University of Virginia Library

Act. 3.

Scen. 1.

Celia.
Oh Nerea, thou hast kil'd my woeful heart,
And from thy lips death shot his fatal dart.
Woes me, 'twas long ere I did burn, but now
I am all fire, nor can there be Ah-me!
A way to quench the fury of my flame,
Love be my guide Amyntas!
To thee my dear Amyntas, unto thee
I do submit my self, I will be thine,
And thou shalt be my love, my life, my all,
Ah-me: what did I say?
And can I then without my Niso live?
No, No, but for Amyntas, I can dye
And dow behold me given over quite
Unto my wonted fury,
Oh Celia!
Unhappy Celia, still dost thou rave
What dost thou think, and whether dost thou tend,
In this estate, depriv'd of all my bliss.
It cannot be I should continue long.
Enjoy but one? Love will not give me leave
To enjoy both, both Heaven and Earth forbid.
Then I must dye, for other remedy
Then death this death cannot invent.
Must I then dye?
But lately born and must I dye so soon?
Sad mourning eyes, the time is short which fate,
Allotted to you, to behold this Sun,
And yet alas I have but seen too much.
Fool that I am, what i'st I greeve for for thus?
Loss of my life? and what can I expect
To gain by living here? nought else but woe
Nothing but grief: and doth it greeve thee then
To part with grief? Oh no, let death, kinde death
Come then, and with his hand close up mine eyes,
And dry up all my tears: And yet alas,
Those tears, nor all my sad despairs cannot
Call out so loud for death in my poor soul,
As others torments do,
Oh Nerea, Nerea.
For love of me then doth Amyntas burn?
And Niso too? for me doth Niso dye?
Yea and Amyntas too? and I who love you both.
Unhappy lovers, is it I whom love
Too cruel love hath set against you both?
And is it I that kill you? then 'tis I,
'Tis I must dye, and fear not, I will dye,
That so my death may either give you ease,
Or else revenge your cruel suff'rings.
Oh direful voice! And yet base Coward heart,
Fear'st thou one death, that dost not fear two loves?
No, no, vain pitty! pitty pittyless
Base trembling fear, and you cold frozen thoughts,
You can no longer lodge within this breast.
Behold my hand full armed for the deed,
Oh vile and cowardly hand! what trembling thus
Dost thou discharge thy darts? Woes me, I want
Force that will second this my just revenge:
Let then my feet do what my hands deny,
Oh my sad furies! Oh despairing grief!
Be you my faithful guide, lead on, lead on,
Shew me another way to finde out death.
Conduct me to a Precipice where I
Shall need no force to press me to my fall:
But if a bush, or any stub should stop
My fatal fall? for so Amyntas was
Sav'd when he would have dyed for Silvia:
That would be my misfortune then, that was to him
A happy blessing: What then shall I do?
Oh you Celestial Gods! and you sad powers,
That govern in the deep infernal Lake.
You that inspir'd me with desire to dye,
Shew one the way to do it speedily.

Scen. 2.

Filino. Celia.
Felino.
Oh me most miserable.
Oh my dear pretious, and my lovely joy!
Oh my lost treasure!

Celia.
What mournful voice thus sounds within mine ears?
Is not this Filino?

Filino.
Oh Celia weep, weep gentle Celia,
Do not so much as stay, till I have told
What cause thou hast to weep.

Celia.
And to what new misfortune can the Gods,
Preserve me yet in this smale hour of life.
What can there be that can disturb me more?
Speak quickly Filino, for well I know
The grief which hath already seiz'd my heart
Can leave no place for any new supply.

Fil.
Distressed Filino, unhappy Celia!
Thy joy, and all my wonted bliss,
The beauty of the Meades, flower of the fields,
The love of all thy flock, thy gentle kid
(O me! my heart will break to tell it out)
Thy gentle Kid is dead.

