University of Virginia Library

Actus primus.

Scæna prima.

Enter Lysis in the Equipage of a Sheepherd driving his Flock before him.

Ent. Clarimond.
[He sits down, and taking fruits out of his pouch, looking back, he spies Clarimond, who surprized to see a man clad like an ancient Roman Shepherd, stood still to view him.]

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
That art thus ignorant of th'affaires of Brie?
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.

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
Before I was a Sheepherd I was taken.

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?

Lys.
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—

Scene III.

Enter to them Adrian.
Adr.
Ah Foole art there?

Lys.
(turning about)
Couz Adrian! Is't you?

Adr.
Yes it is, I'me tormented with thy follies;
Art thou come hither then to play thy pranks?
Would thou wer't safe i'th' Hospitall of Fooles!

Lys.
(rising)
Peace; give me leave my reasons to alledg,
(For that should be the refuge of us all)
This gracious Sheepherd here shall be our Judge:
Deciv'd with his perfections I e'en now
Took him for Pan disguised like a mortall,
Nay—look you to't, he hath the countenance,
If not of Pan, of Mercury, or Cupid.

Adr.
Oh Heaven! what Folly, what Extravagance!—

Lys.
You blame the Sheepherds, but alas, too blindly;
Is any life more full of sweets than this?
Is not their Name, as antient as the World?
And when Deucalion would mankinde restore
Out of the first Stone he a Sheepherd made.
And Kings of old (whom I am proud to follow)
Made their Sons Sheepherds, as the way to live.
The Gods, on Earth have often ta'ne that habit,
And great Apollo kept Admetus Sheep,
And even those wandring Starrs, we see above
Are Beasts, that feed within those shining plaines.
And who are fit to keep them but the Gods?
Then, for our Sheep, what is of greater worth?
We feed upon them, sheare them, and receive
The yearly tribute of their wealthy fleeces.
And as they say (the more to be ador'd)
Jove once transform'd himselfe into a Ram,
And Greece ne're knew a nobler enterprize
Than when the Argonauts fetch't home the fleece,
'Tis the first Sacrifice was made to Pan.
This is to let you know, (Couz Adrian)
That though the World revile it, yet to lead
Our Flocks to feed's a noble exercise.
And to what serves your tedious noyse of Cities?
Of Merchants, Officers, or Advocates?
Read Julietta, and then tell me, if
Arcadia ever knew such names as these?
They all were Sheepherds, and liv'd free from care,
And I would have them here to be so govern'd.
Beleeve me (Cousin) leave your City trades,
Let us together dresse our Pastures, bring
Your Wife, your Children,—here you'l live at ease:
Shee shall a Sheepherdesse, they Sheepherds be,
And we will all in perfect pleasures live,
And to the Bag-pipe, under Elmes wee'le dance.

Adr.
Ah (Sir) you see, to what a strange excesse
This poore Phrenetick Spirit is transported,
How much extravagance—

Lys.
(turning from them)
My deare Charita!
If thou dost kill me, give me life againe!

[He retires to a corner of the Stage, where he lies downe.]
Cl.
While he talkes to himselfe, be pleas'd to tell me
The hidden cause of that which troubles him,
I finde his frantick fits, of a strange nature.

Adr.
It's the issue of a vaine, and cursed reading:
His Father was a Merchant and Citizen
Of Paris, and being rich, look't on him onely,
And thinking to provide for him an Office,
T'adorne his innocent, and harmlesse minde,
Caus'd him to Study, where all that he learn't
Was to o'rethrow that little wit he had.
He read Romances onely, and believ'd them,
Admir'd all the Sheepherds fain'd adventures,
And his weake braine by those vaine fables, did
So soon descend in th'Aire of Love, and Beauty:
That in a year or two he thus besotted
Would wilfully assume this present habit:
'Twas labour'd with much reason to convince him,
But he still talkt of Sheep, and of his Crook,
Yet studied more, but thought lesse of his office,
And though he still persisted in his frenzy,
Yet was it worse, when his good Father dy'd:
The Romance of Astræa was then publish't,
Where reading Hylas, and Sylvander's jarres,
His braine being very soft in such a case,
He needs would be their judge, and heare them plead,
And so resolv'd to goe into the Forrests,
And, had not I still caus'd him to be follow'd,
He doubtlesse more had credited his booke,
Than our advice. His Frenzy still continuing,
He oft would lock himselfe into his Chamber,
Where without let, pursuing his wilde fancies,
I've heard him act the Sheepherds part alone.
In fine, the Mode of these Romances ceasing,
His minde a long time seemed lesse distracted,
And certainly that Heat began to coole,
Had he not haunted Comedies last Winter:
When, earnest oft to see their Amaryllis,
H'againe reviv'd his thoughts of Flocks and Crooks.
He drew me too to see that cursed Play;
And cry'd at ev'ry line, O wonderfull!
Scarce could he keep himselfe within his skin,
All seem'd so ravishing, so rarely new:
Never was Man there, more intent than He,
'Twas Acted, and he there an hundred times,
So that imbark'd againe by their leud babling,
And finding time to make his bundle ready,
And all trust up, he early in a morning
Came hither, thus to act his foolish part,
But I shall put such Fetters on him, that
He shall no longer thus dishonour us.

