University of Virginia Library

Actus quintus.

Scæna prima.

Enter Anselm. Angelica.
Ansel.
At length, since Heav'n propitious to my prayer
Doth not oppose the vowes of Montenor,
But seems to have a care that they be crown'd,
I may give up my selfe to th'sweets of Hope,
If without crime, and a too great presumption,
A Sheepherd may pretend to love a Nymph.

Angel.
'Tis very quaintly pleaded to engage Me,
To praise the Sheepherd and reject the Nymph,
But let this satisfie your pressing Heart,
That now my brother takes your interest;
And as love once did flatter you, so his
Consent's sufficient to confirme your wishes.

Ansel.
How this reply affronts a lovers will!
And if you limit there his best advantage,
How ill when he explain'd his vowes he told you?
How scrupulous love is in his designes;
He look's with scorne on fairest victories,
When they may cast a shaddow on his glory,
By his owne merit hee'd be absolute,
He loves no Triumph by anothers will,
Nor can indure, what ever's the attempt,
That forraigne succours should secure his conquest.

Angel.
Tis so, a Lover's never satisfied,
He doubts his happinesse when he enjoys it.
And his unquiet name, resolv'd to feare,
In the most faire successe will still complaine.

Ansel.
Oh—refuse not, to this enflamed heart,
The sweet, to see it selfe entirely charm'd,
And if it move your soule, when it doth sigh,
Deny me not the bliss to understand it;
'Tis not enough that Montenor's content
Assures me of like happinesse with that
Must make him perfect to fulfill my joy,
'Tis needfull you unfold your heart with me.
That loving passions may your thoughts detect,
That a kind qualme may answer to my sighs,
And that by your consent my flame confirm'd,
May be the glorious prize of loving you.

Scene II.

Enter to them Clarimond. Adrian.
Clar.
Why surely, here the shaddowes of the night
Have made you quite forget what we design'd,
You still go on, and never have regard,
That happily our Foole sees you farre off,
And if he know you, he will strait conjecture,
Seeing our Demi-gods, what's our design.

Adrian.
Alas!—t'allow of what they do propose,
He has too strong opinion of his change,
And 'tis but vain to think, your feign'd Deities
Can draw him from a Tree he holds so dear.

Angel.
Though he was tractable with Hircan, yet
This his last act seems to exceed my faith;
For since he speaks, yet how can he presume
That Heaven would shut him up within a Tree?

Adrian.
By that I strove to make him understand,
That he is not what he believes himselfe:
But, 'gainst all reason hee's a Tree, his Gods
Ought that rare Destiny to his deservings.—
A curse on Ovid, and his Sectaries!

Clar.
If the Moon lend us but a constant light,
I'm of opinion you'l be satisfi'd,
And vainly fear he should be long a Tree—
He's out of's Trunk!—

(looks into a Tree.)
Adrian.
Good Gods! I cannot believ't.

Clar.
You well may doubt it in a darker night.

Adri.
I thank the Gods, that of his own accord,
H'has left a Trunk to which he was so charm'd!
And that to draw him out your Nymphs o'th' woods
And forraign Demi-gods are of no use;
They far from curing him would have a fresh
O'return'd his mind, and troubled his sick brain.

Clar.
Well, he's now out of it, but you may feare
The rising morning may replant him there.
You believe him too soon demetamorphoz'd.

Angel.
While he is absent now the cure is easie,
Let us cut down the Tree; Ile labour all
I can to stop the progresse of his folly,
And Ile renounce my pastimes, that I may
Facilitate the means of your departure.

Adrian.
Ile hast to borrow succours to defeat him.—

Exit.

Scene III.

Ansel.
Lysis at his return will play the Devil.

Angel.
And your designs being spoyl'd through his departure
Make—

Clar.
I am sorry for those two young Beautie,
Who mad to play upon this simple fellow,
Have in vain drest themselves like Nymphs o'th' Woods:
Troth 'tis an ill adventure for the first.

Angel.
Which of us did foresee he'd quit his Trunk?
But yet we want Charita, Where is she?

