University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

ARCAS and ÆGON.
Arcas.
O Ægon ! how shall I requite thy Love?
Much for Amyntas' Virtue is thy Due;
But for Ianthe more! A Female Mind,
So greatly rais'd above her humble Fortune,
So justly jealous of her Maiden Fame,
So warm, yet graceful, in her firm Resentment;
So fearful to forgive, so sweetly loath
To punish, where paternal Pity pleaded!
A Heart so finish'd in the Mold of Virtue
Raises my Wonder high as my Content!
These, Ægon, these are Blessings, from thy Care
Deriv'd, which Arcas never can repay.

Æg.
Has not your equal Care of my Pastora
More than repay'd the Debt of your Ianthe?
And does not Iphis ballance your Amyntas?
Talk not of Obligations then, unless
You would inquire, what Ægon owes to Arcas!

Arc.
Let them be mutual then: what Virtue gives
Is always so: When Friends, on Friends, confer,
To give, or to receive, is equal Pleasure.
Now tell me, Ægon, speak thy real Thoughts,
What must we judge of cold Ianthe's Conduct?

Æg.
That Education has assisted Nature,
And given her Prudence to conceal her Love.

Arc.
Her Love! why was the Riddle then impos'd?
For, if she loves, her Hopes are there in Hazard:
If Iphis never should have Skill to solve it,
On her own Heart her Cruelty recoils.

Æg.
'Tis true: but Nature is, in female Hearts,
So shy, they sometimes will endure more Pain
To hide, than to accomplish their Desires.
But here, alas! the Danger's soon remov'd.
'Tis but her whispering some Bosom-friend,
Who kindly may betray the Trust to Iphis.

Arc.
Suppose she never make that Trust!—

Æg.
—Know then,
That I, myself, already have unty'd it.

Arc.
'Tis more than I can reach; explain it—

Æg.
—No.
Your Heart's too tender to conceal it long.
You, on the first Distress of Iphis, would assist him.

Arc.
Well! take thy own Course, till proper time demand it.
Now, Ægon, turn we to our other Care.
Philautus is this Day arriv'd from Corinth
In gorgeous Pomp, to make his Conquest sure;
The Fame, he tells me, of my Daughter's Charms,
Hath drawn him from the Crowd of Courtly Beauties,
Whose Rival Hearts, in vain, have sigh'd to hold him,
To lay his Fortunes at Pastora's Feet.

Æg.
This Froth and Vanity must yield us Sport.

Arc.
I leave his Follies, Ægon, to thy Charge;
Thy Jovial Tongue will play upon his Pride,
And better sound the Shallows of his Heart.
But I must, as befits his Birth, receive him:
Nor, for his Father's sake, must slight his Weakness.
Pastora shall be inform'd of his Arrival:
Bring thou Amyntas to their Interview:
Where, when he sees, in form, the high Philautus
By my own Hand presented to Pastora,
Then shall we prove, how far his secret Flame
Can bear a Rival, or deserve a Mistress.

Æg.
First, let me trespass on your gentle Patience:
This Way I see old Corydon advancing:
He comes, by my Appointment, to complain
Of some Abuse, that's offer'd to his Daughter;
And hopes, that your Authority will right him.

Arc.
'Tis true! somewhat of this Pastora told me.

Æg.
He's here, with all the Parties, to attend you.

Enter Corydon, Phillida, Cimon, Mopsus, Damon, and other Shepherds.
Cor.
May all our Gods preserve the noble Arcas,
Lord of our Lands, and Flocks.—

Arc.
—Good Neighbours, welcome!
What seems amiss, that may concern your Welfare?

Cor.
Ah! my good Lord, I have no Skill to speech it,
But Grief at Heart will always find a Tongue.
My Lord, this home-bred Maid I call my Daughter,
She's all I have, and all my Hope; now I
Would gladly see her well dispos'd in Marriage.
And that she might not dye a Maid, unask'd,
I have declar'd one half of what I have
Her Dow'r, in present; at my Death, the rest.
'Tis true, 'tis little; but still, the Half is Half!
Now here, so please you, I have found her out
A pair of wholesome Youths, to take her Choice of:
Brothers they be, Sons of my Neighbour Dorus,
This is call'd Cimon, and the younger Mopsus!
Their Means, and Manners, suit her Breeding well,
And both profess their Hearts are set upon her.

Cim.
Yes, and please you, Both cruelly in Love.

[Half crying.
Cor.
Nay pr'ythee, Cimon, let me tell my Story.

Arc.
A little Patience, Friend—

Mop.
—Hoh! hoh! hoh! hoh!
That Fool my Brother's always in the wrong!

Cor.
Fy! fy! Mopsus! now thou art worse than he.

