University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Arcas and Ægon in the Garden.
Arcas.
Yes, Ægon, I o'er-heard it all! Conceal'd
Within a Bower, which scarce the Sun or Winds
Could pierce, my Ears were witness of their Love;
I heard the equal Conflict of their Hearts,
Which, while unknowing that their Flames were mutual,
Alternate Duty labour'd to conceal:
Such Innocence and Virtue gave me Pain,
To see the dread Suspence of their Desires!
But when, to their Amazement, they discover'd,
How long, in Heart, for Heart, their Hopes had languish'd,
Their tender Transports even recall'd my Youth,
And gave my Eyes the Softness of a Lover.

Æg.
Here, we perceive how Blood sustains the Mind.
Pastora's humble Passions with her Birth subside,
Her Heart is charm'd by Merit, in its Weeds;
While cold Ianthe, unsubdu'd by Fortune,
Maintains the Native Station of her Race,
Nor bends her Merit to superior Birth.

Arc.
Her Coldness shews, at least, the honest Pride
Of Virtue knows its Worth, and will be woed.

Æg.
Thus Iphis too, unheedful of her Fortune,
Shews he thinks Virtue is the noblest Dower.

Arc.
All, all, my Friend, advances to our Wishes;
And let me say the Merit of their Love
Were lost, had not these Tryals prov'd their Virtue!
And yet—the strongest, Ægon, is to come,
The long-hid Secret of their Birth! How that
Discover'd may affect their Constancy—

Æg.
My Lord, you nourish Fears, which I alone
Should feel; If alter'd Birth could change their Passions,
Yours might, indeed, despise the Race of Ægon.
Lost Iphis and Pastora may be wretched;
Amyntas and Ianthe chuse their Fate.

Arc.
But dost thou think, their Hearts will still be firm?

Æg.
Suspicion cannot form a Fear against them!
Or if, at most, I grant, Ianthe may
A while, for Form, retard the Hopes of Iphis,
That's the worst Consequence that can befall us.

Arc.
Thy sanguine Temper, Ægon, always cheers me!
Be Iphis then our next immediate Care.
Is he yet Master of Ianthe's Riddle?

Æg.
That's my least Thought! meer female Shyness,
To give her feign'd Resentment time to cool;
And save th'Appearance of offended Virtue.

Arc.
Where is Ianthe now?—

Æg.
—In yonder Grove
I left her, skilfully collecting Herbs
Of sanative and virtual Power, which she
In Charity sometimes administers
To helpless Swains, when Sickness, or Mischance,
Confines them to their Cotts, unfit for Labour.
But where has Iphis pass'd his lonely Hours?

Arc.
This Morn, I was inform'd, he had been seen
Before the Dawn, upon the southern Cliff
Whose lofty Head looks down upon the Sea:
There pensive, and alone, in studious plight,
He lay, and warn'd the passing Swains to leave him.

Æg.
Love, and the Riddle, give him full Employment.

Arc.
Perhaps too much: I, therefore, have sent forth
Old Corydon, with others, to observe
His Purposes, and warn him homeward—See!
Already he's return'd—Now, Corydon,
Enter Corydon.
What News of Iphis? hast thou found him?

Cor.
—Found him!
Ay, my good Lord, he's found; but I much fear,
He has lost himself—Oh! he has blown me bravely!

Arc.
Explain! be brief, good Corydon—

Cor.
—Nay, nay,
I have not Breath to make long-winded Speeches.

Æg.
Speak, Man—

Cor.
—Why then, in short—since short's my Breath,
He's mad.

Æg.
—Mad!—

Arc.
—What mean'st thou—

Cor.
—Even as I say:
He's not himself, that's certain: for his Wits
Have neither Sense, nor Purpose! all his Talk
Is like a broken Instrument, untun'd;
Notes without Harmony.—

Arc.
—Where was he found?

Cor.
Beneath the Hill, where you directed us,
Runs a small Brook, that winds along the Vale:
There he sat weaving simple Wreaths of Willow;
One, on his Brow, he wore: at sight of us,
He made dumb Signs, that we should sit beside him.
We did so; and not a Word was said to cross him:
(For by his Eyes we saw, his Head was wrong.)
Then he gave Garlands round to every Swain;
And sigh'd, and heav'd, as if his Heart were bursting!
Anon he drew some Papers from his Scrip;
On which he por'd, and purs'd his studious Brow!
Then gave out Copies of the same, and cry'd,
Read! read! Expound, and be an Oracle!

