 | A New Opera, Call'd Cinthia and Endimion : Or, The Loves of the Deities |  |
ACT III.
Scene I.
A cover'd Grotto at the end of a spacious Plain, adorn'd with May-poles, deck'd with Trophies, Garlands; Herds of Sheep and Goats, at a distance feeding.Enter a Satyr running with Flora in his Arms; after him Hobinal, Clout, Tarbox, and Lowbell, fighting with three or four Satyrs. Hobinal runs to Flora, whom the Satyr lets go to help his Fellows.
Hob.
Ah! well done, well done, Son Clout; I
[Clout has one down.]
fack, thwack him, thwack him; what hoa Neighbour, Collin,
down with the shaggy Ruffians. What hoa, Neighbour
[Calls a 'tother side.]
Collin, what hoa.
Low.
Stick to him, Tarbox, turn the But-end of thy Staff to him, Boy;
help, help, there's another Goat upon him.
Tar.
I warrant thee I have him by the beard, Boy.
[The Satyr is helpt up.]
I'll spoil his whiskers.
Hob.
Neighbour Collin, Neighbour Collin, what hoa, stand there Flora,
and don't be afraid. What have they odds of us; nay then have at ye.
Fight agen, then Enter Collin with a Flayl, and beats of the Satyrs.
Collin.
Cheer, cheer, Neighbours cheer, let me come to 'em, I'll thrash
the Rogues, I'll maul 'em.
[Hallow within, then re-enter.]
Low.
They are as swift-footed now as Stags; now we have drub'd their
Mettle up, they run like Grey-hounds.
Tar.
Gadslidlikins, Neighbour Collin laid about him lightly.
Hob.
Ah! he thrash'd 'em faith, thank ye heartily, good Neighbour I'm
hugely oblig'd to ye; and how does my Girl, hum.
Clout.
How is't Buddy, hah. How dost do Chick, he has not hurt, has
he?
Flora.
No, not much, he made my Arms ake a little with squeezing me
so hard when he took me up first, and the bristles of his Beard has made my
Face smart a little, but I'm well e'ery where else.
Clout.
Ee poor Buddy, I'm glad on't fackins.
Coll.
But hark ye, hark ye, how began this Hubbub, Neighbours? come
let me know all.
Why to be short then, Neighbour Collin, for I know you are a
wise Man, and can see into a Mill-stone without Spectacles. You must
know we live in a most confounded condition, under this same Goat-fac'd
God, Pan, here, and his shag-rag Family, our Wives and Daughters are
not safe one hour of the day for 'em.
Low.
An hour, no not a minute, Neighbour; why now for my part,
I'm fain to milk my Cattle my self, I dare not send my Wife out not I,
for fear of meeting 'em, and having her own Milk spoil'd.
Coll.
Well let Tarbox speak, Come Neighbour what say you?
Tar.
Why they wont so much as let a Cheese stand upon the shelf, but
they'll ravish that too, they'll ravish any thing, nothing comes amiss to
'em, Neighbour.
Hob.
Body o' me, I'm mortify'd when I think on't; why Neighbour I
did but send the poor Girl out a door to the Well to fetch a Pitcher of water,
and whip, one of these hairy Rag-muffins had trust her up, as a Hawk
does a Patridge: and had'nt we come just in the nick, and reliev'd her,
they would have us'd her as we do a wheaten Loaf, every one by this time
would have had a slice.
Coll.
And for a Loaf not cup up before, troth, one slice might have
been miss'd Neighbour.
Clout.
Gadsdiggers! and then I should have had a fine Crust, that am
to marry her next Moon; for she's my Sweetheart you must know, Master
Collin. Art not Flora? hah Lamb.
Flora.
Yes, so my Mother says; but heark ye, what shall I be the better
for being so?
Clout.
Oh! a great deal Chick, a great deal, when thou com'st to understanding.
There, there's a Plumb-Cake for my Lamb.
Flora.
Oh good! here's a pure kind Sweetheart: well, I'm resolv'd now I
will have him.
Clout.
Go, go home Buddy, and dip it in the Cream Pan, do Lamb.
