University of Virginia Library

Act. 4.

Scen. 1.

SERPILLA. CLORIS.
Serp.
I can no more, stay here a while, and give
If not unto my legs, yet to my heart
A poor short breathing fit.

Clo.
Stay where it like thee best, for all vain
Hither and thither I remove my steps,
But cannot find nor hill, nor lowly plain,
Nor open air, nor darksom shade that can
Bring the least comfort to my wounding pain;
No place can give me ease, but all alike
Seems fitted to torment my wearied soul.
In this same very place my woes begun,
There first I view'd again my cruel foe,
And here I first discover'd it was he,
Here was I glad and here as suddainly,
With the short sound of one sad killing word,
Even in this very place, unhappy I
Slipt back again into my former pain,
And fell so swiftly down that precipice,
As death to me cannot but now appear
Tardy and slow.

Serp.
Phillis! ah my dear daughter, mitigate
This fierce tormenting grief which thus infests
Thy soul with fury: for in fine, if thou
Consider well, Thirsis is still thine own,
Nor lives she can deprive thee of thy hopes:
True faith betwixt your gentle hearts hath knit
A lasting and indissoluble knot;
And love sometimes perhaps may be forgot,
But never a true faith, that faith which once
Jove with his thundring hand hath firmly writ,
And deep engrav'd in heaven.

Clo.
But yet alass what can I gain thereby?
For faith depriv'd of love ties up our hands,
But fetters not our hearts, and thus fast bound
The bonds are too too hard: For my part then
Let them be loosed quite, and let me live
Free from that hand that lives without a heart.
No, no, Serpilla, no, if he deny
His love to me, his faith I do defie.

Serp.
But thou dispairest yet before 'tis time,
Thirsis beleeves thee dead, and justly may
Within his youthfull breast then entertain
New flames of love, and yet therein be free
From the least shew of doing injury
To that rich beauty which he thinks extinct,
And happily hath mourn'd for long ago.
But when he shall perceive thee here alive
His old lost love will then with the revive.

Clo.
That love Serpilla which can be remov'd
With the light breath of an imagin'd death,
Is but a faint weak love, nor care I much
Whether it live again, or still lye dead.
Even I my self beleev'd him long ago
Dead, and enclosed within an earthen Urn,
And yet abhorring any other love,
I only lov'd that pale-fac'd beauty still,
And those dry bones dissolved into dust,
And underneath their ashes kept alive,
The lively flames of my still burning fire.
Thou knowst it well, who oftentimes hast seen,
And griev'dst to see my miserable state,
My misbeleeved death then cannot make
His fault, or yet my sorrows seem the less:
Ah me! it cannot; no but he is false,
Alass hees false, and I most wretched am,
Nor can his faithless error be excus'd,
Or my sad grief admit the least relief.
What shall I do then? who shall counsel me?
Shall love? alass it cannot; when love meets
With infidelity, it rests depriv'd
Of all advice; then I must now repair
For counsel to my fury and despair.

Serp.
Come with me daughter, or at least consent
That I may go and seek thy Thirsis out;
Ile have him know thee once again, I must
Once see you both confronted face to face,
And thou shalt hear then what himself can say,
And thence wee'l take advice.

Clo.
That ever he shall look on me again?
No, I have not the heart, I know too well,
That whilst I look upon his once lov'd eyes,
Their beams will mitigate my just disdain,
That just disdain, which I must keep entire
For mine own safety, therefore peace no more,
No more of that Serpilla.

Serp.
Yes but I must, and he must once again
See thee (my heart) I will not be denied,
He shall come see thee, I will have it so,
If not to ease thy sad perplexed thoughts,
At least to aggravate his biting wo,
And now I go, but Thirsis sojourns yet
At young Amyntat house, and this the path
That leadeth, thither by the shortest way.
Stay then at home, or for me there leave word,
Where I may come to thee.

Clo.
Yes, yes, go on, go on.

Serp.
O! if I could now be so blest to free
Phillis and Celia both from misery.