Arc.
On with thy Tale—

Cor.
—Now, Sir, these Lads, I say,
Were nothing in the way to cross their Courtship,
Might one or t'other make her a good Husband.
But here, here, an't please you, lies our Grief!
The wilful Girl is scornful to them both.
And why? because, forsooth! she loves another!
But how! how is her Love dispos'd? Why thus!
This pranking gamesome Boy, this Damon here!
With Songs, and Gambols, has I think bewitch'd her
His Pipe, it seems, has play'd her sweeter Sounds,
And all the idle Day they toy and sing together.

Cim.
Ay so they do, and please you—

Cor.
Nay, nay, Cimon!

Cim.
Well, well! I've done: but I'm sure it's true tho'—

Cor.
So nothing now will down with her but Damon.
And what will Damon do? Why, ruin her!
The Lamb that's in the hungry Fox's Mouth,
Has little Hope to scape being made his Breakfast:
For he declares he ne'er intends to marry,
And openly defies my Power to force him.
A hard Defiance to a tender Father!
[Weeps.
Now, good my Lord! 'tis true you're not our King,
And therefore none are bound, by Law, to obey you.
But you've a stronger Tye o'er us, our Hearts.
The Man were branded here, that scorn'd your Pleasure.
And the great Good you do us every Day,
Will make your Word go farther, than a Law:
So if your Pity think my Case is hard,
I leave the Manner how, to your great Wisdom;
And hope your Goodness will prevent a Father's Sorrow.

Arc.
O Ægon! how affecting is the Tongue
Of plain Simplicity—The honest Wretch!
He moves me more with Nature's Eloquence,
Than all the Points of our Athenian Orators.
Thy Grief, good Corydon, I take to Heart,
And, to my poor Extent of Power, will serve thee.
But hear we now, what others may reply.
Damon, thou 'ast heard this good old Man's Complaint;
Why hast thou dallied with this Maid's Affection?

Dam.
My Lord, I mean the Lass no harm, not I:
'Tis true, I like her Lip, and so I do
Some twenty others; and twenty others may
Have all the same Demand to marry me!
But, 'las-a-day! tho' Kissing goes by Favour,
A Man can't marry every Girl he kisses!
Were that a Claim, then she, that first was kiss'd,
Should first be married; so I hope, my Lord,
I shall not be bound to do One right, in wrong
To Hundreds, that should come, in turn, before her.

Æg.
Sirrah! thou mak'st thy Perjuries a Sport,
And think'st thy Wit excuses Wickedness.

Dam.
Not so hard, good Master; for Maids sometimes
Are slippery Bits, as well as we; and he
That has but one poor String to his Bow, if that
Should fly, will find but sorry Sport a shooting.

Æg.
Knave! thou'rt a Nusance; all thy Neighbours note thee
For a Poacher: When Nuts are ripe, he cracks
You half the Apron-strings, around the Country.

Arc.
Gently, Ægon; let us suspend Reproof,
That we may hear, without Disguise, his Thoughts.
Well Damon, what Amends to Corydon?
What shall I say I'have done to right his Daughter?

Dam.
Why let the Damsel please her self, my Lord;
If she's dispos'd to marry, there's her Choice.
If to make Life a Frolick—Here's her Man.
There's no great Hardship, where the Will is free:
As she must first consent, before she kisses,
I hope she'll first have mine, before I marry.
For though some Men have hang'd themselves for Maids,
Yet, I have known my Betters think a Wife
The worst of Halters; so whate'er betide me,
I hope, you won't make Marriage, Sir, my Sentence!

Arc.
Think'st thou a virtuous Bride, a Punishment?

Dam.
A Halter made of Silk's a Halter still.
And as the Song wisely says, my Lord,

Cor.
You see, Sir, I have not accus'd him falsly;
He owns himself more wicked, than I spoke him.

Arc.
'Tis true, as such we shall consider him.
Well, my good Friends, I hope what you propose
[To Cim. and Mop.
Will shew your Hearts are of an honest Mold.
There stands the Maid; if you have ought to urge,
That may prefer your Hopes to Damon's,
Take this Occasion to avow your Love:
You have her Father's Wish, and my Protection.

Cim.
Ah! Sir, an' like you, I 'have no Heart to speak;
She flouts, and glowts, at me, from Morn to Night.
She how she looks now! 'cause she can't avoid me.

Arc.
Take Courage, Man; 'tis but her Maiden Shyness.

Cim.

[Crying.
Cor.
You see, my Lord, the Lad tho'fearful, in
His Heart is honestly dispos'd however.

Arc.
Perhaps she may be more inclin'd to Mopsus.

Æg.
Come, Mopsus, now for thee, thy Heart seems cheerful.