Flora.
Oh! God, so I will Ivads.
Hob.
Ah! poor fool. And thus we are serv'd Neighbours, ever since
they came hither, by this rampant God Pan, and his followers: but Gadzooks
Sir, I have it in my head, d'ye hear Neighbours: We'll Rebel and
Right our selves; we'll live no longer under his Government: let's resolve
on't.
Coll.
Why, ay Sirs, now you come to the matter. Heark ye, bring
your Ears nearer to me, and listen to what I say: If you'll be of my mind,
you shall not only care a straw for this God Pan, but for never a one in the
whole pack. In short, Neighbours, we can live without 'em; what you
have heard of me, I hope, han't ye? why folks call me thrasher of the Gods,
I am always at open jarrs with them, they ne'r oblige me as I would have
it, with Corn, Pease, Beans, and so forth; nor I them their way, for I
ne'r go to Fraycis, nor ne'r will; and see who will have the worst
on't.
Good Lord! 'tis strange, now to see how folk differ now, I say
my Prayers morning and night, Gadsdiggers I'm affraid to go to sleep else.
Coll.
Why there 'tis now, I could ha' told him that by his Face; I can
discover a praying Logger-head, by his pale tallow Phiz, as certainly as
a drinker of Brandy by his red Nose.
Low.
Nay for my part, I can't say much for their God-ships not I, but
yet methinks, for this same Cinthia that's comes among us here, to light us to
bed, and save Candles, I can't but think her a vertuous good body enough.
Coll.
Pshaw, prithee don't talk of her Virtue, she can never be good
that goes by so many Names, 'tis the trick of a Slut Neighbours; believe
me, in one place she's Luna, in a second she's Proserpine, and here, now she's
Cinthia; come without mealy mouth'dness, she's a Jilt, Gadsbud; why what
a plaguey trick did she serve that poor Huntsman, Ac-Ac-Acteon, I think
they call him, the honest harmless Fellow chanc'd to come by the Pond as
she was washing her—he happen'd to give a grin on her, or some such
small matter, when presently what does she do, but bewitches him with
the scent of a hard run Stag, gave an Hollow, and then set his own Dogs
upon him.
Tar.
Ay that was barbarous, introth Neighbours; then they say here's
her Brother Paul, Paul, what d'ye call him? Apollo, Apollo lyes lurking about
her too, and comes smelling after a coy Wench, Daphne.
Coll.
Why what a noise there's made too about his Wit, and Musick,
why, 'tis true, the fellow's a good tollerable Harper, and can break a jest
at a City Wedding, or so, that's all, he kill'd a little rattle-Snake to'ther
day, and ha, ha, ha, he's so proud on't, ever since; besides that Daphne uses
him like a meer Nincompoop, she makes him carry her Slippers, or mend
her Stockings, she makes him a meer changling.
Omnes.
A Collin, a Collin, a Collin.
Clout.
Well but Neighbour Collin this God, as you say, may have but
small parts, but pray let's hear what you can say against Jupiter: what
can you say against him?
Coll.
What have I to say against Jupiter, why how now Clout, what thou
wilt not beard me, wilt thou? what have I to say against him: Come,
prithee what hast thou to say for him? Hum, let me alone Neighbours.
Low.
Ay, ay, Neighbour, let him say that. Go on, Clout, go on.
Clout.
Why then, Odsheartlikins, I must say that this Jupiter is of all
the rest, the most powerful: when he's pleas'd, the World rejoyces, but
bless us, when he's angry, Oh! how I tremble at his Lightning and Thunder.
Oh! Lord, did you ever hear such a damn'd silly puppy, come you
shall hear me tell the whole story of him. Look ye, this same Jupiter you
must know being sent as soon as he was born, away by his Mother, amongst
the Couribaates, a sort of poor fellows that belong'd to Powder-mills, for
fear his greedy gut Father Saturn, who us'd to breakfast on all his Malebrats,
should eat him, got the knack there of making Sky-Rockets, Squibbs,
and such like, and now when the maggot bites him, he's always whizzing
and popping 'em about, and this poor Animal takes 'em for Lightning and
Thunder; ha, ha, ha. Heark ye, Neighbour Hob, bid him tell us e're a
one of his friend Jupiter's good deeds, and then you shall see how I'll
feague him.