Clo.
I will leave word where thou mayst come to me.
But thou must come then to deaths darksom Cell:
For thither I perceive my sorrows will
Bring me e'r long: Thirsis, thou nere must see
This face again; for there remains no more
Comfort for me; nor do I wish thy pain,
For false and cruel though thou be to me,
Yet I must love thee still: Ah me! I love,
And if my love can for no other cause
Be dear to thee, yet cruel! let it be
Dear, as it will be cause of death to me:
Oh my ingrateful Thirsis, Ah false man.
Phillis for thee was born, liv'd by thine eyes,
And now for thee forsaken Phillis dyes.

Scen. 2.

NISO.
I here the name of Phillis, and but now,
Me thinks it eccho'd through the empty ayre,
Unto my lovesick soul: but whence then comes
This faigned voice, which thus recals again,
The cold dead ashes of my dying heart,
Unto there wonted flames? can it be thou?
Or i'st not rather the fair gentle shade,
Of my lost Phillis? is it that which strays,
Depriv'd of rest about these fields to draw
My erring heart unto her love again?
Alas what wouldst thou have of me? thou know'st
That since thy death, no part of me remains,
But tears and sighs, and if thou take delight
To see me greeve, thou mai'st when ere thou please.
Whilest I live here, renew the funeral pomp,
Of my sad tears, and heart consuming sighs;
Take then these brinish drops, rest satisfied
With these deep groans, which here I consecrate,
Unto our love, and to thy sweet repose,
And rest, Ah me! poor soul, now rest in peace.

Scen. 3.

Amyntas. Niso.
Amyn.
Hee's all alone: Niso, whom speak'st thou to?

Niso.
To empty shadows my Amyntas, Ah!
I know not how the mournful memory,
Of my first, earnest, but unhappy love
Is even now, in mid'st of my new flames.
When it should least have troubled my sad thoughts
Renew'd within my soul? and whilst now this,
Now that, and each within an instant press
Sighs from my heart, and tears out from mine eyes
Tears overflow, and sighs confound me so,
As my poor heart doth faint.

Amyn.
And so thy heart amid'st such ardent flames
Such fervent heats, serves onely now to be,
The hot consuming furnace of true love:
Oh miserable soul! when Celia darts
One flashing beam, hath it not power enough
To burn one silly heart? Unless love force
New flames out of a beauty now extinct?
Is she not dead (if I remember well
What thou hast said) who now revives thy heart.

Niso.
O yes she died a child, and in the East
My rising Sun, declined to the West,
She died a child, and if a beauty since,
And such a beauty as perhaps did not
Seem coy to me (such as thou seest me here)
Offer'd me love, I in an instant turn'd
Mine eyes another way, or dull'd their sight
With the full flowing streams of showring tears;
Onely the unkind beauty of my Celia,
Had force to work that strange effect in me,
Which the most loving beauty else could not:
Nor can I tell how it was brought to pass
That I could neither flye, nor yet withstand
Her all commanding power: and thus new flames
Without confounding of my former heat,
Incense my heart a fresh, whence I am forc'd
Still to bewail my Phillis, still to sigh.
For Celia's love she is already lost,
And her I cannot hope ere to enjoy.
This then is all I can expect to gain,
To lose my sighs, and spend my tears in vain,

Amynt.
Whilst thou do'st thus bemoan thy sad mishaps,
Grief grows into excess: Let us discourse
Upon some other subject: I can learn
No news of Cloris, nor of Nerea,
From that young Goatheard, with whom for that end
I stayd behind thee talking in the wood.

Niso.
Which way shall we pursue them then, depriv'd
Of all the helps that may direct our course.

Amynt.
Why should we follow thus their steps in vain?
I am already weary, and 'twere best
To rest us here in this large open plain.
From whence we may discover round about
What passeth too and fro, and underneath
These spreading Beeches here we may attend
In hope to meet them, and refresh our selves
In this cool breathing shade, where we may dry
The trickling sweat from off our melting brows,
And take a sweet repose.

Niso.
Agreed.

Amynt.
But what is't I behold there in the skirts
And entrance of the wood, betwixt those twigs
And the round body of that tree?

Niso.
It seems a Nymph sure by her cloaths.

Amynt.
Oh! 'Tis fair Celia, see her Azure gown,
Those silver buskins, and that golden Bow
Shew it is Celia, which lyes here retir'd
Under this gentle shade: 'Tis she.

