_Cal._ I

Do look for some great punishment for this;

For I begin to forget all my hate,

And take ’t unkindly that mine enemy

Should use me so extraordinarily scurvily. 235

_Mel._ I shall melt too, if you begin to take

Unkindnesses: I never meant you hurt.

_Cal._ Thou ’lt anger me again. Thou wretched rogue,

Meant me no hurt! Disgrace me with the King!

Lose all my offices! This is no hurt, 240

Is it? I prithee, what dost thou call hurt?

_Mel._ To poison men, because they love me not;

To call the credit of men’s wives in question;

To murder children betwixt me and land; 244

This is all hurt.

_Cal._ All this thou think’st is sport;

For mine is worse: but use thy will with me;

For betwixt grief and anger I could cry.

_Mel._ Be wise, then, and be safe; thou may’st revenge—

_Cal._ Ay, o’ the King: I would revenge of thee.

_Mel._ That you must plot yourself.

_Cal._ I ’m a fine plotter.

_Mel._ The short is, I will hold thee with the King 251

In this perplexity, till peevishness

And thy disgrace have laid thee in thy grave.

But if thou wilt deliver up the fort,

I ’ll take thy trembling body in my arms, 255

And bear thee over dangers. Thou shalt hold

Thy wonted state.

_Cal._ If I should tell the King,

Canst thou deny ’t again?

_Mel._ Try, and believe.

_Cal._ Nay, then, thou canst bring any thing about.

Melantius, thou shalt have the fort.

_Mel._ Why, well.

Here let our hate be buried; and this hand 261

Shall right us both. Give me thy aged breast

To compass.

_Cal._ Nay, I do not love thee yet;

I cannot well endure to look on thee;

And if I thought it were a courtesy, 265

Thou shouldst not have it. But I am disgrac’d;

My offices are to be ta’en away;

And, if I did but hold this fort a day,

I do believe the King would take it from me,

And give it thee, things are so strangely carried. 270

Ne’er thank me for ’t; but yet the King shall know

There was some such thing in ’t I told him of,

And that I was an honest man.

_Mel._ He ’ll buy

That knowledge very dearly.

_Re-enter_ DIPHILUS.

Diphilus,

What news with thee?

_Diph._ This were a night indeed

To do it in: the King hath sent for her. 276

_Mel._ She shall perform it then.—Go, Diphilus,

And take from this good man, my worthy friend,

The fort; he ’ll give it thee.

_Diph._ Ha’ you got that?

_Cal._ Art thou of the same breed? Canst thou deny 280

This to the King too?

_Diph._ With a confidence

As great as his.

_Cal._ Faith, like enough.

_Mel._ Away, and use him kindly.

_Cal._ Touch not me;

I hate the whole strain.[3394] If thou follow me

A great way off, I ’ll give thee up the fort; 285

And hang yourselves.

_Mel._ Begone.

_Diph._ He ’s finely wrought.

_Exeunt_ CALIANAX _and_ DIPHILUS.

_Mel._ This is a night, spite of astronomers,[3395]

To do the deed in. I will wash the stain

That rests upon our house off with his blood.

_Re-enter_ AMINTOR.

_Amin._ Melantius, now assist me: if thou be’st 290

That which thou say’st, assist me. I have lost

All my distempers, and have found a rage

So pleasing! Help me.

_Mel._ [_Aside._] Who can see him thus.

And not swear vengeance?—What ’s the matter, friend?

_Amin._ Out with thy sword; and, hand in hand with me, 295

Rush to the chamber of this hated King,

And sink him with the weight of all his sins

To hell for ever.

_Mel._ ’T were a rash attempt,

Not to be done with safety. Let your reason

Plot your revenge, and not your passion. 300

_Amin._ If thou refusest me in these extremes,

Thou art no friend. He sent for her to me;

By Heaven, to me, myself! and, I must tell you,

I love her as a stranger: there is worth

In that vile woman, worthy things, Melantius;

And she repents. I ’ll do ’t myself alone, 306

Though I be slain. Farewell.

_Mel._ [_Aside._] He ’ll overthrow

My whole design with madness.—Amintor,

Think what thou dost: I dare as much as valour;

But ’t is the King, the King, the King, Amintor, 310

With whom thou fightest! (_Aside._)—I know he is honest,[3396]

And this will work with him.

_Amin._ I cannot tell

What thou hast said; but thou hast charm’d my sword

Out of my hand, and left me shaking here,

Defenceless.

_Mel._ I will take it up for thee. 315

_Amin._ What a wild beast is uncollected[3397] man!

The thing that we call honour bears us all

Headlong unto sin, and yet itself is nothing.

_Mel._ Alas, how variable are thy thoughts!

_Amin._ Just like my fortunes. I was run to that 320

I purpos’d to have chid thee for. Some plot,

I did distrust, thou hadst against the King,

By that old fellow’s carriage. But take heed;

There ’s not the least limb growing to a King

But carries thunder in ’t.

_Mel._ I have none 325

Against him.

_Amin._ Why, come, then; and still remember

We may not think revenge.

_Mel._ I will remember. _Exeunt._

ACT V

[SCENE I.][3398]

_Enter_ EVADNE _and a_ Gentleman [_of the Bedchamber_].

_Evad._ Sir, is the King a-bed?

_Gent._ Madam, an hour ago.

_Evad._ Give me the key, then, and let none be near;

’T is the King’s pleasure.

_Gent._ I understand you, madam; would ’t were mine!

I must not wish good rest unto your ladyship. 5

_Evad._ You talk, you talk.

_Gent._ ’T is all I dare do, madam; but the King

Will wake, and then, methinks—

_Evad._ Saving your imagination, pray, good night, sir.

_Gent._ A good night be it, then, and a long one, madam. 10

I am gone. _Exit._

_Evad._[3399] The night grows horrible; and all about me

Like my black purpose. Oh, the conscience _King abed._

Of a lost virgin,[3400] whither wilt thou pull me?

To what things dismal as the depth of hell 15

Wilt thou provoke me? Let no woman dare

From this hour be disloyal, if her heart be flesh,

If she have blood, and can fear. ’T is a daring

Above that desperate fool’s that left his peace,

And went to sea to fight: ’t is so many sins, 20

An age cannot repent ’em; and so great,

The gods want mercy for. Yet I must through ’em:

I have begun a slaughter on my honour,

And I must end it there.—’A sleeps. Good Heavens! 24

Why give you peace to this untemperate beast,

That hath so long transgrest you? I must kill him,

And I will do it bravely: the mere joy

Tells me, I merit in it. Yet I must not

Thus tamely do it as he sleeps—that were

To rock him to another world: my vengeance 30

Shall take him waking, and then lay before him

The number of his wrongs and punishments.

I ’ll shape his sins like Furies, till I waken

His evil angel, his sick conscience,

And then I ’ll strike him dead.—King, by your leave;—

_Ties his arms to the bed._ 35

I dare not trust your strength; your grace and I

Must grapple upon even terms no more.

So, if he rail me not from my resolution,

I shall be strong enough.—My lord the King!

My lord!—’A sleeps, as if he meant to wake 40

No more.—My lord!—Is he not dead already?—

Sir! My lord!

_King._ Who ’s that?

_Evad._ Oh, you sleep soundly sir!

_King._ My dear Evadne,

I have been dreaming of thee; come to bed.

_Evad._ I am come at length, sir; but how welcome? 45

_King._ What pretty new device is this, Evadne?

What, do you tie me to you? By my love,

This is a quaint one. Come, my dear, and kiss me;

I ’ll be thy Mars; to bed, my queen of love.

Let us be caught together, that the gods 50

May see and envy our embraces.

_Evad._ Stay, sir, stay;

You are too hot, and I have brought you physic

To temper your high veins.

_King._ Prithee, to bed, then; let me take it warm;

There thou shalt know the state of my body better. 55

_Evad._ I know you have a surfeited foul body;

And you must bleed. [_Draws a knife._]

_King._ Bleed!

_Evad._ Ay, you shall bleed. Lie still; and, if the devil,

Your lust, will give you leave, repent. This steel

Comes to redeem the honour that you stole, 60

King, my fair name; which nothing but thy death

Can answer to the world.

_King._ How ’s this, Evadne?

_Evad._ I am not she; nor bear I in this breast

So much cold spirit to be call’d a woman:

I am a tiger; I am any thing 65

That knows not pity. Stir not! If thou dost,

I ’ll take thee unprepar’d, thy fears upon thee,

That make thy sins look double, and so send thee

(By my revenge, I will!) to look those torments

Prepar’d for such black souls. 70

_King._ Thou dost not mean this; ’t is impossible;

Thou art too sweet and gentle.

_Evad._ No, I am not:

I am as foul as thou art, and can number

As many such hells here. I was once fair,

Once I was lovely; not a blowing rose 75

More chastely sweet, till thou, thou, thou, foul canker,[3401]

(Stir not!) didst poison me. I was a world of virtue,

Till your curst court and you (Hell bless you for ’t!)

With your temptations on temptations

Made me give up mine honour; for which, King, 80

I am come to kill thee.

_King._ No!

_Evad._ I am.

_King._ Thou art not!

I prithee speak not these things. Thou art gentle,

And wert not meant thus rugged.

_Evad._ Peace, and hear me.

Stir nothing but your tongue, and that for mercy

To those above us; by whose lights I vow, 85

Those blessed fires[3402] that shot to see our sin,

If thy hot soul had substance with thy blood,

I would kill that too; which, being past my steel,

My tongue shall reach. Thou art a shameless villain;

A thing out of the overcharge of nature 90

Sent, like a thick cloud, to disperse a plague

Upon weak catching[3403] women; such a tyrant,

That for his lust would sell away his subjects,

Ay, all his Heaven hereafter!

_King._ Hear, Evadne,

Thou soul of sweetness, hear! I am thy King.

_Evad._ Thou art my shame! Lie still; there ’s none about you, 96

Within your cries; all promises of safety

Are but deluding dreams. Thus, thus, thou foul man,

Thus I begin my vengeance! _Stabs him._

_King._ Hold, Evadne!

I do command thee hold.

_Evad._ I do not mean, sir, 100

To part so fairly with you; we must change

More of these love-tricks yet.

_King._ What bloody villain

Provokt thee to this murder?

_Evad._ Thou, thou monster!

_King._ Oh!

_Evad._ Thou kept’st me brave[3404] at court, and whor’d me, King; 105

Then married me to a young noble gentleman,

And whor’d me still.

_King._ Evadne, pity me!

_Evad._ Hell take me, then! This for my lord Amintor.

This for my noble brother! And this stroke

For the most wrong’d of women! _Kills him._

_King._ Oh! I die. 110

_Evad._ Die all our faults together! I forgive thee. _Exit._

_Enter two [Gentlemen] of the bed-chamber._

_1 Gent._ Come, now she ’s gone, let ’s enter; the King expects it,

and will be angry.

_2 Gent._ ’T is a fine wench; we ’ll have a snap at her one of these

nights, as she goes from (115) him.

_1 Gent._ Content. How quickly he had done with her! I see kings can

do no more that way than other mortal people.

_2 Gent._ How fast he is! I cannot hear him breathe. 120

_1 Gent._ Either the tapers give a feeble light,

Or he looks very pale.

_2 Gent._ And so he does:

Pray Heaven he be well; let ’s look.—Alas!

He ’s stiff, wounded, and dead! Treason, treason!

_1 Gent._ Run forth and call. 125

_2 Gent._ Treason, treason! _Exit._

_1 Gent._ This will be laid on us:

Who can believe a woman could do this?

_Enter_ CLEON _and_ LYSIPPUS.

_Cleon._ How now! where ’s the traitor?

_1 Gent._ Fled, fled away; but there her woeful act

Lies still. 130

_Cleon._ Her act! a woman!

_Lys._ Where’s the body?

_1 Gent._ There.

_Lys._ Farewell, thou worthy man! There were two bonds

That tied our loves, a brother and a king.

The least of which might fetch a flood of tears;

But such the misery of greatness is, 136

They have no time to mourn; then, pardon me!

Sirs, which way went she?

_Enter_ STRATO.

_Stra._ Never follow her;

For she, alas! was but the instrument.

News is now brought in that Melantius 140

Has got the fort, and stands upon the wall,

And with a loud voice calls those few that pass

At this dead time of night, delivering

The innocence of this act.

_Lys._ Gentlemen,

I am your King.

_Stra._ We do acknowledge it. 145

_Lys._ I would I were not! Follow, all; for this

Must have a sudden stop. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][3405]

_Enter_ MELANTIUS, DIPHILUS, _and_ CALIANAX, _on the Walls_.

_Mel._ If the dull people can believe I am arm’d,

(Be constant, Diphilus.) now we have time

Either to bring our banisht honours home,

Or create new ones in our ends.

_Diph._ I fear not;

My spirit lies not that way.—Courage, Calianax! 5

_Cal._ Would I had any! you should quickly know it.

_Mel._ Speak to the people; thou art eloquent.

_Cal._ ‘’T is a fine eloquence to come to the gallows:

You were born to be my end; the devil take you!

Now must I hang for company. ’T is strange, 10

I should be old, and neither wise nor valiant.

_Enter_ LYSIPPUS, DIAGORAS, CLEON, STRATO, _and_ Guard.

_Lys._ See where he stands, as boldly confident

As if he had his full command about him.

_Stra._ He looks as if he had the better cause, sir;

Under your gracious pardon, let me speak it! 15

Though he be mighty-spirited, and forward

To all great things, to all things of that danger

Worse men shake at the telling of, yet certainly

I do believe him noble, and this action

Rather pull’d on than sought: his mind was ever 20

As worthy as his hand.

_Lys._ ’T is my fear, too.

Heaven forgive all!—Summon him, Lord Cleon.

_Cleon._ Ho, from the walls there!

_Mel._ Worthy Cleon, welcome:

We could have wisht you here, lord; you are honest.

_Cal._ (_Aside._) Well, thou art as flattering a knave, though 25

I dare not tell thee so——

_Lys._ Melantius!

_Mel._ Sir?

_Lys._ I am sorry that we meet thus; our old love

Never requir’d such distance. Pray to Heaven,

You have not left yourself, and sought this safety

More out of fear than honour! You have lost 30

A noble master, which your faith, Melantius,

Some think might have preserv’d: yet you know best.

_Cal._ [_Aside._] When time was, I was mad: some that dares fight,

I hope will pay this rascal.

_Mel._ Royal young man, those tears look lovely on thee: 35

Had they been shed for a deserving one,

They had been lasting monuments. Thy brother,

Whilst he was good, I call’d him King, and serv’d him

With that strong faith, that most unwearied valour,

Pull’d people from the farthest sun to seek him, 40

And buy his friendship. I was then his soldier.

But since his hot pride drew him to disgrace me,

And brand my noble actions with his lust,

(That never-cur’d dishonour of my sister,

Base stain of whore, and, which is worse, the joy 45

To make it still so,) like myself, thus I

Have flung him off with my allegiance;

And stand here, mine own justice, to revenge

What I have suffered in him, and this old man

Wrong’d almost to lunacy.

_Cal._ Who, I? 50

You would draw me in. I have had no wrong;

I do disclaim ye all.

_Mel._ The short is this.

’T is no ambition to lift up myself

Urgeth me thus; I do desire again

To be a subject, so I may be free: 55

If not, I know my strength, and will unbuild

This goodly town. Be speedy, and be wise,

In a reply.