Hob.
Heark ye, Clout, Come, let's hear one of Jupiter's good Deeds?
come?
Clout.
Good Deeds; why I heard he conquer'd the monstrous Giants,
which I think folks call Titan's, and releas'd his old Father from Prison.
Coll.
Ay, and when 'twas done, went home with him to his Palace,
and lay with his own Sister—good.
Omnes.
A Collin, a Collin, a Collin, hey.
Coll.
Come, come, prithee go on to the rest of 'em.
Clout.
Why then, but that he's a little too fat and foggy for a jolly
companionly sort of God, what think you of Bacchus?
Coll.
Why just as much as he thinks of any body else, that is nothing;
for he gets drunk as soon as he rises, and is past thinking all the day after.
Tar.
Why, marry then Neighbour, what d'ye say to him? he's a brave
God.
Coll.
Ay, so the crack goes of him, he is a fighting God, ah! God help
him; would I were to play three Bouts at Flail with him, I'd try whose
Sconse was hardest: I'd spoil his Cuckold-making for one month I warrant ye.
Omnes.
Hey, a Collin, a Collin, a Collin, hey.
Low.
But hold Neighbours, there's Cupid, there's a little pretty sweet
God for ye.
Coll.
What d'ye call him? 'sbud if you had him grumbling in your Guts,
as I had once, you'd think him as bitter as Wormwood, Gadsooks,
that Urchin, Dandiprat, with a little sneaking Bow and Arrows, does
more mischief than all the rest of 'em together: But come now, I'll spare
ye the trouble now, of naming the rest, and shew ye at once what a sad
pack of Fellows these Deities are, as they call themselves.
Ay, come, let's hear.—
Collin.
In the first Place, then for our Home-Deity, God Pan's Worship
here; why you see by his Horns and Goat's Phiz, he's a Monster: Jupiter
a lewd unconscionable Whore-master: Apollo a sneaking Cully, and Fidler
Bacchus a Sott, Mars a Bully, Mercury a Thief, and Cupid a Pimp: Then to
couple 'em neatly with their Goddesses, Juno's an envious Scold, Cynthia's
an inconstant Jilt, Pallas an Hermaphrodite, Proserpine a Hagg, Ceres a Slutt,
and Venus a Whore, to my Knowledge.
Omnes.
A Collin, a Collin, hey.
Collin.
To end the Matter then, Neighbours, I declare I'm for a Common-Wealth; let
us therefore, nemini contradicente, plot against these Gods aforesaid,
and their Government: We'll have no longer Arbitrary Power: We'll bring
'em down to the Station of Constables; Then any one of us, Neighbours,
may hope to come into Office in his Turn.
Omnes.
Hey, a Collin, a Collin, Hey.
Enter Flora.
Flora.
Father, forsooth, my Mother stays for the Dinner.
Hob.
Come Neighbours, my Son Clout has a pure Sloop of good Liquor
within, we'll tap it before the Wedding to entertain Neighbour Collin: Son
Clout invites 'em all in.
Clout.
With all my Heart I fackins, and kindly welcome, as I may say.
Tar.
What Neighbour, you're resolv'd to couple to morrow then?
Clout.
Why truly Neighbour, the short and the long is, Flora and I have a
great Mind to try one another's good Luck: she has consider'd the worst on't.
Low.
But is not the Heifer too little to wear the Yoke, Neighbour?
You'll think of that, I hope.
I.
'Twas when the Sheep were shearing,And under an Oaken Tree,
Dick gave to Doll a Fairing,
Resolv'd her Love to be.
I long, Sweetheart, to bed with thee,
And tho' I cannot wooe,
I've hey pish, hey pub, they foo, hey for a Boy.
Sing, shall I come kiss thee now.
Methinks I long to bed thee,
And merrily buckle to.
With hey pish, hey pub, hey foo, hey for a Boy,
Sing shall I come kiss thee now.
II.