Niso.
Lies Celia in the shade? behold then you
That wish to see the Sun conceal his beams
Under a shadow, here enjoy your wish.

Amynt.
Speak softly, for I think she sleeps.

Niso.
Sleeps she?
O if some pittifull (I will not say
Or God or man) but some kind gentle dream,
Some wandring spirit would but whilst she sleep
Securely thus present before that soul,
That cruel soul, the lively image of
The poor tormented Niso, with his cheeks
Bedew'd with tears; his grisly pale-fac'd looks,
Brought to the very point of death, and beg
Some spark of pitty for me: Who can tell
What hope it might produce? for sure I am
That whilst I sleep I feel love waking still
Even in the very shaddow of my dreams:
But wretched man! to what pass am I brought
When dreams and fancies must sustain my hopes?
Yet now at least I may for once behold
That lovely visage, unsurpris'd with fear,
To see her flye me straight.

Amynt.
And I alass, must every moment hear
Anothers woes, and yet conceal mine own,
But I am silent still, because I dye
Each minute that I breath, and no man cries
At that same very instant when he dies.

Niso.
I look on every side, yet cannot come
To view her beauteous face. Amyntas, see,
Me thinks that Bramble-bush still craving seems
With too much love to stretch his thorny twigs
Too near, as if he meant to kiss
The sweet vermilion Roses of her lips;
O impudent bold rival, thy base briers
Though arm'd with spiny prickles, shall not thus
Prevent me in my happiness.

Amynt.
Softly, dear Niso, that thou wake her not.

Niso.
Ah me! so near to my beloved fire,
I am all Ice, and in a shaking fit:
Wonder of men! Yet thus we ought to fear
The beauty we adore: I dare not move,
Me-thinks great love from thence darts forth at me
Invisible, strong, powerful shafts, do thou,
Do thou Amyntas, who art out of fear
Of all his Darts, with freer boldness try
To let me see her face.

Amyn.
I will:
But yet alas to me 'tis not a task,
So easie as he deems.

Niso.
Amyntas, Ah! Amyntas, do'st not feel
Thy trembling foot, march an uncertain pace?
Stay, stay awhile, me thinks thy pale-fac't looks
Tell me thy fears: yet thou art not in love:
From whence then come these frights?

Amyn.
I cannot tell, perhaps some god-head sent
From Heaven to gard these sleeping members, may
Strike terror to my soul.

Niso.
No, no, the beauty of that face can work
Awe in the boldest heart.

Scen. 4.

Narete. Amyntas. Niso.

But go, Silvanus, go, and take a care
The Kid escape not from thee, if thou meanst
To keep poor Filino alive.

Amyn.
It is Narete.

Narete.
See then from him thou fly to Celia,
And tell the happy tidings of her love.

Niso.
Ah me! do'st thou not hear Amyntas? Ha!

Amyn.
Narete welcome, but what happy news
Hast thou for Celia, that concerns her love?

Narete.
That her beloved Kid is yet alive.

Niso.
Thanks be to Heaven, I am restor'd again

Amyn.
What that young Kid, which Filino, ere while
Went all about Lamenting with such tears.

Narete.
The simple boy, beleev'd him surely dead,
And he had surely dyed, had I not come,
Led thither by his cryes; for he had fed
Upon a poysonous herb, whose mortal juyce,
First casts into a sleep, then sleeping kills,
If ere the venome seize upon the heart,
The visage be not bath'd, or sprinkled with
Some moystening drops, which may recall again
From depth of sleep, the cold benummed soul,
And therefore I to whom the hearb is known
Straight ran unto the Brook, and therein bath'd
The dying Kid, and drew him forth alive.
But what (my sons) were you beholding there
Some beast within his den?

Niso.
O my Narete, 'tis a savage beast,
I dare tell thee, no will I keep it hid;
For thou art old, yet with those snow white locks
Know'st how to pitty simple youthful love:
Here lyes a savage beast, more savage far
Then is the Basilisk, more deadly too,
For he doth onely poyson with his looks:
But she doth kill whether she looks or no:
For see Narete, see, she sleeps secure,
Yet I stand dying here:

Narete.
I see.
And now both know the beast, and understand
The poyson that she brings: and my kinde son,
Would I were as well able to give help
To thy disease, as I can pitty thee,
'Tis true, I'me old, but I remember yet
Mine own young wanton joys, and envy not
Anothers youthful love.