Cel.
O happy boy, since all thy sorrows are
Compriz'd within so poor a loss as this.
But say who was't that kild him?

Fil.
Beleeve 'twas neither Shepheard nor wild beast:
For I would then have dyed in his defence.

Cel.
What was it then?

Fil.
The noysom feeding of a poysonous hearb,
Ah me, was the cause of all.

Cel.
What of a poysonous hearb? then this way sure
The heavens have shew'd me now a means to dye.
O all ye gracious Gods can it be true
That any pitty to my lasting woes
Should then ascend to heaven?

Fil.
The Kid ascend to heaven? what butting then
Will there be seen 'twixt him and Capricorn?

Cel.
But let me yet beware lest the mistake
Of a poor silly boy should bring my thoughts
Of death into a by-word and a scorn.
Tell me, my boy, how do'st thou know the Kid
Dyed by a poysonous hearb?

Fil.
Ile tell thee. When the Suns hot burning beams
About the mid time of the day gan rage,
I led thy flocks unto those shady Meades
Not far from hence, do'st thou not know them? those
Which 'twixt the Rivers and the Woods are fraught
With such fresh springing grass, and ever green,
Where being once arriv'd, observe me Celia,
And whilst the bellowing of the heards apply'd
Unto the sound of my small Oaten-pipe,
Seem'd to salute the fresh green pasture there,
Thy pretty Kid, Ah my dear pretious joy!
Thy pretty little Kid, all full of play,
Running and Skipping, with such wanton frisks.
Playd with the grass; in such a pleasing way
As that, I do not say my self, no, no,
But to say true, even all thy gentle flock
Left off their feeding, and stood gazing on
The pretty sport he made.

Celia.
Be brief, be brief, my Filino, I have no time
To tattle now, tell quickly what I ask,

Filino.
Softly! give ear,
Within the twinkling of an eye, he ran
Quite cross the Meadow, till at the last he came
Unto that little streaming Brook which runs,
Next to the Hill, and there began to feed
Upon an Hearb, which yet I never saw,
Grow any other where, and there did graze,
With such an Appetite, and eat so fast,
As it did fatten me to see him taste,
And relish it so well.
But on a suddain, Oh sad heavy chance,
I saw him trembling fall, and think you not,
That in an Instant, I flew to him straight?
I look't upon him, cal'd him, prest his Limbs:
He look't on me again, and seem'd to moan
His sad estate, and trembling seem'd to say,
Ah Filino I dye.
Thus did I see his eyes grow dark and dim,
Those pretty eyes of his, I saw retire,
Into his head, his eye-lids closed up.
And thus alas I saw him dye:

Celia.
But yet I am not satisfied perhaps,
He did but faint, and onely seem'd to dye:
Perhaps it came too by some other means,
Then by the hearb he fed on: Th'art a child,
Poor Filino as yet, and little knowst
What doth belong to cattle or their food.

Filino.
Well! but Nerete, that grave hoary Beard,
That reverend peece of age, is he a child?
And knows he nothing too, what doth belong
To hearbs and beasts?

Celia.
What did Nerete say?

Filino.
He at my cryes came running in, and found
Me standing by the Kid with weeping eyes,
To whom when I related had the cause,
Of all my moan, Oh wicked hearb, quoth he:
Drive Felino, go drive thy flock from hence,
Unto some other place: which said he straight
Ran to the Kid, and drew him from the place
Where then he lay, unto the Rivers side:
But I had not the heart to see him thrown
Into the water so: But wailing ran
To find thee out.

Celia.
Nerete doth deserve to be beleev'd,
The death then of my Kid is certain now,
And so's the cause thereof, come Filino,
Come lets away.

Filino.
And whether?

Celia.
To find out that same Hearb.

Filino.
And what to do?

Celia.
Let not that trouble thee.

Filino.
Ah! with what eyes shall ever I behold
That Meade again?

Celia.
Come quickly Felino, what i'st thou dost?