Mop.
Ay! 'twas always so: I love to laugh,
Let things go how they will: why let her frown!
As long as Cimon's us'd as ill as I,
It gives ones Mind a little Ease however!
Happen as 'twill, I shall have him to laugh at!
So, as he's for singing an old Song sadly,
'Twill be but sad, to try a new one merrily.

Æg.
Well said, Mopsus! Thou sing'st it, from thy Heart,
And 'tis a merry one—

Mop.
—Better than crying.

Cor.
Ah! Sir, we poor Swains have but homely Words,
To speak our Minds; but what we say, we stand to.

Arc.
An honest Principle: Now, my good Friend;
Let us inquire into thy Daughter's Heart:
For that must guide us—

Cor.
—Phillida, come near!

Arc.
Well, my fair Maid! is there, within my Power,
Ought, that may contribute to thy Happiness?
Of all these Youths, for thou art free to chuse,
Which is the Swain comes nearest to thy Heart?

Phill.
Since I am forc'd to speak the Truth, my Lord,
I own my Heart has play'd a simple Game;
I know my Father's Kindness means we well,
And I could wish I had the Power to please him;
But I am loath to lead a Savage Life:
And sure! these Lads were woeful Company.

Cim.
O scornful Maid! my Heart will burst with Grief!

[Cries.
Mop.
Hoh! hoh! poor Cimon's in a bitter taking!

[Laughs.
Phill.
'Twere hard to chuse, from such Extreams of Folly!
Damon, with all his Infidelities,
Seems not to me, Sir, half so terrible!
And I am more, than much afraid, I love him!
'Tis true, I know him fickle, false, and faithless!
And I have try'd a thousand, thousand times,
To shut him from my Thoughts, but 'twill not do!
When e'er my Heart is open, in he comes!
Again submits, and is again forgiven!
Again I love, and am again forsaken!
Yet still he fools me on; and when he's absent,
With Sighs, and Songs, I thus relieve my Folly.

Arc.
Take Comfort, Corydon; all yet may mend:
Thy Daughter's frank Confession of her Love
Persuades me, of her guarded Innocence!
And though licentious Damon may deserve
Severe Reproof; yet for the Maiden's sake
(For what he suffers, her fond Heart will feel)
We will not harden him, by Punishment,
But rather tempt him by Reward, to Virtue.
Of this bad matter make we then the best.
If therefore, Damon, thou, or any Swain,
By Suit, or Service of his Love, can woe,
And win this gentle Maid, to be his Bride,
The Dow'r, which her kind Father has declar'd,
My self will double, on her Marriage-day,
And give him, with her Hand, my father Favour.

Cor.
May all the Gods preserve the bounteous Arcas.
A double Portion! Now, my honest Lads,
There's brave Encouragement to warm your Hearts!
Now shew your Skill, and who's the featest Fellow!
Now sing, and dance her down to your Desires!
Now, Phillida, let faithless Damon see
What Love, and Honesty have gain'd, by Truth;
And what his Pranks have lost by Wickedness.

Phill.
Dishonestly shall never gain on me

Mop.
A double Dowry, Cimon; now's our Time!

Cim.
Ay, but I'm tender-hearted; my poor Hopes
Will never blossom, while she looks so frosty!

Cor.
Learn of thy Brother, Lad; thou seest he knows
No Fear, nor Grief: Up with thy Heart, and at her.

Cim.
Well then, since you encourage me, I will.

Cor.
Well said, my Boy! Ah! this joyful Day
Has set my Heart upon the merry Pin!
When I was young, 'twas thus I play'd the Sweetheart.

Arc.
Well done, my merry Heart! Come, Corydon,
Now let us leave these Lovers free to woe,
And he that first subduing, and subdued,
Comes Hand in Hand, to ask her Bridal Dow'r,
In farther Token of my Love, my self
Will crown him with a Chaplet, worth his wearing.

Æg.
Now for the Garland!—

Mop.
—Live the noble Arcas!

Arc.
Ægon! bring thou Amyntas to the Grove
Of Citrons, there Pastora shall receive
Philautus.

[Ex. Arcas and Ægon severally.
Cor.
—Let me but live to see that Knave,
That graceless Damon bobb'd! let him but wear
The Willow! I'll jump into my Grave,
With Joy—
[Exit Cor.

Dam.
(aside ...)
So! now have I probably
All my whole Work to do over again!
This double Dow'r, no doubt, will turn her Brain,
And set the Wind-mill of her Sex a going.(... aside)
.

Mop.
Now! Cimon, now!

Cim.
—I'd rather you'd speak first.

Mop.
No, you are the Elder—

Cim.
—But my Heart misgives me.

Phill.
Still silent! no kind Offer yet from Damon?
Has Fortune no Effect upon his Heart?

