University of Virginia Library

Act. 2.

Scena 1.

Sylvia
discovered in her Bower singing.
The Song.
Come Shepherds come, impale your brows
With Garlands of the choicest flowers
The time allows.
Come Nymphs docks in your dangling hair,
And unto Sylvia's shady Bowers
With hast repair:
Where you shall see chast Turtles play,
And Nightingales make lasting May,
As if old Time his youthfull minde,
To one delightful season had confin'd.

Enter Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
1 Shep.
What Musick's this doth reach our ears?
Which sounds like that made by the Sphears,
And so affects the eager sence,
'Tis ravisht with its excellence.

2 Shep.
The ayr doth smell of Indian spies,
Or that the sences stupifies,
Which by Arabian winds is spread
From the ashes of a Phœnix dead.
Whence is this wonder.

3 Shep.
See, see, where
The lovely Goddess doth appear:
Fair Sylvia, she that orders how
Before Pans Altars we should bow,
And for propition every year
Of the choice fleese our sheep do bear:
Pay thank full Sacrifice, that he
May keep our flocks from danger free.
Instruct us Goddess what's thy will,

Sylv.
Upon this leavy wood-crown'd hill,
I do invite you to Pans feast,
Where each shall be a welcome Guest,
Then to the musique of my voice,
Move gently on each with his choice,
But so that no malicious eye
See ought to task your modesty;
For your delights must alway be
Attended on by chastity.

Dance.
Sylv.
'Tis time the Sacrifice begin,
Devotion must be done within;
Which done; you may of Ceres tast,
And Bacchus gifts, but make no wast:
For oft where plenty injur'd stands,
The bounteous Gods do shut their hands:
The snowy fleeces you have shorn,
And cropt the golden ears of corn;
Lyæus blood is prest and put
Into the safe preserving Butt:
There when the cold and blustring ayr
Invites you from the Plains, (yet fair)
To take warm shelters, that may keep
Your selves in health, and ek your sheep.
Will into your numb'd limbs inspire
An active and preserving fire;
Let your expeessions then be free,
And gently moving follow me
Ascends to her Bower singing.
She sings.
On Shepherds on, wee'l Sacrifice
Those spotless Lambs we prize
At highest rate, for Pan doth keep
From harm our scatt'ring sheep:
And hath deserved
For to be served
With those ye do esteem the best
Amongst the flock, as fittest for his feast.
Come Uirgins, bring your garlands here,
And hang them every where:
Then let his Altars be o'respread
With Roses fresh and red;
Burn Gums and Spice,
Rich Sacrifice.
The Gods so bounteous are, ye know
Ye mortals cannot pay them what ye owe.

Scen. 2.

Enter Philaritus like a Shepherd.
Phil.
Here's harmlesse mirth; ô 'tis a happinesse
To be in such sweet company! who would
Not forsake all the riches of the world
For one he lov'd? Did she but live as pure
As are those souls contain'd in Shepherds weeds.
Oh Love! what man hath power to resist
Thy piercing darts, which like a fatal lightning
Hurt not the skin nor flesh, yet wound the heart?
I that this morning was my Fathers joy,
The sole hope of his age and fortune, am
Become a stranger to his family;
By him exil'd, and thrown from all his cares;
I scarcely in this habit know my self,
Yet I am happy in't, and shall be happier,
If Arismena, for whose sake I suffer,
Smile on the change, she's here, and with her.
Enter Arismena and Castarina.
Her fair Companion Castarina; I'le
Obscure my self, and listen to their talk.

Philatitus creeps behind a Bush.

Scen. 3:

Cast.
Indeed Arismena I must chide you for't,
'Cause you are fair, indeed the fairest Shepherdesse
In all Arcadia, must that make you cruel?
That Beauty would become you more, if you
Would shew you had a heart like other Nymphs;
Or if you cannot love, you need not scorn
Those that express their service.

Aris.
Thou art foolish,
I do 'em Justice; should I smile upon
Their passions, and pity 'em, or but nourish
Their folly, they would more afflict themselves,
And trouble me; I give 'em soon their answer,
Tell 'em what they shall trust to, that they may not
Languish in expectation.

Cast.
Well, you have a heart—

Aris.
Yes, I feel it beat, but 'tis not yet
Infected with that mischief you call Love,
Nor I hope sha'not; but if Virgins lov'd
Themselves, they would place a better guard about
Their bosomes, and preserve their innocent freedome,
And not let every flattery betray 'em.
Give up their liberty for a song or sigh
Of any whining Lover.

Cast.
Do you think
That no man can deserve your love?

Aris.
I ne're
Examine their deserts, that may endanger me,
They'r all alike to me that court my favour.
Arismena sings.