Clar.
I left her with our Demi-gods, perhaps
She does expect the signall to advance.

Angel.
A little absence is a pain to Lovers.

Clar.
Tis true, I suffer, and, when far from her,
Soon find a certain trouble in my soule;
But yet this trouble, though't be nothing gentle,
Is not the greatest torment I endure,
That which afflicts, and makes me to complaine,
Is that I hope much, and see more to feare,
That is, I have a heart enflam'd with love,
And yet I doubt whether I'm lov'd again.

Angel.
You understand too well your own deserts,
To think you have nothing gain'd upon Charita;
But if you will persist thus to alarm
Your selfe in vain, know Ile assume your cause,
Then love, and hope.

Clar.
It is a charming promise.

Angel.
Since Love, with me, has interest for you,
The victory is easie.

Clar.
Would't were so.

Scene IV.

Enter to them Charita, Lucida.
Char.
Room for our Tree; for he is coming hither.

Angel.
Where did you finde him?

Lucid.
In that little Grove,
Which joyning to the Park makes up the Lantskip—
There hearing him to hallow.

Angel.
But what could he do there at midnight?

Char.
There
Making Orations to an Oak, he labour'd
T'induce the Nymph to render her self visible:
Our Deities that follow'd at a distance
Played their parts handsomly upon occasion:
He takes their word—but when he did propose,
To shew them where he was transform'd, our care,
To give you notice, made us come before.

Clar.
Since the occasion's offer'd lets embrace it,
Though honest Adrian has cause to curse it;
But since we can let us make up the jest.

Char.
Then we must hide our selves, I hear 'em there—
Anselm.—

Ans.
No, take no care of me Charita,
Lest he should seize again upon his Trunk,
Ile be a Tree, and act the Demi-god.

Clar.
But he perceives you.—

Char.
Oh good Gods—speak low.

Ans.
The hole is so profound he cannot see me.

(Anselm gets into the Tree, and the rest hide themselves.)

Scene V.

Enter to them Lysis, Synope, Clorise, drest like Nymphs of the Woods, with branches of trees in their hands, at the ends whereof were fastned drie Comfits.
Ly.
At length dear Sisters (for I am perswaded
I ow that title to all Hamadryades)
Behold that famous Trunk, which in that place,
By Fate's decree enclos'd a Demi-god.

Syn.
Scarce had the Sun given place unto the Moon,
When we had tydings of your happy fortune;
Neither had we this night our barques forsaken,
But to perform our homage, and to see you.

Ly.
As I'm a jucie-tree, I am o'rejoy'd,
To have so fair, and so good company:
I'm sure my leaves to morrow will assume
A far more fertile, and more lively green.
But you fair Nymphs, ever by me ador'd,
Where are those pleasant places you are planted?

Clor.
We dwell by day in a Wood far remote.

Syn.
That we may there behold our fruits in safety;
They are not common, and 't had been injurious,
If Heaven had left us to be pillag'd by
Passengers.

Ly.
You are Fruit-trees I perceive.

Syn.
Fruit-trees, most excellent, as you shall finde.

Ly.
I shall be ravished to hear your story.

Syn.
Know then, when mortall, we were Comfit-makers,
And gave them such an high exalted taste,
That ev'n Diana could not but commend 'em,
At her return from chase she oft would eat 'em,
But when we foolishly divulg'd this favour,
She was so angry, that, with sudden rage,
She chang'd us both to trees, as you are now.

Ly.
What trees?

Syn.
My Sister is a Cherry-tree,
And Destiny made me bear Apricocks.

(pointing to the fruits.)
Ly.
But, tell me Nymphs, are these the fruits ye bare?

Clor.
Yes, that's a favour granted to our Deities,
They all grow Comfits.

Ly.
They taste ne're the worse.

Syn.
You cannot say so, if you do not try 'em:
Gather 'em.

Ly.
I gather 'em?

Syn.
They are very pleasant,
Th'are serv'd in at the table of the Gods,
And you may eat 'em.

Ly.
Think't not strange that I
Excuse my selfe—a tree nor eats, nor drinks.

