 | Filli Di Sciro. Or Phillis of Scyros |  |
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,
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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.
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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:
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(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,
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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,
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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
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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:
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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
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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.
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And therefore I will follow her.
| Filli Di Sciro. Or Phillis of Scyros | |