Arc.
The Riddle, Ægon—

Cor.
—Ay, a Riddle penn'd
In Verse, but past our Skill (poor Souls) t'untye!
And then he laugh'd and sung light Madrigalls,
And talk'd so many mournful moving Things,
He drew my Heart into my Eyes, tho' scarce
A Word, of what he utter'd, was Intelligible.
Yonder he comes, and all the Swains about him.

Arc.
Ægon! this Sight for ever will reproach us.

Enter Iphis musing on a Paper, follow'd by Cimon, Mopsus, and other Shepherds all crown'd with Willow.
Iph.
'Tis done! I've found it!—'tis the Rainbow! Pour,
Pour down, ye pitying Clouds, your gentle Showers,
While, with his radiant Pencil, Phœbus paints
The glorious Arch, upon your gaudy Bosom!

Cor.
Look you there now—you see I told you true.

Arc.
I see it, and with Sorrow—give him way.

Iph.
O heav'nly Sight! Happy auspicious Omen!
It comes! it forms! delightful to the Eye!
Behold where mounted Iris sits aloft,
And offers me a Seat upon her Throne!
See! see! above her Head, Ianthe fixt,
Like a bright Evening Star, with Beams unborrow'd,,
Adorns the Sky, and calls for Adoration!
Dost thou not see her—there—

[To Corydon.
Cor.
—Not I, in troth!

Iph.
Why there! look there! the Moon turns pale at her!

Cor.
Yes, yes, the Moon is pale indeed!—alas!
Poor Soul, his Words are like a Ditty in
A Foreign Tongue to me—Musick without Meaning.

Iph.
Now let us catch the Rainbow, and demand her
From the Skies—ah! me! she frowns! she flies me!
Down! down! ye gentle Virgins, and assist
A Swain's Despair! melt her obdurate Heart,
And bend the Goddess to a human Pity!

[He sinks into the Arms of Arcas.
Arc.
O piteous Youth! O Ægon! where is now
Our Foresight? Our Paternal Care? Our Hope?
All lost, and ruin'd by too refin'd a Prudence!

Æg.
Do not think so! this Malady may pass,
And Iphis yet recover to our Comfort.

Arc.
'Tis now no time to hesitate on Forms.
When Life's in doubt, Extreams must be apply'd;
Ianthe must be found; on her alone
Depends the Ruin, or Relief, of Iphis.

Æg.
While you, Sir, lead him to Repose,
Myself and these our Friends will search the Groves,
And bring her, with relenting Tears to save him.

[Exit Æg. with others.
Arc.
Ha! he revives! assist me, Corydon!

[They raise him.
Iph.
Ianthe! where! O my deluded Sense!
She's fled! she's lost! the mould'ring Clouds disperse,
And the gay liquid Phantome is no more!
Such are the Visionary Smiles of Woman!
A Silver Morn—a Shower—a transient Sun!
A driving Storm—a Tempest of Despair.

[Exeunt Arc. and Cor. leading Iphis.
The SCENE changes to a Grove.
Enter Ianthe with a Servant, bearing the Greens, &c. they have been gathering.
Ian.
[Ex. Servant.

[Retires.
Enter Philautus.
Phil.

Ianthe comes forward.
Ian.
—Sir, I am not Pastora.

Phil.
By all my Hopes, a Beauty far more charming.

Ian.
If you would find Pastora, Sir, from hence
A Bow-shot westward, lies a Rivulet;
There with my Brother, in the flow'ry Mead,
I left her listning to his Melody.

Phil.
And who, fair Nymph, may be the happy Swain,
That calls thee Sister?—

Ian.
—Sir, the Son of Ægon,
Young Amyntas—

Phil.
—Is Ægon, then, thy Father?

Ian.
That I'm his Daughter, is my Happiness.

Phil.
And what too cruel Care, my lovely Maid,
Has drawn thee to this Solitude? For by
Thy Plaintive Song, I know thou art unhappy.

Ian.
My slight Sorrows are of my own creating.