Doll seem'd not to regard him,As if she did not care:
Yet simper'd when she heard him
Like any Miller's Maid.
And value her Neighbour's head,
Cry'd why, nay pish, nay fye, and prithee stand by,
For I am too young to wed;
She said she ne'er could love him,
Nor any Man else in Bed.
Then fie pish, fie, nay pish, nay prithee stand by,
For I am too young to wed.
III.
Like one that's struck with Thunder,Stood Dicky to hear her talk,
All hopes to get her under,
This sad resolve did balk;
At last be swore, grown bolder,
He'd hire some common Sow:
For hey pish, hey fie, hey for a Boy,
Sing shall I come kiss thee now.
In loving Arms did fold her,
'Ere sneak, and cringe, and cry,
With hey pish, hey fie, hey for a Boy,
Sing shall I come kiss thee now?
IV.
Convinced of her Folly.And Female stubborn Will,
Poor Doll grew melancholly,
The Grist when by her Mill;
I hope, she cry'd, you're wiser
Than value what I have said;
If I do cry nay fie and pish, and prithee stand by,
That I am too Young to wed;
Bring yon the Church Adviser,
And dress but the Bridal Bed,
Then try tho' I cry fie and pish, and prithee stand by,
If I am too Young to wed.
SCENE II.
Enter Pan guarded with Satyrs, with him Apollo.Pan.
Rough as I am, and in my Nature wild,
Bred up in Rural Caves 'mongst Savages
That know no Worth, nor understand no Reason;
Yet shall Apollo in his Welcome find,
That Pan, tho' doom'd to Rustical Society,
Tho' he wants Words t'express it.
Apollo.
In Acts of Friendship there's small need of Words,
And therefore Pan may fairly have Excuse.
Had foolish Midas when he prais'd thy Pipe,
Extoll'd thy Courtesie and honest Nature,
Apollo had been baffled ev'n in both.
Pan.
My Father, tho' the God of Eloquence,
Yet could not spare me a Child's Portion, therefore
Take my well Meaning for my Compliment.
By Syrinx, whom I love at my Heart's Root,
Once more I swear Apollo is most welcome.
Ap.
Once more my Thanks to Pan; but hush, no Murmurs,
For if my Eyes deceive me not here comes
The swift-wing'd Pursuivant of Jove.
Enter Mercury.
Pan.
'Tis he—how fares my Father Hermes?
Ap.
Welcome, kind Mercury.
Merc.
Health to Apollo, and Off-spring Pan,
To whom I carry most surprizing News:
For at the bottom of yon rising Hill,
Close by a silver Brook that girdles in
A Thicket, crown'd with Jasamin and Roses;
I saw his Souls best Part the lovely Syrinx,
Weary with hunting stretch'd at her full length
Lie sighing loud, discovering Worlds of Beauties,
Unveil'd and careless to the Amorous Winds.
Pan.
Perhaps she's wounded, and may now be dead,
Oh dreadful Sound! Away, I'll seek her instantly,
[To his Guards.
And all my choicest Drugs I'll carry with me:
'Mongst which I've some that can e'en Life retrieve
From th'Jaws of Fate, others that can destroy,
Just at a moment, and some of that strange Nature,
They in a Mortal swoon'd and deadly Sleep,
Can seize on all the Offices of Life,
Whole Years, nay Ages, tell me, good Progenitor,
Was she not wounded?
Merc.
Faith, Boy, I hope she was not, but can't swear.
Pan.
I goe, I fly, excuse my eager haste, since Love's the Cause.
Ap.
He's gone, and now my dear Ambassador,
What Comfort for thy Friend?
[Exit Pan.
Merc.
What you could wish—Which made me send away
This Scandal of my Blood, this God
Prepare your self, the Nymph is coming hither.
Ap.
Who, Daphne?
Merc.
She.
Ap.
Prithee don't flatter me, nor use thy Humour
Of lying to thy Friend.
Merc.
'Tis true, by Cynthia.
I must confess you'll have a plaguy Task on't:
For all my Tricks and Wheedles 'twould not do,
Nor could my Tears, my Sighs or Languishing,
Which at some certain times ne'er us'd to fail me,
Move her one jot—till at last a happy Lye
(I thank Jove for the Gift) ingag'd her hither.
