University of Virginia Library

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.