Niso.
If thou canst do nought else, yet prove at least
If with thy hand though trembling thus for age:
Thou hast the courage to remove those twigs,
And let the beauty of her face appear:
We both have tryed in vain, so sweet a task,
For thence I know not how, there still breaths forth,
A secret vertue; which when once the foot,
But tends that way, doth stupifie the hand,
And nums with cold the vigour of the suol,
Even in the very Center of the heart.

Narete.
Hear a bewitching beauty, and a work,
Done by enchantments: Womens beauty is
(If yet you know it not) the Magick power
Of Heaven above, by which it works on Earth,
Those stranger wonders which weak men admire:
And that same heat and cold that courage, and
That trembling fear, with which when Heaven is pleas'd
To bridle and restrain a lovesick soul,
Are bare effects of her great Magick art;
'Gainst which, nor charm, nor hearb, nor pretious stone,
Hath power to help, for scarce can it avail,
To bear a rugged visage cover'd with,
A wrinkled skin, which many years agon
Was partch't with heat of the Suns burning beams:
Yet I that am thus armed, may perhaps,
More boldly venture on this enterprise
Then you can do, and bring to happy end
What you see unsuccesfully begun.

Niso.
Go on and prosper then.

Narete.
And stay you there.

Niso.
But hark Narete, hark, take heed thy noise
Do not awake her, for thou then shalt see
Her like a flash of lightning vanish straight,
And after her my silly heart will run
So hastily, as I shall not have time
To say, poor heart adieu.

Narete.
Stand you concealed then, for if she wake
And see not you, she will not fly for me.

Amyn.
Do'st hear, do'st hear.

Narete.
Good Heavens guard me.

Amyn.
Take heed least whilst thou do'st remove those thornes,
No prick do race her gentle tender skin.

Narete.
Thou seem'st more tender far then she:
Go back, and look, but yet be silent-still.

Niso.
Now he is there, and now he goes to work:
But ah! me thinks that hand whilst thus it moves,
Afflicts my jealous heart.

Narete.
Alas dear Shepherds, Oh! dear Shepherds run
Run quick, Ah me! for Celias either dead,
Or will be by and by.

Amyn.
Ah me!

Niso.
O fates! fair Celia dead?

Narete.
Here is no shadow, which can darken thus
Her clearer colour'd face.

Niso.
Oh Celia! life of my life:

Amyn.
But I have not the courage to behold
Her dying looks.

Niso.
Wilt thou not answer us? Ah me! sweet Celia.

Nar.
Niso, break thou those boughs, from off that bramble Bush,
And I will draw her forth upon the grass,

Amyn.
Say good Narete, doth she live or no?

Narete.
For all this motion, I cannot perceive
That yet she breaths again:
But let us lay her here.

Scen. 5.

Niso. Narete, Amyntas. Celia.

Oh my sweet Celia, Oh my dearest soul!

Nar.
Give way, that I may let her Bodice loose
And give ease to her breast.

Amyn.
Lives she Narete? say?

Narete.
Now I may feel her heart,
What leaves are these which in her bosome thus
Lye here conceal'd, as if they had of late
Been gather'd by her hand?

Amyn.
Comes she not yet unto her self?

Niso.
Oh sad discouler'd Roses, mixed with
This perfect snowy white: loe here the shape,
Which death should take, if death could then be made
Subject to love.

Narete.
O miserable, strange unheard of case!
O most unhappy Maid, unusual death!
O most cruel homicide!

Amyn.
Ah me! then is she dead?

Niso.
And who was he that was the Homicide?
Where is the wretch?

Amyn.
In what foul den, or in what horrid Cave
May the most hateful Tigre be found out?

Niso.
Let us pursue him straight.

Amyn.
Lets go,
Already I have kil'd him in my thoughts,
And now me thinks I tear him with my teeth
Down to the very heart,

Narete.
Fond frantick men, what fury thus transports
Your erring minds? or whither will you go?

Niso.
To seek revenge.

Narete.
Ah turn again blinde men, the murderer,
The Homicide is here.

Niso.
Come back Amyntas, her's our enemy.

Amyn.
And where?