[Aside.
Cim.
No, no, I tell you, I shall never hit
The Tune alone—

Mop.
—Well then, be sure you back me.

Phill.

Mop.
Well! let him speak! mayhap your Face
May get as little good from him, as ours
From you; 'tisn't every Man will marry you;
Don't cry, Cimon; it only makes her prouder.

Cim.
She has given me such a kick o'the Heart,
I shall never recover it—

Phill.
—Hark thee, Cimon!
I like thee better than thy Brother far.

Cim.
O! the Gracious! do you truly, and truly?

Phill.
I'll give thee Proof this Instant! take him hence,
And keep him from my sight, an Hour at least.
And when thou seest me next, come thou without him.

Cim.
Give me thy Hand on't—

Phill.
—Hush! not now, they'll see us.
Away with him—

Cim.
A Word's enough—I'll do't.
Come, Mopsus, come away—for I have a thing,
And such a thing to tell thee, Boy—

Mop.
What ails
The Fool! Thou'rt mad!

Cim.
—Mad! Ay, and so would you
Be too, were my Case yours; but come away.

Mop.
Nay, not so fast, good Cimon—

Cim.
—Faster, Mopsus, faster.

[Cimon hurries off Mopsus.
Dam.
My charming Creature! this was kindly done!
Never was Favour, to a Fool, so well
Dissembled!—

Phill.
Yes, I have learn'd, from you, Dissembling.
And you'll again dissemble, to reward me.

Dam.
Why so suspicious, Phillida? Don't I love thee?
Why all this Bustle, at my Heart, when thus
I touch thy Hand, or gaze upon thy Eyes!
Give me thy Lips, and see how thou'rt mistaken.

Phill.
No, Damon; Lips are but liquorish Proofs
Of Love, and thine too often have deceiv'd me.

Dam.

Phill.
'Tis thus thou always hast decoy'd my Heart!
Thou know'st I love, and therefore wouldst undo me.

Dam.
I know thou lovest, and therefore would secure thee.

Phill.

Dam.
What, not a Hand, a Lip, for old Acquaintance?
Not one poor Sample of the Grain, my Dear,
Unless I make a Purchase of the whole?

Phill.
No, Damon; now 'tis time to end our Fooling.
Consent to wed me, or forbear to love.

Dam.
What! dost thou think to starve me into Marriage?

Phill.
I'll starve my self, but I'll avoid thy Falshood!
Graze where thou wilt, I'll feed no ranging Lovers.

Dam.
No—nor I won't be pounded, while I can leap
A Hedge: So keep your Grass for Calves to graze on.
I need not go a Mile for Pasture, Dame,
And good as any Meal that you can make me.

Phill.
Do, leave me, do, and prove thy self a Traytor!
Faithless, Inhumane Damon!—

Dam.
—Mighty well!
This double Dow'r, I find, has turn'd thy Brain!
And thou would'st make me madder than thy self!
A Husband! Death! a Mill-horse! what, to grind,
And grind, in one poor hopeless Round of Life!
To-day, to-morrow, and to-morrow, still
To plod the Path, I trod the Day before!
O! methinks I feel the Collar on my Shoulders!

Phill.
Abandon'd Damon! now I begin to hate thee.

Dam.
I'm glad, my Mistress, that you'll speak your Mind!
Some Girls will fool you on till one's Heart aches.
But since I know your Play, Forsooth, hang lag,
Say I, and so farewell, fair Phillida.

The SCENE changes to a Pleasant Garden adjoining to the House of Arcas.
Enter Arcas conducting Philautus, with Ægon and Amyntas.
Arc.
Once more you're welcome, to our Cottage, Sir;
And what is wanting in Magnificence,
Shall be supply'd in Will, and Wishes, to delight you.

Phil.
Your civiliz'd Deportment still retains
The Courtier—that suffices—You are polite.
You know my Birth, and what my Rank requires.
And tho' my Life has always stream'd with Pleasures,
I love sometimes t'unbend from crowded Courts,
And snuff the Rural Air—Your Hounds are good?

Arc.
Of the old Spartan Breed: All staunch as Truth,
High-mettled on the Scent, and in full Cry
The jolly Chorus thunders in the Vale.
A sporting Stag will better speak their Virtue.

Phil.
We'll find an early Day. And now, my Lord,
Nothing seems wanting to compleat my Welcome,
But fair Pastora, and the Field before me!
A started Beauty strains me into Speed,
And like the Greyhound sweeps me to the Quarry.

Arc.
Courtiers have Arts to make their Conquests easy;
But where the Skilful, and the Graceful join,
Our Rural Virgins must on sight surrender.

Phil.
She will not find it easy to escape me.