Phil.
Can Love, in all his Tyranny, find Cause
Of Sorrow, for such blooming Beauty? Say
What sullen Swain, insensible of Joy,
Has wrong'd thy Innocence: If Love's thy Grief;
Behold this Champion-Arm, this kinder Heart,
Prompt to revenge, or to relieve thy Wishes.

Ian.
Your generous Offers, Sir, are lost on me.
I have no Thoughts like those to gratify:
Permit me to retire—This fruitless Talk
Intrudes upon those Hours you owe Pastora.
This way directs you—

Phil.
Yet, you must not pass.
These amorous Shades, my Fair, were form'd for Love!
And soft Desire, resistless as thy Charms,
Compells me, thus, to seize the fair Occasion!

Ian.
If you are Noble, as Appearance speaks you,
You can't but know these guilty Sounds
Are Insult to a helpless Maiden's Ear.
But Now, you offer'd to revenge my Wrongs:
Make good your Word, and be your own Reprover;
Revenge upon your self, what Innocence
O'erborn, wants Strength, to punish, or avoid.

Phil.
Can Love be Insult, when so gently offer'd?

Ian.
Constraint, and Gentleness, but I'll agree:
If you are gentle, you'll permit me pass,
And free my Virtue from a needless Terror.

Phi.
(Apart ...)
By Heav'n, a Beauty even of Nature's forming!
If Gold, or Golden Promises can woe,
From hence, to Corinth, will I tempt her Virtue,
And leave Pastora to repent her Coyness. (... Apart)

Why, my fair Virgin, thus o'ercast with Sorrow?
Look up, and meet thy Happiness in Smiles!
In me, kind Fortune waits upon thy Wishes:
To raise thee from these humble Plains, to Affluence,
To Pomp, to Pleasures, and luxurious Life!

Ian.

Phi.
Mistaken Maid, thy rural Life obscur'd
Has shewn thee nothing of the greater World!
Our Palaces have Joys unknown to Groves!
One circling Round of Splendor and Delight
Fills up the dalliant Measure of our Hours!
The menial Sun himself attends our Pleasures.
With bright Meridian Beams begins our Morn;
And when, with Night, our dusky Noon comes on,
Tapers resplendent blaze another Day!
Till sated with the various Midnight Revel,
Uprising Phœbus lights us to Repose!
Then folded in the happy Lover's Arms,
Each Amorous Dame hides from excluded Light
Her glowing Blushes, 'till the Noon-tide Morn.
Such are the Joys, fair Nymph, reserv'd for thee.
Fly then these abject Plains, and seize thy Fortune.

Ian.
What shall I say? how answer, or avoid him?

[Aside.
Phil.
Think well, my Fair, who, and what Grandeur courts thee.

Ian.
(Aside)
To tell him how my Heart detests his Love,
May irritate his Pride, to Insolence!
Better to tempt his Pity, than his Anger.

Phil.
Hast thou no Heart, or is it form'd of Marble?

Ian.

Phil.
What bold presuming Swain shall dare
To stand the Rival of my Flames avow'd?
Away; this artful Story is but feign'd,
To stir my yielding Heart to Jealousy,
That with a softer Fondness it may woe thee?

Ian.

Phil.
Impossible! thou dost not know thy Heart!
To fly, and tell me,'tis thy Grief to fly,
Implies thy fearful Withes would relieve me,
Could I but find Excuses for thy Kindness:
Here then, behold them, sparkling as thy Eyes!
[Offering Jewels.
While these, my Fair, adorn thy radiant Charms,
Reproach will, cringing, gratulate thy Fortune;
And envious Censure rival thy Desires.

Ian.

Phil.
Has Cupid, then, no Sway among your Plains?
Or, are you all to Vestal Flames devoted,
That Dignity and Merit thus are slighted!
Shall I return to Corinth a rejected Lover;
Without one ruin'd Heart to mourn my Parting?
Have I, in Courts, been sated with Success,
And, here, must, like a low-born Shepherd, pine,
In want of what were honour'd by Acceptance?

Ian.
O! then be conscious of your Worth, and scorn me!

Phil.
No, froward Maid; I know your Sexes Wiles!
These painted Terrors would excite Compassion,
And sooth my Fervour, into lingring Hope;
But I'll cut short those cold Formalities
Of Love, and force thee to immediate Joy.

Ian.
What mean you, Sir?—

Phil.
—To give you, what your Pride
And Coyness, in your warmest Hours, expect;
The kind Excuse of Violence, to hide
Your Blushes, in a feign'd Resistance—

Ian.
—Help!
Ye guardian Powers of Innocence, protect me!

