University of Virginia Library

Scene 3.

Lycidas encounters Astræa and Phillis.
Lycidas.
His Bodie's lost, him churlish Fate denies
Ev'n pious Rites of mournful Obsequies;
Celadons hat he holds in his hand, he flings it on the Scene with a little astonishment.
This slender Monument is all it gives,
In whose despite, yet in all hearts he lives.
How? Astræa! Can you restrain a Tear
For him, to whom, then Life, you were more dear?
Though his so faithful Love you have forgot,
Yet on Humanity lay not such a spot:
Thus unbewail'd of thee liv'd he again
But to behold, he surely twice were slain.

Astræa.
Gentle shepheard! thy brother truly had
Parts considerable might afflict the bad.
'Tis not his Love, his Death can make me mourn;
That Loss is light, where many Shares are born.

Lycidas.
For Charities sake disquiet not the Dead,
By unknown Ils, thus heaping on his head.
The world thy jealousie will much deride,
If thou but think, his heart he could divide,
His parents Threats, Inemnity of blood,
His purer Fire ever hath withstood.
Those unsought conquests, which his Beauty made,
His jealous Love to cherish was afraid:
Nay, I believe the less-priz'd-Deity
Thus punisht his Idolatry of thee.

Astræa.
It is no new thing Shepheard, what I say,
Whereto each eye was witness ev'ry day;
Which, undiscover'd, often heard I have,
While to Aminta his vow'd Love he gave.

Lycidas.
Just heav'n, you have disclos'd I plainly see,
The guilty author of this Tragedie.
Celadon, of Love, and Courage had too much,
To live, and hear, that Tongue this Theame but touch:
For his Obedience he is justly paid,
His greatest Crime was that he thee obey'd:
How oft on bended knees hath he besought
Thee to revoke this burthen from his Thought,
And to impose on him a milder Death,
Then fan a loathed Flame with fained breath?
Thou answer'd'st, no thou shall perform this Wyle,
Our hostil Parents that we may beguile;
And those respects of Love that I you see
Tender to her, Ile take as done to me.
Take this, not thy unstable doubts to clear,
He flings her a Letter.
But that thy Guilt more Horror yet might wear,
If more thou seek'st; that Cypress tender Ryne,
More sensible then thou, more speaks thy Crime.
May'st thou, what Punishment guilt e're hath try'd,
Sue for, as Mercy, and be it deny'd.
VVhile thy remorseful Soul by civil Jar,
Setteth thy Self against thy Self at war.
Lyci. Exit.

Astræa.
How wild a Sea chafes my unstable Mind!
What I must seek, were even hell to find.
If just, I'm clear; if unjust be my Hate,
Each day a Death my Crime shall expiate.
These Lights are stop'd with issue of my Tears;
Whilst I unlade Them, unlade thou my Fears.

She gives her the Letter.
Phillis.
VVould heav'n I could so soon bring to thee Rest.
'Tis Celadons writing; be not so opprest.

Enquire no longer the actions of my life, in asking me
She reads the Letter.
what I do; know, still I continue in my wonted pain,
to love, yet not dare to shew the same. Not love, yet vow
the contrary. Dear brother, this is all the exercise, or
rather punishment of thy Celadon. Men say two contraries
cannot be in one and the same place at one and the
same time; Nevertheless, true love, and fained, are the
frequent actions of my life; Wonder not thereat; for I am
forced to one by the perfection, to the other, by the command
of my Astræa: If this seem strange to thee, remember that

Miracles are the ordinary works of Divinitie; And
what can we less expect from my Deity!

Astræa.
Speaking to her self somewhat mov'd.
Art thou so hardned with the use of Ill,
As to withstand this Guilt, and not distill
Into a Sea? while thy unbounded Course
The narrow banks of guiltless Lignon force,
And from him, with his Channel, take his Name,
Lest after Ages, him, for thee should blame.
Here she turns to the Cypres tree, where Licidas had told her she should find more concern'd that subject.
And thou, sad subject of Apollo's verse,
Who mak'st ev'n sorrow lovely on each Herse,
Still fresh in mourning, as thou didst request,
When thy rash Hand had rob'd thee of thy Rest,
Thou more innocent Embleme of my Fate,
Denounce, if more thou know'st, t'inlarge Self-hate.

Phillis.
These Characters are fresh; the same subject,
Shee seems to look on the trunk of the tree. Shee seems to read them.
And the same Hand, did sure the same direct.
Why tyrant Love constrain'st me to a Fact
Against those Laws thou dost thy self enact,
Forcing those Rites are onely due to thee,
Be tender'd to a strangers Deity?
Be more Just to thy Self, to me less Cruel,
And take my Life for thy displeasures fuel.

Astræa.
Each sensless thing upbraid's me my Offence,
Whil'st my own Guilt yields them Intelligence;
Shee takes the hat up.
Thou unsuspected messenger of Love,
VVhich to and fro in harmless Sports be'ng drove
Shee looking in the hat, betwixt the linings discovers a Letter, with a little astonishment.
Into each others hands, conveyd'st our Lines,
Yet standers by partook not our Designs;
Did'st thou so little of thy Master know,
That to revenge his Death, thou'st naught to show?

Fair Astræa, if the Dissimulation which you enjoyn
be to kill me, you may more easily effect the same by
one word from your mouth; If it be to punish my Presumption,
you are too just a Judge to inflict less punishment
then Death. If it be to trie the Power you have
over me, why make you not choice of a more sudden Experiment
then this, whose length can be but wearisome
to you. I cannot believe 'tis to conceal our Amity, as you
pretend; Since not being able long to live in so much Constraint,
my Death Will, without doubt; give too sudden
and deplorable Testimony thereof: Believe it, fair
Astræa, what I have suffered is enough; 'tis now time
you suffer me to act the personage of Celadon; having
so long, and with so much pain, represented One that of
all those in the world is most contrary to him.

Astræa.
Thou nought canst add, I was so full before,
Thou shalt again exhausted Grief restore,
Whilst restless I Lifes weary minutes tell,
In Swan-like plaints sounding my Funeral knell.

Phillis.
To her self; then takes her by the hand, who seems to rest on her.
Sorrows first shock to no Advice will yield;
Who struggle with't, wound, what they thought to shield.