Æg.
Sure, she will not find it difficult to try!

[Aside.
Phil.
In Court, our Dames have prov'd me, to their Cost.

Arc.
She gains a Conquest, that's by you subdued!

Phil.
Polite, and Courtly! finely turn'd, my Lord!
She gains a Conquest, that's by you subdued!
She does indeed! for I'm not easily pleas'd.

Æg.
She is, I'm sure, that can be pleas'd with thee.

[Aside.
Phil.
I, sometimes, have been Nice to Cruelty.

Æg.
If Modesty can charm, she's lost indeed!

Arc.
But we delay my Daughter's Happiness:
Your Leave a moment, to conduct her.
[Ex. Arcas.

Amyn.
What sudden Terrors have o'ercast my Heart?

Æg.
Well, Sir, we now shall see your Courtly Skill!
But let me tell you, that our homebred Nymphs,
However easy to the humble Lover,
Can to the Heart, that comes assur'd of Conquest,
Assume a Pride, regardless as the Wind,
When on the Mountain's Head it bends the Cedar.

Phil.
The Rural Bluntness, Ægon, much delights me:
We sometimes have, in Court, a Droll, like thee.
And when the Oddness of a Creature's pleasant,
We join the Laugh, and give their Humours way.

Æg.
Just as we sometimes treat a Coxcomb here.
For now and then they come to steal our Daughters:
Though I ne'er heard their Sighs have much prevail'd.

Phil.
But, honest Ægon, thou shalt find, we Courtiers
Have sharper Darts, than simple Sighs, to shoot with.
The Skilful do not ask, but give Relief.

Æg.
Our simple Swains would thank you for that Secret.
For they are always humble, till the Nymph
Is kind; and then they're simply grateful too.

Phil.
O Rustick Notions! No, dear Ægon, no.
A Woman's Pride is pamper'd by our Fear:
He only can reduce that dares provoke it.

Æg.
A Courage so determin'd must be sure
Of Conquest, Sir,—But see! your fair Defiance.

Enter Arcas with Pastora.
Arc.
This, my Pastora, is the Noble Youth,
Whom my Approvement offers to thy Choice:
High is his Lineage, his Appointments equal:
But my weak Praise would wrong his full Deservings;
Thou art thy self to judge of his Perfections,
For nothing is impos'd upon thy Will:
The brave Philautus scorns Advantages,
And leaves his Cause to Love, that thy free Heart
May rather soften, to his own Persuasions,
Than yield reluctant, with a cold Obedience.

Phil.
Yes, lovely Maid! compell'd Affection stains
The Lover's Glory, and degrades his Conquest!
The generous Heart disclaims all Aids, but Love!
Yet be compos'd, I'll use a gentle Power:
I know the Terrors that invade your Sex,
When Love first makes his Onset of Desire;
Your Beauties tremble! and your Charms retreat!
I therefore shall a while suspend my Vows,
'Till your own secret Wishes sigh to hear them.
All I, in present, shall propose, is first,
That with an Eye impartial you survey me;
Hear with Attention, willing to admire;
Then when you are inclin'd to speak—speak free!
Nor let your Virgin Coyness veil your Heart.

Past.
Sir, I must own you have already cur'd
My Fears, those Fears, that ere you spoke, oppress'd me.
At one short View, I read your Mind, and Person!
Which equally have given Surprize, and Wonder!
And since so generously you use your Power,
As not t'uenforce it, with a Father's Will;
The least I can in Gratitude return,
Is not alone to hear; but, on the Place,
To answer what I hear: You may proceed.
There seems no Terror in a Courtier's Love!

Phil.
A Heart so dauntless stirs my Emulation!
But let me tell you, Fair One, you have now
Before your Eyes no common-moulded Lover;
A Man less us'd to ask, than to refuse
Your Sexes Favours! Beauty may have Eyes,
Yet Men have Arts to give alternate Wounds.
Thousands may hope, but few have equal Charms
To fix a curious Heart—and yet, methinks
Your Eye, my Fair, darts an unusual—something—
That calls for farther gazing—
[After a long Pause, his Looks rising gradually to a gracious Approbation, he proceeds.
—Virgin! You
Have Beauty—I confess it; to be just,
I own your Charms are worthy of my Thought;
On your own Conduct, now, depends your Happiness!

Past.
A Heart, that to our Sex has been so fatal,
Deterrs the Passion which its Worth wou'd raise,
Or leads th'Unwary to avoidless Ruin:
And, to be free, I dare not trust you with Esteem.

Phil.
Agreeable Suspicion! but I'll ease
Your Fears, and make your Hopes, at once,
Your Sexes Envy, and your Swains Despair.
Come, come, I read your Soul! such tender Scruples
Never arise, but from the Heart inclining;
The Lover scorn'd is never tax'd with Falshood.
You see, my Fair, I know the Depths of Love,
And all your coy Meanders of the Heart.

