University of Virginia Library

Actus quartus.

Scæna prima.

Enter Hircan, Anselm.
Hircan.
His eyes betray the secrets of his soule,
Th'have more than once inform'd me of his flame,
And I've too well observ'd Lucida's love
Alone engag'd him to become a Sheepherd,
So that from the first moment that I knew it,
I fed his fires in suff'ring them to rise;
And I can now no more, without injustice,
Forget a secret promised consent,
Montenor's worthy, but, for all his merit,
Th'intrest of my Sister more weighs with me;
I am her Brother, and she must remember,
That though she give her self, he cannot have her.

Ansel.
Think not that his extream affection
Would imploy any but himselfe to gain her;
And in that conquest he presum'd his strong
Endeavours should prevaile 'bove humane Empire:
But do he what he can, a brother's needfull
To force that duty so resolv'd in silence,
And which, though you consent not, will not suffer
A sigh escape, that may detect his secret.

Hircan.
If this sole obstacle thwart his desires,
He ought to praise th'effect of a fair cause:
But Ile take order strait to stop its progress.

Ansel.
For mine own int'rest, I presume to press you,
For (if I must explain my selfe) I saw
Less in my self, than in fair Angelica;
I adore her, and her brother aids my vowes,
But yet to crown them he must first be happy:
That's passion finding kind effects, may let him
See, without Envy, my Felicity.

Hircan.
Heel see it doubtless, and's contented mind
Shall have that fair success your love attends:
But now 'tis time our Past'rall Sports give way
To pleasures of a nobler quality.
Lysis too much is fool'd, and w'ave too long
Cherisht an Errour which ere this had ended.

Ansel.
Your Art's incapable of such a cure.

Hircan.
Yet 'tis by that I make him tractable:
In our last Scene he so rely'd upon me,
That in a flying Chair I sent him home.

Ansel.
Yet more of Amaryllis?

Hircan.
Somewhat of Mysterie
Made up the charm and spoil'd the Sheepherdess:
Then with a secret Spell's unerring power,
I was to force the Nymph to entertain him.
You know the entertainment, what address
He made to's Mistriss in that interview,
Which mov'd her on the fiction of his death
To speak, and countenance his airy Fables.

Ansel.
He's very full of them.

Hircan.
Th'are all his study:—
But as I long to be alone again,
Charita, who I see's arriv'd i'th' Park,
Is a faire obstacle to one would muse,
I therefore must avoid her—fare ye well.

Ex.
Ansel.
'Tis a dark solitory humour, this.

Scene II.

Enter (to him) Charita, Lucida.
Ansel.
What, without Lysis beauteous Sheepherdess?

Char.
The Nymph i'th' Hall at leisure entertains him,
Where Maugre all his love respect retaines him:
But why doth Hircan shun us with such cares?

Ansel.
Faith he's injurious to Charita's beauty.

Char.
But Ile be satisfied since't has no witness.

Lucid.
'Tis solitude that busies all his care,
And any pastime that's without himself,
Is a great torment to his musing minde.

Ansel.
You will not find it in that kind consent,
(to Lucid.)
Which he gives freely to an happy Lover.
Montenor.—

Lucid.
Sister pray admire with me,
(to Charita.)
That Plain, which gives us here so sweet a prospect.

Char.
But—Sister there is mystery in this language.
Does your mind wander with your eyes or no?
What, you blush?

Lucid.
Pish away.

Char.
Well, I pardon
The so secret disorder of your heart:
I fine.—

(to Anselm.)
Lucid.
You credit then this Barber's talk?

Ansel.
No, no, give no belief to what I say.
Farewell, Ile seek one that in this affaire,
Shall have more Rhetorick to perswade you: I
At least am sure, upon such pleasing terms,
Montenor rather will hear me than you.

Exit.

Scene III.

Manent Charita, Lucida.
Char.
But Sister, is he gone without more words?

Lucid.
I endure all from you who onely seek
To laugh.—

Char.
Indeed—but let us speak in earnest;
Let's call him back again t'explain himself.

Lucid.
Wherefore should I desire his explanation?