Filino.
I look at Nerea, that's coming here?
Ah let me stay a while, for she is wont,
For every kiss I give her to bestow
An Apple on me.

Celia.
Nerea? follow me quickly and take heed,
Thou dost not anger me.

Filino.
I come, I come, see if she fly not hence,
Like to an arrow from a Bow.

Scen. 3.

NISO. NEREA.
Niso.
Ah were but now Amyntas here
That he might know the story of my death,
And of her cruelty.

Ner.
He hath already heard, and griev'd to hear it.
I met with him when Celia went from me,
And told him all the sute that I had made
To her, and how unkindly she refus'd
To give an ear thereto, and him I left
Close by the River, mourning like a friend
For thy misfortune.

Niso.
Go on then, tell me, what didst thou reply?

Ner.
Ah cruel Nymph, said I then to her straight,
And wilt thou not admit a loving soul
Unhappy in his love, at least to tell
The nature of his grief?

Niso.
And she?

Ner.
There's not a Shepheard, she made answer then,
Whether a strange or a native born,
There's not a Shepheard that dares be so bold
As to importune Celia for her love,
Each man flies from me, every man thats wise
Locks up his words in silence, and if yet
There be a man that suffers for my sake
Let him relate his sorrows to the trees,
And be assur'd that trees and plants will prove
Less deaf than Celia, and more apt to love.

Niso.
O cruel and most savage heart!

Ner.
Tush this was nothing, her fierce angry looks
Spake more than did her tongue; for all her speech
Was full of such obscurity, as I
Could hardly understand her what she meant;
But then I saw her cheeks grow pale as death,
Her ruby lips too lost their colour quite,
I did not see her weep, but yet I saw
Her eyes full fraught with grief, though free from tears.
And then as if she had disdain'd her self,
And such fond looks as those, she shakt her head,
And suddainly her eyes grew red with rage,
And shot out flames of anger, till at last
I could perceive her in a threatning wise
Brandish her dart; I know not well at whom.

Niso.
At me without all doubt, and I my self,
Even I my self will straight present her with
This naked breast, and with this hand tear up
This wound again, which is but newly clos'd,
That so her Shaft may find a shorter way,
Yea and a wider passage to my heart:
And since that cruel she denies to hear
The story of my woes, she yet shall hear
The sad relation of my fatal death:
And so perhaps in that same point of time
When her fair hand shall fling her dart at me,
In that same happy point of time I may,
At least before I dye, say that I dye.

Ner.
Unhappy Shepheard! ah! alass, those eyes,
Those lovely eyes of thine must not alone
Drop brinish tears, but even I must needs
My self weep with thee too for company.
But Niso, my sweet youth ('tis fit I should
Give him some comfort) I will not deny
But it is true that Celia shew'd her self
Beyond all measure cruel, yet who knows
But that she may for all this counterfeit?
For my part Ile not swear she doth not so.
The art of feigning is by nature taught
To women, so said one, and she said true:
For from their very birth they can conceal
Their inward thoughts and though but children, yet
Under a frowning brow they have the art
In secret to conceal a loving heart.
But be she as she will, who yet can say
She may not change her mind? For women are
Like to the Moon, and vary both their looks
And shapes as well as she, if then they love,
Yet trust them not, despair not though they hate,
But give them time at least to change their thoughts.
Do'st thou not see the heavens in a trice
Both burn and freeze? It was but yesterday
When thou beganst to love, and scarce hast yet
Learnt to breath forth a sigh, 'tis not then time
Already to despair; a short breath'd sigh
Cannot through Loves vast ocean drive a soul
Into the port of rest, and full content:
Thou didst but now begin, and canst thou then
Despair already to attain thy wish?

Niso.
'Tis true, alass, my love but now begins,
But yet my life's already at an end:
For this confounding flame scarce kindled yet
Already hath consum'd my heart.