_Stra._ Be sudden, sir, to tie

All up again. What ’s done is past recall,

And past you to revenge; and there are thousands 60

That wait for such a troubled hour as this.

Throw him the blank.

_Lys._ Melantius, write in that

Thy choice: my seal is at it. [_Throws a paper to_ MELANTIUS.]

_Mel._ It was our honours drew us to this act,

Not gain; and we will only work our pardons. 65

_Cal._ Put my name in too.

_Diph._ You disclaim’d us all

But now, Calianax.

_Cal._ That ’s all one;

I ’ll not be hang’d hereafter by a trick:

I ’ll have it in.

_Mel._ You shall, you shall.—

Come to the back gate, and we ’ll call you King, 70

And give you up the fort.

_Lys._ Away, away. _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][3406]

_Enter_ ASPATIA, _in man’s apparel_, [_and with artificial scars on her

face_.]

_Asp._ This is my fatal hour. Heaven may forgive

My rash attempt, that causelessly hath laid

Griefs on me that will never let me rest,

And put a woman’s heart into my breast.

It is more honour for you that I die; 5

For she that can endure the misery

That I have on me, and be patient too,

May live and laugh at all that you can do.

_Enter_ Servant.

God save you, sir!

_Ser._ And you, sir! What ’s your business?

_Asp._ With you, sir, now; to do me the fair office 10

To help me to your lord.

_Ser._ What, would you serve him?

_Asp._ I ’ll do him any service; but, to haste,

For my affairs are earnest, I desire

To speak with him.

_Ser._ Sir, because you are in such haste, I would 15

Be loth delay you longer: you can not.

_Asp._ It shall become you, though, to tell your lord.

_Ser._ Sir, he will speak with nobody;

[But in particular, I have in charge,

About no weighty matters.][3407]

_Asp._ This is most strange. 20

Art thou gold-proof? There ’s for thee; help me to him.

[_Gives money._]

_Ser._ Pray be not angry, sir: I ’ll do my best. _Exit._

_Asp._ How stubbornly this fellow answer’d me!

There is a vile dishonest trick in man,

More than in women. All the men I meet 25

Appear thus to me, are harsh and rude,

And have a subtilty in every thing,

Which love could never know; but we fond women

Harbour the easiest and the smoothest thoughts.

And think all shall go so. It is unjust 30

That men and women should be matcht together.

_Enter_ AMINTOR _and his_ man.

_Amin._ Where is he?

_Ser._ There, my lord.

_Amin._ What would you, sir?

_Asp._ Please it your lordship to command your man

Out of the room, I shall deliver things

Worthy your hearing.

_Amin._ Leave us. [_Exit_ Servant.]

_Asp._ (_Aside._) Oh, that that shape 35

Should bury falsehood in it!

_Amin._ Now your will, sir.

_Asp._ When you know me, my lord, you needs must guess

My business; and I am not hard to know;

For, till the chance of war markt this smooth face

With these few blemishes, people would call me 40

My sister’s picture, and her mine. In short,

I am brother to the wrong’d Aspatia.

_Amin._ The wrong’d Aspatia! Would thou wert so too

Unto the wrong’d Amintor! Let me kiss

That hand of thine, in honour that I bear 45

Unto the wrong’d Aspatia. Here I stand

That did it. Would he could not! Gentle youth,

Leave me; for there is something in thy looks

That calls my sins in a most hideous form

Into my mind; and I have grief enough 50

Without thy help.

_Asp._ I would I could with credit!

Since I was twelve years old, I had not seen

My sister till this hour I now arriv’d:

She sent for me to see her marriage,—

A woful one! but they that are above 55

Have ends in everything. She us’d few words,

But yet enough to make me understand

The baseness of the injuries you did her.

That little training I have had is war:

I may behave myself rudely in peace; 60

I would not, though. I shall not need to tell you

I am but young, and would be loth to lose

Honour, that is not easily gain’d again.

Fairly I mean to deal: the age is strict

For single combats; and we shall be stopt, 65

If it be publisht. If you like your sword,

Use it; if mine appear a better to you,

Change; for the ground is this, and this the time,

To end our difference. [_Draws._]

_Amin._ Charitable youth,

If thou be’st such, think not I will maintain 70

So strange a wrong: and, for thy sister’s sake,

Know, that I could not think that desperate thing

I durst not do; yet, to enjoy this world.

I would not see her; for, beholding thee,

I am I know not what. If I have aught 75

That may content thee, take it, and begone.

For death is not so terrible as thou;

Thine eyes shoot guilt into me.

_Asp._ Thus, she swore,

Thou wouldst behave thyself, and give me words

That would fetch tears into my eyes; and so 80

Thou dost indeed. But yet she bade me watch

Lest I were cozen’d; and be sure to fight

Ere I return’d.

_Amin._ That must not be with me.

For her I ’ll die directly; but against her

Will never hazard it.

_Asp._ You must be urg’d. 85

I do not deal uncivilly with those

That dare to fight; but such a one as you

Must be us’d thus. _She strikes him._

_Amin._ I prithee, youth, take heed.

Thy sister is a thing to me so much 90

Above mine honour, that I can endure

All this—Good gods! a blow I can endure;

But stay not, lest thou draw a timeless [3408] death

Upon thyself.

_Asp._ Thou art some prating fellow;

One that hath studied out a trick to talk, 95

And move soft hearted people; to be kickt. _She kicks him._

Thus to be kickt.—(_Aside._) Why should he be so slow

In giving me my death?

_Amin._ A man can bear

No more, and keep his flesh. Forgive me, then!

I would endure yet, if I could. Now show [_Draws._] 100

The spirit thou pretend’st, and understand

Thou hast no hour to live. _They fight_; [ASPATIA _is wounded_.]

What dost thou mean?

Thou canst not fight: the blows thou mak’st at me

Are quite besides; and those I offer at thee,

Thou spread’st thine arms, and tak’st upon thy breast, 105

Alas, defenceless!

_Asp._ I have got enough.

And my desire. There is no place so fit

For me to die as here. [_Falls._]

_Enter_ EVADNE, _her hands bloody_, _with a knife_.

_Evad._ Amintor, I am loaden with events,

That fly to make thee happy; I have joys, 110

That in a moment can call back thy wrongs,

And settle thee in thy free state again.

It is Evadne still that follows thee,

But not her mischiefs. 114

_Amin._ Thou canst not fool me to believe again;

But thou hast looks and things so full of news,

That I am stay’d.

_Evad._ Noble Amintor, put off thy amaze,

Let thine eyes loose, and speak. Am I not fair?

Looks not Evadne beauteous with these rites now? 120

Were those hours half so lovely in thine eyes

When our hands met before the holy man?

I was too foul inside to look fair then:

Since I knew ill, I was not free till now.

_Amin._ There is presage of some important thing 125

About thee, which, it seems, thy tongue hath lost.

Thy hands are bloody, and thou hast a knife.

_Evad._ In this consists thy happiness and mine.

Joy to Amintor! for the King is dead.

_Amin._ Those have most power to hurt us, that we love; 130

We lay our sleeping lives within their arms.

Why, thou hast rais’d up mischief to his height,

And found one to out-name[3409] thy other faults;

Thou hast no intermission of thy sins

But all thy life is a continued ill. 135

Black is thy colour now, disease thy nature.

Joy to Amintor! Thou hast toucht a life,

The very name of which had power to chain

Up all my rage, and calm my wildest wrongs.

_Evad._ ’T is done; and, since I could not find a way 140

To meet thy love so clear as through his life,

I cannot now repent it.

_Amin._ Couldst thou procure the gods to speak to me,

To bid me love this woman and forgive, 144

I think I should fall out with them. Behold,

Here lies a youth whose wounds bleed in my breast,

Sent by a violent fate to fetch his death

From my slow hand! And, to augment my woe,

You now are present, stain’d with a king’s blood

Violently shed. This keeps night here, 150

And throws an unknown wilderness[3410] about me.

_Asp._ Oh, oh, oh!

_Amin._ No more; pursue me not.

_Evad._ Forgive me, then,

And take me to thy bed: we may not part. [_Kneels._]

_Amin._ Forbear, be wise, and let my rage go this way. 155

_Evad._ ’T is you that I would stay, not it.

_Amin._ Take heed;

It will return with me.

_Evad._ If it must be,

I shall not fear to meet it. Take me home.

_Amin._ Thou monster of cruelty, forbear!

_Evad._ For Heaven’s sake look more calm! Thine eyes are sharper 160

Than thou canst make thy sword.

_Amin._ Away, away!

Thy knees are more to me than violence.

I am worse than sick to see knees follow me

For that I must not grant. For God’s sake, stand.

_Evad._ Receive me, then.

_Amin._ I dare not stay thy language. 165

In midst of all my anger and my grief,

Thou dost awake something that troubles me,

And says, I lov’d thee once. I dare not stay;

There is no end of woman’s reasoning. _Leaves her._

_Evad._ [_rising._] Amintor, thou shalt love me now again. 170

Go; I am calm. Farewell, and peace for ever!

Evadne, whom thou hat’st, will die for thee. _Stabs herself._

_Amin._ (_returning._) I have a little human nature yet,

That ’s left for thee, that bids me stay thy hand.

_Evad._ Thy hand was welcome, but it came too late. 175

Oh, I am lost! the heavy sleep makes haste. _She dies._

_Asp._ Oh, oh, oh!

_Amin._ This earth of mine doth tremble, and I feel

A stark affrighted motion in my blood.

My soul grows weary of her house, and I 180

All over am a trouble to myself.

There is some hidden power in these dead things,

That calls my flesh unto ’em; I am cold.

Be resolute and bear ’em company.

There ’s something yet, which I am loth to leave: 185

There ’s man enough in me to meet the fears

That death can bring; and yet would it were done!

I can find nothing in the whole discourse

Of death, I durst not meet the boldest way;

Yet still, betwixt the reason and the act, 190

The wrong I to Aspatia did stands up;

I have not such another fault to answer.

Though she may justly arm herself with scorn

And hate of me, my soul will part less troubled,

When I have paid to her in tears my sorrow, 195

I will not leave this act unsatisfied,

If all that ’s left in me can answer it.

_Asp._ Was it a dream? There stands Amintor still;

Or I dream still.

_Amin._ How dost thou? speak; receive my love and help. 200

Thy blood climbs up to his old place again;

There ’s hope of thy recovery.

_Asp._ Did you not name Aspatia?

_Amin._ I did.

_Asp._ And talkt of tears and sorrow unto her?

_Amin._ ’T is true; and, till these happy signs in thee 205

Did stay my course, ’t was thither I was going.

_Asp._ Thou art there already, and these wounds are hers.

Those threats I brought with me sought not revenge,

But came to fetch this blessing from thy hand:

I am Aspatia yet. 210

_Amin._ Dare my soul ever look abroad again?

_Asp._ I shall sure live, Amintor; I am well;

A kind of healthful joy wanders within me.

_Amin._ The world wants lives to excuse thy loss; 214

Come, let me bear thee to some place of help.

_Asp._ Amintor, thou must stay; I must rest here;

My strength begins to disobey my will.

How dost thou, my best soul? I would fain live

Now, if I could. Wouldst thou have lov’d me, then?

_Amin._ Alas, 220

All that I am ’s not worth a hair from thee!

_Asp._ Give me thy hand; mine hands grope up and down.

And cannot find thee; I am wondrous sick.

Have I thy hand, Amintor?

_Amin._ Thou greatest blessing of the world, thou hast. 225

_Asp._ I do believe thee better than my sense.

Oh, I must go! farewell! _Dies._

_Amin._ She swoons.[3411]—Aspatia!—Help! for God’s sake, water,

Such as may chain life ever to this frame!—

Aspatia, speak!—What, no help yet? I fool!

I ’ll chafe her temples. Yet there ’s nothing stirs. 231

Some hidden power tell her, Amintor calls,

And let her answer me!—Aspatia, speak!—

I have heard, if there be any life, but bow

The body thus, and it will show itself. 235

Oh, she is gone! I will not leave her yet.

Since out of justice we must challenge nothing,

I ’ll call it mercy, if you ’ll pity me,

You heavenly powers, and lend for some few years

The blessed soul to this fair seat again! 240

No comfort comes; the gods deny me too.

I ’ll bow the body once again.—Aspatia!—

The soul is fled for ever; and I wrong

Myself, so long to lose her company. 244

Must I talk now? Here ’s to be with thee, love! _Kills himself._

_Re-enter_ Servant.

_Serv._ This is a great grace to my lord, to have the new king come

to him. I must tell him he is ent’ring.—Oh, God!—Help, help!

_Enter_ LYSIPPUS, MELANTIUS, CALIANAX, CLEON, DIPHILUS, _and_ STRATO.

_Lys._ Where ’s Amintor?

_Stra._ Oh, there, there!

_Lys._ How strange is this!

_Cal._ What should we do here? 250

_Mel._ These deaths are such acquainted things with me,

That yet my heart dissolves not. May I stand

Stiff here for ever!—Eyes, call up your tears!

This is Amintor. Heart, he was my friend;

Melt! now it flows.—Amintor, give a word 255

To call me to thee.

_Amin._ Oh!

_Mel._ Melantius calls his friend Amintor. Oh,

Thy arms are kinder to me than thy tongue!

Speak, speak! 260

_Amin._ What?

_Mel._ That little word was worth all the sounds

That ever I shall hear again.

_Diph._ Oh, brother,

Here lies your sister slain! You lose yourself

In sorrow there.

_Mel._ Why, Diphilus, it is 265

A thing to laugh at, in respect of this.

Here was my sister, father, brother, son;

All that I had.—Speak once again; what youth

Lies slain there by thee?

_Amin._ ’T is Aspatia.

My last is said. Let me give up my soul 270

Into thy bosom. [_Dies._]

_Cal._ What ’s that? What ’s that? Aspatia!

_Mel._ I never did

Repent the greatness of my heart till now;

It will not burst at need. 274

_Cal._ My daughter dead here too! And you have all fine new tricks to

grieve; but I ne’er knew any but direct crying.

_Mel._ I am a prattler: but no more. [_Offers to stab himself._]

_Diph._ Hold, brother!

_Lys._ Stop him.

_Diph._ Fie, how unmanly was this offer in you! 280

Does this become our strain?[3412]

_Cal._ I know not what the matter is, but I am grown very kind,

and am friends with you all now. You have given me that among you

will kill me quickly; but I ’ll go home, and live as long as I can.

[_Exit._] 286

_Mel._ His spirit is but poor that can be kept

From death for want of weapons.

Is not my hands a weapon sharp enough

To stop my breath? or, if you tie down those,

I vow, Amintor, I will never eat, 291

Or drink, or sleep, or have to do with that

That may preserve life! This I swear to keep.

_Lys._ Look to him, though, and bear those bodies in.

May this a fair example be to me 295

To rule with temper; for on lustful kings

Unlookt-for sudden deaths from God are sent;

But curst is he that is their instrument. [_Exeunt._]

THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS

BY JOHN FLETCHER

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

PERIGOT.

THENOT.

DAPHNIS.

ALEXIS.

Sullen Shepherd.

Old Shepherd.

Priest of Pan.

God of the River.

Satyr.

Shepherds.

CLORIN.

AMORET.

AMARILLIS.

CLOE.

Shepherdesses.

