University of Virginia Library

SCENE the Third.

Enter Dorinda disguis'd in a Coat of Furs.
Dorind.
Sylvio, when I appear in my own shape,
Takes all the care my presence to escape;
And when my sighs I utter, then he speaks
With so much scorn, that my poor heart he breaks;
But thus disguis'd I may his foot-steps trace,
“Securely gaze upon his lovely Face.
“Live in the Sun-shine his fair Eyes do cast,
Follow my Love, and near my Heaven be plac'd.
But what if he should see through my Disguise?
Tho Love, they say, is blind, yet Hate has Eyes.
Wretched Dorinda, every way thour't lost:
Was ever poor unhappy Maid so crost?
Well, from my Love you too unkindly flye,
The Nymphs will chide you Sylvio when I dye.
I'm the last Conquest too you e're will make:
For none of 'em will Love you for my sake.
Wearied and tir'd, I grow so faint, I'le try
If I can sleep, in yonder brake I'le lye,
If they can sleep that Love so much as I.

Exit.
Enter Sylvio, with Linco and other Shepherds; a Bores Head being carry'd before him in Tryumph, the Shepherds Sing.
“Oh glorious Youth, true Child of Hercules,
“That kilst with ease such Monstrous Beasts as these.

Lynco.
“Oh glorious Conquerour, by whom lyes slain
“The terrour of th'Arcadian plain:
“This is the famous Trophy, Noble Toyle
“Of him whom we our Demi god must stile:
“Extol his great Name Shepherds, and this day
“Keep ever Solemn, ever Holy-day.
The Shepherds Sing.

Lynco.
“Oh glorious Youth, who didst despise thy own
“For others safeties.

Sylv.
All that I have done,
Was but my duty. “Vertue climbs her Throne
“By these steep Stairs, and the high Gods have set
“Danger and Toyle before her Pallace Gate.


The Shepherds Song.
Thanks Conquerour to thee; no more shall the Clown
Be scar'd from the Plough, and the Tillage lay down;
“He shall Sow the plump Seed, & from Earths pregnant Womb,
“Expect the wisht fruit when the Season is come:
No more shall the Shepherds be frightned away,
The Nymphs and their Loves in the Forrests shall play.
Chor.
No more shall the Sheperds, &c.

Lync.
“Such peradventure was the famous Bore
“Alcides slew, yet so thy glory's more;
“'Tis thy first labour, but his third.
“But with wild Beasts thy Infant Valour playes,
“To kill worse Monsters in thy riper dayes.

Sylv.
“But stay, I see, unless my eyes mistake
“A greyish thing at Couch in yonder brake;
“Sure some wilde Beast, most certainly 'tis one
More Tryumphs still, my Victories to Crown.
Direct this Arrow by thy power Divine,
And Cynthia, the devoted head is thine.

[Sylvio draws an Arrow and shoots; at which Lynco, and some of the other Shepherds go out.
Sylv.
“What have I done, what have my Eyes beheld?
“In a Beasts skin I have a Shepherd kill'd:
Sylvio an end to all thy Tryumphs give;
“Throw down thy Weapons and inglorious live.

Enter Lynco and the former Shepherds, leading in Dorinda bleeding as wounded with an Arrow.
Lync.
Lean gently on my Arm.

Dorin.
May I not know—

Sylv.
Dorinda!

Dorin.
To what hand my death I owe?

Lynco.
To Sylvio's.

Dorin.
Must I Sylvio's Martyr prove?

Sylv.
How ill poor Nymph have I repaid thy Love.

Dor.
Kill'd by so dear a hand?

Sylv.
How can I gaze
On so much ruine? dare I see that Face
And live? “No, flye thy guilt, flye thy disgrace;
“Yet something holds me, and would make me run
“To her, whom I of all the world did shun.

Dorin.
Why do you look so wildly—do not start
At what you've done; if you have struck my heart?
It was your own, and that can be no fault:
“Those hands to wound me, your fair Eyes have taught.

Sylv.
Run Linco, flye, and bring some quick relief;
Bring all your help, Friends, Arts to save her Life;
Fly as you value my Eternal Bliss.

[Exit Linco.
Dorin.
This Care is wondrous kind, indeed it is.
But now I fear it comes too late.

Sylv.
Too late.
Divert ye Gods this bloody Scene of Fate,
And save her Life, or I must ever howle:
Horrors and Hell will haunt my tortur'd soul.

Dorin.
Wipe your dear Eyes, this grief I cannot see.
You are too good to be disturb'd for me:
But if you think my death a fault has been,
Let me enjoyn the pennance for your sin:
When I am dead, dear Sylvio, do but come
Once in a day, and visit my cold Tomb.
And when you see the pretty Garlands hung
About my Grave, to shew I dy'd so young,
And think how the bewailing Nymphs all met,
With trembling hands the Cypress branches set,
And mixt the flowers their tender Eyes all wet;
When you shall read upon the little Stone,
Here lyes Dorinda by her Love undone,
And o're my dust the weeping Marble see,
Then with a sigh you will remember me.

Sylv.
Remember thee; is this weak Tribute all
That I must pay for thy unhappy fall?

Dorin.
And is not this enough? Will you do more
Then sigh for my poor sake; nay, then you shall weep too,
And mourn for me, as I have done for you.
Say, will you not?

Sylv.
Is that all I can pay?
A Pious Mourner at your Grave I'le stay,
And on your Marble, weep my Life away.
Why could our meeting Souls no sooner joyne?
Now dear Dorinda, I am intirely thine.

Dorind.
Then I'le dye pleas'd, if Death hath made you mine.

Sylv.
Must so much goodness dye? when thou art dead,
And all that's dear on Earth's for ever fled;
Thus o're thy Dust I'le hang my drooping Head.

Dorin.
But will you wish I were alive agen?

Sylv.
More then for Heaven.

Dorind.
But would you love me then?

Sylv.
More than the Saints love Bliss: I'de be all thine:
No Constancy, no Faith, no Love like mine.

Dorind.
With Joy before I could my Life resign.
But Death will now but little welcome find.
Now I'de fain live to hear you speak thus kind.

Enter Lynco and Dameta.
Sylv.
Oh save her Life, with hers redeem my Fate:
[to Da.
Restore her Heaven; but if I pray too late,
If Faith on Earth the Gods above regard,
With Constellations, and with Crowns reward,
No common Coronet's reserv'd for thee
In Heav'n, in Hell no common pains for me.

Exeunt.