Niso.
Where good Narete, where?

Narete.
See here at once, both she that did the deed,
And she that suffers under it, extinct:
Observe what here with her own proper hands
The unhappy maid hath written in these leaves:
For Niso and Amyntas, I did burn,
But I was cruel, and a faithless love;
And that I might not still be false to them,
And cruel to my self: Lo thus I dye.
O thousand, thousand times, most wofull chance!

Amyn.
Ah me!

Niso.
Ah me! so loud that Heaven it self may hear
Amyntas! ah Amyntas, was this fair?

Amyn.
Niso, for loves-sake peace, by all the Gods
Thou do'st me wrong thus to complain of me:
I lov'd by force, yet never made it known.

Niso.
And this thy silence now brings death to me.

Amyn.
Ah me! no more.

Niso.
But since fair Celia's dead, 'tis fit I dye;
And yet alas my death's not worthy hers.

Amyn.
Ah me!

Narete,
Yet I would see at least, how 'twas she dy'd.

Niso.
Amyntas ah! since thou did'st help to make
Me thus unhappy, help me now to mourn,

Narete.
Her fair white neck carries no guilty signe,
Of any strangling cord.

Amyn.
Ah me, poor soul, my grief is all shut up
Within my broken heart, and there it feeds
Onely on tears, and will not suffer one
To spring out of mine eyes.

Narete.
Nor is this place neer any precipice.

Amyn.
But cruel Wo, insatiable griefe,
Do thou devour my heart, and let my tears,
Distil out of mine eyes, give way at last
To pitty, that it may break up
The deep abyssus of my sad laments.

Narete.
Her dart is innocent of this offence.

Niso.
Sweet Celia, wilt thou not hear me yet?
Poor naked soul, to what place art thou fled?
Could'st thou endure to leave this comely frame
Here all alone, benum'd, and frozen thus?

Narete.
Her garments are untouch't:

Niso.
Come back, return, and look but once again
Upon this lovely feature, and then fly
From it, the second time, if thou hast power.

Narete.
What hearb is this wherewith her lap is fild?
Niso, Amyntas, run, run, quickly run,
Unto the nearest fountain:

Niso.
What neerer Fountain can there be found out
Then the fresh springing current of mine eyes?
Let us lament, our office is to mourn,
Let bathes, and funeral piles, be others care:

Narete.
Alas 'tis now no time to weep in vain,
Go, go, I say, fetch me some water straight
To bath her face withal, leave off, begon.

Amyn.
What other water needs there here to bath
Her face withal, which thou seest all bedew'd.
With our distilling tears?

Narete.
Then I must go my self.

Amynt.
Come, come, Narete, come, me-thinks she stirs.

Niso.
Quickly, Narete, come, fair Celia lives,
And 'gins to breath again.

Nar.
O blest eternal providence!
O happy tears! strange, powerful Antidote!
Which trickling down upon her face, prevails
Against this poysonous hearb, and so recals
Her wandring soul into her breast again.

Niso.
Ah Celia!

Amynt.
Celia!

Nar.
Disturb her not, see, she makes shew to rise;
Lend her your help.

Cel.
How hard and wearisom's the way to death?
I am quite tir'd; all my visage melts
Into faint drops of sweat.

Nar.
Amazed yet she raves, and thinks your tears
Are drops of sweat upon her fainting face.

Cel.
I am arriv'd at last within the skirts
Of the vast shady empire, and these are
The baleful Stygian fields.

Nar.
Go both of you and hold her up.

Cel.
Who presseth on me thus? now out, alass,
Behold th'infernal Monsters which are wont
In form of their abused Lovers to torment
False faithless souls,

Niso.
Ah Celia!

Cel.
Ah me!

Nar.
Go from her shepheards, go, and silent stand
Conceal'd apart, till I can undeceive
Her poor distracted fancie thus abus'd.

Cel.
And yet their looks renew within my soul
The wonted fire of love. Ah me, can then
Th'infernal Monsters breath out loving flames?
O hell is too too cruel, if it burn
With the hot flames of love.

Nar.
O daughter!

Cel.
But who is he with that white hoary beard?
Perhaps 'tis aged Charon, am I not
Yet past then to the other side?

