The Chaplet :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Chaplet

A Musical Entertainment

Mendez, Moses

THE CHAPLET.

PART II.

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2. PART II.

SCENE I.

Laura.
AIR.

What Med'cine can soften the Bosom's keen Smart?
What Lethe can banish the Pain?
What Cure can be met with to sooth the fond Heart,
That's broke by a faithless young Swain!

In hopes to forget him how vainly I try,
The Sports of the Wake and the Green;
When Colin is dancing, I say with a Sigh,
'Twas here first my Damon was seen.

When to the pale Moon the soft Nightingales moan
In Accents so piercing and clear;
You sing not so sweetly, I cry with a Groan,
As when my dear Damon was here.

A Garland of Willow my Temples shall shade,
And pluck it, ye Nymphs, from yon Grove;
For there to her Cost was poor Laura betray'd,
And Damon pretended to love.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Damon.
A charming Consort wou'd have fill'd these Arms,
Had I but yielded to Pastora's Charms;
How bless'd would then have been my future Life,
Palæmon's Mistress turn'd to Damon's Wife;
Yet in her Coin the wily Nymph I'll pay,
And all her Schemes of Vanity betray.

Then haste to Laura, that much injur'd Fair,
And snatch her from the Jaws of black Despair.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

Pastora.
AIR.

In vain I try my ev'ry Art,
Nor can I fix a single Heart,
Yet I'm not old or ugly;
Let me consult my faithful Glass,
A Face much worse than this might pass,
Methinks I look full smuggly.

Yet, bless'd with all these pow'rful Charms,
The young Palæmon fled these Arms,
That wild unthinking Rover;
Hope, silly Maids, as soon to bind
The rolling Stream, the flying Wind,
As fix a rambling Lover.

But hamper'd in the Marriage Noose,
In vain they struggle to get loose,
And make a mighty Riot;

Like Madmen how they rave, and stare,
Awhile they shake their Chains and swear,
And then lie down in quiet.

SCENE IV.

To her Damon.
Once more I come to hear what you decree;
Yet ere you pass your Sentence, list to me.
AIR.

Declare, my pretty Maid,
Must my fond Suit miscarry?
With you I'll toy, I'll kiss and play,
But hang me if I marry.

Then speak your mind at once,
Nor let me longer tarry;
With you I'll toy, I'll kiss and play,
But hang me if I marry.

Tho' Charms and Wit assail,
The Stroke I well can parry;
I love to kiss, and toy and play,
But do not choose to marry.

Young Molly of the Dale
Makes a mere Slave of Harry;
Because when they had toy'd and kiss'd,
The foolish Swain wou'd marry.

These fix'd Resolves, my Dear,
I to the Grave will carry;
With you I'll toy, and kiss and play,
But hang me if I marry.

Pastora.
Dare you avow, false Youth, your lawless Flame!
Think not to tempt me to a Deed of Shame.

Damon.
Say, have you ask'd your never-conquer'd Heart,
How many Years it may resist the Dart?
For long Attacks the strongest Fortress waste,
And Troy stood ten Years Siege, but fell at last.

Pastora.
Vainly you hope my virtuous Heart to move;
I know your vile Intent, and scorn your Love.

Damon.
Turn, turn your Eyes to yonder conscious Shade;
There a young Shepherd met a haughty Maid;

The Pines that hang o'er yonder dusky Dell,
The babbling Pines a Tale of Scandal tell;
And tattling Willows to the Plains proclaim,
Palæmon was the happy Lover's Name.
Ha! do you start—Pastora, fam'd for Truth
And rigid Virtue, clasp'd a blooming Youth;
And laying ev'ry sterner Thought aside,
Indulg'd her Pleasure, and forgot her Pride.

Pastora.
Disastrous Fate! how could he hear the Tale?
[Aside.
You've lost all Hopes, and now begin to rail.

SCENE V.

To them Laura.
AIR.
How unhappy's the Nymph.
Who weeps to the Wind,
And dotes with Despair
On a Swain that's unkind.

Damon.
I see the Fates determine I shall wed;
Two Nymphs are ready to partake my Bed;

Which shall I choose? Pastora's wond'rous fair,
And Laura sparkles like the Morning-Star.

Pastora,
aside.
Come, there are Hopes, now, Venus, lend each Grace,
And with bewitching Beauties arm my Face.

Damon.
AIR.
Three Goddesses standing together,
Thus puzzled young Paris one day:
Can I judge the Value of either,
Where both bear so equal a Sway?

Pastora.
Consider my Wit and Condition,
Consider my Person likewise;
I never was us'd to petition,
But pr'ythee make use of your Eyes.

Laura.
No Merit I plead but my Passion,
'Twere needless to mention your Vow;
Reflect with a little Compassion,
On what this poor Bosom feels now.

Damon.
Some Genius direct me, or Demon,
Or else I may chance to choose wrong—
[After some Pause.
You're Part of the Goods of Palæmon,
I give you to whom you belong.

Pastora,
aside.
Misjudging Wretch, with Rage my Bosom glows;
Can he prefer a Nettle to a Rose?
AIR.

I know that my Person is charming,
Beyond what a Clown can discover:
That Dowdy your Senses alarming,
Proves what a blind Thing is a Lover.

I'll quit the dull Plains for the City,
Where Beauty is follow'd by Merit;
Your Taste, simple Damon, I pity;
Your Wit, who would wish to inherit?

Perhaps you may think you perplex me,
And that I my Anger wou'd smother;
The Loss of one Lover can't vex me,
My Charms will procure me another.

I ne'er was more pleas'd, I assure you;
How odious they look, I can't bear 'em:
I wish you much joy of your Fury,
My Rage into pieces could tear them.

[Exit.

SCENE the last.

Damon.
To thee, kind Nymph, as to offended Heav'n,
I own my Faults, and sue to be forgiv'n;
Then, gentle Laura, clear my past Offence,
Repentance is ally'd to Innocence.

Laura.
Think not a rigid Judge your Faults arraigns,
My tender Bosom feels for all your Pains;
In those sad Hours, when to the secret Grove
I told my Pangs of inauspicious Love,
My only Pray'r was once again to see
The lovely Author of my Misery!
Again to clasp him to my beating Breast,
The Gods have heard my Vows, and Laura's blest.

AIR.
Damon.
Contented all Day, I will sit at your Side,
Where Poplars far stretching o'er-arch the cool Tide,

And while the clear River runs purling along,
The Thrush and the Linnet contend in their Song.

Laura.
While you are but by me no Danger I fear,
Ye Lambs rest in Safety, my Damon is near;
Bound on, ye blith Kids, now your Gambols may please,
For my Shepherd is kind, and my Heart is at Ease.

Damon.
Ye Virgins of Britain, bright Rivals of Day,
The Wish of each Heart, and the Theme of each Lay;
Ne'er yield to the Swain, till he make you a Wife,
For he who loves truly, will take you for Life.

Laura.
Ye Youths, who fear nought but the Frowns of the Fair,
'Tis yours to relieve, not to add to their Care;
Then scorn to their Ruin Assistance to lend,
Nor betray the sweet Creatures you're born to defend.

Both.
For their Honour and Faith be our Virgins renown'd;
Nor false to his Vows one young Shepherd be found;
Be their Moments all guided by Virtue and Truth,
To preserve in their Age what they gain'd in their Youth.

The END.