fond youth (I needs must call thee so,
Though I am sure I speak but to the air)
How canst thou without shame, without disdain
And just displeasure 'gainst thy self behold
A new come stranger, one who scarce arriv'd
E'r yesterday within our native soyl,
And one that never looked since he came
But with his eyes still rowling in the dark
And gloomy shades of his approaching death?
Who yet could know how with delight to gaze
Upon that beauty, and desire it too.
Which thou, who first were born here, and bred up
Still in her sight, wouldst never look upon.

Amynt.
O Nerea I am not blind.

Ner.
But at the least thou'rt purblind, so is he,
And lookes on all a squint that can behold
So rich a beauty, and yet knows not how
Or which way to conveigh it to his heart.
For thee, Amyntas, O against thy will,
Happy Amyntas, yea for thee alone,
And yet thou know'st it not, do'st not care for't,
For thee the heavens sent fair Celia,
Do'st not beleeve me? look on her fair eyes,
Look on thine own, love gave them to you both,
That both of you might still admire and gaze
Upon your native beauties.
Those her fair curled locks, these crisped hairs.
Seem onely fram'd that each of you might tye
Each others soul in them eternally.
Her fair plump rising cheecks, thy downy chin,
Were made that each on other might repose,
After the stormy blasts of loves sad woes,
Her rosie mouth, and thy Vermillion lips,
Invite you both with mouth to mouth to taste
Those purple Strawberries which there are plac't:
Seest thou not how in her white bosom rests,
Those tender swelling, and well raised brests,
Which challenge thee into the lists of love.
And thou like a Coward dost refuse
To answer to their call? discurteous youth
Canst thou invited thus, refuse to try
Their loving force? and so in love withstand,
Eternal Fate which all things can command.

Amyn.
Ah me most miserable!

Nerea.
What's that thou saiest?

Amyn.
Nothing: Ah me! I scarce can breath a sigh.

Nerea.
And dost thou sigh? alas wherefore?
Thy heart devoyd of love, deceiv'd perhaps,
Borrows those sighs, that sighing thou maist seem
To be in love, why do I call them sighs?
Thine are no sighs: he that sighs not for love,
Sighs not but Yawns, such sighs no love can move.

Amyn.
But if those sighs be too too truly sighs,
Which issue from the bottom of my heart,
And such as I need seek no other where,
They then perhaps break out onely to shew
The secret grief enclos'd within my breast;
O Nerea, Nerea!
Perhaps the very rocks perceive ere this
That heart which thou deceived thus dost call
A heart devided? of Love, so set on fire
And burning in the lively flames it feels,
As without other help, it may find out
Cause in it self to spend these sighs about.

Nerea.
Behold a new Amyntas lately come
Out of the bosom of his Silvia,
And from beyond th' Arcadian Hills ariv'd.
Newly in Scyros here,
How feelingly he can discourse of love.
A breast, a heart, love, flames, and burning fire:
Sighs and Ah me's, all these are proper words
Taken from loves best language, and thus all
True lovers speak which are Inhabitants
Of loves great Empire: But when wer't thou there?
Or where Amyntas didst thou learn so well
To speak their mother Tongue?

Amyn.
Even in the very Center of that blest
And happy Kingdom, where loves Septer rules,
There have I been, and so that country ayre.
Pleaseth my sense, as though it seems to me,
Still turbulent and cloudy, yet no other skye
Can ever be more welcome to my eye.

Nerea.
Thou speak'st in such a tone Amyntas, and so well
Dost mix thy sighs together with thy words,
And make sad looks accompany thy sighs,
As I could almost swear thou wert in love.

Amyn.
True love cannot be feign'd: 'tis true that once
I fled from love, but since he overtook
Me in my flight, I follow him as fast.

Nerea.
Oh admirable power against whose will
Nor flight nor pollicy can ought avail.
Now blest be lov'd, great love that thus can give
Unto thy stony heart a lively sence:
But wilt thou not then tell me who she is
Whom love hath chosen for a worthy means
To do so great a work?

Amyn.
No I have told too much already, but
The tears which spring out of my heart, do cause
My tongue to glide so fast: and now 'tis time
To teach it silence.

Nerea.
Silence to me? well then be silent still.
But yet if I be she, which can dispose
Of loves great Empire, as it pleaseth me;
Perhaps one day thou wilt entreat me hear
The story of thy love, and lend thee help,
When I will be as deaf unto thy prayers,
As thou art silent to me now.

Amyn.
Good Nerea, let us talk of somewhat else,
Let us discourse of Niso, and for him
Employ thy care, for as for me, I yet,
Nor seek, nor hope, nor can desire thy help.