Char.
Oh the sad Vertue that now stings thy mind!
Doth Montenor, in all his service to you,
Shew mean effects of an indifferent zeal?

Lucid.
If I believe his sighs, I reign in's soul.

Char.
Doubtless you are ingrateful to his flame.

Lucid.
And wherefore should his hopes by me be flatter'd?
Can he be ignorant of what's my desires?
If he hath gain'd my Brother, what needs more?

Char.
Indeed this modest answer fits our times;
It's worthy you, and I my selfe esteem it:
But 'mong our selves let's lay by all disguise;
Confess with me our mindes are easily
Led thither, whither we desire to go,
And that they need not struggle for obedience,
When as our Duty, and our Love agree.
But when that Love, which does command in chief,
Finds in that Duty that which would depress it,
It quickly cures us of that ancient errour,
Which would debarre us to dispose our hearts.
No, no, if Montenor could not have pleas'd you,
Ye would not in that choice believe a brother:
Your flames would finde a very weak support,
If they were fed but by another's order.

Lucid.
You do assault me with such cunning, that
At length you force me to confess my weakness.
I love him, and my heart before possest,
With love's perplext.

Char.
Is the great secret out?
And why should love in this our age, in us
Be weakness, and a vertue in the men?
Why should we blush at our so faultless flames?
Do we want eyes to see, or hearts to love?
I know that ancient modesty requir'd,
We should seem shie even at the name of Love.
And if a servant do pretend to court us,
We must cry out before we hear him speak:
But though w'impose a silence on these sweets,
We nothing lesse seek than obedience;
And any servant would court us but ill,
Who to talk Gazets should suppress his love.
Those kinde refusalls to hear no such language,
Are but faire invitations to say more.
In fine, we all desire that they should love us,
And often run by secret plots to meet them.

Lucid.
Gods! you know all.

Char.
More, happily, than you,
But your desires contented make less shew:
Yet since that love is ready now to fix you,
Ile gather flowers to compose your Garland.

Lucid.
If Love oblige you to compose a Garland,
He'l give it by your hands to Clarimond,
And see how full of joy he comes to take it.

Char.
And yet in love Lucida must know nothing.

Lucid.
No, I know nothing but the common rule,
(going out.)
That to two Lovers any third's a trouble.

Exit.

Scene IV.

Enter Clarimond. (Smiling as he approaches Charita.)
'Tis she—I see her gath'ring heaps of Flowers
In this ennamell'd Park, of divers colours.

Char.
Th'approach is Past'rall, but my new Filene
I've right to answer as your cruell Sylvia.
Take heed.—

Clar.
How carelesly you heare these lines,
Without a thought of him that lent 'em me:
He was unhappy, but I hope I shall
Once touch the heart of my fair Sheepherdesse.

Char.
'Tis not of stone, and your continuall cares
Deserve esteem, perhaps a little more:
But whither can the flames that rule us go?
Somtimes we wish a Lover would daign it,
That he may force our hearts, and that his fires
Surprized by a look may read the secrets.—

Clar.
Too happy Clarimond! what canst pretend?

Char.
Let not our want of understanding make us
Mistake, and, if your freedome answers mine,
Let's divide Philiris from Clarimond.

Clar.
But what proceedings yours can equalize,
To make one happy, and reject the other?

Char.
You easily may guess the reason; one's
A Courtier, t'other is a simple Sheeperd.
For me, if I may their defence assume,
I ever lov'd the freedome of the Sheepherds;
Those cheating outsides of your begging sighs,
Those so well studyed, languishing aspects,
Those affectations of a wandring minde,
Are not the colours which their love appeares in:
They expresse themselves in a serener aire,
And when they vow they love, they love indeed,
And in the sweet transports of guiltlesse flames,
They promise nothing which the heart denies.
And so when kindly Philiris assur'd me,
That ore his captiv'd heart I reign'd alone,
Not fearing to be sacrific'd to fraud,
I told him that I something did believe,
But farre from a resolve to flatter him
In his desires—If Clarimond spake thus
With more reserve, and more retention.