Past.
How can you triumph, where you've won so little?

Phil.
This Modesty alone were worth my Conquest.

Past.
I find, Sir, I dispute your Happiness in vain.
And since I can't persuade you to Despair,
Thus let me warn our Sexes Vanity:

Phil.
Engaging Creature! what remains, is now
The Means to make your Conqueror, your Captive.
An easy Task—but I'll explain the Secret.

[Phil. turns to Æg.
Past.
(aside ...)
Nay then, 'tis time to undeceive his Folly!
But it repays the Pain, to find Amyntas
Has been the Witness of our Interview:
Sure the Contempt this Trifler has receiv'd,
Will justify my Heart, and still preserve
That soft Esteem, which he has ever shewn me. (... aside)


Arc.
(apart ...)
Well, good Amyntas, tell me, and in Friendship,
What are thy Thoughts of this Corinthian Noble?
Would'st thou not wish Pastora to receive him,
And give her Charms th'Improvement of a Court? (... apart)


Am.
(apart ...)
Your Wisdom, doubtless, had resolv'd, before
Pastora saw him, Sir— (... aside)


Arc.
(apart ...)
Suppose it so,
Yet I would gladly know how far thy Sense
May recommend, or disapprove, this Union. (... aside)


Am.
Since you descend, to ask a young Man's Counsel,
That mine, Sir, may be better justified,
Permit me to recite, what you yourself
Have oft commended, as the Virgin's Lesson.
Tho' much, I fear, my Skill will marr the Musick.

Æg.
No matter; thou, at least, wilt give it Meaning.

Am.
That, Sir, were worthy of Pastora's Ear.

Phil.
Poor Swain! some slighted Lover, I presume!

Æg.
A Lover favour'd, or my Eyes deceive me.

[Aside.
Arc.
'Tis well apply'd, Amyntas—follow me.
I have of Moment something for thy Ear.
A Lover, Sir, like you, that knows the Coast,
[To Phil.
Needs not a Pilot, when so near the Shore:
I therefore leave you to compleat your Conquest.

Phil.
Your Complaisance has made Arcadia, Corinth.

Arc.
Daughter, with Joy, I have beheld thy Conduct!
I see thou know'st to value Men, by Merit.
And that thy Heart may act more open to
Thy Wishes, I retire—maintain thy Virtue.

[Ex. Arcas and Amyntas. Ægon following, is detain'd by Philautus.
Past.
(apart ...)
What can this mean? Is then my Father pleas'd
With the Contempt I have thrown upon this Stranger,
Whom he himself presented? Can it be?
'Twas by his Leave too, that Amyntas sung,
Encourag'd to address his Strains to me.
Take heed, fond Heart, nor flatter thy Desires.
Let Time, that undertakes thy Fate, confirm it. (... aside)


Phil.
Believe me, Ægon, I desire thy Presence.
Without a Friend, a Mistress loses half
Her Charms. I love a Witness of my Power.
For what's a Triumph, where there's no Spectator?
All my Successes with the Fair are publick.

Æg.
Well, Sir, I'll stay, in hopes that your fair Mistress
May, in her turn, have Cause to triumph too.

Phil.
'Tis true, my Friend; my Favour is her Triumph;
Thou seest, we Courtiers know a shorter way
Than Sighing, to the Heart—

Æg.
—'Tis short indeed!
For I perceive not yet, you've said one Word,
So much to raise her Merit, as your own.

Phil.
Why—no—not but I slightly own'd her Charms
Had Power, and that's enough! The Art of Love
Is not to praise your Fair One to a Goddess,
But to dissolve her Pride, with Admiration,
And be yourself the Object of Desire.

Æg.
Ay! there! you have, beyond Belief, succeeded.

Phil.
But I have farther Subject for her Wonder.
Now, my fair Nymph! not that my Heart is vain,
But yet to show the Value of your Conquest;
Permit me, to inform you of the Fate
Of a fam'd Roman Beauty, who at Corinth
Hearing of my intended Marriage, took
A mortal Draught, which ended, with her Hopes
Of me, her Life; and in her latest Pangs,
Turning her faint complaining Eyes upon me,
Farewel, vain faithless World, she cry'd! I die
A Victim to Papilio's Cruelty!

Past.
Papilio!—

Phil.
—The Name her Fondness gave me.

Æg.
Papilio!

Phil.
—Yes: a Roman Appellation.
Observe its melting Softness—O! Papilio!
Sure, 'twas the gentlest Creature!—but however,
To give her, even in Death, her due Revenge,
And to immortalize her Passion, I
Compos'd an Ode, which the fam'd Sappho might
With Pride have own'd, and not have wrong'd her Genius.