[Iphis rushes in, presenting his Spear to Philantus.
Iph.
Hold! Ravisher! forego the frighted Maid,
Or, to thy Traytor's Heart, receive my Vengeance!

Phil.
Confusion! am I by a Stripling brav'd?

Ian.
Hold, Iphis, I conjure thee! O! expose not,
To his unequal Strength, thy precious Life!
Since his foul Purpose is prevented, leave
To the avenging Gods his Punishment.

Iph.
The Gods by me demand it—

Phil.
—Hold! rash Boy!
Thou art some sighing Lover, whom her Scorn,
Perhaps, has held a Vassal to her Pride:
As such, I give thy Fate Compassion—There!
Take, and deserve her, by thy seeming Service!
If, after, what these conscious Groves may tell thee,
I have possess'd, thy gross, contented Heart
Can feast on thy Superior's Waste of Riot;
Enjoy thy Wish, and rid me of Satiety!

Iph.
Thou lyest, infernal Traytor—

Phil.
—Ha! so brave!

Iph.
More impotent in Malice, than Pretention!
Her spotless Fame defies thy sland'rous Tongue
I heard her shrieking in thy horrid Gripe!
I saw Aversion sparkling from her Eyes,
And pale Abhorrence shuddering at thy Touch,
As if some writhing Serpent had embrac'd her.

Phil.
'Tis well, fond Youth! then be it so! she still
Is chaste—Me she avoided—right! believe so!
I only boasted, to insult thy Love!
Her Virtue still reserves her Heart for thee!

Iph.
Insinuating Slave! wouldst thou, to gain
Belief, confess thy self a Villain? No!
That she reserves, for me, her Heart, requires
Almost thy Vanity to hope: But this
I know; Whoever may deserve her Favour,
Thy Ruffian Insult, on her Sex and Fame,
Deserve my Boar-Spear quivering in thy Heart.
But Cowardice, like thine, would shame Resentment;
To kill thee, were to hide thy Infamy!
To let thee live abhorr'd, is nobler Vengeance!

Phil.
Bold Minion! thou shalt hear of this severely!

Iph.
Away! thou Vaunter of thy own Dishonour!
Hence! with thy Safety! let my Scorn forget thee!

Phil.
Such Insolence—no Temper can support.
[Ex. Phil.

Iph.
O fair Ianthe! do I once more meet
Thy Eyes, and unoffended, at my gazing?

Ian.
That I have Eyes to see, or Tongue to speak,
Is owing, Iphis, to thy timely Virtue!
Had not thy Arm, from worse than Death, preserv'd me,
Ianthe had, ere this, been seen no more!
Even yet, I tremble at the Instant Horror!
And scarce have Life to breathe my Gratitude
O Iphis, how! how shall my Heart repay thee?

Iph.
Be but, to thy own Injunction, constant,
Comply with what thy Vows have sworn,
And make thy Iphis blest, by Heaven's Decree.

Ian.
What means thy Transport?—

Iph.
—Mark! mark well thy Words!
“When Iphis plain this Riddle reads,
“Then, to his Wish, his Love succeeds!

Ian.
Hast thou then solv'd it, Iphis?—

Iph.
—Hear my Fortune.

Ian.
My Hopes, my Heart attends thee—

Iph.
—O, Ianthe!
Were I to tell thee, how my tortur'd Brain
Had labour'd, ev'n to Madness, for the Sense
Of thy obscure Decree upon my Love,
Thy Tenderness would pity my Despair.

Ian.
As Iphis would the Sorrows of Ianthe,
Had he conceiv'd their Cause—

Iph.
—Saidst thou, their Cause!

Ian.
Nay, those are Thoughts for future Hours—proceed.

Iph.
Let it suffice then, that my Father's Care
Soon brought my wandring Senses to Reflection.
When hopeless still, and, to my Fate resign'd,
Like thee, to chaste Diana's Shrine I flew,
Imploring Succour to my Heart's Distress.
When, from her awful Tripos, thus the Goddess,
Inverting her Decree, explain'd my Fate.
“That which she cannot Have, the Fair shall Give.
“That which thou canst not Give, or she Desire.
“That which she must not have, shalt thou receive.
“That, that's the Cure thy present Woes require.