SCENE.—_Thessaly_.]

TO THE READER

If you be not reasonably assur’d of your knowledge in this kind of

poem, lay down the book, or read this, which I would wish had been the

prologue. It is a pastoral tragi-comedy, which the people seeing when

it was play’d, having ever had a singular gift in defining, concluded

to be a play of country hired shepherds in gray cloaks, with curtail’d

dogs in strings, sometimes laughing together, and sometimes killing one

another; and, missing Whitsun-ales, cream, wassail, and morris-dances,

began to be angry. In their error I would not have you fall, lest you

incur their censure.[3413] Understand, therefore, a pastoral to be a

representation of shepherds and shepherdesses with their actions and

passions, which must be such as may agree with their natures, at least

not exceeding former fictions and vulgar traditions; they are not to

be adorn’d with any art, but such improper ones as nature is said to

bestow, as singing and poetry; or such as experience may teach them,

as the virtues of herbs and fountains, the ordinary course of the sun,

moon, and stars, and such like. But you are ever to remember shepherds

to be such as all the ancient poets, and modern, of understanding,

have received them; that is, the owners of flocks, and not hirelings.

A tragi-comedy is not so called in respect of mirth and killing, but

in respect it wants deaths, which is enough to make it no tragedy, yet

brings some near it, which is enough to make it no comedy, which must

be a representation of familiar people, with such kind of trouble as

no life be question’d;[3414] so that a god is as lawful in this as in

a tragedy, and mean people as in a comedy. Thus much I hope will serve

to justify my poem, and make you understand it; to teach you more for

nothing, I do not know that I am in conscience bound.

JOHN FLETCHER.

ACT I

SCENE I.

_Enter_ CLORIN, _a_ shepherdess, _having buried her love in an arbour_.

_Clorin._ Hail, holy earth, whose cold arms do embrace

The truest man that ever fed his flocks

By the fat plains of fruitful Thessaly!

Thus I salute thy grave; thus do I pay

My early vows and tribute of mine eyes 5

To thy still-loved ashes; thus I free

Myself from all ensuing heats and fires

Of love; all sports, delights, and [jolly][3415] games,

That shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.

Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt 10

With youthful coronals,[3416] and lead the dance;

No more the company of fresh fair maids

And wanton shepherds be to me delightful,

Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes

Under some shady dell, when the cool wind 15

Plays on the leaves: all be far away,

Since thou art far away, by whose dear side

How often have I sat crown’d with fresh flowers

For summer’s queen, whilst every shepherd’s boy

Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook, 20

And hanging scrip of finest cordevan.[3417]

But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee,

And all are dead but thy dear memory;

That shall outlive thee, and shall ever spring,

Whilst there are pipes or jolly shepherds sing. 25

And here will I, in honour of thy love,

Dwell by thy grave, forgetting all those joys

That former times made precious to mine eyes;

Only rememb’ring what my youth did gain

In the dark, hidden virtuous use of herbs: 30

That will I practise, and as freely give

All my endeavours, as I gain’d them, free.

Of all green wounds I know the remedies

In men or cattle, be they stung with snakes,

Or charm’d with powerful words of wicked art, 35

Or be they love-sick, or through too much heat

Grown wild or lunatic, their eyes or ears

Thick’ned with misty film of dulling rheum;

These I can cure, such secret virtue lies

In herbs applied by a virgin’s hand. 40

My meat shall be what these wild woods afford,

Berries and chestnuts, plantains, on whose cheeks

The sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit

Pull’d from the fair head of the straight-grown pine:

On these I ’ll feed with free content, and rest, 45

When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.

_Enter a_ Satyr [_with a basket of fruit_].

_Sat._ Through yon same bending plain,

That flings his arms down to the main,

And through these thick woods, have I run,

Whose bottom never kist the sun 50

Since the lusty spring began;

All to please my master Pan,

Have I trotted without rest

To get him fruit; for at a feast

He entertains, this coming night, 55

His paramour, the Syrinx bright.—

But, behold, a fairer sight! _He stands amazed._

By that heavenly form of thine,

Brightest fair, thou art divine,

Sprung from great immortal race 60

Of the gods; for in thy face

Shines more awful majesty

Than dull weak mortality

Dare with misty eyes behold,

And live: therefore on this mould 65

Lowly do I bend my knee

In worship of thy deity.

Deign it, goddess, from my hand

To receive what’er this land

From her fertile womb doth send 70

Of her choice fruits; and but lend

Belief to that the Satyr tells:

Fairer by the famous wells

To this present day ne’er grew,

Never better nor more true. 75

Here be grapes, whose lusty blood

Is the learned poets’ good,

Sweeter yet did never crown

The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown

Than the squirrel’s teeth that crack them; 80

Deign, O fairest fair, to take them!

For these black-ey’d Dryope

Hath oftentimes commanded me

With my clasped knee to climb:

See how well the lusty time 85

Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red,

Such as on your lips is spread!

Here be berries for a queen,

Some be red, some be green;

These are of that luscious meat, 90

The great god Pan himself doth eat:

All these, and what the woods can yield,

The hanging mountain or the field,

I freely offer, and ere long

Will bring you more, more sweet and strong; 95

Till when, numbly leave I take,

Lest the great Pan do awake,

That sleeping lies in a deep glade,

Under a broad beech’s shade.

I must go, I must run 100

Swifter than the fiery sun. _Exit._

_Clo._ And all my fears go with thee!

What greatness, or what private hidden power,

Is there in me, to draw submission

From this rude man and beast? Sure I am mortal, 105

The daughter of a shepherd; he was mortal,

And she that bore me mortal: prick my hand,

And it will bleed; a fever shakes me, and

The self-same wind that makes the young lambs shrink

Makes me a-cold: my fear says I am mortal. 110

Yet I have heard (my mother told it me,

And now I do believe it), if I keep

My virgin-flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair,

No goblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend, 114

Satyr, or other power that haunts these groves,

Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion

Draw me to wander after idle fires;

Or voices calling me in dead of night,

To make me follow, and so toll[3418] me on,

Through mires and standing pools [to find my ruin:] 120

Else why should this rough thing, who never knew

Manners nor smooth humanity,[3419] whose heats[3420]

Are rougher than himself and more mis-shapen,

Thus mildly kneel to me? Sure there is a power 124

In that great name of virgin, that binds fast

All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites

That break their confines. Then, strong chastity,

Be thou my strongest guard, for here I ’ll dwell

In opposition against fate and hell! [_Retires into her bower._]

[SCENE II.][3421]

_Enter an_ Old Shepherd, _with four couples of_ Shepherds _and_

Shepherdesses, [_among whom are_ PERIGOT _and_ AMORET.]

_Old Shep._ Now we have done this holy festival

In honour of our great god, and his rites

Perform’d, prepare yourselves for chaste

And uncorrupted fires; that as the priest

With powerful hand shall sprinkle on your brows 5

His pure and holy water, ye may be

From all hot flames of lust and loose thoughts free.

Kneel, shepherds, kneel; here comes the priest of Pan.

_Enter_ Priest.

_Priest._ Shepherds, thus I purge away [_Sprinkling them with water._]

Whatsoever this great day, 10

Or the past hours, gave not good,

To corrupt your maiden blood.

From the high rebellious heat

Of the grapes, and strength of meat,

From the wanton quick desires 15

They do kindle by their fires

I do wash you with this water;

Be you pure and fair hereafter!

From your livers and your veins

Thus I take away the stains; 20

All your thoughts be smooth and fair:

Be ye fresh and free as air!

Never more let lustful heat

Through your purged conduits[3422] beat,

Or a plighted troth he broken, 25

Or a wanton verse be spoken

In a shepherdess’s ear:

Go your ways, ye are all clear.

_They rise and sing in praise of_ PAN.

THE SONG.

Sing his praises that doth keep

Our flocks from harm, 30

Pan, the father of our sheep;

And arm in arm

Tread we softly in a round,

Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground

Fills the music with her sound. 35

Pan, O great god Pan, to thee

Thus do we sing!

Thou that keep’st us chaste and free

As the young spring;

Ever be thy honour spoke, 40

From that place the Morn is broke

To that place Day doth unyoke!

_Exeunt omnes but_ PERIGOT _and_ AMORET.

_Peri._ Stay, gentle Amoret, thou fair-brow’d maid;

Thy shepherd prays thee stay, that holds thee dear,

Equal with his soul’s good.

_Amo._ Speak; I give 45

Thee freedom, shepherd; and thy tongue be still

The same it ever was, as free from ill

As he whose conversation never knew

The court or city; be thou ever true!

_Peri._ When I fall off from my affection, 50

Or mingle my clean thoughts with foul desires,

First, let our great god cease to keep my flocks,

That, being left alone without a guard,

The wolf, or winter’s rage, summer’s great heat

And want of water, rots, or what to us 55

Of ill is yet unknown, fall speedily,

And in their general ruin let me go!

_Amo._ I pray thee, gentle shepherd, wish not so:

I do believe thee; ’t is as hard for me

To think thee false, and harder, than for thee

To hold me foul.

_Peri._ Oh, you are fairer far 61

Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star

That guides the wand’ring seaman through the deep;

Straighter than the straightest pine upon the steep

Head of an aged mountain; and more white 65

Than the new milk we strip before day-light

From the full-freighted bags of our fair flocks;

Your hair more beauteous than those hanging locks

Of young Apollo!

_Amo._ Shepherd, be not lost;

Y’ are sail’d too far already from the coast 70

Of your discourse.

_Peri._ Did you not tell me once

I should not love alone, I should not lose

Those many passions, vows, and holy oaths,

I’ve sent to heaven? Did you not give your hand,

Even that fair hand, in hostage? Do not, then,

Give back again those sweets to other men, 76

You yourself vow’d were mine.

_Amo._ Shepherd, so far as maiden’s modesty

May give assurance, I am once more thine,

Once more I give my hand. Be ever free 80

From that great foe to faith, foul jealousy!

_Peri._ I take it as my best good; and desire,

For stronger confirmation of our love,

To meet this happy night in that fair grove, 84

Where all true shepherds have rewarded been

For their long service: say, sweet, shall it hold?

_Amo._ Dear friend, you must not blame me, if I make

A doubt of what the silent night may do,

Coupled with this day’s heat, to move your blood.

Maids must be fearful. Sure you have not been

Wash’d white enough, for yet I see a stain 91

Stick in your liver:[3423] go and purge again.

_Peri._ Oh, do not wrong my honest simple truth!

Myself and my affections are as pure

As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine 95

Of the great Dian: only my intent

To draw you thither was to plight our troths,

With interchange of mutual chaste embraces,

And ceremonious tying of our souls.

For to that holy wood is consecrate 100

A virtuous well, about whose flowery banks

The nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds

By the pale moonshine, dipping oftentimes

Their stolen children, so to make them free

From dying flesh and dull mortality. 105

By this fair fount hath many a shepherd sworn,

And given away his freedom, many a troth

Been plight, which neither envy nor old time

Could ever break, with many a chaste kiss given,

In hope of coming happiness; by this 110

Fresh fountain many a blushing maid

Hath crown’d the head of her long-loved shepherd

With gaudy flowers, whilst he happy sung

Lays of his love and dear captivity. 114

There grows all herbs fit to cool looser flames

Our sensual parts provoke, chiding our bloods,

And quenching by their power those hidden sparks

That else would break out, and provoke our sense

To open fires; so virtuous is that place.

Then, gentle shepherdess, believe, and grant.

In troth, it fits not with that face to scant 121

Your faithful shepherd of those chaste desires

He ever aim’d at, and——

_Amo._ Thou hast prevail’d: farewell. This coming night

Shall crown thy chaste hopes with long-wish’d delight. 125

_Peri._ Our great god Pan reward thee for that good

Thou hast given thy poor shepherd! Fairest bud

Of maiden virtues, when I leave to be

The true admirer of thy chastity,

Let me deserve the hot polluted name 130

Of a wild woodman, or affect some dame

Whose often prostitution hath begot

More foul diseases than ever yet the hot

Sun bred thorough his burnings, whilst the Dog

Pursues the raging Lion, throwing fog 135

And deadly vapour from his angry breath,

Filling the lower world with plague and death! _Exit_ AMORET.

_Enter_ AMARILLIS, _another_ Shepherdess _that is in love with_ PERIGOT.

_Amar._ Shepherd, may I desire to be believ’d,

What I shall blushing tell?

_Peri._ Fair maid, you may.

_Amar._ Then, softly thus: I love thee, Perigot; 140

And would be gladder to be lov’d again

Than the cold earth is in his frozen arms

To clip[3424] the wanton spring. Nay, do not start,

Nor wonder that I woo thee; thou that art

The prime of our young grooms, even the top

Of all our lusty shepherds. What dull eye, 146

That never was acquainted with desire,

Hath seen thee wrastle, run, or cast the stone

With nimble strength and fair delivery,

And hath not sparkled fire, and speedily 150

Sent secret heat to all the neighbouring veins?

Who ever heard thee sing, that brought again

That freedom back was lent unto thy voice?

Then, do not blame me, shepherd, if I be

One to be numb’red in this company, 155

Since none that ever saw thee yet were free.

_Peri._ Fair shepherdess, much pity I can lend

To your complaints; but sure I shall not love.

All that is mine, myself and my best hopes,

Are given already. Do not love him, then, 160

That cannot love again; on other men

Bestow those heats, more free, that may return

You fire for fire, and in one flame equal burn.

_Amar._ Shall I rewarded be so slenderly

For my affection, most unkind of men? 165

If I were old, or had agreed with art

To give another nature to my cheeks,

Or were I common mistress to the love

Of every swain, or could I with such ease

Call back my love as many a wanton doth, 170

Thou mightst refuse me, shepherd; but to thee

I am only fixt and set; let it not be

A sport, thou gentle shepherd, to abuse

The love of silly[3425] maid.

_Peri._ Fair soul, ye use

These words to little end: for, know, I may 175

Better call back that time was yesterday,

Or stay the coming night, than bring my love

Home to myself again, or recreant prove.

I will no longer hold you with delays:

This present night I have appointed been 180

To meet that chaste fair that enjoys my soul,

In yonder grove, there to make up our loves.

Be not deceiv’d no longer, choose again:

These neighbouring plains have many a comely swain,

Fresher and freer[3426] far than I e’er was; 185

Bestow that love on them, and let me pass.

Farewell: be happy in a better choice! _Exit._

_Amar._ Cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy voice

Than if the angry heavens with their quick flames

Had shot me through. I must not leave to love,

I cannot; no, I must enjoy thee, boy, 191

Though the great dangers ’twixt my hopes and that

Be infinite. There is a shepherd dwells

Down by the moor, whose life hath ever shown

More sullen discontent than Saturn’s brow 195

When he sits frowning on the births of men;

One that doth wear himself away in loneness,

And never joys, unless it be in breaking

The holy plighted troths of mutual souls;

One that lusts after every several beauty, 200

But never yet was known to love or like,

Were the face fairer or more full of truth

Than Phoebe in her fulness, or the youth

Of smooth Lyaeus; whose nigh-starved flocks

Are always scabby, and infect all sheep 205

They feed withal; whose lambs are ever last,

And die before their weaning: and whose dog

Looks, like his master, lean and full of scurf,

Not caring for the pipe or whistle. This man may,

If he be well wrought, do a deed of wonder, 210

Forcing me passage to my long desires:

And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose

As my quick thoughts could wish for.