Cast.
Come Arismena, you in vain do hide
Yourself from me, I see through your disguize
'Tis prety well dissembled, but I know
Your heart is not so empty as you speak it,
I know you love—

Aris.
Whom prithee?

Cast.
Nay, he does
Preserve you too, were you more fair, and to
That beauty had a soul above your Sex,
You know Philaritus.

Aris.
Ha, ha, ha!

Cast.
A Gentleman,
Heir to Cleobulus, but his Fortune is
The least addition, he is Fames darling,
And one whose service is an heaven to you
Being but a Shepherdess.

Aris.
But a Shepherdess!
Why Castarina, I do value my
Being a Shepherdess above all his hopes
And fortunes, nor should change that honest title,
For all the honors of the Court, but, 'cause
It seems thou hast opinion that I love him,
I'le clear my heart to thee, and hold it truth
What I affirme: 'Tis true Philaritus
Is a desertfull Gentleman, and hath made
Expresse signes of his dear affection to me;
But by Diana's self, he is to me
In point of Love, no more then he that is
The rudest Shepherd of the Plain.

Cast.
No more;
I do believe you, and rejoyce to hear it,
For in her heart poor Castarina loves him,
Though he knew it not.

Philaritus comes from the Bush.
Aris.
Who's that? Hath not
Some Shepherd overheard us?

Phil.
Yes, but one
That shall take no delight to publish what
Concerns his own misfortune.

Aris.
Is not this Philaritus?

Cast.
Turn'd Shepherd for your sake:
How every garb doth become him?

Phil.
Do not
Fly me sweet Arismena, for I bring
No danger to your person, sooner death
With torture should let fall his strings upon
My heart, then once Philaritus should bring
A thought that should displease fair Arismena?

Aris.
What is your will Sir, for I now have but
Short time for stay; and if your businesse be
No other then you late propounded to me,
You need not a repetition,
Unlesse you take delight to hear me say,
I cannot love?

Phil.
Why then I cannot live.

Aris.
Yes, many a fair day, and enjoy a love
Of far more worth then Arismena is,
A foolish Shepherdesse.

Phil.
He must not be
A man, and hold his life long, that should dare
To speak that language.

Aris.
Well Sir, is this all
Th' affairs with me, the minutes call me hence.

Cast.
Poor Castarina, in what plight art thou
Philaritus and Arismena talk aside.
To see the treasure of thy heart slide from thee,
And powre it self into anothers Bosome:
She is compos'd of tyranny; I should not
Be so hard-hearted, would Philaritus
Direct his passions hither. Oh my Fate!

Aris.
Indeed Philaritus I cannot help
All this, I'm not your Fathers Governour,
'Tis but your disodedience, you may
Recover him again, if yon will take
My counsel, and throw off this foolish love;
Your Father's wise, and I am of his minde
Partly; you take a course to lose your self:
And where you urge the penance you are willing
To undergo for love of me, I answer,
As you cannot resist what love compells you to,
I cannot help that I am not in love,
It is your fate to have too much, and I
Too little love, all this must be obey'd.

Cast.
Steel break his heart, let me advise you Sir
Be not too much dejected, this is but
A short liv'd humour, I dare prophesie
You may be happy in your affection.

Phil.
Make not my wound ridiculous I pray
By flatt'ring me with hope; she is all marble.

Aris.
Come Castarina; stay, is not that Gracculus?

Scen. 4.

Enter Gracculus.
Grac.
I'm glad I have you, oh Mistress.

Aris.
What's the matter?

Grac.
Feel here, and here, and indeed every where.

Aris.
Hast thou met with a Satire, thou art frighted?

Grac.
Worse, worse, the devil would not have
Put me into this sweat.

Casta.
Prethee speak, Why art thou so distracted?

Aris.
He bleeds too.

Grac.
'Twould make you mad to be us'd as I ha' bin, but that's
Not all; oh Mistress, your Father and my Master,

Aris.
Ah! What of him? is he sick?

Grac.
No, no; worse, worse.

Casta.
Is he dead?

Grac.

Worse, worse, an he had been dead my head had not
been broke, and my bones made powder in my skin, with his
Sheephook.

Phil.

What's the wonder?

Aris.

Speak the worst:

Grac.

Why then he is possest

Aris.

With an evill Spirit?

Grac.

Yes the devil is in him I think, he came home in such a
fury, and has beaten us all round, the poor Whelp in the Chimney
Corner for offering but to open his jaws, being newly waked

out of his dream with his thundring, and his brains beaten out,
which the Cat perceiving, run mad out of the top of the Chimney:
The first word he said was, Arismena, Arismena, and because
you appear'd not, the next thing was a blow, this blood
can witnesse. I could scarce recover my tongue to tell him you
were not within, but after half a dozen more knocks and kicks
one with another, for I was not to choose, bad me run in the devils
name and fetch you, and presently, or go hang my self; imagine
I was glad to be out of his reach, and with as much hast as
my bruises would allow, I have sought you up and down, now I
have found you, pray come home, and know his meaning, I dare
not appear without you, I must choose my tree else. Oh my
shoulders! I think I were best hang my self presently to be out
of my pain.