Clar.
Oh pray, pursue not a discourse that kils me;
And, since his freedom answers for his faith,
Let Philiris now speak for Clarimond,
For he will keep his passion very secret,
If Philiris dares not to interpret it,
Under that borrowed name which he assumes,
He opens you his soule, and speaks his heart,
And his pure flame, aspiring to extreams,
When he does say he loves, he loves you truly.

Char.
This satisfies not what I ow my self,
To dare to credit Clarimond on his Faith,
No, no, 'tis for his honour, he sweares to me,
That nothing's comparable to what he suffers,
But all that I can do, mine not engag'd,
Is to endure complaint, and not believe.

Clar.
Are you then doubtfull of so true a flame?

Char.
To wish it so, I am too just, for know
I Clarimond do understand, at Court
'Tis Vertue quaintly to dissemble Love
That it is gallant to declare to all,
You are a friend to th'Brown as well as Faire,
And without giving bounds to your desires,
Your sighs can menage as you see occasion.

Clar.
Oh cease to injure the sincerest flame,
That purest love ere kindled in a soule;
Do I insensible of constant love
On all occasions, divide my heart?
And sigh in every place at any object?

Char.
I know that nothing's easier than to say so,
And flatter thus our foolish vanity,
That breeds in us too much credulity.

Clar.
Thus to persist so long in vain alarms,
Is to distrust the power of your Beauty,
'Tis true, to please an hundred sev'rall objects,
Men may dissemble wounds they never had,
That it is easie still to say I love you.
But you may know 'tis not the same with you,
And 'tis impossible to see your face;
And say I love you, and not love you truly.

Char.
And would you have me to believe you now?
But see our Foole.

Clar.
Base hindrance to my Joy!

Char.
To vex him for the mischief he hath done you,
I will abuse him with pretended sleep:
Farewell, leave me alone, I think 'tis best
That you and I be not surpriz'd together.

Clar.
But—

Char.
Leave me I say, or I shall break with you.

(She lies down upon the grasse pretending to sleep)
Clar.
And must this foole disturb such pleasing minutes?
But to please my Charita, Ile avoid him,
And let her sport with his extravagance.

Exit.

Scene V.

Enter Lysis, Charita.
Ly.
Sweet places, where my Sun beneath your shade,
Having scorch'd me, repairs to take the aire,
Though to be lightned be your great advantage,
Yet suffer a poore Sheepherd to share with you.
Hide not Charita from th'most ardent—but
Gods! I'm deluded, or I see her sleeping.
'Tis she—oh happiness! hush gentle Zephyrs,
Breath without noise, my Goddess is asleep—
I must advance, but slowly, lest I wake her.
Trees, let your leaves be silent for a while:
Ye Brooks stand still, and you, ye foolish Bees,
That buzze so busily about her eares,
Fly hence, touch not the Roses which I see;
My fairest hath no flowers but for me.
(kneeles by her.)
How happy's Morpheus? O transcendent beauty,
In the worlds fairest eyes to have his Palace!
How he tasts Nectar sweet and most delicious!
And how his happinesse thy Sheepherd envies!
Oh if't were lawful—but thou insolent Fly,
Which on that fairest Nose presum'st to sit—
Ile make thee know what 'tis—

(beating away the Flie he strikes her on the face, which she pretends wakes her.)
Char.
Gods how you use me!
Why did you not awake me gentlier?

Ly.
Oh!—
Pardon an act of justice to my Flame,
Which thought it duty so to sacrifice.

Ch.
What have you caus'd me suffer by that blow?

Ly.
Love seldom gives a wound he cannot cure.
But though you feel some little pain by that,
Yet might that cursed Fly have stung you—for
You know that once Eudoxa.—

Char.
She did well:
But if it were her fault, it is not mine.

Ly.
At least for pity-sake.

(leaning towards her.)
Char.
What Sheepherd?—

Ly.
Cruel.
Thou daily dost permit the Sun to kiss thee,
And will not suffer that this amorous heart,
Should by thy snow seek to refesh his heat.