Ian.
Haste to expound, and ease my Heart's Impatience.

Iph.
“O then repay my Woes, with happier Life.
“And give me what Thou Canst not have—a Wife:
“And in Return, which thou canst never Give,
“Ianthe's Heart a Husband shall receive!

Ian.
O never was a Heart so justly given!
This, Iphis, is a Marriage made by Heaven!
Canst thou forget my Sexes coy Regard?

Iph.
Can Love look back from such a sweet Reward?
The fond and easy Maid is kind in vain;
Faint is the Bliss, that never past thro' Pain.
Beauty, by Nature, timorously coy,
By Griefs impos'd, refines the Lover's Joy:
Thus blooming Roses have their native Power,
To wound the Hand that pulls the fragrant Flower.

[Exeunt.
Damon Enters alone.
Dam.

Dam.


[Retires.
Enter Corydon, with Phillida.
Cor.
And I say, think no more of him—

Phil.
—That's hard!
Is't not enough I see him not?

Cor.
—I say,
Avoid him, as the wildest Beast of Prey!
He uses Girls like Carrion: Not the Wolf
In a Sheepfold, or hungry Fox on Poultry,
Can make more Havock, than that wicked Rogue
Among the Wenches Hearts—

Dam.
—That must be me!
[Behind.
But what says Phillida?

Phil.
—Suppose this true!
Yet could he, still, be wrought to marry me!

Cor.
My Patience! has he not refus'd to marry?

Phil.
And therefore I have declar'd against his Love.

Cor.
Ay, ay, but still he lurks within your Heart!
And 'till you drive him thence—

Phil.
—I strive to do it;
And if you knew the Pain, you'd pity me.

Cor.
Consider, Philly, if thou'rt fairly married,
(And thou hast choice of Cimon, or of Mopsus.)
How happy will thy double Dowry make thee?

Phil.
I do consider, Father; so should you!
As a low Fortune with the Man, I love,
Can't make me rich; so Riches with the Man
I hate, can't make me happy—

Dam.
(Behind)
—Gallant Girl!
O! I could eat thy very Lips, that spoke it.

Cor.
See! yonder's Cimon coming! For my Sake,
Dear Phillida, give him at least a Smile;
A little Love endur'd, may teach the Boy,
In time, to please thee—

Phil.
—Well! since you desire it.
But Mopsus has the same Pretensions too.
Send him to make his equal Claim,
And, 'till he's found, I'll hear what Cimon says.

Cor.
Ah! Phillida, thou gain'st my Heart, I'll send him.

[Ex.
Dam.
Now shall I measure, by their Hopes, my own.

To her Cimon singing.
Cim.
O cruel Sound! false-hearted Phillida!
Didst thou not say, thou loved'st me better than
My Brother Mopsus?—

Phil.
—Yes, but 'twas,
As of two Evils, I would chuse the least;
Stay, till I'm bound to chuse, and then reproach me.
Thy Crying makes me laugh, his Laughing makes
Me sleep—There's all the hopeful difference.

Cim.

Enter Mopsus singing.
Phil.
If there's a Joy comes near recovering those
We love, sure 'tis to silence those we hate.

When Cimon and Mopsus are gone, Damon presents himself to Phillida, singing.
The SCENE opens to the House of Arcas.
Arcas and Ægon come forward, and at some Distance stand Iphis with Ianthe, and Amyntas with Pastora.
Æg.
Now, Sir, applaud my Foresight, and confess,
That what I promis'd has not fail'd our Hopes.
Amyntas and Pastora own their Love;
And Iphis has at length deserv'd Ianthe.

Arc.
Yes, Ægon, now I see the secret Care
Of Providence, that forms our Happiness,
By Measures unforeseen to human Eyes.
Had not Philautus prov'd an impious Ruffian,
Iphis might never have produc'd his Virtue.
Nor fair Pastora, but by Scorn of him,
Have shewn a Spirit worthy of her Birth.
But where shall my Indulgence find Excuse,
To ratifie thy Flame profess'd, Amyntas?
Or thine, Ianthe, for the Son of Arcas?
How may I answer, to the World, my Conduct,
In mixing such unequal Blood, and Fortune?

