 | The Careles Shepherdess |  |
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
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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.
| The Careles Shepherdess | |