Ner.
But yet take heart again, and live by hope:
For be assur'd, no art that can be found
To rouse up love where most he lyes asleep,
Shall be left unattempted for thy sake.
Let's search out all Loves engins then, and try
The utmost of their forces one by one.
Tell me then, didst thou never yet make known
Thy love to her by any other means?
Didst thou not yet so much as in thy looks.
Or in thy sighs send to her frozen heart
The first embassages of love?

Niso.
Yes! but what profit have I gain'd?
When all my sighs breath'd through the empty air,
Were by the wind disperst ere they could come
Unto the breast to which I sent them forth?
And Looks, the messengers which lovers send
To them they love, are ever strucken dumb,
When onely he that sends them looks in vain,
And she to whom th'are sent looks not again.

Ner.
Didst thou say nothing to her when thou lay'st
Wounded, and hadst her ever by the side?

Niso.
Ah me! would death had shackled up my tongue,
Which love unhappily did then let loose:
For then it was she fled away so fast
As I could never see her since.

Ner.
And didst thou never since present her with
Some amorous token, pretty loving gift?

Niso.
Gift? heaven defend, tempt Celia with gifts?
To use a gentle Nymph as one would use
A covetous base croan? I should beleeve
With gifts to make a well bred heart become
Sooner an enemy than yeeld to love.

Ner.
If thou beleeve so, thou beleev'st amiss.
The heavens themselves are pleased with our gifts,
And hell is pacify'd, nor canst thou think
Women less covetous than heaven, nor yet
Less cruel than the deep infernal pit,
A gift, beleeve me, Niso, a rich gift
Is the great instrument of love, or tyrant rather,
Which doth command and rule love as it please.
Knowst thou not what Elpino, wise Elpino said?
That in the worlds first infancy when truth,
And pure simplicity made heart and tongue
Speak both one language: Nymphs that were in love
Could sing no other song but dona, dona,
Which in our later language sounds, give, give;
And therefore since, with double N (because
One gift will not suffice) a Woman is
In the Italian tongue call'd Donna now.
And if there be such wandring beggars stil,
As think it no disgrace unto their kind
To beg Love as an Alms: Then say not thou
That none but covetous base women will
Beg or receive a gift.

Niso.
Thou telst me wondrous things.

Ner.
But yet as clear as is the Sun, and know
That man is covetous that in his love
Spends, though by thousands, nothing else but sighs,
And looks, and words, and prayers, and trickling tears.
Yea though he joyn some little lyes to boot,
And make no conscience to be perjur'd too,
Let him but give a poor lean sucking lamb,
And he shall give therewith a greater proof
Of his true love then all the rest can bring:
For women now adaies can onely trust
A giving love, all else are but deceit,
And 'tis but reason that his love who gives
Should conquer all, their greatest cruelty,
Since it hath conquer'd his base covetise,
A monster far more cruel.

Niso.
Alass, if it be true then that a gift
Contains that power in it to overcome
Her yet untam'd, unconquer'd cruelty,
This heart, this soul, this all, what e'r I am,
Even all my self, I give unto her will.

Ner.
Alass, poor man, this is the gift which all
Poor Lovers give their loves with open hands,
A heart, a soul, are of too great a price,
I would not for a world (my Son) no, no,
I would not have thee be so prodigal;
Keep them (love) for thy self, and let thy gift
Be of less value, but yet more desir'd.

Niso.
I, a poor stranger in these parts, devoyd
Of lands and flocks, from whence shall I obtain
A gift that's worth the sending? here,
Give her this dart, 'tis not to be despis'd;
Mark both the pile and shaft.

Ner.
The pile is sharp and piercing, and the shaft
Pithie and straight, fitted as they should be,
To dart at savage beasts in the wild woods,
But for fair Celia's hand (to speak the truth)
For her soft tender hand it seems too big,
And sure she cannot weild it.

Niso.
What thinkst thou of this horn?

