University of Virginia Library

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.