 | The Extravagant Sheepherd |  |
Scene II.
Enter to them Angelica, Anselme, Charita.Ang.
Sheepherds believ't my joy's beyond compare,
(To Mon. and Lucid.)
To see you so well act the Sheepherds part;
Blush not Lucida, Phillis and Lycidas,
15
And great Diana nere refus'd to talk
With Paris, or Syliander from the rest.
Lucid.
You make a just construction, yet I doubt
Who ere accuses me, may do the same,
If Polidor's discourse had pleas'd you lesse,
You would perhaps have sooner found us out.
Mont.
Sister, she hits you home with her reply.
(To Angel.
Angel.
Sh'as reason, I confesse, for what she sayes:
Our coming sooner might have more disturb'd ye,
Had he had nothing private to say to me.
Char.
Thus may all four (methinks) live full content,
Mean while I have my share among ye too,
While sweets on sweets are heaped up for you,
I'm fain to entertain my selfe with thoughts.
Angel.
Yet we are taught to understand thy worth,
Whose beauty has, this day, begot such Rivals.
Char.
Build not so much upon anothers ruine,
My time perhaps may come as well as yours.
Angel.
I were an Infidel if I should doubt it,
Since Clarimond becomes a Sheepherd for thee.
Char.
Knowing, that for my sake, our foole thus sighs,
He ought at least to swear't for laughters sake.
Yet faith, let him dissemble as he please,
Wee'l see at last how well he will escape.
Angel.
Thou never speak'st to thine own disadvantage.
Char.
I hate the foolish use of a false vertue;
Who from himselfe expects nought, nought receives.
Methinks our Rival-Sheepherds tarry long.
Ansel.
'Tis here that Lysis leads his Flock to feed,
And we shall see him here ere it be long.
Angel.
He has a Language may be call'd his own.
Ans.
His discourse heretofore was lesse unsmooth,
But since he Virgil read, in Bumbast verse,
His Tongue is laden with Fantastique Words,
And thinks that all the Gods speak just the same,
And concludes that the best of Dialects.
Angel.
He has an empty skull.—
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So dull a head!
That he could not discern me by my voice,
When I instead of Echo answered him.
Mon.
Can he endure your jesting, being mad?
But—hist,—I heare him sing.
Lucid.
Pray hide your selves,
And be spectators of our raillery;
Ile give him now his belly-full of Love.
Angel.
Nay hold, pray first let's heare his courtly Aire.
(They all hide themselves behinde the Trees, except Lucida, who accosts him after he hath sung.)
| The Extravagant Sheepherd | |