Ner.
Oh! I of horns am a great Mistress too,
And did present her one the other day;
And with your patience be it spoke, perhaps
Farier than that.

Niso.
Then now I have bethought me of a gift,
May happily seem not unworthy of
Fair Celia her self.

Ner.
Is it about thy neck?

Niso.
Is't not a fair one Nerea? see.

Ner.
What's this that shines so? take it off, that so
I may the better view it.

Niso.
Have patience; so, 'tis now undone.

Ner.
Ah, what a pure white neck he hath! I scarce
Could hold from kissing it.

Niso.
O sad remembrance of my former love,
And of my by-past happiness: Go now,
For heaven ordains thee to a better fate:
Behold it Nerea.

Ner.
Ah! who did ever see a braver thing?
It looks, as 'twere all gold.

Niso.
And 'tis all gold: But go and see if thou
With it canst purchase me my life again:
Defer no time, what do'st thou muse upon?

Ner.
Niso, to tell thee true, she went from me
So troubled, and so full of high disdain
As I have cause to fear she never will
Give ear to me again; or if she doe
That, yet I shall not have the power to win
A favour from her, therefore it were fit
Some other should present this gift to her.

Niso.
If Nerea thou forsake me, I am lost.

Ner.
Have patience, heaven it self is on our side:
Seest thou that Nymph that yonder comes that way?
If the bright glistering of her scattered hair
With too much beauty dazle not mine eyes
'Tis Cloris, or 'tis rather she, because
Mine eyes do dazle, and from thence I know
'Tis she indeed; for there is none that can
Display such golden locks before the Sun.
It must be Cloris, who alone is she
That hath fair Celia's heart: Cloris it is,
Than whom in Scyros Celia never knew
A true friend: Oh happy thou if she
Will but conveigh thy gift.

Niso.
But I am no way known to her, do thou
Do thou speak for me, and entreat her help.

Scen. 4.

CLORIS. NISO. NEREA.

He comes not yet, and I must here attend
The old mans leisure.

Niso.
Why do'st thou stay?

Ner.
For loves sake peace.

Clor.
But what shall I do here alone the while?
Sigh out my love? then let us turn again
Unhappy love unto our wonted pains,
And sighing still breath out my luckless wo
Into this amorous air.

Niso.
Go yet at last, what do'st thou fear?

Ner.
She plaies the wilie wench, I know her well
By many proofs: be stil a while.

Clo.
But where, alass, O where are you lost sighs?
And whether do you wander through the air?
If yet you know not where to find the heart
To which love sends you erring messengers
Of most unhappy news?

Niso.
Woes me! go on, and try her though my case
Be ne'r so desperate; for whatsoe'r befall,
I can but dye.

Clo.
Ah! shall I never live to see the day
When once before I dye I may behold
My beauteous Sun again?
'Tis but a look I beg, and then Ile dye,
And dye concent; for one look and no more
I would give up my life, and its worth that.

Niso.
Ah Nerea!

Ner.
Have patience, now I go.

Clo.
O heavens!

Ner.
The gracious heavens satisfie.

Clo.
Ah me!

Ner.
Thy just desires, my gentle Cloris?

Clo.
Thy unexpected voice made me afraid.

Ner.
But pitty then anothers just desires,
Use thou that pitty which thou do'st implore
Thy self from heaven.

Clo.
What should I say? I doubt she hath heard all:
Thou seest me, Nerea, here all alone,
Sighing for that blest day, when I shall once
Behold again in heaven above that Sun
Which I in Smyrna saw.
But what do'st thou desire of me? what is't?

Ner.
The life of a poor Shepheard.

Clo.
Farewel, I'm gon:
Thou knowst I never lend an ear to those
That speak to me of Love.

Ner.
O spightful soul! do'st hear? fly not away.
The thing whereof I speak, 'tis true, is love,
But such as thou wilt not denie to hear,
Beleev't it is, and by this hand I swear,
This fair, this tender hand which now I grasp.