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd.

_Sull. Shep._ Fresh beauty, let me not be thought uncivil,

Thus to be partner of your loneness: ’t was 215

My love (that ever-working passion) drew

Me to this place, to seek some remedy

For my sick soul. Be not unkind and fair,

For such the mighty Cupid in his doom

Hath sworn to be aveng’d on; then, give room

To my consuming fires, that so I may 221

Enjoy my long desires, and so allay

Those flames that else would burn my life away.

_Amar._ Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were sound

As thy words seem to be, means might be found 225

To cure thee of thy long pains; for to me

That heavy youth-consuming misery

The love-sick soul endures never was pleasing.

I could be well content with the quick easing

Of thee and thy hot fires, might it procure 230

Thy faith and farther service to be sure.

_Sull. Shep._ Name but that work, danger, or what can

Be compass’d by the wit or art of man;

And, if I fail in my performance, may

I never more kneel to the rising day! 235

_Amar._ Then, thus I try thee, shepherd. This name night

That now comes stealing on, a gentle pair

Have promis’d equal love, and do appoint

To make yon wood the place where hands and hearts

Are to be tied for ever. Break their meeting 240

And their strong faith, and I am ever thine.

_Sull. Shep._ Tell me their names, and if I do not move

By my great power, the centre of their love

From his fixt being, let me never more

Warm me by those fair eyes I thus adore. 245

_Amar._ Come; as we go, I ’ll tell thee what they are,

And give thee fit directions for thy work. _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][3427]

_Enter_ CLOE.

_Cloe._ How have I wrong’d the times or men, that thus,

After this holy feast, I pass unknown

And unsaluted? ’T was not wont to be

Thus frozen with the younger company

Of jolly shepherds; ’t was not then held good 5

For lusty grooms to mix their quicker blood

With that dull humour, most unfit to be

The friend of man, cold and dull chastity.

Sure I am held not fair, or am too old,

Or else not free enough, or from my fold 10

Drive not a flock sufficient great to gain

The greedy eyes of wealth-alluring swain.

Yet, if I may believe what others say,

My face has foil[3428] enough; nor can they lay

Justly too strict a coyness to my charge; 15

My flocks are many, and the downs as large

They feed upon. Then, let it ever be

Their coldness, not my virgin-modesty

Makes me complain.

_Enter_ THENOT.

_The._ Was ever man but I

Thus truly taken with uncertainty; 20

Where shall that man he found that loves a mind

Made up in constancy, and dares not find

His love rewarded? Here, let all men know,

A wretch that lives to love his mistress so.

_Cloe._ Shepherd, I pray thee stay. Where hast thou been? 25

Or whither go’st thou? Here be woods as green

As any; air [likewise][3429] as fresh and sweet

As where smooth Zephyrus plays on the fleet

Face of the curled streams; with flowers as many

As the young spring gives, and as choice as any; 30

Here be all new delights, cool streams and wells,

Arbours o’ergrown with woodbines, caves, and dells;

Choose where thou wilt, whilst I sit by and sing,

Or gather rushes, to make many a ring

For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love,—

How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove, 36

First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes

She took eternal fire that never dies;

How she convey’d him softly in a sleep,

His temples bound with poppy, to the steep 40

Head of old Latmus, where she stoops each night,

Gilding the mountain with her brother’s light,

To kiss her sweetest.

_The._ Far from me are these

Hot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease;

I have forgot what love and loving meant; 45

Rhymes, songs, and merry rounds, that oft are sent

To the soft ear of maid, are strange to me:

Only I live t’ admire a chastity,

That neither pleasing age, smooth tongue, nor gold,

Could ever break upon, so sure[3430] a mould 50

Is that her mind was cast in; ’t is to her

I only am reserv’d; she is my form I stir

By, breathe and move; ’t is she, and only she,

Can make me happy, or give misery.

_Cloe._ Good shepherd, may a stranger crave to know 55

To whom this dear observance[3431] you do owe?

_The._ You may, and by her virtue learn to square

And level out your life; for to be fair,

And nothing virtuous, only fits the eye

Of gaudy youth and swelling vanity. 60

Then, know, she ’s call’d the Virgin of the Grove,

She that hath long since buri’d her chaste love,

And now lives by his grave, for whose dear soul

She hath vow’d herself into the holy roll

Of strict virginity: ’t is her I so admire, 65

Not any looser blood or new desire. [_Exit._]

_Cloe._ Farewell, poor swain! thou art not for my bend;[3432]

I must have quicker souls, whose words may tend

To some free action. Give me him dare love

At first encounter, and as soon dare prove! 70

THE SONG.

[_Sings._]

Come, shepherds, come!

Come away

Without delay,

Whilst the gentle time doth stay.

Green woods are dumb, 75

And will never tell to any

Those dear kisses, and those many

Sweet embraces that are given;

Dainty pleasures, that would even

Raise is coldest age a fire, 80

And give virgin-blood desire.

Then, if ever,

Now or never,

Come and have it:

Think not I 85

Dare deny,

If you crave it.

_Enter_ DAPHNIS.

[_Aside._] Here comes another. Better be my speed,

Thou god of blood! But certain, if I read

Not false, this is that modest shepherd, he 90

That only dare salute, but ne’er could be

Brought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing,

Whisper, or boldly ask that wished thing

We all are born for; one that makes loving faces,

And could be well content to covet graces, 95

Were they not got by boldness. In this thing

My hopes are frozen; and, but fate doth bring

Him hither, I would sooner choose

A man made out of snow, and freer use

An eunuch to my ends; but since he ’s here, 100

Thus I attempt him.—Thou, of men most dear,

Welcome to her that only for thy sake

Hath been content to live! Here, boldly take

My hand in pledge, this hand, that never yet

Was given away to any; and but sit 105

Down on this rushy bank, whilst I go pull

Fresh blossoms from the boughs, or quickly cull

The choicest delicates from yonder mead,

To make thee chains or chaplets, or to spread

Under our fainting bodies, when delight 110

Shall lock up all our senses. How the sight

Of those smooth rising cheeks renew the story

Of young Adonis, when in pride and glory

He lay infolded ’twixt the beating arms

Of willing Venus! Methinks stronger charms 115

Dwell in those speaking eyes, and on that brow

More sweetness than the painters can allow

To their best pieces. Not Narcissus, he

That wept himself away in memory

Of his own beauty, nor Silvanus’ boy,[3433] 120

Nor the twice-ravish’d maid, for whom old Troy

Fell by the hand of Pyrrhus, may to thee

Be otherwise compar’d, than some dead tree

To a young fruitful olive.

_Daph._ I can love,

But I am loth to say so, lest I prove 125

Too soon unhappy.

_Cloe._ Happy, thou wouldst say.

My dearest Daphnis, blush not; if the day

To thee and thy soft heats be enemy,

Then take the coming night; fair youth, ’t is free

To all the world. Shepherd, I ’ll meet thee then 130

When darkness hath shut up the eyes of men,

In yonder grove. Speak, shall our meeting hold?

Indeed you are too bashful; be more bold,

And tell me ay.

_Daph._ I am content to say so,

And would be glad to meet, might I but pray so 135

Much from your fairness, that you would be true.

_Cloe._ Shepherd, thou hast thy wish.

_Daph._ Fresh maid, adieu.

Yet one word more: since you have drawn me on

To come this night, fear not to meet alone

That man that will not offer to be ill, 140

Though your bright self would ask it, for his fill

Of this world’s goodness; do not fear him, then,

But keep your ’pointed time. Let other men

Set up their bloods to sale, mine shall be ever

Fair as the soul it carries, and unchaste never. _Exit._

_Cloe._ Yet am I poorer than I was before. 146

Is it not strange, among so many a score

Of lusty bloods, I should pick out these things

Whose veins, like a dull river far from springs,

Is still the same, slow, heavy, and unfit 150

For stream or motion, though the strong winds hit

With their continual power upon his sides?

Oh, happy be your names that have been brides,

And tasted those rare sweets for which I pine!

And far more heavy be thy grief and tine,[3434] 155

Thou lazy swain, that mayst relieve my needs,

Than his, upon whose liver always feeds

A hungry vulture!

_Enter_ ALEXIS.

_Alex._ Can such beauty be

Safe in his[3435] own guard, and not draw the eye

Of him that passeth on, to greedy gaze 160

Or covetous desire, whilst in a maze

The better part contemplates, giving rein,

And wished freedom to the labouring vein?

Fairest and whitest, may I crave to know

The cause of your retirement, why you go 165

Thus all alone? Methinks the downs are sweeter,

And the young company of swains more meeter,

Than these forsaken and untrodden places.

Give not yourself to loneness, and those graces

Hide from the eyes of men, that were intended

To live amongst us swains.

_Cloe._ Thou art befriended, 171

Shepherd: in all my life I have not seen

A man in whom greater contents hath been,

Than thou thyself art. I could tell thee more,

Were there but any hope left to restore 175

My freedom lost. Oh, lend me all thy red,

Thou shame-fast Morning, when from Tithon’s[3436] bed

Thou risest ever-maiden!

_Alex._ If for me,

Thou sweetest of all sweets, these flashes be,

Speak, and he satisfi’d. Oh, guide her tongue,

My better angel; force my name among 181

Her modest thoughts, that the first word may be——

_Cloe._ Alexis, when the sun shall kiss the sea,

Taking his rest by the white Thetis’ side.

Meet me in the holy wood, where I ’ll abide 185

Thy coming, shepherd.

_Alex._ If I stay behind,

An everlasting dulness, and the wind,

That as he passeth by shuts up the stream

Of Rhine or Volga, whilst the sun’s hot beam

Beats back again, seize me, and let me turn 190

To coldness more than ice! Oh, how I burn

And rise in youth and fire! I dare not stay.

_Cloe._ My name shall be your word.

_Alex._ Fly, fly, thou day! _Exit._

_Cloe._ My grief is great, if both these boys should fail: 194

He that will use all winds must shift his sail. _Exit._

ACT II

SCENE I.[3437]

_Enter_ Old Shepherd _with a bell ringing_, _and the_ Priest of Pan

_following_.

_Priest._ Shepherds all, and maidens fair,

Fold your flocks up, for the air

’Gins to thicken, and the sun

Already his great course hath run.

See the dew-drops how they kiss 5

Every little flower that is;

Hanging on their velvet heads,

Like a rope of crystal beads;

See the heavy clouds down[3438] falling,

And bright Hesperus loud[3438] calling 10

The dead Night from under ground;

At whose rising mists unsound,[3439]

Damps and vapours fly apace,

Hovering o’er the wanton face

Of these pastures, where they come, 15

Striking dead both bud and bloom.

Therefore, from such danger lock

Every one his loved flock;

And let your dogs lie loose without,

Lest the wolf come as a scout 20

From the mountain, and, ere day,

Bear a lamb or kid away;

Or the crafty thievish fox

Break upon your simple flocks.

To secure yourselves from these, 25

Be not too secure in ease.

Let one eye his watches keep,

Whilst the t’other eye doth sleep;

So you shall good shepherds prove,

And for ever hold the love 30

Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers,

And soft silence, fall in numbers

On your eyelids! So, farewell:

Thus I end my evening’s knell. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][3440]

_Enter_ CLORIN, _the_ Shepherdess, _sorting of herbs, and telling the

natures of them_.

_Clo._ Now let me know what my best art hath done,

Helpt by the great power of the virtuous moon

In her full light. Oh, you sons of earth,

You only brood, unto whose [happy][3441] birth

Virtue was given, holding more of nature 5

Than man, her first-born and most perfect creature.

Let me adore you! you, that only can

Help or kill nature, drawing out that span

Of life and breath even to the end of time;

You, that these hands did [crop][3442] long before prime 10

Of day, give me your names, and, next, your hidden power.

This is the clote,[3443] bearing a yellow flower;

And this, black horehound; both are very good

For sheep or shepherd bitten by a wood[3444]

Dog’s venom’d teeth: these rhamnus[3445] branches are, 15

Which, stock in entries, or about the bar

That holds the door, kill all enchantments, charms

(Were they Medea’s verses), that do harms

To men or cattle: these for frenzy be

A speedy and a sovereign remedy, 20

The bitter wormwood, sage, and marigold;

Such sympathy with man’s good they do hold:

This tormentil,[3446] whose virtue is to part

All deadly killing poison from the heart:

And, here, narcissus root, for swellings best: 25

Yellow lysimachus,[3447] to give sweet rest

To the faint shepherd, killing, where it comes,

All busy gnats, and every fly that hums:

For leprosy, darnel and celandine,

With calamint, whose virtues do refine 30

The blood of man, making it free and fair

As the first hour it breath d, or the best air:

Here, other two; but your rebellious use

Is not for me, whose goodness is abuse;

Therefore, foul standergrass,[3448] from me and mine 35

I banish thee, with lustful turpentine;

You that entice the veins and stir the heat

To civil mutiny, scaling the seat

Our reason moves in, and deluding it

With dreams and wanton [fancies][3449] till the fit

Of burning lust be quencht, by appetite 41

Robbing the soul of blessedness and light:

And thou, light vervain, too, thou must go after,

Provoking easy souls to mirth and laughter;

No more shall I dip thee in water now, 45

And sprinkle every post and every bough

With thy well-pleasing juice, to make the grooms

Swell with high mirth, and with joy all the rooms.

_Enter_ THENOT.

_The._ This is the cabin where the best of all

Her sex that ever breath’d, or ever shall 50

Give heat or happiness to the shepherd’s side,

Doth only to her worthy self abide.

Thou blessed star, I thank thee for thy light,

Thou by whose power the darkness of sad night

Is banisht from the earth, in whose dull place

Thy chaster beams play on the heavy face 56

Of all the world, make the blue sea smile,

To see how cunningly thou dost beguile

Thy brother of his brightness, giving day

Again from chaos; whiter than that way 60

That leads to Jove’s high court, and chaster far

Than chastity itself, you blessed star

That brightly shines! thou, all the constancy

That in all women was or e’er shall be;

From whose fair eye-balls flies that holy fire 65

That styled is the mother of desire,

Infusing into every gentle breast

A soul of greater price, and far more blest,

Than that quick power which gives a difference

’Twixt man and creatures of a lower sense! 70

_Clo._ Shepherd, how cam’st thou hither to this place?

No way is trodden; all the verdant grass

The spring shot up stands yet unbruised here

Of any foot; only the dappled deer,

Far from the feared sound of crooked horn, 75

Dwells in this fastness.

_The._ Chaster than the morn,

I have not wand’red, or by strong illusion

Into this virtuous place have made intrusion:

But hither am I come (believe me, fair).

To seek you out, of whose great good the air 80

Is full, and strongly labours, whilst the sound

Breaks against heaven, and drives into a stound[3450]

Th’ amazed shepherd, that such virtue can

Be resident in lesser than a man.

_Clo._ If any art I have, or hidden skill, 85

May cure thee of disease or fest’red ill

Whose grief or greenness to another’s eye

May seem unpossible of remedy,

I dare yet undertake it.

_The._ ’T is no pain

I suffer through disease, no heating vein 90

Conveys infection dangerous to the heart,

No part imposthum’d, to be cur’d by art,

This body holds; and yet a feller grief

Than ever skilful hand did give relief,

Dwells on my soul, and may be heal’d by you,

Fair, beauteous virgin.

