University of Virginia Library

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.