Cl.
His humour's troublesome, but yet take heed
Lest your confining him should breake his quiet:
A Prison's terrible to soundest mindes,
And the diseas'd it oft exasperates.

Adr.
'Tis true; but what amendment can I hope?

Cl.
If you'l advise with me, let him alone,
What do'st concerne you here? Y'are farre from Paris,
Let him accomplish what he has design'd,
Let him pursue this Sally of his thoughts,
Perhaps a week, or so, may cure his folly,
And he not finding in a Sheepherd's life,
The fancied pleasures that entic'd him to it,
It may more easie prove to make him see
The errour, which his books did first create.

Adr.
Well, for a day or too I'le leave him then,
Although I came by chance into this place,
And have gone very farre to finde him out.
M'affaires engage me to a quick returne,
Th'are pressing, and of great importance to me.

Ex.
Cl.
Farewell; I'le have a care he shall not wander.

Scene IV.

Enter to them Anselme, in the habit of a Sheepherd, Lysis lying still talking to himselfe.
Cl.
H'as left us here inestimable treasure:
Was ever fool of a more pleasant humour?
But what illusion's this surprizeth me?
What i'st? is all the world turn'd foole like him?

Ans.
What! Clarimond it seems does hardly know me;

Cl.
Oh Heavens! in what a shape dost thou appear?
I'st Anselme?

Ans.
Yes I'me Anselme still for you.
But my Romantick Name is Polidore.

Cl.
D'ee act a part in some new Comedy?
Or hath this Foole involv'd you in his follies?

Ans.
You know him then?

Clar.
Arriv'd here yester-night
I've almost learnt already his full story,
Himselfe did spend much time t'informe me in it.
But there is one Charita much in's thoughs;
Who's that rare Object?

Ansel.
I'm pleas'd with this surprize:
You name Charita, and ask who she is.

Clar.
What, is't that faire One now with Angelica?
Her Cousin?

Ansel.
The same: 'tis she that wounds him.

Clar.
Being entangled in such easie chaines,
Although his thoughts did erre, his eye did not:
But since this beauty is the same Charita,
Whose merits I have oft proclaim'd at Paris,
I'd gladly share the incomparable sport
This day to be a Sheepherd, and his Rival,
Induc'd to this disguise by your example.

Ansel.
Faith do not wonder that you see me thus;
Tis Angelica's power over me.
Her service is so sweet a Law to me,
That knowing Pastorals did alwaies please her,
I'm made a Sheepherd, Charita a Sheepherdess,
She likewise acts her part, but one more gentle,
For her, among us, we have made a Nymph.

Clar.
This needs must be as pleasant as tis rare;
But I must let her know what I intend,
She being a Nymph, we all must seem to court her.

Lys.
Ah!—

(crying out awaking from a dead sleep.)
Ansel.
What aile ye Sheepherd?

(running to him.)
Lys.
'Twas a stretch of Love.—
I thought my soule was quitting its abode,
Musing upon that fairest faire Charita.

Ansel.
Indeed th'are pleasant thoughts, and worthy of you,
But we must leave you in so sweet a rapture;
Farewel, the Heavens have care of what concerns you.

Ex.
Lys.
Courteous Sheepherds, Pan have you in his keeping;

Scene V.

Enter (to him) Charita in the habit of a Sheepherdesse.
Lys.
Faire Birds which daily in the Aire do move,
And singing praise the Object of my Love,
What equall to her merits do you see?

(appearing among the Trees)
Ch.
What doe's this Fool alone? what are his thoughts?

Lys.
But I to mutes in vaine my speed apply,
I'de better speak to th'Eccho of these groves,
Who oft to reason with us Sheepherds love's.

(sitting down behinde a Tree)
Ch.
I'le be his Eccho, 'twill be a rare Scene.

Lys.
Nymph I, of Love unheard-of torments, beare,
I've often spoke it, did'st thou never heare?

Ch.
Here—

Lys.
Good She replies:—but since my griefs, by chance,
Are known, how shall I cure their great abundance?