Syn.
Who is so foolish, but must know your tree
Can neither eat nor drink? But you, that are
As 'twere, the soule unto its feeble nature,
Are not exempt to take your nourishment,
Thus to subsist, Trees that are Demi-gods,
Come almost every night to pull our fruits,
Their sap without it would be very barren.

Ly.
'Tis true, my trunk I finde is somewhat weak,
And by these instances I do conclude,
That Tree cannot live long that does not eat.

Clor.
Then follow our example, eat apace.

(eating Comfits.)
Ly.
What you devour your own substance—ha!

Clor.
That's to invite you to be led by us.

Ly.
Sweeter than is thy Nectar Ganimede!
(eating.)
How happy are wee Trees!

Syn.
Well our dear Brother.—

Ly.
Troth Sister Apricock, your frutis are rare,
Such Saturn in the golden age did eat.
But is our Sister Myrrha still alive?—
Her Trunk is very old.

Syn.
I never saw her:
Is she of your acquaintance Sister? Speak.

Clor.
Myrrha was never seen in these our parts.

Ly.
Her Tree lives onely in Arabia,
And to say truth, that Country's far from yours:
But do ye never visite one another?

Syn.
We very seldome leave our native Soil.

Ly.
Hark Nymphs, I hear a very melodious sound.

Clo.
'Tis a young Cypress—see there, where he comes.

Ly.
And that grave Beard?

Syn.
Oh speak with reverence,
He is a River-God of the best rank,
We here must pay the duties that we ow him—
He will receive you kindly when he knowes you.

Scene VI.

Enter to them Montenor, disguised like a God of a River, with a very long Beard, and one of his servants disguised with many branches of Cypresse, carrying a Lute.
Syn.
Great Father, may your waters cleare and pure
(to Monten.)
For ever flow, as we by your embrace,
Receive the soveraign height of our content.

Ly.
Never could we believe, a God so great,
Would leave his watry bed to visit us.
And knowing us to be such Demi-gods,
Should us prefer before Neptune and Thetis.
(Montenor instead of answering, grunts.)
Sisters, he answers in an uncouth way,
Pray what's his language?

Syn.
'Tis a Rivers language,
He can be understood by Fishes onely.

Ly.
This venerable God grunts like a Hog;
Your Fishes methinks, speak a foolish language,
He stares upon me with one ugly eye.

Syn.
He wonders much to see you in this place:
Father pray know this stranger Demi-god;
'Tis he that once the honour was of Brie,
The glory of Age, and past'rall Life.
He's now a Tree, and will people your banks
With many branches springing from his body.
(To Lysis.)
He beckens you, go and receive his kindenesse.

Ly.
What do you mean to squeeze me as you do?
(striving to get out of his armes, he embracing him too hard.)
Must your arms thus supply your want of voice?
Good mute God hold, and do not crush my Wood.

Clor.
What, flie from his embrace?

Ly.
Ah—Hamadryade,
I do not like such kind embraces, I—

Syn.
The God holds out his arm at your loud cry.

Ly.
Truce to embraces, Ile be there no more.

Syn.
Truce if you please, but let's do something else,
Let's consecrate with songs your Metamorphose;
Father shall we obtain to't your consent?

(The God grunting.)
Ly.
This grunting God does very much displease me.

Syn.
Come, who begins?

Ly.
Why Demi-goddess, the
Dispute's between you two, I'm not concern'd.

Syn.
Well't shall be I.

Clor.
We will sing afterwards.

Syn.
Good Brother Cypresse lend me (pray) your Lute.
(She taking the Lute from Cypress singing to it, begins.)
O Fate, most worthy Envy!

Ly.
Ye Gods! Why was not I a Tree at first?
Divine Amphion!

Syn.
Silence, hear.

Ly.
Thy voice
Charms me, as much as did thy Apricocks.

Syn.
sings.

Ly.
Sweet Nymph Apricock, may
I not inoculate such Trees as you?

Scene VII.