Aris.
'Tis very staange, but Castarina come,
Nay, thou shalt bear me company, and help
To calm his passions. Farewell Philaritus.

Exeunt, all but Philar.
Phil.
That word carries some comfort yet; Oh may
Blessings reward thy tongue for't; and yet 'tis,
If I remember, but the common word
At parting. Farewell, something it contain'd
Once, but 'tis now grown empty, and no wish
Of happiness: Was ever man thus lost
I'th' labyrinth of Love, to Court my Mistress
A flinty hearted woman? Oh my Stars!
You were ungentle to design me such
A miserable fate, to affect, where I am
Scorn'd, and have no power to withdraw
My heart from ruine; death were an easie change:
Why, I am in the way, it must needs break
My heart at last, I must once die, and 'tis
Better to die in love then otherwise.

Exit.

Scen. 5.

Enter Lariscus.
Lar.
When by the current of you' Christall stream
I sate me down, a gentle slumber clos'd
These wearied eyes, and dreams transforming love,
Made beauty seem imperfect in her self,
For then, oh then, sad thoughts disturb'd my mind;
I sigh't forth that, which in my knowing sense
Was Heresie to think; so pure I know
Was Castarina's love, that to misdoubt,
Were breach of faith, and yet such fancies did
Arise within my troubled brain, I know
Not what to hope, or doubt. O fancy!
Thou works't too much upon my nature, and I
Am too too credulous of dreams; yet pass
Thou ill suspitions of my love, they shan't
Disturb my rest, which like to healthfull blood
Shall run in all my veins, and by my hopes
Create a new establisht peace, which shall
Extinguish fearfull thoughts, as Lucifer
Exhales the grosser vapours from the earth.
Then till Apollo's Oracle propounds
More cause of fear, I'le hope the best; this sweet
Soft Musique within.
Harmony tells me, I'm neer the sacred place
Which will resolve my doubts: And see! the Temple
Doors yeeld me a free access unto his Throne;
Yet I'le forbear to speak, till he have ceas'd
His Musique on his charming Lyre.

A Scene discovered, wherein Apollo is seen playing on his Harp, and two Sybils singing. Apollo falls from his former tone, and plays an Ayr, to which the Sybils sing.

Scen. 6.

The Song.
We to thy Harp Apollo sing,
Whil'st others to thy Altars bring
Their humble prayers
For length of daies:
Or else for knowledge of their Fates,
Which by their prayers thou renovates,
And dost renue
Not as their due,
But as their worth, incites thy love
To shower thy blessings from above.

He kneels.
Laris.
I am all wonder.
Thou who dost all secrets know,
Uouchsafe for to descend so low,
As to resolve a doubt which springs
From dreams, and such sad nightly things.
Shall Castarina be my Love?
Speak Apollo, and if she prove
But kind unto my vowes, I swear
I'le offer Incense every year,
And oft my grateful thanks return,
And Spices on thy Altars burn.

Apollo.
Thou shalt finde crosses in thy love,
Yet time may make them blessings prove;
For when the Virgins o're her Hearse,
Have plac't the Garland and sad verse,
And bath'd the cold earth with their tears,
Thy hope shall overcome thy fears.
And till that she be dead, shall not
Enjoy her love: Unty the Knot.

Apollo's Scene closes up.
Lar.
Be clearer Oracle, and leave me not
In doubt: What! are your gates already shut
Open but once again, and speak, although
Your voice be death, let not my trembling soul
Be tortur'd through despair, or else be griev'd
By vain expecting of my joyes. Say great
Apollo, Is she mine?—Not a word.
Art thou grown deaf unto our prayers; then here
Begins my misery; and where I did
Expect the clear unfolding of my doubts,
There I perceive a Riddle.—I shall be
Crost in my love, and yet from thence derive
New blessings. Can effects spring from a cause
'Has difference in th' extream? When she is dead
I shall enjoy her love. With what delight
Can my flame meet her cold and uselesse earth?
Or must I then form to my memory
Her living shape, and with desire imbrace
That shadow, which my fancy now commands,
And when I please gives me possession of.
The jugling God makes pastime of my passions:
But why do I prophane? great Power forgive me,
'Tis a just punishment; for being curious
To know the mystery of Fate, I must
Refer th' event to what is order'd by
The high disposer of my destiny.

Exit.