Past.
May we intreat the Favour, Sir, to hear it?

Phil.
My Voice, I doubt, will ill commend the Lines;
But what that wants, Expression shall supply.

Æg.
This is indeed a doleful Ditty, Sir.

Past.
How could you let so soft a Creature perish?

Phil.
Love, like Ambition, rashly seeks its Ruin.
Her Fondness set no Bounds to her Desire.
She grasp'd at more, than was her Beauty's Due.
Was mine a Heart to be ingross'd by One;
Where a whole Court had equal Claim to Favour?

Past.
Ye Powers! are these your Principles avow'd?
Are then the Laws of Honour, Nature, thus
Regarded?—

Æg.
(aside ...)
—So! his Vanity, at last,
Recoils upon himself, and gives her Scorn
The fair Excuse of Honour, to renounce him. (... aside)


Phil.
And why, my Fair, so suddenly transported?

Past.
Could you then think, a Heart, like yours, so stain'd
In Cruelty, could find Reception here?

Phil.
I thought a Heart so eminently graced
With Conquests, only could deserve Pastora.

Past.
No! to the Manes of your Roman Mistress,
That wretched Martyr of your cruel Nature,
My vengeful Hate shall make your Love the Victim.

Phil.
What new Extravagance of Love, my Fair,
Has chang'd thy Gentleness to Jealousy?
Can a dead Rival's Charms disturb thee?—

Past.
—Yes!
The Charms that had so well deserv'd thy Heart,
Finding such cruel Treatment from thy Power,
Confirm, what Charms inferior must expect,
And warn the Wary to detest thy Love!

Phi.
Nay now, thy Tenderness refines to Folly.

Past.
Hence! from my Sight, lest worse than Scorn attend thee.

Æg.
I doubt, Sir, here our Triumph has been pusht
Too far—

Phi.
—'Tis true! the Tender in her Heart
Prevails, and therefore, with the Tender, still
Must be recall'd, and softned to her Wishes.

Past.
(apart ...)
How, Ægon, shall I rid me of this Folly?
The more his Love's abus'd, the more his Pride
Perverts my Meaning, and evades the Scorn. (... aside)


Æg.
Give him a hearty farewel, and retire.

Past.
He has, indeed, reduc'd me to explain.

Phil.
'Tis done, my Friend; again her softning Eyes
Incline to pardon, and resume Desire!
And to pursue my Conquest—thus—

Past.
—Forbear!
Since, Sir, I find your high Opinion of
Yourself can take Aversion, for Esteem;
Enjoy your Happiness, but molest not mine.
Admire your self, and shew a manly Spirit!
Despise my Frowns, and give me Scorn for Scorn.
Fly to some nobler Heart that tastes your Merit,
And leave Pastora to bemoan her Folly.

Æg.
(apart ...)
Troth, Sir, I think 'twould be a fair Revenge. (... aside)


Phi.
(apart ...)
Ægon, I know what Measures will become me. (... apart)


Past.
[Exit Pastora.

Æg.
Was ever such a strange Relapse!

Phil.
—Surprizing!
Ægon, I fear Disorder in her Brain!
Didst thou observe, how incoherently
She sung, and wander'd from her soft Deportment?

Æg.
'Tis plain, she is not what we thought her—

Phil.
—No!
It must be Frenzy! Love has strange Effects!
This is the strongest Arrow, that I ever drew!

Æg.

Phil.


Æg.
Of what strange Stuff are Courtiers Heads compos'd!

[Exeunt.
The SCENE changes to an outward Part of a Grove.
Enter Arcas and Amyntas.
Arc.
Amyntas, I have weigh'd thy best Excuses,
And find thy Modesty, that makes them, but
A stronger Motive to my Trust propos'd:
If thou would'st keep thy Place within my Heart,
Comply with my Desires—

Am.
—My noble Lord,
Since Diffidence no longer can dissuade,
My due Obedience with your Will complies:
To my poor Power, I will discharge this Trust.

Arc.
Now thou hast gain'd upon my Love, Amyntas.
The present Hour employs thee: Here, within
This Grove, a while amuse thee, 'till I send her:
There, in an Instant, shall Pastora find thee.
[Exit Arcas.