Clo.
Whats that? for loves sake give it me.

Ner.
Sh' hath snatcht it from my hand. Cloris look on't,
Is't not a fair one? but thou shalt have time
Hereafter to look on it long enough.
Now hear what I would say.

Clo.
'Tis none of mine, for thats about my neck.
It must be that of Thirsis: O ye Gods!
Whats this I see?

Ner.
Bear up my Niso, and resume again
Thy late lost courage, see shee's pleas'd beyond
All measure with thy gift, and she will bring
Fair Celia to like it too
If she but take in hand to give it her.
See how she looks upon't.

Niso.
Follow it then, Nerea, O follow it.
Thou onely canst revive my hope again.
If yet my hope can ere revive again.

Clo.
But if my Thirsis should be dead and so
The Ring be faln into some others hands:
Who gave thee, Nerea, this golden ring?

Ner.
A gentle Shepheard gave it me.

Clo.
A Shepheard hereof Scyros?

Ner.
No, but a stranger born.

Clo.
And to what end then did he give it thee?

Ner.
He gave it as a token of his love,
And his eternal faith.

Clo.
Of love to thee?

Ner.
To me?
Look I like one whose love is to be bought
With others gifts? O no I am too old:
'Tis not for me to sell my Merchandise,
She that is rich in years must buy, not sell,
If she intend to please her self in love.
But thou dost know this, and dissemble it:
His love is of a higher nature fram'd,
Unhappy he loves a despairing hope,
Saving that fortune in this hooped ring
(But mark in what a narrow space) still moves
And turns his fainting hopes to her he loves.

Clo.
I prithee ease my pain, and let me know
What name that Shepheard bears, where he abides,
Or let me see, or let me speak with him.

Ner.
'Tis that which he desires, Niso stand forth:
Behold the Shepheard here for whom I plead,
It cannot be but he is known to thee,
As one of those (whom if thou didst attend
The solemn pomp which was this morning held
In payment of his vow) thou needs must see
Triumphing in the Temple.

Niso.
Yes I am he fair Nymph, who did triumph
This morning, and this very night must dye,
If love be not my help.

Clo.
Both name, and voice, and look all different,
But yet what doth not time and fortune change?
And still me-thinks he doth resemble him:
But yet my heart goes faster than mine eyes,
And therefore I am fearfull least desire,
Too much desire should mock my fawning hopes.
Say gentle Shepheard is this ring thine own?

Niso.
It is mine own, save onely in as much
As I am vow'd unto anothers will.

Clo.
When, where, or how didst thou come by it? or
Who gave it to thee? excuse my bold demand.
The thing it self deserves it, as a rare
And unseen jewel in this Isle before.

Niso.
For loves sake doe not press me to relate
So long a story now, when I have left
So short a time to live.
I had it when I was a child, and when
My better fates made me live happily,
I had it from a hand that swaies the rule
Of somthing else than beasts, or horned heards,
I had it (nor will I deny it to be true)
I had it as a pledge of love,
Of faithfull love, which I long since have lost,
And now within these fields (Ah me! fond hope)
Go still pursuing the recovery.
Of my old wonted pains.

Clo.
'Tis Thirsis, it is he,
'Tis Thirsis without doubt, and to this hour
Lamenting still my loss, he rangeth thus
These fields to find me out:
O faithfull heart! O me above all else
Most happy lover! This is that blest day
Which I have sigh'd for long, and this the bliss
The want whereof I have lamented so,
Now sighs and tears adieu, here ends my wo.

Niso.
Seest thou not Nerea, how she (woes me)
At every pause still turns her self about,
And reasons all alone?
And now if I mistake her not, she seems
Strangly confounded, and I know not why.

Cloris.
As yet he knows me not, is not assur'd,
And therefore takes advice of Nerea.