_Clo._ Then, shepherd, let me sue 96

To know thy grief: that man yet never knew

The way to health that durst not show his sore.

_The._ Then, fairest, know, I love you.

_Clo._ Swain, no more!

Thou hast abus’d the strictness of this place, 100

And off’red sacrilegious foul disgrace

To the sweet rest of these interred bones;

For fear of whose ascending, fly at once,

Thou and thy idle passions, that the sight

Of death and speedy vengeance may not fright

Thy very soul with horror.

_The._ Let me not, 106

Thou all perfection, merit such a blot

For my true zealous faith.

_Clo._ Dar’st thou abide

To see this holy earth at once divide,

And give her body up? for sure it will, 110

If thou pursu’st with wanton flame to fill

This hallowed place: therefore repent and go,

Whilst I with prayers appease his ghost below,

That else would tell thee what it were to be

A rival in that virtuous love that he 115

Embraces yet.

_The._ ’T is not the white or red

Inhabits in your cheek that thus can wed

My mind to adoration; nor your eye,

Though it be full and fair, your forehead high

And smooth as Pelops’ shoulder; not the smile

Lies watching in those dimples to beguile 121

The easy soul; your hands and fingers long,

With veins enamell’d richly; nor your tongue,

Though it spoke sweeter than Arion’s harp;

Your hair woven into many a curious warp, 125

Able in endless error to enfold

The [wand’ring][3451] soul; not the true perfect mould

Of all your body, which as pure doth show

In maiden-whiteness as the Alpine snow:

All these, were but your constancy away, 130

Would please me less than a black stormy day

The wretched seaman toiling through the deep.

But, whilst this honour’d strictness you do keep,

Though all the plagues that e’er begotten were

In the great womb of air were settled here, 135

In opposition, I would, like the tree,

Shake off those drops of weakness, and be free

Even in the arm of danger.

_Clo._ Wouldst thou have

Me raise again, fond man, from silent grave

Those sparks, that long ago were buried here 140

With my dead friend’s cold ashes?

_The._ Dearest dear,

I dare not ask it, nor you must not grant:

Stand strongly to your vow, and do not faint.

Remember how he lov’d you, and be still

The same opinion speaks you: let not will, 145

And that great god of women, appetite,

Set up your blood again; do not invite

Desire and fancy from their long exile,

To seat them once more in a pleasing smile:

Be, like a rock, made firmly up ’gainst all 150

The power of angry heaven, or the strong fall

Of Neptune’s battery. If you yield, I die

To all affection; ’t is that loyalty

You tie unto this grave I so admire:

And yet there ’s something else I would desire,

If you would hear me, but withal deny. 156

Oh, Pan, what an uncertain destiny

Hangs over all my hopes! I will retire;

For, if I longer stay, this double fire

Will lick my life up.

_Clo._ Do; and let time wear out 160

What art and nature cannot bring about.

_The._ Farewell, thou soul of virtue, and be blest

For ever, whilst [that here][3452] I wretched rest

Thus to myself! Yet grant me leave to dwell

In kenning[3453] of this arbour: yon same dell, 165

O’ertopt with mourning cypress and sad yew,

Shall be my cabin, where I ’ll early rue,

Before the sun hath kist this dew away,

The hard uncertain chance which faith doth lay

Upon his head.

_Clo._ The gods give quick release 170

And happy cure unto thy hard disease! _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][3454]

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd.

_Sull. Shep._ I do not love this wench that I should meet;

For ne’er did my unconstant eye yet greet

That beauty, were it sweeter or more fair

Than the new blossoms when the morning-air

Blows gently on them, or the breaking light, 5

When many maiden-blushes to our sight

Shoot from his early face: were all these set

In some neat form before me, ’t would not get

The least love from me; some desire it might,

And present burning. All to me in sight 10

Are equal; be they fair, or black, or brown,

Virgin, or careless wanton, I can crown

My appetite with any; swear as oft,

And weep, as any; melt my words as soft

Into a maiden’s ears, and tell how long 15

My heart has been her servant, and how strong

My passions are; call her unkind and cruel;

Offer her all I have to gain the jewel

Maidens so highly [prize]:[3455] then loathe, and fly:

This do I hold a blessed destiny. 20

_Enter_ AMARILLIS.

_Amar._ Hail, shepherd! Pan bless both thy flock and thee,

For being mindful of thy word to me!

_Sull. Shep._ Welcome, fair shepherdess! Thy loving swain

Gives thee the self-same wishes back again; 24

Who till this present hour ne’er knew that eye

Could make me cross mine arms, or daily die

With fresh consumings. Boldly tell me, then,

How shall we part their faithful loves, and when?

Shall I belie him to her? Shall I swear

His faith is false and he loves every where? 30

I ’ll say he mockt her th’ other day to you;

Which will by your confirming show as true,

For [she][3456] is of so pure an honesty,

To think, because [she][3456] will not, none will lie.

Or else to him I ’ll slander Amoret, 35

And say, she but seems chaste; I ’ll swear she met

Me ’mongst the shady sycamores last night,

And loosely off’red up her flame and sprite

Into my bosom; made a wanton bed 39

Of leaves and many flowers, where she spread

Her willing body to be prest by me;

There have I carv’d her name on many a tree,

Together with mine own. To make this show

More full of seeming,—Hobinal, you know,

Son to the aged shepherd of the glen, 45

Him I have sorted out of many men,

To say he found us at our private sport,

And rous’d us ’fore our time by his resort.

This to confirm, I’ve promis’d to the boy

Many a pretty knack and many a toy; 50

As gins to catch him birds, with bow and bolt

To shoot at conies,[3457] squirrels, in the holt;

A pair of painted buskins, and a lamb

Soft as his own locks or the down of swan.

This I have done to win you; which doth give

Me double pleasure: discord makes me live. 56

_Amar._ Lov’d swain, I thank ye. These tricks might prevail

With other rustic shepherds, but will fail

Even once to stir, much more to overthrow, 59

His fixed love from judgment, who doth know

Your nature, my end, and his chosen’s merit;

Therefore some stronger way must force his spirit,

Which I have found: give second, and my love

Is everlasting thine.

_Sull. Shep._ Try me, and prove.

_Amar._ These happy pair of lovers meet straightway, 65

Soon as they fold their flocks up with the day,

In the thick grove bordering upon yon hill,

In whose hard side nature hath carv’d a well,

And, but that matchless spring which poets know,

Was ne’er the like to this. By it doth grow, 70

About the sides, all herbs which witches use,

All simples good for medicine or abuse,

All sweets that crown the happy nuptial day,

With all their colours; there the month of May

Is ever dwelling, all is young and green; 75

There’s not a grass on which was ever seen

The falling autumn or cold winter’s hand;

So full of heat and virtue is the land

About this fountain, which doth slowly break,

Below yon mountain’s foot, into a creek 80

That waters all the valley, giving fish

Of many sorts to fill the shepherd’s dish.

This holy well, my grandam that is dead,

Right wise in charms, hath often to me said,

Hath power to change the form of any creature,

Being thrice dipt o’er the head, into what feature 86

Or shape ’t would please the letter-down to crave,

Who must pronounce this charm too, which she gave

[_Showing a scroll._]

Me on her death-bed; told me what, and how,

I should apply unto the patients’ brow 90

That would be chang’d, casting them thrice asleep,

Before I trusted them into this deep.

All this she show’d me, and did charge me prove

This secret of her art, if crost in love.

I ’ll this attempt now, shepherd; I have here 95

All her prescriptions, and I will not fear

To be myself dipt. Come, my temples bind

With these sad herbs, and when I sleep you find,

As you do speak your charm, thrice down me let,

And bid the water raise me Amoret; 100

Which being done, leave me to my affair,

And ere the day shall quite itself outwear,

I will return unto my shepherd’s arm;

Dip me again, and then repeat this charm,

And pluck me up myself, whom freely take,

And the hott’st fire of thine affection slake. 106

_Sull. Shep._ And if I fit thee not, then fit not me.

I long the truth of this well’s power to see. _Exeunt._

SCENE IV.[3458]

_Enter_ DAPHNIS.

_Daph._ Here will I stay, for this the covert is

Where I appointed Cloe. Do not miss,

Thou bright-ey’d virgin; come, oh come, my fair!

Be not abus’d with fear, nor let cold care

Of honour stay thee from thy shepherd’s arm, 5

Who would as hard be won to offer harm

To thy chaste thoughts, as whiteness from the day,

Or yon great round to move another way.

My language shall be honest, full of truth,

My flame as smooth and spotless as my youth; 10

I will not entertain that wand’ring thought,

Whose easy current may at length be brought

To a loose vastness.

_Alexis._ (_within_.) Cloe!

_Daph._ ’T is her voice,

And I must answer.—Cloe!—Oh, the choice

Of dear embraces, chaste and holy strains 15

Our hands shall give! I charge you, all my veins,

Through which the blood and spirit take their way,

Lock up your disobedient heats, and stay

Those mutinous desires that else would grow

To strong rebellion; do not wilder show 20

Than blushing modesty may entertain.

_Alexis._ (_within._) Cloe!

_Daph._ There sounds that blessed name again,

And I will meet it. Let me not mistake;

_Enter_ ALEXIS.

This is some shepherd. Sure, I am awake:

What may this riddle mean? I will retire, 25

To give myself more knowledge. [_Retires._]

_Alexis._ Oh, my fire,

How thou consum’st me!—Cloe, answer me!

Alexis, strong Alexis, high and free,

Calls upon Cloe. See, mine arms are full

Of entertainment, ready for to pull 30

That golden fruit which too, too long hath hung

Tempting the greedy eye. Thou stay’st too long;

I am impatient of those mad delays:

I must not leave unsought those many ways

That lead into this centre, till I find 35

Quench for my burning lust. I come, unkind! _Exit._

_Daph._ [_coming forward._] Can my imagination work me so much ill,

That I may credit this for truth, and still

Believe mine eyes? Or shall I firmly hold

Her yet untainted, and these sights but bold 40

Illusion? Sure, such fancies oft have been

Sent to abuse true love, and yet are seen

Daring to blind the virtuous thought with error;

But be they far from me with their fond terror!

I am resolv’d my Cloe yet is true. (_Cloe within._) 45

Cloe! Hark! Cloe! Sure, this voice is new,

Whose shrillness, like the sounding of a bell,

Tells me it is a woman.—Cloe, tell

Thy blessed name again.

_Cloe._ (_within._) Here!

_Daph._ Oh, what a grief is this, to be so near, 50

And not encounter!

_Enter_ CLOE.

_Cloe._ Shepherd, we are met:

Draw close into the covert, lest the wet,

Which falls like lazy mist upon the ground,

Soak through your startups.[3459]

_Daph._ Fairest, are you found?

How have we wand’red, that the better part

Of this good night is perisht? Oh, my heart!

How have I long’d to meet you, how to kiss 57

Those lily hands, how to receive the bliss

That charming tongue gives to the happy ear

Of him that drinks your language! But I fear

I am too much unmanner’d, far too rude, 61

And almost grown lascivious, to intrude

These hot behaviours; where regard of fame,

Honour and modesty, a virtuous name,

And such discourse as one fair sister may 65

Without offence unto the brother say,

Should rather have been tend’red. But, believe,

Here dwells a better temper: do not grieve,

Then, ever-kindest, that my first salute

Seasons so much of fancy; I am mute 70

Henceforth to all discourses but shall be

Suiting to your sweet thoughts and modesty.

Indeed, I will not ask a kiss of you,

No, not to wring your fingers, nor to sue

To those blest pair of fixed stars for smiles; 75

All a young lover’s cunning, all his wiles,

And pretty wanton dyings shall to me

Be strangers; only to your chastity

I am devoted ever.

_Cloe._ Honest swain,

First let me thank you, then return again 80

As much of my love.—[_Aside._] No, thou art too cold,

Unhappy boy, not temp’red to my mould;

Thy blood falls heavy downward. ’T is not fear

To offend in boldness wins; they never wear

Deserved favours that deny to take 85

When they are offered freely. Do I wake,

To see a man of his youth, years, and feature,

And such a one as we call goodly creature,

Thus backward? What a world of precious art

Were merely lost, to make him do his part! 90

But I will shake him off, that dares not hold:

Let men that hope to be belov’d be bold.

Daphnis, I do desire, since we are met

So happily, our lives and fortunes set

Upon one stake, to give assurance now, 95

By interchange of hands and holy vow,

Never to break again. Walk you that way,

Whilst I in zealous meditation stray

A little this way. When we both have ended

These rites and duties, by the woods befriended 100

And secrecy of night, retire and find

An aged oak, whose hollowness may bind

Us both within his body; thither go;

It stands within yon bottom.

_Daph._ Be it so. _Exit._

_Cloe._ And I will meet there never more with thee, 105

Thou idle shamefastness!

_Alexis._ (_within._) Cloe!

_Cloe._ ’T is he

That dare, I hope, be bolder.

_Alexis._ (_within._) Cloe!

_Cloe._ Now,

Great Pan, for Syrinx’ sake, bid speed our plough! _Exit._

ACT III

SCENE I.[3460]

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd, _with_ AMARILLIS _in a sleep_.

_Sull. Shep._ From thy forehead thus I take

These herbs, and charge thee not awake

Till in yonder holy well

Thrice, with powerful magic spell

Fill’d with many a baleful word 5

Thou hast been dipt. Thus, with my cord

Of blasted hemp, by moonlight twin’d

I do thy sleepy body bind.

I turn thy head unto the east,

And thy feet unto the west, 10

Thy left arm to the south put forth,

And thy right unto the north.

I take thy body from the ground,

In this deep and deadly swound,

And into this holy spring 15

I let thee slide down by my string.—[_Lets her down into the well._]

Take this maid, thou holy pit,

To thy bottom; nearer yet;

In thy water pure and sweet,

By thy leave I dip her feet; 20

Thus I let her lower yet,

That her ankles may be wet;

Yet down lower, let her knee

In thy waters washed be;

There stop.—Fly away, 25

Every thing that loves the day!

Truth, that hath but one face,

Thus I charm thee from this place.

Snakes that cast your coats for new,

Chameleons that alter hue, 30

Hares that yearly sexes change,

Proteus alt’ring oft and strange,

Hecate with shapes three,

Let this maiden changed be,

With this holy water wet, 35

To the shape of Amoret!

Cynthia, work thou with my charm!—

Thus I draw thee, free from harm,

[_Draws her out of the well_, _in the shape of_ AMORET.]

Up out of this blessed lake.

Rise both like her and awake! _She awaketh._ 40

_Amar._ Speak, shepherd, am I Amoret to sight?

Or hast thou mist in any magic rite,

For want of which any defect in me

May make our practices discovered be?

_Sull. Shep._ By yonder moon, but that I here do stand, 45

Whose breath hath thus transform’d[3461] thee, and whose hand

Let thee down dry, and pluckt thee up thus wet,

I should myself take thee for Amoret!

Thou art in clothes, in feature, voice and hue,

So like, that sense cannot distinguish you. 50

_Amar._ Then, this deceit, which cannot crossed be,

At once shall lose her him, and gain thee me.

