The Extravagant Sheepherd A Pastorall Comedie |
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 | The Extravagant Sheepherd |  |
Scene II.
Lysis, Clarimond.Lysis.
Pan guard thee Sheepherd, whither art thou going?
Art thou dispos'd to taste our Sheepherds fare?
I have some other fruits within my pouch,
And those wee'l share, and feast the best we can:
And if we thirst, the River is not far.
Pray take your place.—
Clar.
I thank ye, Ile not eate,
I have no stomach,—but good Sir, resolve me,
What great, important businesse brings you hither?
Lys.
I like thy freedome, and I love thee for't:
To be inquisitive doth argue Wit,
And Curiosities when th'are discreet.
Cl.
O no more complement!—what art thou prethee?
Lys.
What am I? Sure thou canst not but discerne:
Sheepherd (I thank God Pan) I am a Sheepherd—
But what remote Country dost thou inhabit
3
For though thy garments differ much from mine,
I guesse thou art a Shepherd too.
Cl.
'Tis true,
I am indeed so, and perhaps to morrow
I shall more plainly shew you what I am,
In the meane time, may I know your condition?
Lys.
I'me too good Natur'd to deny thee that.—
Sit downe.
(Sitting down by him)
Cl.
Who e're saw such extravagance?
Lys.
For thy sake, I'le put up my fruits againe,
To me the Hour's indifferent, and you know
A good Discourse is better than a Feast,
Besides the brizes that refresh these plaines,
Make the place very proper for our Story.
To me the Hour's indifferent, and you know
A good Discourse is better than a Feast,
Besides the brizes that refresh these plaines,
Make the place very proper for our Story.
Know then that Love, (that Son of Chaos) who
So often doth disturbe his mothers rest,
And were it not for whom we Sheepherds might
Scorne the felicity of greatest Kings,
This blinde cleare-sighted God, this peevish Boy,
Endeavour'd to enslave me from my youth:
But, knowing how he us'd to treat his Captives,
I still avoided that mischievous God;
And I had fool'd him yet a thousand times,
If to subdue this heart so long assail'd;
Finding that all his Forces were too weake,
He had not call'd Charita to his aide,—
Charita!—oh how that faire name doth ravish!
So often doth disturbe his mothers rest,
And were it not for whom we Sheepherds might
Scorne the felicity of greatest Kings,
This blinde cleare-sighted God, this peevish Boy,
Endeavour'd to enslave me from my youth:
But, knowing how he us'd to treat his Captives,
I still avoided that mischievous God;
And I had fool'd him yet a thousand times,
If to subdue this heart so long assail'd;
Finding that all his Forces were too weake,
He had not call'd Charita to his aide,—
Charita!—oh how that faire name doth ravish!
Cl.
Shee's faire then?
Lys:
Fair? faire with Hyperbole,
Heap up a thousand fairest things together,
Thinke of the Lillies beauties, and of Roses,
And borrow for her eyes the Sun's bright rayes;
Plant on each cheek the best Vermilian Dye,
Then with a faithful Pensil vively paint—
(Scratches his head)
Wel Sheepherd (to be brief) conclude her fair.
Cl.
Wonderfull piece!
Lys.
It was at Paris, where
4
Cl.
And as shee then took you, so you took her!
Lys.
Could she hold out against so great deserts?
I shall not tell thee, what sweet Trances then
I felt, and with what Extasies transported,
Nor how to make her yeilding to my sighs,
I dy'd a thousand times, as oft reviv'd,
I'le onely tell thee, that my greatest blisse
Proceeded from a project which Love taught her.
Perswading her to come, and live in Brie,
Here to revive the antient Sheepherds Life,
Some five or sixe dayes since she hither came,
And made my blisse that of the Gods exceed,
For truly I know none, so perfect, as
To live a Sheepherd, and to sway the Crook.
Ther's neither Tree, nor Rock, in all these parts
Wherein we have not Character'd our Loves;
And were it not for one thing that I feare—
Cl.
Dost thou feare ought?
Lys.
Yes lest some ugly Satyre,
Lest some Goat-footed God, enamour'd of her,
Finde her alone, and maugre all her cries—
Cl.
Fie, no, your Love's too apprehensive; here's
No Satyre, but o're whom I doe command,
Rest satisfied.
Lysis
(rising.)
Doe you then give them Lawes?
Clar.
They know me well, and tremble under me.
Ly.
(kneels.)
Great Deity of these our sacred Groves!
Accept the homage of thy prostrate Sheepherd;
For 'tis to Pan I speak, who in my love
T'assist me, is thus purposely disguis'd,
Thy more than humane looks makes that too cleare.
Pardon me that I knew thee not before;
Henceforth upon thy Sacred Altars, I
Will daily offer store of Milk and Wine,
And every Month will choose the fattest Lamb
Of all my Flocks, to be thy Sacrifice.
Clar.
What meane you Sheepherd?
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Suffer me this day;—
Cl.
You injure Pan to worship Me for him,
Observe Mee well; for such a Festivall,
I doe both want his Hornes, and cloven-feet.
Lys.
Your mortall habit hides Divinity—
| The Extravagant Sheepherd | |