Ap.
Prithee what was it?
Merc.
I told her a young Mountain-Boar was lodg'd
Close by this Covert; she, greedy of the Game,
Forsakes the rest o'th' Nymphs that now are Chasing—
And yonder see she comes; 'tis fit I leave you.
Now, Prince, your Wit, and on this Truth rely,
No Woman yields so soon as she that's Coy.
[Exit Merc.
Enter Daphne, with a Javelin.
Daph.
Sad lonely Groves, and Sun-defying Woods,
The dark Recesses of the Sylvian Gods,
Thickets where never Mortal Foot e'er trod,
Where candied Snow in heaps remains unthaw'd,
I've with unusual Patience wandred round,
Yet nothing worth my Javelin have found.
Sure Hermes with a Lye abus'd my Ear,
Hah! do I dream? or is Apollo there?
'Tis he; and now I'm sure I am betray'd,
He comes, but I'll to Cynthia cry for Aid.
Away, and let me go.
[She is going, and Apollo interposes.
Ap.
Not till I speak.
If I should lose you this my Heart will break.
Daph.
Still am I plagu'd with the old whining Tale,
Can no Denial, nor no Scorn prevail?
Nay then this Weapon in my just Defence,
Shall free me from this strange Impertinence,
I'll kill ye.
[Offers her Javelin at him.
Ap.
That which your sparkling Eyes half did before,
Your Javelin now can hardly hurt me more.
My Eyes, Oh Falshood, senseless, poor and dull!
I swear the God of Wit is grown a Fool.
Ap.
Reflect, fair Creature, then what Charms you have,
The Wit's a Fool, the Conqueror, a Slave.
Daph.
Still do oppose thus then without Remorse,
What you deny me I'm resolv'd to force.
[Rushes on him with the Javelin, and wounds him; he disarms her.
Ap.
Barbarous, Ingrate; must Blood then quench my Flame?
Instead of Kindness is my Life your Aim?
Kindness, Oh Heav'n! how doubly fool'd is he,
That Kindness hopes from Woman's Cruelty,
When stubborn Humour feeds her Tyranny.
Beauty and Love by Jove were first design'd,
The choicest Blessings he could give Mankind,
Lovers with Ease did the dear Treasure gain,
But now coy Rigour grieves 'em with such Pain,
The Joy scarce countervails when they obtain.
Daph.
Then for a Joy so little worth their Pains,
Why have so many Idiots lost their Brains?
Nay, why will you, so late a Deity,
Descend so low poorly to sue to me?
To me that ever shall thus Coy appear,
He little thinks I have a Love elsewhere.
Begone, for shame—no blustring will avail,
Apol.
Love when abus'd has Privilege to rail.
Your Sex ungovern'd Passions hourly rule,
And Natural Error makes ye Love a Fool.
Wit is a Monster that provokes your Rage,
And is as little welcome as Old-Age.
Honest Deceit you can disgust each hour,
But Noise and Nonsense ravenously devour.
To all your Mischiefs Vertue is the Guide,
Vertue that feeds the Wolf of your curs'd Pride.
Your Sexes awful Cheat, for who e'er knew
A Woman proudly chaste, good-natur'd too?
Nay, you shall stay.
Daph.
Now you shall prevail.
I'll stay 'gainst Mankind in my turn to rail,
Man that ne'r thinks he has a happy day,
Unless he finds some Woman to betray:
Man that then eagerly pursues the Chace,
And swears and lies till he grows black in th'Face.
How many Tricks to plot our future Pain,
Are every day contriv'd amongst the Men?
What Taylors are there damn'd to frame a Dress,
How many Oaths in Volly when they wooe,
And yet how sure we are not one are true;
And if a Maid is fated to the Curse,
To change her State for better, or for worse;
She must the Nuptial Bed with Virtue Crown,
Tho' he the Leavings brings of the whole Town,
And straight dislikes because she is his own.
Then with vile Sinner, tiring out his Life,
Kicks and makes Mouths at th'very Name of Wife.