Nerea.
Perhaps she yet suspects, and is in fear,
The gift is meant to her, thou never saw'st
A more reserved Wench.

Clor.
How can it be that love doth not ere this,
At least in secret tell it to his heart?

Nerea.
Or else perhaps delighted with the fair:
Rich beauty of the gold (as who can tell)
Perhaps she may desire it for her self;
For old in those that are the nicest, can
Both blear their eyes, and dazle too their hearts.

Niso.
What ere it be, 'tis more then time my soul,
Should be resolv'd at last.

Clo.
But foolish I, why do I thus retard
My happiness? too long, too long, alas!
My torments have endur'd:

Nerea.
Stand off, a while, Ile put her out of doubt.

Clo.
I will disclose my self.

Nerea.
Cloris.

Clo.
Do not disturb me Nerea, for my heart
Cals me another way.

Nerea.
Yet stay a while, thou art too squeamish now.
What i'st thou fear'st?
That in this ring some train of love is layd
Against thy self? be confident there's none:
This gentle Shepherd here for Celia.
And not for thee, for Celia, I say.
And not for thee; do'st thou conceive me?
For Celia he sighs, and burns, and dyes:
To Celia to whom he gives his heart,
To her this gift is sent, but yet thou mayst
In pitty be a means to give it her.
This is a smal request, and more then this
Is not desir'd of thee; do thou but grant,
To be the Messenger, and then let love
Himself work out the rest.

Cloris.
Thersis, Thersis for Celia?

Nerea.
Niso, not Thersis:

Cloris.
Ah-me.
For Celia doth he sigh, and burn, and dye?
To Celia doth he send the Ring? and I,
Must I conveigh his sacriligious gift?

Niso.
Cloris is troubled, and undoubtedly
Will nocon sent.

Nerea.
Ah! though thou still be cruel to thy self,
At least to others, yet be pittiful.
One gentle word to do another good,
Cannot, it cannot sure impeach the height
And Majesty of thy just rigor.

Niso.
I hear Amyntas voice, but see him not,
Amyntas.

Cloris.
Oh false perfidious love! Oh faith betrayed,
Oh perjur'd Heaven! Oh most wretched I!

Nerea.
Ah me! and why so troubled? wherefore thus
Distracted do'st thou look? and Cloris whether,
Whether away so fast? at least restore
The Ring again, hark, stay awhile:

Scen. 5.

Niso. Amyntas. Celia.
Niso.
Thou com'st in time, in time, Amyntas, sure
The Heavens did conduct thee to this place,
My lifes in question here, Amyntas, see,
But whether, (woes me) whether are they gone?
Vanisht so soon? What Cloris, Nerea?
Cloris I say! they have abus'd me both.
Follow, Amyntas, follow.

Amyn.
Which way shall I follow? Niso, That,
And I will follow them about this Hill.

Celia.
Oh most delicious drink sweet to this taste
Which thirsted after death.

Amyn.
They do not keep the path, and if they chance,
To take into the Wood, I gaze in vain.

Celia.
I am here all alone, now in the hands
Of death, why do not I then dye?

Niso.
This way they are not gone, is there left yet,
Another way to find?

Celia.
Ah me! what do I see?

Niso.
Amyntas look! look there's my Sun.

Amyn.
Ah peace, if she perceive us, she will straight
'Vanish out of our sight, and then those rays
Will rather seem a flash of lightening, then
The chearful beams of this bright shining Sun.

Niso.
Already she hath spyed us, and it seems
That even very now, she looks this way,
But yet with high disdain: And see'st thou not!
Me thinks she looks as she were full of woe:
I see in that fair face, the Gilliflowers,
And Roses withered, and look wonderous pale.

Celia.
They go not hence, nor I cannot remove
Nor yet doth death come to deliver.

Amyn.
She reasons with her self, and happily,
Shee's angry that she findes us here.