Nar.
Celia, thou talk'st idlely, call again
Thy wandring sences, thou art yet alive;
And if thou wilt not credit what I say,
Look up and see the heavens turning round,
The Sun descending down into the West,
Which not long since thou sawst rise in the East:
Observe that with the motion of the air,
These fading leaves doe fall:
In the infernal region of the deep
The Sun doth never rise, nor never set,
Nor doth a falling leaf there ere adorn
Those black eternal plants;
Thou still art on the earth 'mongst mortal men,
And still thou liv'st: I am Narete, these
Are the sweet fields of Scyros, know'st thou not
The meddow where the Fountain springs? this wood?
Euro's great mountain, and Ormino's hill?
The hill where thou wert born? why do'st thou look
So wistly round about? thou know'st them all;
Speak then, leave musing, art not yet awake?

Cel.
I am alive then, it is too too true,
Narete saith it, yet my sence of grief
Makes me beleeve it rather true then he,
But I was dead, and once I was below
Within deaths empire, and there one by one
Saw all the hellish furies, horrid hags,
And fearful torments which doe there abide,
Who then had power to draw me thus by force
Out of th'infernal deep?

Nar.
Thy wofull lovers mourning for thy death,
Were able by their tears to give thee life.

Cel.
'Twas ill for me, their tears had power to make
Even hell it self seem pittifull; but sure
'Twas not their tears; for I am well assur'd
Where Hydra's hiss, and bawling Cerberus
Sends out his howling noise, no other voice
Can there be heard.
It was the horror of this faithless soul
Which horrid hell it self could not endure
But sent it back: And woes me do I live?
Doe I live still? and is my hatefull life
The vomit of th'infernal pit?

Niso.
Mark good Narete how she is involv'd
In the chymeraes still of hell and death.

Cel.
Unhappy life, when even death it self
Proves false to thy desires.

Nar.
Do you without disturbing her take heed
She doe not come again to her despair,
And act a second death.

Cel.
But thou eternal justice of the heavens,
Thou happily art pleased to decree
That being doubly false, I should return
Into this life again, that once again
I might submit to death, and double death,
Might so revenge my double hearted sin.

Niso.
But thou, Narete, whither do'st thou go?
Ah leave us not here all alone to act
So hard a part as this.

Nar.
I goe into the valley of Alcander, and
Will straight return with hearbs to purge the brain,
And free her from this extasie.

Cel.
To death then let us go, to death.

Scen. 6.

Amyntas, Celia, Niso.
Amynt.
To death my Celia? to death again?
If thou wilt needs be dying, take this soul,
This grieved soul of mine, and dye with it,
For thou canst never dye unless it flit
Out of this wounded breast.

Niso.
He speaks to her, yet she flies not away.

Celia.
Why art thou so unwilling I should dye?
Wilt thou deny me then a remedy
Against my wo? wilt thou contend against
The just decree of heaven?

Niso.
Nay more, she hears him, and doth answer him.

Amynt.
The heavens prescribe another remedy
Now to thy woes, then by a second death.

Cel.
What other remedy canst thou beleeve
My woes can find, since even death it self,
Which is the end of all mans ill, cannot
Yet put an end unto my miseries?

Niso.
But I will soon break off this their so sweet
And amorous discourse.

Amynt.
My death, not thine, and with my death the lo
Of Niso, now the heavens have decreed
To be the remedy for all thy ills.

Niso.
But I will not disturb them, I will first
With silence hear them speak.

Cel.
Ah! ah!

Amynt.
Do not disdain me, first with favour hear
The reasons I can bring. Dear Celia,
If thou do'st love thy Niso—

Niso.
He pleads against me now.

Amynt.
With reason thou do'st love thy Niso the,
Niso deserves thy love, Niso that knew
How to take fire so quickly from thy flame,
Even then when dying he did open first
His dazled eyes to gaze upon thy light:
And happy he, though late he saw the sun,
Yet late it was not ere his fire begun.
So that in Scyros he may rightly be
Esteem'd a new come guest, but cannot yet
Be tax'd for tardy love.

Niso.
Where will he pitch? what is it he intends?