This, this is Man, this is that precious he,
In Morrals learn'd—
Apoll.
Rarely, tho' this may be.
What are the Vices you have nam'd to me?
Consider and repent.
Daph.
Repent, for what?
Apoll.
For injur'd Love, and this ungrateful Fault,
Atone for sheding thus my guiltless Blood.
Make me Amends.
Daph.
I cannot if would:
You are of a Sex I hate, cou'd you change Shape,
Tho' with a Bear, a Hedg-Hog, or an Ape,
As Nature's Products all—these love I can;
In these there is no Mischief, but for Man,
Soft Passion in my Breast, no Room can find,
And nothing that's on Earth, can change my Mind.
[Exit hastily.
Apoll.
Behold, fond Lovers, by coy Dames deny'd,
Behold, the Quintessence of Female Pride:
See here, the fleeting Bliss, for which you toil,
Burn out your Lamps, and wast your precious Oil.
In Woman the grand Disturbance of the Mind,
In either Station, whither Coy, or Kind.
Then hate her—Ah, how Vain is grave Advice,
Pleading 'gainst Nature, and its best of Joys;
For tho' in th'Rapture, the sweet Blessing is
So very short, that he that reaps the Bliss,
Can hardly say 'tis this.
Yet Men much more that happy Moment prize,
Than Fame or Wealth, than Crowns or Monarchies.
[Ex. Apoll.
Entor Pan with Satyrs and Shepherds
Pan.
She comes unlook'd for, to this happy Place,
Love brings her hither, to prevent my Labour,
Let us retire, and when I give the Sign,
Be ready with your Skill to entertain her.
[Exeunt.
She loves him, oh, she loves, sound it ye Winds,
Even to the utmost Confines of the Globe;
Proclaim aloud that Cinthia Loves Endimion,
And he ill Fated Youth does doat on her:
Whilest I am left regardless, and refus'd,
Nay, tho' I've forfeited a Virgin's Blush;
And with pale Cheeks, and Eyes all bath'd with Tears,
Heart-breaking Sighs, she silent breaths her Passion,
And Words unfitting any thing but Love,
Have told him my sad Story but in vain;
To Cynthia he Aspires, Cynthia the Fair,
The Great, the Haughty—but she shall not have him;
No, I'll oppose their Pleasure tho' I die;
This I think the Covert of God Pan;
Whom I've observ'd to be as fond of me,
As I am of Endimion, and tho' I hate him,
Yet I for once, and meerly for my Ends,
Will work upon his Temper; he has a Drug
Given him by Proserpine, and Envious Pluto,
Of such strange Force, and deadly Nature,
That it can cast one into such a Sleep,
That nothing can awake. This is Revenge,
I'll wheedle out of him, to give Endymion;
So shall he be incapable of loving,
And she of being belov'd—But see he comes.
Enter Pan with Shepherds and Shepherdesses, and Satyrs; he sits down by Syrinx.
sings
Great Pan, the preserver of our Flocks,
By whose blest Power we thrive and gain;
1. Shepherdess
sings.
Who keeps our Lambs from Bog and Rocks;
Accept the Duty of each bumble Swain.
Shepherd.
To Syrinx too, we welcome give,
Shepherdess.
Syrinx that shall for ever live:
Whilst Love and Beauty can disperse,
Shepherd.
Whilst Love and Beauty can disperse,
Of both.
Their Blessings o'er the Universe.
Whilst Love and Beauty,
Love and Beauty,
Love and Beauty can disperse,
Their Blessings o'er the Universe.
2. Shepherdess.
Syrinx and Pan, how shall we entertain?
2. Shepherd.
See, see the Satyrs in a merry Vein,
Are coming down this way,
Prepar'd to dance and Play,
And sing a pleasant Round-Delay.
[I.]
Satyr.Last Night when Phœbus went to Bed,
And I my hungry Goats had fed,
I stole to Court,
To see some Sport,
And hearken what the fine Folk said;
Where soon my Heart was made a Prize,
To one that wore black rowling Eyes:
Be kind then Dearest of all Dears,
For I'm in Love up to the Ears.