Char.
The sad condition that your heart is in.

Ly.
Thy hand of milk congeal'd may make the proof.

(kissing her hand.)
Char.
Good Gods!

Ly.
Absolve a Lover from that error;
I know the love of Sheepherds should be chast,
But yet their soules sometimes may be transported,
And Nature of her self is vitious.

Char.
Oh how the impure flames I finde in you,
Constraine me to regrate my Amaryllis!

Ly.
Amaryllis?

Char.
Oh!

Ly.
Did you love her?

Char.
I love her
More, though she's absent, than I do my self,
That I might see her?

Ly.
That you may easily
Remove what hides her from thy abused eyes,
See here thy Sheepherd.

Char.
What is't you would say?

Ly.
That Amaryllis onely breaths in me,
And my excessive love that could not be
Prevented, made me change my sex to see thee.

Char.
You would have chang'd to force the obstacles.

Ly.
That's nothing—Love works many other wonders.

Char.
Was it you then that in so neat a way,
Under a Womans habit did deceive us?
You that sage Hircan rescued from the fire?

Ly.
'Twas I, 'twas Lysis, thou light of my soule!
How ought'st thou then to prize such rare attempts!

Char.
Go guilty Sheepherd, go approach me not;
After an act so shamefull, and so base.—

Ly.
Oh you would try me,—

Char.
No do not believe it.
I hate a Sheepherd, whose besotted love
Shall dare to borrow aid from magick arts,
Heaven shall revenge me on thy injuries;
Fly then from hence, fly far from these our coasts;
And thus polluted with the greatest crimes,
Ne're shew thy self to my incensed eyes;
Tis my last order.—

Ex.
Ly.
Lestrigonian Beauty!
More fierce than is the Asp, or Dragon, come
Feast, if my death can satisfie thy rage,
Thy flesh-devouring eyes with that sweet sight.

Scene VI.

Enter to him Montenor.
Mon.
Wherefore doth Lysis mourn?

Ly.
Oh Sheepherd, tremble,
For all the Gods confederate against us;
Thou ne're shalt see the Sun to set again,
The Woods shall be afire, the Rivers dry,
Meddowes shall lose their flowers, Echo be silent,
In fine, all is destroy'd—Charita's angry.

Mon.
Gods!

Ly.
Didst not see her violent transport?
It was a Tygresse with her sparkling eye,
Yet Montenor, I must confesse that I
Never did yet behold so faire a Tygresse,
And that her fiercenesse something had of grace,
Even when she did pronounce my banishment.

Mon.
Ah—could she banish thee?

Ly.
With great injustice.

Mon.
Why dost afflict thy self? Be crosse as she;
Thou sure canst change thy vowes, if she be chang'd.

Ly.
No, Ile attend th'afflicted Lovers Fate,
Whom when the Gods to such rude storms expose,
Toucht with their miseries they oft transform them.

Mon.
That once was good:

Ly.
And so continues still;
For wherefore should the Arm o'th' Gods be shortned?
No, Mercurie this night came with his wand,
To let me understand their pleasure towards me,
And I must change my form.

Mon.
On that great Hope,
Thou scorn'st Charita, and no more wilt see her?

Ly.
Would you that I provoke her with my presence?
Yet I may see the place where she inhabits,
And here, at distance, mounted on this Tree,
With my last homage may adore her beauty.
(He ascends the Tree, and falls into the Trunk of it, being hollow.)
I see't! what hid that Palace from my sight—
But O miraculous issue of my hopes!
At length I finde the Gods have not abus'd me—
And Lysis now, in earnest, is transform'd,
I am become a Tree—O divine wonders!
My feet I feele already stretch'd to roots,
And my flesh chang'd to wood, with sudden shoots
Produceth branches at my fingers ends.

Monten.
Strange madnesse this!

Ly.
But O thou ocular witnesse
Of this my change, to Lovers Ordinary
Go, and disperse the fame of my new fate,
And if thou er'e didst love me, guard my flock.

Scene VII.