Amynt.
In me, alass, what canst thou well discern?
Which may deserve thy love? who every way
Voyd of desert, do love and burn 'tis true;
But like a sensless block that's good for nought,
Such sensless blocks are long ere they take fire,
But burn to ashes straight; and such am I,
That could for many years behold those eyes,
And never yet take fire: So late a love
Cannot deserve such speedy pitty then,
I am not worth thy love, nor doe I crave
Thy smallest pitty, such a blessedness
Great love denies me, I do onely beg
That thou wouldst let me dye, and that my death,
Thrice happy death may so restore thee to
Thy perfect health again: then mayst thou love
Amyntas and thy Niso too, and yet
Be neither cruel, nor a faithless love;
For loving one alive, the other dead,
Him thou mayst love, enjoying love again.
Me thou mayst love in mourning for my pain,
Nor shalt thou mourn too long, one gentle tear
Shed for my death, shall pay for all my sighs,
And thou thy self shalt then with endless joy
Enjoy thy Niso's love.

Niso.
O unaccustomed piety both of a friend
And of a faithfull love, I did him wrong
To doubt his truth, but now I do repent.

Amynt.
Then live still both, and may you happy live
Whilst I dye for you both, and here I make
A solemn vow to sacrifice my life
To thee great love, and in thy Temple there
Let this poor carkass rest.

Niso.
There is no longer time for silence now,
'Twere baseness to continue still reserv'd,
I have a heart can die Amyntas, too
Yea and a soul that can desire to dye,
Nay life it self is onely dear to me,
That I may live to dye, and by my death
Make both my love, and friend live happily.

Cel.
Shepheards forbear, be silent both, and both
Content your selves, 'tis I, 'tis only I
That have transgrest, and only I must dye,
Live both, still live, and take no pitty on
A cruel, pittiless, and savage beast,
Let not the love of a most faithless love
Warm either of your hearts: Can you beleeve
This face, these eyes, these hapless dangling locks
Oregrown with grief, refus'd by palefac'd death,
Can ever now be worthy of your love?
Or love still if you will, Ile not gain say't:
But yet love so, that love may breath disdain,
No pitty in your hearts:
I love Amyntas, doth not Niso then
Hate me therefore?
And I love Niso, can Amyntas then
Be free from jealous hate? Ah me! if both,
If both of you hate not my falshood now
'Tis too too sure you doe not love me then;
Love is not there where when just cause doth move
He breaths not fury 'gainst a faithless love:
Woes me you injur'd lovers do not strive
Betwixt your selves, which of you dying now
Should giue me life; rather contend for this,
Which of you both should be the first to strike
Me dying to the heart; for 'tis high time
That I my self should now conspire with you
Against my self, and each of us should bring
His talent to the work: you hands of wrath,
And I my naked breast; you your just darts,
And I my guilty soul; and when you first
Have pierc'st my heart I will breath out my life.
Thus you by wounding, I by dying shall
Revenge your wrongs, and crown my funeral.

Scen. 4.

Filino, Celia, Amyntas, Niso.
Fil.
And art thou here? whom I had almost past
Without perceiving thee, I ran so fast:
Ah Celia! dost thou not know thy Cloris? ah!
What heavy news of Cloris dost thou bring,
Which may deserve these sighs?
Say, doth she live or dye?

Filino.
Ah me, she dyes.

Amyn.
Unhappy fate.

Niso.
What's that he saith?

Celia.
Woes me! and where? and how?

Filino.
Within the Vale.

Celia.
Quickly dispatch.

Filino.
Gently, for I can scarce recover breath.
Within the Valley of Alcander, there
I left her even now, and there she lyes,
Not in the shade, or on the new sprung grass,
But in the parching heat, of the Suns beams,
Amongst rude rugged stones: there with sad sighs,
She took her leave of Heaven, and this fair light,
And with a mournful voice, bad death make hast:
But he was too too near, I saw him there,
Where he already with his wings abroad,
Had cast a gloomy shaddow ore her face.

Niso.
O most unhappy day!

Celia.
Ah me! what sad occasion wrought,
This sad effect in her?

Amyn.
Perhaps the rumour which is spread abroad
Of thy late death, Oh Celia! was the cause:
For if thou dye, who would remain alive?

Niso.
Amyntas! is this Cloris, unto whom,
I gave the Ring.

Amyn.
The very same.

Celia.
O sad misfortune! most unhappy chance!

