University of Virginia Library

Scen: 3.

Narete, Niso, Cloris.

Look daughter it is Niso; Niso, ho!
Where hast thou left thy Celia? whats become
Of young Amyntas that I see him not?

Niso.
O my Narete, in how short a space
How great a change is wrought in me, 'tis strange
That thou shouldst know me now, I am no more
That Niso that I was, nor can I say
That now I live: fair Celia's no more mine,
Amyntas is with her, and they are gone
To seek out Cloris; and 'tis Cloris I
Am seeking too, canst thou then tell me where
Alive or dead fair Cloris may be found?

Nar.
She is alive, and is not far from hence;
But what is this thou sayst? and whats the cause
That thus doth trouble and perplex thy thoughts?

Niso.
That thou shalt hear anon, but tell me first
Where Cloris is; and is she then alive?
Is she not far from hence?

Clo.
And yet I cannot but behold his face:
O with what sweetness under those fair locks
Lyes maskt so false a heart?

Nar.
See where she is:
Cloris come forth, 'tis Niso, child, come forth.

Niso.
Ah me, Ime dead!

Nar.
Thou heardst but even now, that Celia, he,
And young Amyntas ran from place to place
To seek thee out, and thou from thence mayst see
How Nymphs and Shepheards are perplexed with
The rumour of thy death.

Niso.
And could I see the light of those fair eyes,
Blind that I am, and yet not know them straight?

Clo.
Thou dost not know this man, Narete, if
The rumour of my death have troubled him,
It is delight, not pitty doth disturb
His fancy then: 'Twas he that caus'd my death,
And he but comes to glory in it now.

Nar.
Caus'd he thy death? Niso dost thou not hear
What 'tis she saith?

Niso.
Alass, what shall become of me? can I
Yet have the heart to speak to her? can she
With patience hearken unto what I say?

Nar.
He answers not, nor can I understand
What 'tis he mutters to himself apart.

Niso.
Love at so great a need inspire my heart,
Grant me those looks are worthy of my grief,
Do thou direct my words:
Phillis! ah my dear Phillis! Ah me!

Nar.
Phillis, art thou, or Cloris?

Niso.
Ah me I cannot, sighs will stop my words.

Narete.
Shee's so besides her self, she takes no care
What 'tis I say: But tell me Niso, then.

Niso.
Phillis, my dearest soul:

Narete.
My dearest soul? this phrase too sounds of love,
But sure my voice decays, and that's the cause,
I am not understoop.

Niso.
I was deceiv'd, poor soul, I was deceiv'd.

Narete.
I may be yet a silent looker on,
And see a wonder here.

Niso.
O do not turn thy face another way,
Perhaps thou thinkest by denying thus
That lovely visage to these eyes of mine
To punish my misdeeds, but think not so,
Look on me still, and mark me what I say,
For, if thou knowst it not, Ile tell thee then
A more severe revenger of thy wrongs,
Thou canst not have then those fair eyes of thine,
Which by those shining beams that wound my heart,
Punish me more then all the world can do.
What greater pain can'st thou inflict on me,
Then still to keep as fire before my face
That lovely beauty, which I have betrayd?
That beauty I have lost? I have done ill,
Wretch that I am, I have done very ill:
And though I do complain, beleeve not yet
I hope to purchase pardon by my plaints:
I know too well, that from this breast of mine,
And from these eyes, which could both sigh and weep
For others love, No sigh, no tear can fall,
Which can have power to purchase ought of thee
And since that nothing but my death can please,
Let then my death beg pardon for my fault,
Such powerful Sutors should not be deny'd.
Deny not then the thing it onely craves,
For I will dye, and do thou pardon me,
That's all I beg, both for my wandring soul
And for this frame when it is turn'd to dust.

Cloris.
Shepherd the Heavens know, and love can tell
Whether thou hast done ill, or no, he can
Punish thy fault, and let him pardon thee,
I a mean Silly Shepherdess, a poor
Abused maid, forsaken, and forlorn.
Have no disdain, which he need to regard,
Who did so slenderly regard my love.

Niso.
Ah me!

Clo.
Ah Thirsis! Thirsis!

Narete.
Phillis was she before, now Thirsis he.

Clo.
Thou falsifier of those amorous sighs,
Can it be thou that mournest? can it be?
And thou that hast already kill'd me thus;
Can it be thou that with such fervent zeal,
Desirest now to dye, and dye for me?
Cannot thy stony heart rest satisfied
With my tormenting pain, unless thou strive
Even in thy pitty to be cruel too?
'Tis faigned pitty, and those sighs are faign'd:
I know them too too well, faign'd are thy tears,
Thy grief is feign'd, and feigned thy desire;
Yet can I not endure to see thee greeve,
Thou I am sure thou dost but feign to greeve,
The very naming of thy death affrights
My poor afflicted soul: be quiet then
And live, since thou hast one will dye for thee:
Live and in peace enjoy thy new lov'd love,
In which if thou hadst freedom by the bruit,
Of my supposed (and perhaps, by thee
Long wisht for death) I do not now desire
My life should be the accuser of thy faults,
Or interrupt thy joys: No I will dye,
Take courage then, Ile dye, and pray the Heavens
They may not arm their fierce revengeful wrath,
Against thy faults, for if thou didst offend
This heart endures for thee such horrid pains
That heaven may well accept my sufferings
For all thy foul offence: Why say I mine?
No they are thine I had them all from thee,
And I endure them all to set thee free.