Nerea.
What a rude rustick lover have we here?
If love be lodg'd in a rough savage heart,
Poor love himself becomes a savage too,
And so hath neither hope nor yet desire:
But be it as thou wilt, for Niso then
I will employ my cure, and if or will,
Or Art, have any power to win a love
In his content thou shalt learn first to see,
And then repent thine error, when thou shalt
See that cold Celia, that Mass of stone,
By my endeavours, and but easie cure,
All burning in loves flame, and in these fields.
In these same very fields wherein she now,
Like a unwearyed huntress beats the ground
With her still erring foot, when thou shalt see
Her in the Arms of lovely Niso. Print
Upon these flowry banks more tender steps,
And gentler signes, of a more pleasing choice:
What then alas, what will become of thee?
I know too well that then I shall thee see,
Crying Oh help me Nerea, Oh help:
But all in vain, for then I will not help,
But laughing scorn thee for thy foolery.

Amyn.
And dost thou then Ah-me, with Celia hope:
Dost thou with Celia hope to do so much.
And that for Niso too?

Nerea.
Hope? Yes with Celia, or with any else,
More out of love, with love then she can be,
And that for Niso, or for any else,
Unhappier in love then he can be.
This I can do, and this I will doe too,
Make Niso to enjoy his Celia.

Amyn.
Ah me! I'me dead.

Nerea.
And I will make her thine, who ere she be
Whom thou desirest so, if thou wilt but
Disclose thy love to me.

Amyn.
That Niso my enjoy his Celia,
That's all I ask.

Nerea.
But wherefore dost thou then lament? in time
Demand my help, and thou shalt have it.

Amyn.
Shall Niso then, Ah me, have Celia?

Nerea.
Hee's much perplext, and certainly this man
Deceives me yet, and wisheth somewhat else,
Then he seems to desire: Ile sound his thought
Which very hardly can conceal it self:
Thou troubled soul, what i'st that greeves thee now?
Celia shall be for Niso, as thou dost desire.
Though it be true, that with less pains I could
Procure her for Amyntas, if Amyntas would
As Niso doth, burn for fair Celias love.
I know well what I say, but 'tis not fit
I should so easily discover yet,
The secret thoughts of a young virgin maid,
To him that cannot apprehend them.

Amyn.
Dost hear me Nerea? tempt me no more,
For Niso 'tis I speak, and 'tis for him
That I would have thee speak.

Nerea.
He shakes already, and will quickly fall;
Well I will do't, but if she shall be found
To him inexorable, wilt thou then
Permit me try what I can do for thee?
All women are not cruel to all men?

Amyn.
She moves my very soul, nor can I tell
How to withstand it: But poor Niso then,
What will poor Niso say?

Nerea.
Amyntas did for me more then he would
Do for himself, and therefore I rejoyce,
His bliss can rise out of my misery,
This will he say: But whereon dost thou think?
Why dost thou scratch thy head, when all the itch
Thou feel'st is in thy heart?

Amyn.
Mercy, Oh Mercy, I am overcome,
And hear me Nerea: Yet peace,
Peace tender lover, but unfaithful friend:
But I were best be gone: Nerea adieu,
Thou knowst what I desire:
I speak for Niso, dost thou conceive me?

Scen. 4.

NEREA.
Either I nothing understand in love,
Or else Amyntas loves fair Celia:
But wherefore speaks he then for Niso thus?
It is perhaps a lovers folly that
Under a feigned affection seeks to prove
The faithful heart of his beloved love:
Oh ill advised youth, how darst thou tempt
A womans faith by forging new loves still?
Darst thou trust fuel in a burning flame?
Or feathers to the winde? full ill thou knowst,
How many I have seen these tryals cause
Soon to repent them of their former love;
But it may be the pitty of a friend,
Perhaps it may be so, and Niso doth,
Himself too burn for love of Celia.
And yet the simple soul Amyntas speaks
Onely for him, and doth not know that love,
Values no friend when once his force doth move:
But be it as it will, I'me glad to see
Them both sad frequent lovers yet, that so
I may be double arm'd and with more force
Give on a brave assault to that hard heart
Of pittiless, but lovely Celia.
For I will kindle in her Virgine brest,
Both these hot flames, that one at legst may take:
And pittifully paint before her eyes
Them both for love of her, brought to deaths dore,
And both from love, and from her father too.
I mean to tell her that in her own hands
The power of choice doth lye.
Th'art but a fool my Celia, if thou starve
For want of love, when to such lovers bring
Such dishes to the feast: Oh that I could,
But change, change fortunes with thee cruel Nimph.
Change and take thou my hot inflamed brest,
Or lend one thy soft golden glittering hair,
White snowy locks, with an heart all on fire.
Soft golden hairs, with an heard Iron heart,
Are Monsters too too cruel, but Ile go
And seek her out, sure I shall conquer her,
For I ner'e knew a fair young maid deny,
To love at last, if su'd to constantly.