Ch.
Dance—

Lys.
Well sing or Whistle, and I'le daunce with you:
Charita sayes she loves me,—is it true?

Ch.
True—

Lys.
But I can nought obtaine, though I ne're cease
T'entreat her ease the paines that me oppresse.

Ch.
Presse—

Lys.
Well said, I'le now beleeve thee, 't shall be done,
(rising)
And to demand her aide I'le straitway run.

Ch.
Run—

Lys.
Farewell. So may thy minion ev'ry day,
Narcissus visit thee where e're thou stay.

Ch.
Stay—

Lys.
Stop me? did'st thou not say my torments by
Her sight should all be cured happily?

Ch.
I-ly—

Lys.
Leave jesting, and my cruell paines abate,
What must I hope for then? her love or hate?

Ch.
Her hate—

Lys.
What shall I doe, alas, if weeping I
Cannot her minde appease? sad Tragedy!

Ch.
Dy—

Lys.
But what death shall I choose, if, so abhor'd
I begge her aide, and she will none accord?

Ch.
A-cord—

Lys.
A Cord? ah you surprize me now, you know,
I have no Cord, but that on Cupids bow:
Nymph, is not that the Cord for which you call?
Answer.

Ch.
No 'tis a Cord to hang thy selfe withall.

Lys.
Foolish, and sottish Nymph, you prate too much;
Whence comes this humour in you? are you drunk?
Or knowing th'art lesse faire than my Charita,
Envy or shame hath made thee talke so fast.
I see her—my faire Starre!

(Charita enters the Stage)
Ch.
What are you doing?

Lys.
Before a Goddess men ought thus to kneel,
(kneels)
And ever with all reverence receive
The influence of her Divine aspects.

Ch.
No, Sheepherd no, I hate all such respects,
These adorations may seem good at Paris,
But here men ought to live in a full freedom.

Lys.
'Tis true, 'twas ever granted unto Sheepherds;
Oh high design, and rare, inspir'd by love!
To quit foul Paris for this pleasant place!
What a delicious life shall we enjoy?
The Gods themselves, the Gods do envy us.
Sometimes assembled, we shall laugh and dance,
Sometimes we shall retire againe alone,
Sitting sometimes in shades, sometimes on Fearne,
Where thou shalt call Me Sheepherd, and I Thee
My Sheepherdess, and placing Love between us,
Play at a thousand pretty little games,
And sometimes gather—Charita—my soul—
Help—help thy Sheepherd that's now swooning—ah—
Cruel dost thou recoile?

Ch.
Have I not reason?
If you should swoon your fall may crush me too,
To me your body does not seem so light,
But that it well may hurt your Sheepherdess.

Lys.
Go, th'art inhumane, and I now perceive
Th'ast no remorse for all th'ill th'ast done me;
Thy heart's of Brass, Steele, Marble, and of Stone.

Char.
What have I done that merits this reproach?
Have I, that I should now be thus abus'd,
Provok'd you by neglect, or have I scratch'd you?

Lys.
Yes, but you have no sense (malignant Beauty)
The nailes of your aspect do daily claw me.
And, the sharp rayes of your so glittering looks
Have given me here a wound will nere be heal'd.

Char.
'Tis true; their force is somewhat terrible,
Yet do not think the wound's incurable;
Ile cure you—but farewell untill anon.

Lys.
Hard Anaxarete! art gone so soon?
See how thine Iphis grieves at thy departure.

Char.
I hast to finde the Sheepherdesse Lucida,
Th'expect her at the Nymph's.—

Lys.
Thou mak'st me tremble!
Why dost thou aggravate so great a grief?

Char.
D'ee feare to see her?

Lys.
Ah!—I've cause to feare,
No Sheepherd hath more reason to complaine,
I fly what me pursues, and love what flies me.

Char.
You still are angry when she followes you—
But oft disdaine, conceales a reall flame,
And y'are more tractable perhaps in private.

Lys.
With her in private? no believe me, faire One,
The heart of Lysis is so chain'd to thee,
That thou shalt have it chast, pure, and unmixt,
Entire: and sooner than Ile turn to change,
Or other beauty shall have power t'ensnare me.
Rivers shall run revolted from the Seas;
Those liquid Courts shall want their Nayædes,
The Hamadriades, and the Faunes forsake
The Woods, and all the World new Orders take,
And Wolves against the Doggs our Flocks defend.—

Char.
This solemne Oath hath given me faith at once,
Farewell kinde Sheepherd.—

Lys.
Sheepherds Farewell.
My heart's committed to you, have a care on't;—
Go my dear Lambs, seek Pasture farther off,
For Sol's too scorching rayes by shining here,
Hath burnt the grass, and left these places bare.