Enter to them Clarimond, Adrian, (Lysis in the tree.)
Clar.
No, to reduce him feare no obstacle,
(to Adrian
We leave him to ye—but what pleasant sight!
Sheepherd what dost thou there?

Ly.
'Twas but ill judg'd—
I am (I thank the Gods) no more a Sheepherd.

Clar.
What then?

Ly.
I am a Tree.

Adrian.
Ah foole, dost still
Persist to credit thy ridiculous dreames?

Ly.
Adrian (I should abuse my self too much,
To call thee Cousin) you assume a freedom—
Such trees as I of an immortall nature!—

Adrian.
And who made thee a Tree?

Ly.
A rare adventure:
But I don't wonder that prophaner eyes
Can dive into the secrets of the Gods.

Mon.
But wilt thou dwel within that rotten Trunk?

Ly.
Ah, my Wood's sacred, pray speak better of it.

Clar.
I do believe it, but see, night comes on,
Do you intend to lie in this faire Trunk?

Ly.
How brave 'twill be to see my spatious Arms
Extend, within a bed their earthly roots!
Know that a Tree is fixt, and if sometimes
Its Country Deity, forsake his Wood,
'Tis but to go by night to revel with
The Demi-Gods, and ye faire Hamadryades,
For they by Moon-shine alwayes use to meet.

Ad.
Then thy fool-Demi-gods, thy Nymphs—and Loves.—

Ly.
Take heed, lest to revenge their injuries,
I throw down some one of my branches on thee.

Clar.
Pardon his fault, at least this once—but since
Thou needs wilt be a Tree, it must be so.
But what's thy hope?

Ly.
All that I hope for is
My love at length may touch my Sheepherdesse,
And that about my Trunk, to recompence me,
Shee with her company will come to dance,
Then will I use for pressing speeches, sad
Complaining murmures of my trembling leaves,
And to declare to her my excessive paines,
Ile use th'assistance of a gentle groan;
Then bidding her farewell prodigiously,
In token of respect Ile bow my Trunk.

Adrian.
Thou foole, if this be all the good thou look'st for,
Think'st thou to seeme a Tree?

Ly.
Yes—for I am so.

Adrian.
And do Trees speak?

Ly.
Oh then, is that your wonder?
Thou hast read nothing of Dodona's Grove;
There (by the will o'th' Gods) the Trees did speak,
Know that my Fate's as glorious. I, like them,
A Prophet am, and my fore-telling Wood,
Shall make as great a noise as Delphian Tripos.

Adrian.
Make triall then—
(drawing his sword, gives two or three blowes on the Trunk.)
Thou greatest of all fooles!
Th'hast felt these blowes, hadst thou been what thou saist.

Ly.
Villain what dost thou do? where tends thy rage?
Never till now hath iron injured me:
I was a Virgin—now my Trunk is open;
Oh stop, at least, my sap, that flowing's lost,
And know what ever strength their verdure shewes,
Trees without radicall moisture cannot live.

Adrian.
'Tis tedious to heare thee—come, come out here.

Ly.
I must obey the Destinies decrees,
Hold sacrilegious—oh, use violence!—
Let a poor Sheepherd live in that weak barque;
What has he done to thee?

Clar.
Do not provoke him;
(to Adrian.)
No violence will ere do good upon him.
Let's grant he is a Tree, and I have thought on
The means to hinder, that he take no root:
Ile tell you what's my project at the Castle.

Adrian.
Alas, he's now a greater foole than ever.

Mon.
Farewell faire Tree.

Clar.
Farewell, Heaven make thee grow.
Ex.
Manet Lys.
Th'are gone: now I may know my self again.
O silver-horn'd Moon, if thou know'st where
The Demi-gods my Brothers meet this night,
Refuse me not a Boon which I demand,
Lend me thy rayes to finde them where they are,
I am not mortall now, and in their sports,
The Nymphs may me receive without suspition:
Dear Trunk, permit me leave thee, since 'tis night,
For my first visit now is due to them.
(He comes out of the tree.)
Farewel, to share their pleasant sports Ile goe
Into the woods to seek their Rendezvouz.

Ex.