Hither she needs must come, by promise made;

And, sure, his nature never was so bad,

To bid a virgin meet him in the wood, 55

When night and fear are up, but understood

’T was his part to come first. Being come, I ’ll say,

My constant love made me come first and stay;

Then will I lead him further to the grove:

But stay you here, and, if his own true love 60

Shall seek him here, set her in some wrong path,

Which say her lover lately trodden hath;

I’ll not be far from hence. If need there be,

Here is another charm, whose power will free [_Gives a scroll._]

The dazzled sense, read by the moonbeams clear, 65

And in my own true shape make me appear.

_Enter_ PERIGOT.

_Sull. Shep._ Stand close; here’s Perigot, whose constant heart

Longs to behold her in whose shape thou art.

[_Retires with_ AMARILLIS.]

_Peri._ This is the place.—Fair Amoret!—The hour

Is yet scarce come. Here every sylvan power 70

Delights to be, about yon sacred well,

Which they have blest with many a powerful spell;

For never traveller in dead of night,

Nor stray’d beasts have fall’n in; but when sight

Hath fail’d them, then their right way they have found 75

By help of them, so holy is the ground,

But I will farther seek, lest Amoret

Should be first come, and so stray long unmet.—

My Amoret, Amoret! _Exit._

[_Amar. coming forward._ Perigot!][3462]

_Peri._ [_within._ ] My love!

_Amar._ I come, my love! _Exit._

_Sull. Shep._ Now she hath got

Her own desires, and I shall gainer be 81

Of my long-lookt-for hopes, as well as she.

How bright the moon shines here, as if she strove

To show her glory in this little grove,

_Enter_ AMORET.

To some new-loved shepherd! Yonder is 85

Another Amoret. Where differs this

From that? But that she Perigot hath met,

I should have ta’en this for the counterfeit.

Herbs, woods, and springs, the power that in you lies,

If mortal men could know your properties! 90

_Amo._ Methinks it is not night; I have no fear,

Walking this wood, of lion or of bear,

Whose names at other times have made me quake,

When any shepherdess in her tale spake

Of some of them, that underneath a wood 95

Have torn true lovers that together stood;

Methinks there are no goblins, and men’s talk,

That in these woods the nimble fairies walk,

Are fables: such a strong heart I have got

Because I come to meet with Perigot.— 100

My Perigot! Who ’s that? my Perigot?

_Sull. Shep._ (_coming forward._) Fair maid!

_Amo._ Aye me, thou art not Perigot?

_Sull. Shep._ But I can tell you news of Perigot.

An hour together under yonder tree

He sat with wreathed arms, and call’d on thee

And said, “Why, Amoret, stay’st thou so long?” 106

Then starting up, down yonder path he flung,

Lest thou hadst miss’d thy way. Were it daylight,

He could not yet have borne him out of sight.

_Amo._ Thanks, gentle shepherd; and beshrew my stay, 110

That made me fearful I had lost my way.

As fast as my weak legs (that cannot be

Weary with seeking him) will carry me,

I’ll follow: and, for this thy care of me,[3463]

Pray Pan thy love may ever follow thee! _Exit._

_Sull. Shep._ How bright she was, how lovely did she show! 116

Was it not pity to deceive her so?

She pluckt her garments up, and tript away,

And with a virgin-innocence did pray 119

For me that perjur’d her. Whilst she was here,

Methought the beams of light that did appear

Were shot from her; methought the moon gave none

But what it had from her. She was alone

With me; if then her presence did so move,

Why did I not assay to win her love? 125

[Would she][3464] not sure have yielded unto me?

Women love only opportunity,

And not the man; or if she had deni’d,

Alone, I might have forc’d her to have tri’d

Who had been stronger. Oh, vain fool, to let

Such blest occasion pass! I’ll follow yet; 131

My blood is up; I cannot now forbear.

_Enter_ ALEXIS _and_ CLOE.

I come, sweet Amoret!—Soft, who is here?

A pair of lovers? He shall yield her me: 134

Now lust is up, alike all women be. [_Retires._]

_Alexis._ Where shall we rest? But for the love of me,

Cloe, I know, ere this would weary be.

_Cloe._ Alexis, let us rest here, if the place

Be private, and out of the common trace

Of every shepherd; for, I understood, 140

This night a number are about the wood:

Then, let us choose some place, where, out of sight,

We freely may enjoy our stol’n delight.

_Alexis._ Then, boldly here, where we shall ne’er be found.

No shepherd’s way lies here, ’t is hallow’d ground; 145

No maid seeks here her strayed cow or sheep;

Fairies and fawns and satyrs do it keep.

Then, carelessly rest here, and clip and kiss,

And let no fear make us our pleasures miss. 149

_Cloe._ Then, lie by me: the sooner we begin,

The longer ere the day descry our sin. [_They lie down._]

_Sull. Shep._ [_coming forward._] Forbear to

touch my love; or, by yon flame,

The greatest power that shepherds dare to name,

Here where thou sit’st, under this holy tree,

Her to dishonour, thou shalt buried be! 156

_Alexis._ If Pan himself should come out of the lawns,

With all his troops of satyrs and of fawns,

And bid me leave, I swear by her two eyes

(A greater oath than thine), I would not rise!

_Sull. Shep._ Then, from the cold earth never thou shalt move, 160

But lose at one stroke both thy life and love.

[_Wounds him with his spear._]

_Cloe._ Hold, gentle shepherd!

_Sull. Shep._ Fairest shepherdess,

Come you with me; I do not love you less

Than that fond man, that would have kept you there

From me of more desert.

_Alexis._ Oh, yet forbear 165

To take her from me! Give me leave to die

By her!

_Enter_ Satyr; Sullen Shepherd _runs one way_, _and_ CLOE _another_.

_Sat._ Now, whilst the moon doth rule the sky,

And the stars, whose feeble light

Gives a pale shadow to the night,

Are up, great Pan commanded me 170

To walk this grove about, whilst he,

In a corner of the wood,

Where never mortal foot hath stood,

Keeps dancing, music, and a feast,

To entertain a lovely guest; 175

Where he gives her many a rose,

Sweeter than the breath that blows

The leaves; grapes, berries of the best;

I never saw so great a feast.

But, to my charge. Here must I stay, 180

To see what mortals lose their way,

And by a false fire, seeming bright,

Train them in and leave them right,

Then must I watch if any be

Forcing of a chastity; 185

If I find it, then in haste

Give my wreathed horn a blast,

And the fairies all will run,

Wildly dancing by the moon,

And will pinch him to the bone, 190

Till his lustful thoughts be gone.

_Alexis._ Oh, death!

_Sat._ Back again about this ground;

Sure, I hear a mortal sound.—

I bind thee by this powerful spell, 195

By the waters of this well,

By the glimmering moonbeams bright,

Speak again, thou mortal wight!

_Alexis._ Oh!

_Sat._ Here the foolish mortal lies, 200

Sleeping on the ground.—Arise!—

The poor wight is almost dead;

On the ground his wounds have bled,

And his clothes foul’d with his blood:

To my goddess in the wood 205

Will I lead him, whose hands pure

Will help this mortal wight to cure.

[_Exit carrying_ ALEXIS.]

_Re-enter_ CLOE.

_Cloe._ Since I beheld yon shaggy man, my breast

Doth pant; each bush, methinks, should hide a beast.

Yet my desire keeps still above my fear: 210

I would fain meet some shepherd, knew I where;

For from one cause of fear I am most free,

It is impossible to ravish me,

I am so willing. Here upon this ground

I left my love, all bloody with his wound; 215

Yet, till that fearful shape made me begone,

Though he were hurt, I furnisht was of one;

But now both lost.—Alexis, speak or move,

If thou hast any life; thou art yet my love!—

He ’s dead, or else is with this little might 220

Crept from the bank for fear of that ill sprite.—

Then, where art thou that struck’st my love? Oh, stay!

Bring me thyself in change, and then I ’ll say

Thou hast some justice. I will make thee trim

With flowers and garlands that were meant for him; 225

I ’ll clip thee round with both mine arms, as fast

As I did mean he should have been embrac’d.

But thou art fled.—What hope is left for me?

I ’ll run to Daphnis in the hollow tree,

Whom I did mean to mock; though hope be small 230

To make him bold, rather than none at all,

I ’ll try him; his heart, and my behaviour too,

Perhaps may teach him what he ought to do. _Exit._

_Re-enter_ Sullen Shepherd.

_Sull. Shep._ This was the place. ’T was but my feeble sight,

Mixt with the horror of my deed, and night, 235

That shapt these fears, and made me run away,

And lose my beauteous hardly-gotten prey.—

Speak, gentle shepherdess! I am alone,

And tender love for love.—But she is gone

From me, that, having struck her lover dead,

For silly fear left her alone and fled. 241

And see, the wounded body is remov’d

By her of whom it was so well belov’d.

_Enter_ PERIGOT, _and_ AMARILLIS _in the shape of_ AMORET.

But all these fancies must be quite forgot.

I must lie close; here comes young Perigot, 245

With subtle Amarillis in the shape

Of Amoret. Pray, love, he may not scape! [_Retires._]

_Amar._ Beloved Perigot, show me some place,

Where I may rest my limbs weak with the chase

Of thee, an hour before thou cam’st at least. 250

_Peri._ Beshrew my tardy steps! Here shalt thou rest

Upon this holy bank: no deadly snake

Upon this turf herself in folds doth make;

Here is no poison for the toad to feed;

Here boldly spread thy hands; no venom’d weed 255

Dares blister them; no slimy snail dare creep

Over thy face when thou art fast asleep;

Here never durst the babbling cuckoo spit;[3465]

No slough of falling star did ever hit

Upon this bank: let this thy cabin be; 260

This other, set with violets, for me. [_They lie down._]

_Amar._ Thou dost not love me, Perigot.

_Peri._ Fair maid,

You only love to hear it often said;

You do not doubt.

_Amar._ Believe me, but I do.

_Peri._ What, shall we now begin again to woo? 265

’T is the best way to make your lover last,

To play with him when you have caught him fast.

_Amar._ By Pan I swear, beloved[3466] Perigot,

And by yon moon, I think thou lov’st me not.

_Peri._ By Pan I swear,—and, if I falsely swear, 270

Let him not guard my flocks; let foxes tear

My earliest lambs, and wolves, whilst I do sleep,

Fall on the rest; a rot among my sheep,—

I love thee better than the careful ewe 274

The new-yean’d[3467] lamb that is of her own hue:

I dote upon thee more than that young lamb

Doth on the bag that feeds him from his dam!

Were there a sort[3468] of wolves got in my fold,

And one ran after thee, both young and old

Should be devour’d, and it should be my strife

To save thee, whom I love above my life. 281

_Amar._ How should I trust thee, when I see thee choose

Another bed, and dost my side refuse?

_Peri._ ’T was only that the chaste thoughts might be shown

’Twixt thee and me, although we were alone.

_Amar._ Come, Perigot will show his power, that he 286

Can make his Amoret, though she weary be,

Rise nimbly from her couch, and come to his.

Here, take thy Amoret; embrace and kiss. [_Lies down beside him._]

_Peri._ What means my love?

_Amar._ To do as lovers should, 290

That are to be enjoy’d, not to be woo’d.

There ’s ne’er a shepherdess in all the plain

Can kiss thee with more art; there ’s none can feign

More wanton tricks.

_Peri._ Forbear, dear soul, to try

Whether my heart be pure; I ’ll rather die 295

Than nourish one thought to dishonour thee.

_Amar._ Still think ’st thou such a thing as chastity

Is amongst women? Perigot, there ’s none

That with her love is in a wood alone,

And would come home a maid: be not abus’d

With thy fond first belief; let time be us’d. 301

[PERIGOT _rises_.]

Why dost thou rise?

_Peri._ My true heart thou hast slain!

_Amar._ Faith, Perigot, I ’ll pluck thee down again.

_Peri._ Let go, thou serpent, that into my breast

Hast with thy cunning div’d!—Art not in jest? 305

_Amar._ Sweet love, lie down.

_Peri._ Since this I live to see,

Some bitter north wind blast my flocks and me!

_Amar._ You swore you lov’d, yet will not do my will.

_Peri._ Oh, be as thou wert once, I ’ll love thee still!

_Amar._ I am as still I was, and all my kind;

Though other shows we have, poor men to blind. 311

_Peri._ Then, here I end all love; and, lest my vain

Belief should ever draw me in again,

Before thy face, that hast my youth misled,

I end my life! my blood be on thy head! 315

[_Offers to kill himself with his spear._]

_Amar._ [_rising._] Oh, hold thy hands, thy Amoret doth cry!

_Peri._ Thou counsel’st well; first, Amoret shall die,

That is the cause of my eternal smart!

_Amar._ Oh, hold! [_Exit._]

_Peri._ This steel shall pierce thy lustful heart!

[_Exit._] _running after her. The_ Sullen Shepherd _steps out and

un-charms her._

_Sull. Shep._ Up and down, every where, 320

I strew the herbs, to purge the air:

Let your odour drive hence

All mists that dazzle sense.

Herbs and springs, whose hidden might

Alters shapes, and mocks the sight, 325

Thus I charge ye to undo

All before I brought ye to!

Let her fly, let her scape;

Give again her own shape! [_Retires._]

_Re-enter_ AMARILLIS _in her own shape_, [_and_ PERIGOT _following with

his spear_.]

_Amar._ Forbear, thou gentle swain! thou dost mistake; 330

She whom thou follow’st fled into the brake,

And as I crost thy way, I met thy wrath;

The only fear of which near slain me hath.

_Peri._ Pardon, fair shepherdess: my rage and night

Were both upon me, and beguil’d my sight: 335

But far be it from me to spill the blood

Of harmless maids that wander in the wood! _Exit_ AMARILLIS.

_Enter_ AMORET.

_Amo._ Many a weary step, in yonder path,

Poor hopeless Amoret twice trodden hath,

To seek her Perigot; yet cannot hear 340

His voice.—My Perigot! She loves thee dear

That calls.

_Peri._ See yonder where she is! How fair

She shows! and yet her breath infects the air.

_Amo._ My Perigot!

_Peri._ Here.

_Amo._ Happy!

_Peri._ Hapless! first

It lights on thee: the next blow is the worst. 345

[_Wounds her._]

_Amo._ Stay, Perigot! My love, thou art unjust. [_Falls._]

_Peri._ Death is the best reward that ’s due to lust. _Exit._

_Sull. Shep._ Now shall their love be crost: for, being struck,

I’ll throw her in the fount, lest being took

By some night-traveller, whose honest care 350

May help to cure her.— [_Comes forward._]

Shepherdess, prepare

Yourself to die!

_Amo._ No mercy I do crave;

Thou canst not give a worse blow than I have.

Tell him that gave me this, who lov’d him too,

He struck my soul, and not my body through;

Tell him, when I am dead, my soul shall be 356

At peace, if he but think he injur’d me.

_Sull. Shep._ In this fount be thy grave. Thou wert not meant

Sure for a woman, thou art so innocent.— _He flings her into the well._

She cannot scape, for, underneath the ground, 360

In a long hollow the clear spring is bound,

Till on yon side, where the morn’s sun doth look,

The struggling water breaks out in a brook. _Exit._

_The_ God of the River _riseth with_ AMORET _in his arms_.

_God of the R._ What powerful charms my streams do bring

Back again unto their spring, 365

With such force that I their god,

Three times striking with my rod,

Could not keep them in their ranks?

My fishes shoot into the banks;

There ’s not one that stays and feeds, 370

All have hid them in the weeds.

