University of Virginia Library

Scene 2.

After some intermission, three Nymphs appear on the Scene, their heads crown'd with garlands; The sleeves of their garments turn'd up above the elbow, from whence fals a fine transparent lawn plated and frows'd towards the hand; whereto with bracelets of pearl they seem fastned: With gilt Quivers by their sides; And each an ivory bow in her hand; the lower part of the garment turn'd up on their hips; Which discovers their gilt buskins to the mid-leg.
Galatea, Leonida, Sylva.
Leonida.
This sure's the place; see how th'impetuous Brook
Seems that outlying Bank to over-look;
Then turning swiftly in his am'rous Chase,
Doth ev'n with clasped arms the Shelf embrace.
Consider well, that little tuft of Trees,
How well toth' glasses Figure it agrees.

Galatea.
Yet is this unfrequented place, in sense,
Unlike to satisfie our chief Pretence.

Sylva.
'Tis not without appearance; for no Tree
The glass did represent, we here not see.

Galatea.
Well, since this seems most likely to the place,
Let's, for the issue, here attend a space.

Sylva.
Pointing with her hand, discovers Celadon in the River.
See! how that shepheard hangeth o're the deep;
As rekeless of his life, he seems asleep:

Galatea.
Peace, Sylva peace, disturb him not awhile,
We will his pretty Secrets him beguile.

Leonida.
His hanging limbs float on each beating wave;
What you his Bed think, I believe his Grave;
They haste and take him up.
Madam, 'tis guilt this doubt not to decide,
Slow Charity may prove an Homicide.

Galatea.
Shee seems struck with love.
Wonder of Nature! hath Death took this shape
To make of mortals a more facile Rape?
Cupids unbanded Beauties being displaid,
Compar'd to this dead Figures seem to fade.
Or could these Graces in their Sphears but move,
They'd force again from heav'n the Queen of Love,
And make the horned Goddess of the Night
Forsake her Orb; here she might place her light.
Bow gently his fair Corps; comes yet not heat?
She laies her hand on his breast.
Me thinks I feel his panting heart to beat.
You Gods, by whose appointment here I stand
To take that Bliss you promis'd to my hand,
Afford him breath with mutual Flames to burn,
Or else inclose our ashes in one Urn.

Sylva.
Madam, he breaths?

Leonida.
Some fitter place must give
A second succor, 'ere he seem to live.

Galatea.
Bear him to Coach! his welfare is my own;
Or live, or die, our beings are but one.