Am.
My Lord, if private Happiness must rank
With what is practis'd in the sensual World,
My Hopes are blasted; and I stand condemn'd,
Even by my own Confession, of a Crime
Might lay an Imputation on your Pardon.
But if (as I have often heard you say)
Man only has his Value, from his Virtue,
And that where Food and Rayment are provided,
Health, and Integrity of Heart, is all
That's needful to compleat our Happiness:
Then, Sir, my pleading Love has this Excuse;
That tho', beyond a Life of Innocence,
I boast no Virtues, to support my Claim;
Yet by your own Prescription, I may say
Pastora chose me; therefore I deserve her.

Æg.
An Answer worthy of thy Father's Son!
Fear not, Amyntas, I'll support thy Love.

Arc.
Ægon! Thou more than Father to my Boy!
[Aside to Ægon.
'Tis well, Amyntas: When Ianthe has
Reply'd, at once, on Both, I shall determine.

Ian.
My noble Lord! the Time has been, when you
Yourself reproach'd my cold Regard of Iphis;
And, like a tender Father, gave him to my Pity.
Was it no Merit, that my bleeding Heart
Refus'd to gratifie its own Desires,
And starv'd my Love, to feed a just Resentment?
If that Resentment, since, has been appeas'd
By Obligations, greater, than even Life
Preserv'd, can you reproach my Gratitude?
If then a Heart, so tempted, seems aspiring,
Let this Reflection, Sir, excuse my Love;
That Iphis, tho' adorn'd with every Grace
That might deserve, and charm the proudest Beauty;
Though my Superior far, in high-born Blood;
And of a Fortune boundless, as your Bounty;
Yet all these Gifts, from Heaven, and Nature's Hand,
Were Charms too weak, to reach Ianthe's Heart,
Till Truth, and Love, had more than once deserv'd her.

Arc.
O! Ægon! Ægon! my Contentment grows
Too strong, to be conceal'd! I thirst, I burn
To clasp my blessed Children in my Arms,
And pour out all the Fondness of a Father.

Am.
Whence this affecting Passion?

Æg.
From a Cause
Will raise you Wonder equal to your Virtues.
Nor, from the sweet Rewards he now intends
Your Love, can spring a Transport more sublime,
Than what a tender Father feels, to find
His Children have deserv'd them—

Am.
—Ha!

Ian.
—His Children!

Æg.
What then remains, my Lord, but that you call
Their Merit, from obscure Adoption, forth,
And let Amyntas, and Ianthe know,
What noble Blood now claims, and crowns their Virtues.

Arc.
Hear then, ye happy Lovers, and attend
The Story of your strange inverted Fortunes.
You often have been told that Ægon, and
Myself, whose Friendship from our Youth grew up,
In one same Year (such was the Will of Heaven)
Buried the Bosom-Partners of our Hearts.
Our mutual Grief soon drew us from the gay
And tasteless Pleasures of a Court, to pass
In rural Solitude our future Days,
Accountable to Sense, and Nature's Law.
It happen'd, in our Course of friendly Talk,
One Day reflecting on the anxious Cares
That tender Parents feel, for Infant Children;
Observing too, how seldom high-born Blood
And Riches add to real Happiness;
How often head-strong Youth, depending on
Hereditary Rank, have sunk their Virtues in
Excess, and from elated Pride, have mock'd
Those Morals, that should grace Nobility:
Those Fears, I say, revolving in my Breast,
To Ægon I propos'd this strange Precaution:
That mutually our Infants should exchange
Their Father; and having no Mother's Fondness,
That might oppose our Scheme, we thence agreed
That thou Amyntas, and Ianthe thou,
As Ægon's Son and Daughter should be train'd;
That, to your seeming humble Birth and Fortune,
Your Hopes restrain'd, might level your Desires;
While Iphis, and Pastora, to my Care
Assign'd, might, from imaginary Birth,
Imbibe the higher Sentiments of Honour.
Now mark! how happily the Consequence
Succeeds!—let your Amazement still be mute,
While my paternal Care prevents your Wishes,
And doles you out the Blessings you deserve.

Æg.
Now, Children, form your Wishes, and receive them.

Arc.
Amyntas, to reward his Love conceal'd,
Now enters on a Fortune, which expected
Had lost the sweeter Relish of Possession:
And to exert his Gratitude to Ægon,
Whose Precepts taught him to deserve Pastora,
He lays that Fortune at his Daughter's Feet.
[Amyntas and Pastora kneel to Ægon.
While Iphis, of Ianthe's Heart possess'd,
Receives the Fortune which his Love bestow'd,
And by Alliance makes me twice his Father.