II.
Nymph.If you Love me, you must prepare
To clip your Horns, and shave your Hair,
Instead of causing Love, you scare.
The Hoofs too bid within your Shooes,
In Bed a tender Maid will bruise,
They must be par'd.
Satyr.
With all my Heart,
Nor will I cry, oh—at the Smart;
Nymph.
Then come and the new Mode I'll shew,
And trick, and dress you like a Beau.
III.
Satyr.How shall I change this matted Hair?
Nymph.
You must a powder'd Peruke wear;
Satyr.
But then my Faces Tawny Red;
Zons what can mend?
Nymph.
It must be flay'd;
With boiling Water I'll begin
To fleece you from that sallow Skin:
Satyr.
'Twill scald, 'twill burn,
Nymph.
Fie, fie—no, no:
Or if it do,
You must some small Pain undergoe,
Or you can never be a Beau.
IV.
Satyr.For Love of thee, I'll do't, my Dear,
Say next what Habit must I wear;
Instead of Hides, and broad Fig-Leaves,
Nymph.
A Coat, with huge, long, slouching Sleeves;
A Hat cock'd up with Button fine,
And Steankirk twisted to your Chine:
'Tis all the Mode—
Satyr.
An apish Sham;
Godzooks I'm better as I am.
Nay, then farewell;
Satyr.
Oh, say not so.
Nymph.
Then do't and dare not answer no,
I can love nothing but a Beau.
Chorus of both.
Satyr.
Then take me and moddle me just to thy Mind,
Since Beauty much stronger than Reason can bind;
I'll once be a Coxcomb:
Nymph.
Why, then I'll be kind.
What ever Distinction in Morals may be,
Satyr.
When a Female's i'th' Case,
Every Male is an Ass,
And the Man, and the Satyr agree.
Pan.
Not only this but every dread Command,
Gives the Drugs to Syrinx.
Pan shall with Joy obey, if you will pardon
My rude unpolish'd Phrase, and letting Service
Attone for my Defects in Conversation.
Syr.
Be well assur'd I will.
Pan.
The Dainties of the Spring, shall please your Eye,
Summer and Autumn too, delight your Taste;
I'll bring the lovely Maid, where clustering Grapes,
Full as thy Lip, swelling with spritely Juice,
Shall give their willing Bunches to thy Hand;
Tall Chesnuts, and the Filbert-Trees in Rows,
Waiting thy Pull, shall bow their Summer Treasure,
And in their turn, the bleeding Mulberry;
Juicy Pomgranate, and luscious Plum,
Shall pay thee Tribute, nor shall this be all,
For to indulge the Appetite, my Flocks,
At my Command, shall cast their Kids and Lambs;
And when at Night, cloy'd with luxurious Feeding:
Thy Beauteous Eye-Lids fall, in Groves of Jessamine:
In Beds of Roses laid, my airy Quire,
Sweet Nightingales like Flutes, the Thrush and Ozel,
As shriller Flajolletts, with warbling Linnets,
In Consort joyn'd, shall sing thee to thy Rest.
Syr.
Oh—heavenly, why this wou'd charm a Virgin,
Were she as Cold as Northern Isicles.
Pan.
Will you then love me? pray forgive my Bluntness.
Syr.
Hope well, this is no place for Promises,
And now to let me see, how your Observance
Pan.
I'm gone, your Breath can drive me round the World,
And in an Instant stop the swift Career.
[Exit Pan.
Syr.
Go, oh thy foolish Dotage be thy Plague,
It ne'er shall trouble me; here is the Drug,
The fatal Instrument of Female Malice:
And now methinks the Mischief broods within me,
And all my Veins swell with the just Revenge:
To love, and not be lov'd, what Curse is like it?
Poverty, Sickness, Slavery or Exile,
Famine or Plague, Tortures or Lunacy,
are Ease to hopeless Love—oh, I'll not endure it,
But in my Love's Defence, let fly at all,
Since I cannot possess, no other shall.
[Exit.
| A New Opera, Call'd Cinthia and Endimion : Or, The Loves of the Deities | |