Niso.
But yet amidst those woes, there may be seen,
A smiling beauty and a flourishing
Amidst those withered flowers: Oh heavenly!
Oh thou diviner beauty! can it be
That other fair ones, have the fairness of
The richest coulours, and the fairest flowers?
But she not as from them, but from her self is fair.

Celia.
Unhappy eyes, what ere the world hath fair
May there be seen but not by you, and then
What more then death, can you desire to see?

Niso.
Ah me! before so fair a fire I burn,
And fry in scorching heat, and canst thou then
Look on it and be mute? and look again,
And yet not burn? Ah! I cannot contain
My self within this heat

Amyn.
Stay, whether wilt thou go?

Niso.
I must perforce, I will speak to her straight,
And at the least, Ile tell her that I dye.

Amynt.
Speak to her man? and do'st thou not then fear
The force of her reproach? hast thou forgot
The cruel prohibition which she sent,
Did Nereas not tell it thee? if then thou lov'st
Beware thou do not move her to disdan.

Cel.
But from a sight so pleasing (wo is me)
Mine eyes doe drink new poyson, and perhaps
That may retard the operation of
The drink I drunk before.

Niso.
Shall I then dye in silence? shall I dye
Without a breathing fit? no't shall not be,
The Plants at least shall hear, the Plants shall hear
The mournfull accents of my sad laments,
For they will be less deaf unto my moan
Than Celia is, to them hard hearted she
Forbids me not to speak.

Celia.
What do'st thou death, what darst thou not close up
These eyes of mine, which love keeps open thus:
Yet I must dye, and though mine eyes delay,
My heart makes hast to goe that dismal way.
Shepheards doe you remove unto some other place,
Or I of force must flie from this.

Niso.
Ah! thou most cruel Nymph!

Amynt.
Peace Niso, peace, do'st thou not see
That with her foot already in the air
She threatens to be gone? lets leave her then,
Lets leave her here in peace, and go our way,
The Woods doe not want trees to which thou mayst
As well as to these Beeches here complain,
And in thy depth of sorrow sigh in vain.

Niso.
Lets goe, O cruel Nymph!

Amynt.
Ah me! most miserable!

Scen. 6.

CELIA.
Cel.
Souls of my soul, away from me you fly,
And 'tis but reason, since I needs must dye:
And now I dye, but you dear lovely sights
Which even now gave light unto mine eyes,
If ever you by chance on earth behold
These most unhappy limbs here lye extinct,
Depriv'd of heat and motion, not so much
As one poor sigh, no nor a tear I crave.
This only I entreat, that your proud feet
As just revengers of your injur'd hearts,
Would kick these bones unto the savage beasts,
And fling the dust thereof into the air,
But with that dust let then the air conveigh
Into the den of deep forgetfulness
All memory of my black sin. O happy death,
If with my life my faults may vanish too!
But I still live, and 'tis perhaps because
A few small hearbs cannot prevail with death,
He must have more, and therefore I have here
My lap full of them, and I will renew
Their poyson once again. Ah me! I dye,
Amyntas! Niso! Ah I dye, O love,
Betrayed love! O falsified faith!
Come now behold, and see the just revenge,
See and triumph, behold the vengeance due
Unto my fatal error, see the end
Of all my torturing pain. Come gentle plant
And stay the ruins of this falling bulk,
And since under thy shaddow I must dye,
Ah! with those leaves, those withered leaves at least
Which with the wind are tossed too and fro,
For pitty cover these unburied limbs:
But thou do'st fly me and so doth the earth,
The heavens hide themselves, and wretched I
Since neither earth nor heaven will receive
This wofull soul, where shall I then remain?
See, see, behold th' infernal deep there plac't;
You borrid furies whereon doe you gaze?
And thou black Cerberus why bark'st thou so?
Make room, I come to bear a share in all
The torments you endure, or rather leave,
Leave all your pains to me, begon and tell
That I alone will here alone make hell.
Ah me! ah me!