[Iphis and Ianthe kneel to Arcas, &c.
Am.
O where shall Duty, Gratitude, and Joy
Find Words to utter what our Hearts conceive!

Iph.
Amazement, Praise, and Admiration, fill
The Soul with Transports, too sublime for Speech!

Arc.
Continue, by your Virtues, to deserve your Fortune;
You give me, then, not only Praise, but Triumph!

Iph.
Amyntas!

Embracing.
Am.
—Iphis!

Iph.
—Friend!

Am.
—My Brother now.

Past.
O kind Ianthe!

Embracing.
Ian.
O Pastora! How!
How shall I thank thee, for Amyntas' Joy?

Past.
Excel me, if thou can'st, in Love to Iphis?

Am.
Do that, Ianthe, and Amyntas' Truth
Shall emulate thy Kindness to Pastora.

Iph.
Do that, Amyntas, then shall Iphis' Love
Redouble thy Endearments on Ianthe.

[End with the first part.
Æg.
Why, ay, my Lord, here Love appears in Triumph!
Speaks from the Heart, and flames with Innocence!
Where shall we find, in pompous Courts, or Cities,
Desires so Cordial, so refin'd by Virtue?

Arc.
Where-ever Pride, Deceit, or sordid Views
Are banish'd, Ægon, we shall always find them.
Let us not think our Children only bless'd,
Because the general World makes light of Virtue;
Could Millions taste the same exalted Bliss,
It rather, then, might heighten our Contentment.

Æg.
Why be it so, my Lord: But since Mankind
Shew, by their sensual Practice, their Mistake,
Let not Us grieve because we can't reform them.
Let us exult upon our Choice, and leave
Vain-glorious Greatness to its gilded Wishes.
This Day, at least, we'll dedicate to Mirth,
And give our rural Swains a Jubilee.

Arc.
A Day like this, indeed, demands our Joy!
Hast thou provided, Ægon, for th'Occasion?

Æg.
A Moment's Patience, Sir, you'll find I've not
Been idle—

[Exit Ægon.
Arc.
—Soft! what Swains are here advancing?

To them Corydon, Damon and Phillida.
Cor.
Long live the Ever noble House of Arcas!
May his high Race, from endless Heirs to Heirs,
Make many more such Holidays as this

Arc.
We thank thee, Corydon—

Cor.
—Nay, my good Lord,
The Joy's not all your own: For I myself,
At last, have found a Father's Comfort too:
Your kind Benevolence has done the Deed.
Your double Dowry has reduc'd the Rover,
And Damon now is dubb'd a downright Husband.

Arc.
And Phillida his Bride?—

Cor.
—Even so, my Lord.
I saw the Priest this Moment join their Hands.
As for their Hearts, why Troth! they e'en must do,
Like other honest Folks, and take their Chance.

Arc.
In earnest of my Promise, Damon, wear
This Ring; and be a Partner of our Joy.

Ægon returns laughing.
Æg.
Ha! ha!
I'ad like to 'ave brought you, here, a Guest, my Lord!
That might have added to our Pastime—

Arc.
—Whom?

Æg.
Philautus: but his Modesty, it seems,
Thought it became him better to decamp.
I met him mounted, with his tawdry Train,
All on their Palfries, prancing Post to Corinth:
And when I ask'd th'Occasion of his Haste,
He scornfully reply'd—Our Women, here,
Had neither Sense of Merit, or of Love.
So spurr'd his Horse, and staid not for his Farewell.

Arc.
In Courts, perhaps, he may have better Fortune.

Æg.
With all my Heart! There he'll find Beauties, that
Deserve such Husbands—But now, to our Pastime.
I'ave brought you, Sir, a Troop of jolly Swains,
Who promise all their Skill to please: Let us
Sit down, and take Well-meaning for their Merit.

[A Dance, and Chorus of Shepherds, &c.
Arc.
Now, Ægon, nought remains, but Nuptial Rites,
To consecrate our Children's Happiness.
In theirs, methinks, our Spring of Youth returns:
While Transport flows in Veins, almost our own,
We share the Harvest, which our Cares have sown.