Niso.
Let us go thither Celia, and perhaps
We may find some relief.

Celia.
Filino, lets go.

Amyn.
Where is it that thou say'st she lies?

Filino.
Within the Valley of Alcandor, close
Within the wood, and yet not far away,
From the fresh springing fountain, there
You cannot miss: but I will now return
Unto my flocks, to play with my young Kid.

Celia.
Ah! Cloris, my sweet soul, the Heavens grant,
That I may find thee but alive, and then,
I cannot doubt, but when thou hear'st what cause
I have to dye, thou wilt approve of all,
Give thy consent, and parting kindly say:
Rest my dear heart in peace.

Filino.
Ho! Niso, hark, a word with thee.

Niso.
What i'st?

Fil.
'Twas almost quite forgot.

Niso.
Speak quickly then for Celio flies away.

Folino.
Stay, take it away thy self,
She put it on, but I cannot undo't.

Niso.
Yes, yes, this is my Ring, thanks to the Gods:
But yet what's this I see? here is the part
Which Phillis had to boot: 'tis certain true,
For round about it plainly do appear,
The figures now entire, which in mine own,
Were but by halves before.
My Filino where hadst thou this?

Filino.
Cloris did give it me.

Niso.
And where had she it then?

Filino.
I know not that; but when I softly came
Unto the place where she did mourning sit:
I saw it lye before her on the ground,
And with her weeping eyes still fixt thereon,
She bath'd it with her tears, and often cryed,
O false ungrateful Thirsis! O unhappy Phillis!

Amyn.
Ah me, what can this be? go on, go on.

Filino.
And whether wouldst thou have me go?

Niso.
How did she give it thee? what did she say?

Filino,
She saw me and cal'd to me, I obey'd,
And with her hand, but a faint trembling hand,
Cold as a stone about my neck she clasp'd
This hoop of gold, and weeping to me said,
But in a tone that I could scarcely hear,
So weak her voice was: gentle boy, quoth she,
Go, and the Heavens guide thee, go with speed:
Carry this Ring, that none my see it else,
Unto the Shepherd whom men here do call
Niso, and say to him,—

Niso.
What should'st thou say to him?

Filino.
Disturb me not: Yes, yes 'twas even so,
Say that in this entire round hoop of gold:
He in Egyptian Charracters may read
The falsified faith of Thirsis: say I wish
That he may still live happy in his love,
As I unhappy dye.

Niso.
Ah me, 'tis Phillis, out of doubt,
What need I fear? yet see me now become
In my best fortune, most unfortunate:
O my sweet Phillis, is it then decreed,
That I should finde thee once again alive:
Onely to be th'occasion of thy death?
Was not thy death sufficient in it self,
To make me miserable every way,
Unless my self became thy murderer?

Filino.
If thou wilt nothing more with me, I'me gon.

Niso.
But thou unhappy Ring that all at once,
Art both th'accuser, and the guilty cause,
Of my foul fault, go thou into the depth
Of dark oblivion.

Filino.
Alas 'tis thrown into the stream.

Niso.
There, there, accuse my fault, prepare my pains
And thither er't be long ile follow thee.

Filino.
He's grown so furious, and so without sence,
As I begin to be amaz'd with fear,
And therefore Ile be gon.

Niso.
Fool that I am, what have I done? I err'd
For happily my Phillis, is not dead,
But say she be not yet, 'tis too too sure
That I have given her a mortal wound,
And what i'st, I can hope for, can I think
To hide the foul injustice of my Crime?
Under a faint dismal? No: See then
The just revenge of love that made me thus,
With mine own tongue, and that before her face
With thousand wicked sighs, and faithless tears,
Accuse my self of infidelity:
But be it as it will, alive or dead
I wil go seek her out, and so will dye
Just at her foot, that for my death at least
If for nought else, I may seem dear to her.
O Celia, Celia, love Amyntas now,
Faithful Amyntas, live with him, and leave
Me to dye for my Phillis, if I can
Do nothing else, yet I can dye for her,
I will dye for my Phillis: lead the way,
Where art thou Fillino? but he is gone,
Who now shall be my guide? Ile take my chance
To him in whose vext heart despair resides
Fury and rage are the most certain guides.