Enter to them Angel. Clarim. Lucid. Ansel. Charit.
Angel.
'Tis time now to appeare, let us advance.

Syn.
Gods! I perceive some Mortals coming hither.

Ly.
Ile to my Trunk again, and do you vanish.

(to Syn.)
Syn.
And why?

Ly.
But what see I?

(amazed to see Anselm rising out of his Trunk.)
Ansel.
A Rurall Demi-god!
My incredulity the Gods have punisht,
And I no more doubt thy Divinity,
I am a Tree like thee.

Ly.
A tree dear Brother?
But 'twas not needfull thou shouldst have my Trunk:
Be a Tree if thou wilt, not at my cost.

Char.
That's he, that was my Sheepherd once, I know him.

Angel.
Ye mighty Deities, excuse our boldnesse,
(to Syn. and the Demi-gods.)
We come to trouble you unhandsomely,
But 'tis to pay our duty to a Sheepherd,
Whom Heaven of late has rank't among the Gods:
They tell us hee's a Tree.

Ly.
Yes—but my Barke
Another.—

Ansel.
I obey the fates that forc'd Me.

Angel.
what Polidore? is he a Demi-god?

Ly.
No, he is no such thing, for if he be,
He's but a Bastard-Demi-god: for Trees
Of honour, and of good Original,
Will ne're take root within anothers Trunk.

Syn.
If Heaven have so decreed—

Char.
We may not doubt it.

Ly.
Give me my Trunk againe:

(to Ansel.)
Char.
Will you resist him?
For love-sake cross him not, but be again
A Sheepherd, and love me thy Sheepherdesse.

Ly.
No, I ought be a Tree and must, yet trust Me,
Tree as I am I keep my faith to Thee.

Char.
If so, for my sake then renounce that stock.

Ly.
Alas, they rob me, and that's it afflicts me:
But you, Tree-ravisher, restore—

Ansel.
I cannot,
Heaven it forbids.

Ly.
Unhappy that I am!

Syn.
What aile you?

Ly.
Ah—Sisters looke to my affaires.
If I'me displanted, I can live no longer.

Clo.
No, no, feare not; since hee's so obstinate
To rob you of a Trunk ordain'd for you,
Let him live there, hated by our companions,
More than the meanest shrub in all this country.

Ly.
But what shall I doe then?

Syn.
Why are there not
More pleasant places, and far better trees?
We there will plant our selves.

Ly.
May that be done?

Sy.
Our power's great, what say you Father? Is't
Not your opinion, that his place be chang'd?

(Mon. grunts.)
Ly.
This Div'lish Hog, me think's is a strange God,

Clo.
Hee'd have you plant in Angelica's garden.

Ly.
'Tis well, the place is not at all unpleasant:
But sure when we live so farre from our Trunks,
The vegetative soule need's nutriment—
If I must planted be, my amorous Nymphs,
Engraffe me on some Tree as farre as you;
O sweet Apricocks!

Syn.
Yee shall be satisfied

Ly.
You'le make me truly then a fruit-Tree?

Syn.
Truly,
Come;

Ly.
Sheepherdesse farewell.

Char.
Let me be present
At th'secret mystery that there transplants you,
I'me sure that very night our Troup will dance,
About the sacred Trunk that shall enclose you.

Syn.
Then follow at a distance.

Ly.
Oh what comfits
At the Sun-rising will spring from my branches!

Clo.
Yes doubt it not.

Ly.
And thou! thou cur'st theif-Tree,
Know to beare fruit, thy wood's nor faire, nor good,
And th'ever dance, at distance, round about thee,
Thou't serve for nothing, but to make a gallowes.

Exit. with the Demi-gods.
Angel.
By this device they lead him to the Castle,

Ansel.
Then thus I my new destiny renounce,
(coming out of the tree.)
And have too little share in that old stock,
T'expose my selfe to what he did prognostique,
Only great Nymph you knowing to oblige Me.

Angel.
Come no more Nymph, and Sheepherd let's returne
Home to the Castle, and let Crooks alone,
Lysis untreed, our Comedy is done.

Exit.