Here ’s a mortal almost dead,

Fall’n into my river-head,

Hallowed so with many a spell,

That till now none ever fell. 375

’T is a female young and clear,

Cast in by some ravisher:

See, upon her breast a wound,

On which there is no plaster bound.

Yet, she ’s warm, her pulses beat, 380

’T is a sign of life and heat.—

If thou be’st a virgin pure,

I can give a present cure:

Take a drop into thy wound,

From my watery locks, more round 385

Than orient pearl, and far more pure

Than unchaste flesh may endure.—

See, she pants, and from her flesh

The warm blood gusheth out afresh.

She is an unpolluted maid; 390

I must have this bleeding stay’d.

From my banks I pluck this flower

With holy hand, whose virtuous power

Is at once to heal and draw.

The blood returns. I never saw 395

A fairer mortal. Now doth break

Her deadly slumber.—Virgin, speak.

_Amo._ Who hath restor’d my sense, given me new breath,

And brought me back out of the arms of death?

_God of the R._ I have heal’d thy wounds.

_Amo._ Aye, me! 400

_God of the R._ Fear not him that succour’d thee.

I am this fountain’s god: below,

My waters to a river grow

And ’twixt two banks with osiers set,

That only prosper in the wet, 405

Through the meadows do they glide,

Wheeling still on every side,

Sometimes winding round about,

To find the evenest channel out.

And if thou wilt go with me, 410

Leaving mortal company,

In the cool streams shalt thou lie,

Free from harm as well as I:

I will give thee for thy food

No fish that useth in the mud; 415

But trout and pike, that love to swim

Where the gravel from the brim

Through the pure streams may be seen;

Orient pearl fit for a queen,

Will I give, thy love to win, 420

And a shell to keep them in;

Not a fish in all my brook

That shall disobey thy look,

But, when thou wilt, come sliding by,

And from thy white hand take a fly: 425

And, to make thee understand

How I can my waves command,

They shall bubble, whilst I sing,

Sweeter than the silver string. [_Sings._]

THE SONG

Do not fear to put thy feet 430

Naked in the river sweet;

Think not leech, or newt, or toad,

Will bite thy foot when thou hast trod;

Nor let the water rising high,

As thou wad’st in, make thee cry 435

And sob; but ever live with me,

And not a wave shall trouble thee.

_Amo._ Immortal power, that rul’st this holy flood,

I know myself unworthy to be woo’d

By thee, a god; for ere this, but for thee, 440

I should have shown my weak mortality:

Besides, by holy oath betwixt us twain,

I am betroth’d unto a shepherd-swain,

Whose comely face, I know, the gods above

May make me leave to see, but not to love. 445

_God of the R._ May he prove to thee as true

Fairest virgin, now adieu:

I must make my waters fly,

Lest they leave their channels dry,

And beasts that come unto the spring 450

Miss their morning’s watering;

Which I would not; for of late

All the neighbour-people sate

On my banks, and from the fold

Two white lambs of three weeks old 455

Offered to my deity;

For which this year they shall be free

From raging floods, that, as they pass,

Leave their gravel in the grass;

Nor shall their meads be overflown 460

When their grass is newly mown.

_Amo._ For thy kindness to me shown,

Never from thy banks be blown

Any tree, with windy force,

Cross thy streams, to stop my course; 465

May no beast that comes to drink,

With his horns cast down thy brink;

May none that for thy fish do look,

Cut thy banks to dam thy brook;

Barefoot may no neighbour wade 470

In thy cool streams, wife nor maid,

When the spawns on stones do lie,

To wash their hemp, and spoil the fry!

_God of the R._ Thanks, virgin. I must down again.

Thy wound will put thee to no pain. 475

Wonder not so soon ’t is gone;

A holy hand was laid upon. [_Descends._]

_Amo._ And I, unhappy born to be,

Must follow him that flies from me. _Exit._

ACT IV

SCENE I.[3469]

_Enter_ PERIGOT.

_Peri._ She is untrue, unconstant, and unkind;

She’s gone, she’s gone! Blow high, thou northwest wind,

And raise the sea to mountains; let the trees

That dare oppose thy raging fury leese[3470]

Their firm foundation; creep into the earth, 5

And shake the world, as at the monstrous birth

Of some new prodigy; whilst I constant stand,

Holding this trusty boar-spear in my hand,

And falling thus upon it. [_Offers to fall on his spear._]

_Enter_ AMARILLIS _running_.

_Amar._ Stay thy dead-doing hand! Thou art too hot 10

Against thyself. Believe me, comely swain,

If that thou diest, not all the showers of rain

The heavy clouds send down can wash away

That foul unmanly guilt the world will lay

Upon thee. Yet thy love untainted stands: 15

Believe me, she is constant; not the sands

Can be so hardly numb’red as she won.

I do not trifle, shepherd; by the moon,

And all those lesser lights our eyes do view,

All that I told thee, Perigot, is true. 20

Then, be a free man; put away despair

And will to die; smooth gently up that fair

Dejected forehead; be as when those eyes

Took the first heat.

_Peri._ Alas, he double dies

That would believe, but cannot! ’T is not well

You keep me thus from dying, here to dwell 26

With many worse companions. But, oh, death!

I am not yet enamour’d of this breath

So much but I dare leave it; ’t is not pain

In forcing of a wound, nor after-gain 30

Of many days, can hold me from my will.

’T is not myself, but Amoret, bids kill.

_Amar._ Stay but a little, little; but one hour;

And if I do not show thee, through the power

Of herbs and words I have, as dark as night, 35

Myself turn’d to thy Amoret, in sight,

Her very figure, and the robe she wears,

With tawny buskins, and the hook she bears

Of thine own carving, where your names are set,

Wrought underneath with many a curious fret,

The primrose-chaplet, tawdry-lace,[3471] and ring, 41

Thou gav’st her for her singing, with each thing

Else that she wears about her, let me feel

The first fell stroke of that revenging steel!

_Peri._ I am contented, if there be a hope, 45

To give it entertainment for the scope

Of one poor hour. Go; you shall find me next

Under yon shady beech, even thus perplext,

And thus believing.

_Amar._ Bind, before I go,

Thy soul by Pan unto me, not to do 50

Harm or outrageous wrong upon thy life,

Till my return.

_Peri._ By Pan, and by the strife

He had with Phoebus for the mastery,

When golden Midas judg’d their minstrelsy,

I will not! _Exeunt_ [_severally_]. 55

[SCENE II.][3472]

_Enter_ Satyr _with_ ALEXIS.

_Sat._ Softly gliding as I go,

With this burthen full of woe,

Through still silence of the night

Guided by the glow-worm’s light,

Hither am I come at last. 5

Many a thicket have I past;

Not a twig that durst deny me,

Not a bush that durst descry me

To the little bird that sleeps

On the slender spray; nor creeps 10

That hardy worm with pointed tail,

But if I be under sail,

Flying faster than the wind,

Leaving all the clouds behind,

But doth hide her tender head 15

In some hollow tree, or bed

Of seeded nettles; not a hare

Can be started from his fare

By my footing; nor a wish

Is more sudden, nor a fish 20

Can be found with greater ease

Cut the vast unbounded seas,

Leaving neither print nor sound,

Than I, when nimbly on the ground

I measure many a league an hour. 25

But, behold, the happy power[3473]

That must ease me of my charge,

And by holy hand enlarge

The soul of this sad man, that yet

Lies fast bound in deadly fit: 30

Heaven and great Pan succour it!—

Hail, thou beauty of the bower,

Whiter than the paramour

Of my master! Let me crave

Thy virtuous help, to keep from grave 35

This poor mortal, that here lies,

Waiting when the Destinies

Will undo[3474] his thread of life:

View the wound, by cruel knife

Trencht into him. 40

_Clo._ [_coming from the bower._] What art thou call’st me

from my holy rites,

And with the feared name of death affrights

My tender ears? Speak me thy name and will.

_Sat._ I am the Satyr that did fill

Your lap with early fruit; and will, 45

When I hap to gather more,

Bring you better and more store.[3475]

Yet I come not empty now:

See, a blossom from the bough;

But beshrew his heart that pull’d it, 50

And his perfect sight that cull’d it

From the other springing blooms!

For a sweeter youth the grooms

Cannot show me, nor the downs,

Nor the many neighbouring towns. 55

Low in yonder glade I found him;

Softly in mine arms I bound him;

Hither have I brought him sleeping

In a trance, his wounds fresh weeping,

In remembrance such youth may 60

Spring and perish in a day.

_Clo._ Satyr, they wrong thee that do term thee rude;

Though thou be’st outward-rough and tawny-hu’d,

Thy manners are as gentle and as fair

As his who brags himself born only heir 65

To all humanity.—Let me see thy wound:

This herb will stay the current, being bound

Fast to the orifice, and this restrain

Ulcers and swellings, and such inward pain

As the cold air hath forc’d into the sore; 70

This to draw out such putrefying gore

As inward falls.

_Sat._ Heaven grant it may do good!

_Clo._ Fairly wipe away the blood.

Hold him gently, till I fling 75

Water of a virtuous[3476] spring

On his temples; turn him twice

To the moonbeams; pinch him thrice;

That the labouring soul may draw

From his great eclipse.

_Sat._ I saw 80

His eyelids moving.

_Clo._ Give him breath;

All the danger of cold death

Now is vanisht! With this plaster

And this unction do I master

All the fest’red ill that may 85

Give him grief another day.

_Sat._ See, he gathers up his sprite,

And begins to hunt for light;

Now ’a gaps and breathes again:

How the blood runs to the vein 90

That erst was empty!

_Alexis._ O my heart!

My dearest, dearest Cloe! Oh, the smart

Runs through my side! I feel some pointed thing

Pass through my bowels, sharper than the sting

Of scorpion.—— 95

Pan, preserve me!—What are you?

Do not hurt me: I am true

To my Cloe, though she fly,

And leave me to this destiny.

There she stands, and will not lend 100

Her smooth white hand to help her friend.

But I am much mistaken, for that face

Bears more austerity and modest grace,

More reproving and more awe,

Than these eyes yet ever saw 105

In my Cloe. Oh, my pain

Eagerly renews again!

Give me your help for his sake you love best.

_Clo._ Shepherd, thou canst not possibly take rest,

Till thou hast laid aside all heats, desires, 110

Provoking thoughts that stir up lusty fires,

Commerce with wanton eyes, strong blood, and will

To execute; these must be purg’d until

The vein grow whiter; then repent, and pray

Great Pan to keep you from the like decay, 115

And I shall undertake your cure with ease;

Till when, this virtuous plaster will displease[3477]

Your tender sides. Give me your hand, and rise!

Help him a little, Satyr; for his thighs

Yet are feeble.

_Alexis._ [_rising._] Sure, I have lost much blood.

_Sat._ ’T is no matter; ’t was not good. 121

Mortal, you must leave your wooing:

Though there be a joy in doing,

Yet it brings much grief behind it;

They best feel it, that do find it. 125

_Clo._ Come, bring him in; I will attend his sore.—

When you are well, take heed you lust no more.

[ALEXIS _is led into the bower_.]

_Sat._ Shepherd, see, what comes of kissing;

By my head, ’t were better missing.

Brightest, if there be remaining 130

Any service, without feigning

I will do it; were I set

To catch the nimble wind, or get

Shadows gliding on the green,

Or to steal from the great queen 135

Of fairies all her beauty;

I would do it, so much duty

Do I owe those precious eyes.

_Clo._ I thank thee, honest Satyr. If the cries

Of any other, that be hurt or ill 140

Draw thee unto them, prithee, do thy will

To bring them hither.

_Sat._ I will; and when the weather

Serves to angle in the brook,

I will bring a silver hook, 145

With a line of finest silk,

And a rod as white as milk,

To deceive the little fish.

So I take my leave, and wish

On this bower may ever dwell 150

Spring and summer!

_Clo._ Friend, farewell. _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][3478]

_Enter_ AMORET.

_Amo._ This place is ominous; for here I lost

My love and almost life, and since have crost

All these woods over; ne’er a nook or dell,

Where any little bird or beast doth dwell,

But I have sought it; ne’er a bending brow 5

Of any hill, or glade the wind sings through,

Nor a green bank nor shade where shepherds use

To sit and riddle, sweetly pipe, or choose

Their valentines, that I have mist, to find

My love in. Perigot! Oh, too unkind, 10

Why hast thou fled me? Whither art thou gone?

How have I wrong’d thee. Was my love alone

To thee worthy this scorn’d recompense? ’T is well;

I am content to feel it. But I tell

Thee, shepherd, and these lusty woods shall hear, 15

Forsaken Amoret is yet as clear

Of any stranger fire, as heaven is

From foul corruption, or the deep abyss

From light and happiness; and thou mayst know

All this for truth, and how that fatal blow 20

Thou gav’st me, never from desert of mine

Fell on my life, but from suspect of thine,

Or fury more than madness. Therefore here,

Since I have lost my life, my love, my dear,

Upon this cursed place, and on this green 25

That first divorc’d us, shortly shall be seen

A sight of so great pity, that each eye

Shall daily spend his spring in memory

Of my untimely fall.

_Enter_ AMARILLIS.

_Amar._ [_Aside._] I am not blind,

Nor is it through the working of my mind 30

That this shows Amoret. Forsake me, all

That dwell upon the soul, but what men call

Wonder, or, more than wonder, miracle!

For, sure, so strange as this, the oracle

Never gave answer of; it passeth dreams, 35

Or madmen’s fancy, when the many streams

Of new imaginations rise and fall.

’T is but an hour since these ears heard her call

For pity to young Perigot; whilst he

Directed by his fury, bloodily 40

Lanc’d up her breast, which bloodless fell and cold;

And, if belief may credit what was told,

After all this, the Melancholy Swain

Took her into his arms, being almost slain,

And to the bottom of the holy well 45

Flung her, for ever with the waves to dwell.

’T is she, the very same; ’t is Amoret,

And living yet; the great powers will not let

Their virtuous love be crost.—Maid, wipe away

Those heavy drops of sorrow, and allay 50

The storm that yet goes high, which, not deprest,

Breaks heart and life and all before it rest.

Thy Perigot——

_Amo._ Where, which is Perigot?

_Amar._ Sits there below, lamenting much, God wot,

Thee and thy fortune. Go, and comfort him; 55

And thou shalt find him underneath a brim

Of sailing pines, that edge yon mountain in.

_Amo._ I go, I run. Heaven grant me I may win

His soul again! _Exit._

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd.

_Sull. Shep._ Stay, Amarillis, stay!

You are too fleet; ’t is two hours yet to day. 60

I have perform’d my promise; let us sit

And warm our bloods together, till the fit

Come lively on us.

_Amar._ Friend, you are too keen;

The morning riseth, and we shall be seen;

Forbear a little.

_Sull. Shep._ I can stay no longer. 65

_Amar._ Hold, shepherd, hold! Learn not to be a wronger

Of your word. Was not your promise laid,

To break their loves first?

_Sull. Shep._ I have done it, maid.

_Amar._ No; they are yet unbroken, met again,

And are as hard to part yet as the stain 70

Is from the finest lawn.

_Sull. Shep._ I say they are

Now at this present parted, and so far

That they shall never meet.

_Amar._ Swain, ’t is not so;

For do but to yon hanging mountain go,

And there believe your eyes.