Am.
What will my Fate do with me! O Pastora!
Is lost Amyntas, then, the chosen Wretch,
To point thee out a Lover worthy of
Thy Heart? Where shall this worthless World produce him?
And by the generous Arcas too, my Patron,
Is this high Task impos'd! What Power can save thee?
Must I, if true to Love, be false to him?
Or true to Arcas, must I lose Pastora?
Nay, what would Falshood, if pursued, avail?
'Twere terrible, tho' guiltless, to avow my Love!
To meet her Scorn (for Scorn must sure attend it!)
Were sharper Pain, if possible, than to
Behold her, happy, in a Rival's Arms;
Which Way soe'er I turn, Despair surrounds me!
Like the poor Pilot, while his Vessel burns,
I pause, to perish in the Flames, or Waves!

[Exit.
Enter Pastora.
Past.
Sure, 'twas Amyntas' Voice, and Love that tun'd it.
A Sound ill-boding to the lost Pastora!
I fear some Nymph unknown has seiz'd his Heart.
It must be so! all but too well agrees
With what my Father, knowing, has injoyn'd.
Yet why is Mine this Task? He could not, sure,
Suppose Amyntas sigh'd for me! Ah, no,
He would not then have sent me to relieve him!
For often has he warn'd me to regard
My Birth, and shun the humbler Swains beneath me:
Which, to this Hour, I have observ'd, with Sorrow.
How far this sweet Occasion, to reveal
My Pain, I may resist—I dare not think on!
Yet sure no Pain exceeds conceal'd Desire.

Amyntas returns.
Am.
Thus, while the warbling Philomel complains,
The list'ning Swain partakes her tuneful Sorrow.

Past.
My Griefs, Amyntas, sympathize with thine.
Thy plaintive Strains have given my pensive Heart
Distress unfelt before—

Am.
—Are then our Griefs
So equally severe, as to deserve
Our mutual Pity? Sure a social Balm,
So sweetly healing, might asswage the Pain.

Past.
Or may increase it, from the Cause mistaken.

Am.
Why are those Causes then conceal'd, since on
Our Cure, our future Happiness depends?

Past.
That Question, Thou, Amyntas, must resolve!
For, to that Purpose, has my Father sent me,
To search thy Griefs, and by Advice to heal them.

Am.
The same Injunction has he laid on me,
That I should give due Praises, to thy easy Scorn
Of vain Philautus' Love, and to thy Heart
Commend a Swain, whose Virtues might deserve thee.
But say, Pastora, did he tell thee, that
He knew, Amyntas lov'd?

Past.
—Thy Strains confess'd t.

Am.
If that were Proof, thy Strains confess'd the same.

Past.
We often sing of Sorrows not our own.

Am.
Of such, Pastora, might Amyntas sing.

Past.
May we then hope, that neither of us love?

Am.
If both could love with Hope, 'twere happier still!

Past.
But that, alas! for ever is deny'd to me!
Compell'd by frowning Honour to despair!

Am.
The same stern Brow affrights Amyntas' Hope.

Past.
Do'st thou then love below thy Birth, Amyntas?

Am
Were that my Fate, I might declare my Flame.
But Fears like mine can never reach Pastora:
For, in Arcadia, she has no Superior.

Past.
And therefore is she doom'd to hide her Heart.

Am.
O Love! how equal are our Woes, and yet
How opposite their Cause?

Past.
—Our woes so like,
May in the same complaining Strains be told.

Am.
And yet Pastora, sure, might trust a Friend,
A friend appointed to receive the Secret!

Past.
Is not my Charge the same on thee, Amyntas?

Am.
What Evil can attend thy first declaring?

Past.
'Till I first know Amyntas' Heart, my Flame
For ever stifled, in my Breast shall dye.

Past.
Amyntas, as thou would'st preserve my Peace,
Tell me the Nymph, that gives Me Pains for Thee.

Am.
How dreadful is the Precipice I stand on!
But yet remember, O! too curious Maid!
When I lye dash'd, and dead with my Despair,
'Twas not my own Presumption, but thy Will
That forc'd me on my Fate! and to confess,
My tortur'd Heart—has long ador'd Pastora!

Past.
What have I heard, Amyntas?—

Am.
—O cruel Maid!
Why wouldst thou drive me to this dreadful Fall?

Past.
That these kind Arms might save thee. O Amyntas!
Our Happiness, our Ruin, from this Hour,
Is one! And if Pastora's yielded Heart
Can pay the Pains thou hast endur'd for me,
Let thy own Wishes form thy own Reward!
The Joys I give Amyntas, I receive.

Am.
Immortal Pow'rs! may I believe my Sense?
What hast thou utter'd? O Pastora! sure
I dream! This heavenly Vision is too much
For waking Life to bear! Amazement, Love,
Tumultuous Joy, and Transport, swell my Heart,
I fear, beyond the limits of my poor Deservings.

Past.
No, Amyntas! That sweet Humility,
Thy distant Awe of unavow'd Desire,
Has more prevail'd upon my yielding Heart,
Than all the Flatteries of protesting Love.

Am.