_Sull. Shep._ You do but hold 75

Off with delays and trifles.—Farewell, cold

And frozen bashfulness, unfit for men!—

Thus I salute thee, virgin! [_Attempts to seize her._]

_Amar._ And thus, then,

I bid you follow: catch me if you can! _Exit._

_Sull. Shep._ And, if I stay behind, I am no man!

_Exit, running after her._ 80

[SCENE IV.][3479]

_Enter_ PERIGOT.

_Peri._ Night, do not steal away; I woo thee yet

To hold a hard hand o’er the rusty bit

That guides thy lazy team. Go back again,

Boötes, thou that driv’st thy frozen wain

Round as a ring, and bring a second night, 5

To hide my sorrows from the coming light;

Let not the eyes of men stare on my face,

And read my falling; give me some black place,

Where never sunbeam shot his wholesome light,

That I may sit and pour out my sad sprite 10

Like running water, never to be known

After the forced fall and sound is gone.

_Enter_ Amoret, _looking for_ PERIGOT.

_Amo._ This is the bottom.[3480]—Speak, if thou be here,

My Perigot! Thy Amoret, thy dear,

Calls on thy loved name.

_Peri._ What art thou dare 15

Tread these forbidden paths, where death and care

Dwell on the face of darkness?

_Amo._ ’T is thy friend,

Thy Amoret, come hither, to give end

To these consumings. Look up, gentle boy:

I have forgot those pains and dear annoy 20

I suffer’d for thy sake, and am content

To be thy love again. Why hast thou rent

Those curled locks, where I have often hung

Ribands and damask-roses, and have flung

Waters distill’d, to make thee fresh and gay, 25

Sweeter than nosegays on a bridal day?

Why dost thou cross thine arms, and hang thy face

Down to thy bosom, letting fall apace

From those two little heavens, upon the ground,

Showers of more price, more orient, and more round, 30

Than those that hang upon the moon’s pale brow?

Cease these complainings, shepherd: I am now

The same I ever was, as kind and free,

And can forgive before you ask of me;

Indeed, I can and will.

_Peri._ So spoke my fair! 35

Oh, you great working powers of earth and air,

Water and forming fire, why have you lent

Your hidden virtues of so ill intent?

Even such a face, so fair, so bright of hue,

Had Amoret: such words, so smooth and new,

Came flowing from her tongue; such was her eye, 41

And such the pointed sparkle that did fly

Forth like a bleeding shaft; all is the same,

The robe and buskins, painted hook, and frame

Of all her body. Oh me, Amoret! 45

_Amo._ Shepherd, what means this riddle? Why hath set

So strong a difference ’twixt myself and me,

That I am grown another? Look, and see

The ring thou gav’st me, and about my wrist

That curious bracelet thou thyself dist twist 50

From those fair tresses. Know’st thou Amoret?

Hath not some newer love forc’d thee forget

Thy ancient faith?

_Peri._ Still nearer to my love!

These be the very words she oft did prove

Upon my temper: so she still would take 55

Wonder into her face, and silent make

Signs with her head and hand, as who would say,

“Shepherd, remember this another day.”

_Amo._ Am I not Amoret? Where was I lost?

Can there be heaven, and time, and men, and most 60

Of these unconstant? Faith, where art thou fled?

Are all the vows and protestations dead,

The hands held up, the wishes and the heart?

Is there not one remaining, not a part

Of all these to be found? Why, then, I see 65

Men never knew that virtue, constancy.

_Peri._ Men ever were most blessed, till cross fate

Brought love and women forth, unfortunate

To all that ever tasted of their smiles;

Whose actions are all double, full of wiles; 70

Like to the subtle hare, that ’fore the hounds

Makes many turnings, leaps, and many rounds,

This way and that way, to deceive the scent

Of her pursuers.

_Amo._ ’T is but to prevent

Their speedy coming on, that seek her fall; 75

The hands of cruel men, more bestial,

And of a nature more refusing good

Than beasts themselves, or fishes of the flood.

_Peri._ Thou art all these, and more than nature meant

When she created all; frowns, joys, content; 80

Extreme fire for an hour, and presently

Colder than sleepy poison, or the sea

Upon whose face sits a continual frost;

Your actions ever driven to the most,

Then down again as low, that none can find 85

The rise or falling of a woman’s mind.

_Amo._ Can there be any age, or days, or time,

Or tongues of men, guilty so great a crime

As wronging simple maid? Oh, Perigot,

Thou that wast yesterday without a blot; 90

Thou that wast every good and every thing

That men call blessed; thou that wast the spring

From whence our looser grooms drew all their best;

Thou that wast always just and always blest

In faith and promise; thou that hadst the name 95

Of virtuous given thee, and made good the same

Ev’n from thy cradle; thou that wast that all

That men delighted in! Oh, what a fall

Is this, to have been so, and now to be

The only best in wrong and infamy! 100

And I to live to know this! and by me,

That lov’d thee dearer than mine eyes, or that

Which we esteem’d our honour, virgin state!

Dearer than swallows love the early morn,

Or dogs of chase the sound of merry horn; 105

Dearer than thou canst love thy new love, if thou hast

Another, and far dearer than the last;

Dearer than thou canst love thyself, though all

The self-love were within thee that did fall 109

With that coy swain that now is made a flower,

For whose dear sake Echo weeps many a shower!

And am I thus rewarded for my flame?

Lov’d worthily to get a wanton’s name?

Come, thou forsaken willow, wind my head,

And noise it to the world, my love is dead! 115

I am forsaken, I am cast away,

And left for every lazy groom to say

I was unconstant, light, and sooner lost

Than the quick clouds we see, or the chill frost

When the hot sun beats on it! Tell me yet, 120

Canst thou not love again thy Amoret?

_Peri._ Thou art not worthy of that blessed name;

I must not know thee. Fling thy wanton flame

Upon some lighter blood that may be hot

With words and feigned passions; Perigot 125

Was ever yet unstain’d, and shall not now

Stoop to the meltings of a borrowed brow.

_Amo._ Then hear me, Heaven, to whom I call for right,

And you, fair twinkling stars, that crown the night; 129

And hear me, woods, and silence of this place,

And ye, sad hours, that move a sullen pace;

Hear me, ye shadows, that delight to dwell

In horrid darkness, and ye powers of hell,

Whilst I breathe out my last! I am that maid,

That yet-untainted Amoret, that play’d 135

The careless prodigal, and gave away

My soul to this young man that now dares say

I am a stranger, not the same, more vild;[3481]

And thus with much belief I was beguil’d.

I am that maid, that have delay’d, deni’d, 140

And almost scorn’d the loves of all that tri’d

To win me, but this swain; and yet confess

I have been woo’d by many with no less

Soul of affection; and have often had

Rings, belts, and cracknels,[3482] sent me from the lad 145

That feeds his flocks down westward; lambs and doves

By young Alexis; Daphnis sent me gloves;

All which I gave to thee: nor these nor they

That sent them did I smile on, or e’er lay

Up to my after-memory. But why 150

Do I resolve to grieve, and not to die?

Happy had been the stroke thou gav’st, if home;

By this time had I found a quiet room,

Where every slave is free, and every breast,

That living bred new care, now lies at rest; 155

And thither will poor Amoret.

_Peri._ Thou must.

Was ever any man so loth to trust

His eyes as I? or was there ever yet

Any so like as this to Amoret?

For whose dear sake I promise, if there be 160

A living soul within thee, thus to free

Thy body from it? _He hurts her again._

_Amo._ [_falling._] So, this work hath end.

Farewell, and live; be constant to thy friend

That loves thee next.

_Enter_ Satyr; PERIGOT _runs off_.

_Sat._ See, the day begins to break, 165

And the light shoots like a streak

Of subtle fire; the wind blows cold,

Whilst the morning doth unfold;

Now the birds begin to rouse,

And the squirrel from the boughs 170

Leaps, to get him nuts and fruit.

The early lark, that erst was mute,

Carols to the rising day

Many a note and many a lay:

Therefore here I end my watch, 175

Lest the wand’ring swain should catch

Harm, or lose himself.

_Amo._ Ah me!

_Sat._ Speak again, whate’er thou be;

I am ready; speak, I say;

By the dawning of the day, 180

By the power of night and Pan,

I enforce thee speak again!

_Amo._ Oh, I am most unhappy.

_Sat._ Yet more blood!

Sure, these wanton swains are wood.[3483] 185

Can there be a hand or heart

Dare commit so vild a part

As this murder? By the moon,

That hid herself when this was done,

Never was a sweeter face: 190

I will bear her to the place

Where my goddess keeps, and crave

Her to give her life or grave. _Exit_ [_carrying_ AMORET].

[SCENE V.][3484]

_Enter_ CLORIN.

_Clo._ Here whilst one patient takes his rest secure,

I steal abroad to do another cure.—

Pardon, thou buried body of my love,

That from thy side I dare so soon remove;

I will not prove unconstant, nor will leave 5

Thee for an hour alone. When I deceive

My first-made vow, the wildest of the wood

Tear me, and o’er thy grave let out my blood!

I go by wit to cure a lover’s pain,

Which no herb can; being done, I ’ll come again. _Exit._ 10

_Enter_ THENOT.

_The._ Poor shepherd, in this shade for ever lie,

And seeing thy fair Clorin’s cabin, die! [_Lying down_.]

Oh, hapless love, which being answer’d, ends!

And, as a little infant cries and bends

His tender brows, when, rolling of his eye, 15

He hath espi’d something that glisters nigh,

Which he would have; yet, give it him, away

He throws it straight, and cries afresh to play

With something else, such my affection, set

On that which I should loathe, if I could get. 20

_Re-enter_ CLORIN.

_Clo._ [_Aside._] See, where he lies! Did ever man but he

Love any woman for her constancy

To her dead lover, which she needs must end

Before she can allow him for her friend,

And he himself must needs the cause destroy 25

For which he loves, before he can enjoy?

Poor shepherd, Heaven grant I at once may free

Thee from thy pain, and keep my loyalty!—

Shepherd, look up.

_The._ Thy brightness doth amaze;

So Phoebus may at noon bid mortals gaze; 30

Thy glorious constancy appears so bright,

I dare not meet the beams with my weak sight.

_Clo._ Why dost thou pine away thyself for me?

_The._ Why dost thou keep such spotless constancy?

_Clo._ Thou holy shepherd, see what for thy sake 35

Clorin, thy Clorin, now dare undertake. _He starts up._

_The._ Stay there, thou constant Clorin! If there be

Yet any part of woman left in thee,

To make thee light, think yet before thou speak.

_Clo._ See, what a holy vow for thee I break;

I, that already have my fame far spread 41

For being constant to my lover dead.

_The._ Think yet, dear Clorin, of your love; how true,

If you had died, he would have been to you.

_Clo._ Yet, all I ’ll lose for thee——

_The._ Think but how blest 45

A constant woman is above the rest!

_Clo._ And offer up myself, here on this ground,

To be dispos’d by thee.

_The._ Why dost thou wound,

His heart with malice against women more,

That hated all the sex but thee before? 50

How much more pleasant had it been to me

To die than to behold this change in thee!

Yet, yet return; let not the woman sway!

_Clo._ Insult not on her now, nor use delay,

Who for thy sake hath ventur’d all her fame. 55

_The._ Thou hast not ventur’d, but bought certain shame;

Your sex’s curse, foul falsehood, must and shall,

I see, once in your lives, light on you all.

I hate thee now. Yet turn!

_Clo._ Be just to me:

Shall I at once lose both my fame and thee? 60

_The._ Thou hadst no fame; that which thou didst like good

Was but thy appetite that sway’d thy blood

For that time to the best: for as a blast

That through a house comes, usually doth cast

Things out of order, yet by chance may come,

And blow some one thing to his proper room, 66

So did thy appetite, and not thy zeal,

Sway thee by chance to do some one thing well.

Yet turn!

_Clo._ Thou dost but try me, if I would

Forsake thy dear embraces for my old 70

Love’s, though he were alive: but do not fear.

_The._ I do contemn thee now, and dare come near.

And gaze upon thee; for methinks that grace,

Austerity, which sate upon that face,

Is gone, and thou like others. False maid, see.

This is the gain of foul inconstancy! _Exit._ 76

_Clo._ ’T is done: great Pan, I give thee thanks for it!—

What art could not have heal’d is cur’d by wit.

_Re-enter_ THENOT.

_The._ Will ye be constant yet? Will ye remove

Into the cabin to your buried love? 80

_Clo._ No, let me die, but by thy side remain.

_The._ There ’s none shall know that thou didst ever stain

Thy worthy strictness, but shall honour’d be,

And I will lie again under this tree,

And pine and die for thee with more delight 85

Than I have sorrow now to know thee light.

_Clo._ Let me have thee, and I ’ll be where thou wilt.

_The._ Thou art of women’s race, and full of guilt.

Farewell all hope of that sex! Whilst I thought

There was one good, I fear’d to find one naught:

But since their minds I all alike espy, 91

Henceforth I ’ll choose, as others, by mine eye. _Exit._

_Clo._ Blest be ye powers that gave such quick redress,

And for my labours sent so good success!

I rather choose, though I a woman be, 95

He should speak ill of all than die for me. [_Exit into the bower_.]

ACT V

SCENE I.[3485]

_Enter_ Priest [of Pan] _and_ Old Shepherd.

_Priest._ Shepherds, rise, and shake off sleep!

See, the blushing morn doth peep

Through the windows, whilst the sun

To the mountain-tops is run,

Gilding all the vales below 5

With his rising flames, which grow

Greater by his climbing still.

Up, ye lazy grooms, and fill

Bag and bottle for the field!

Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield 10

To the bitter north-east wind.

Call the maidens up, and find

Who lay longest, that she may

Go without a friend all day;

Then reward your dogs, and pray 15

Pan to keep you from decay:

So unfold, and then away!

What, not a shepherd stirring? Sure, the grooms

Have found their beds too easy, or the rooms

Fill’d with such new delight and heat, that they 20

Have both forgot their hungry sheep and day.

Knock, that they may remember what a shame

Sloth and neglect lays on a shepherd’s name.

_Old Shep._ [_after knocking at several doors_.]

It is to little purpose; not a swain

This night hath known his lodging here, or lain

Within these cotes; the woods, or some near town 26

That is a neighbour to the bordering down,

Hath drawn them thither ’bout some lusty sport,

Or spiced wassail bowl, to which resort

All the young men and maids of many a cote, 30

Whilst the trim minstrel strikes his merry note.

_Priest._ God pardon sin!—Show me the way that leads

To any of their haunts.

_Old Shep._ This to the meads,

And that down to the woods.

_Priest._ Then, this for me.

Come, shepherd, let me crave your company. _Exeunt._ 35

[SCENE II.[3486]

_Enter_ CLORIN _in her cabin_, ALEXIS _with her_.

_Clo._ Now your thoughts are almost pure,

And your wound begins to cure;

Strive to banish all that ’s vain,

Lest it should break out again.

_Alexis._ Eternal thanks to thee, thou holy maid! 5

I find my former wand’ring thoughts well staid

Through thy wise precepts: and my outward pain

By thy choice herbs is almost gone again.

Thy sex’s vice and virtue are reveal’d

At once; for what one hurt another heal’d. 10

_Clo._ May thy grief more appease!

Relapses are the worst disease.

Take heed how you in thought offend;

So mind and body both will mend.

_Enter_ Satyr, _carrying_ AMORET.

_Amo._ Be’st thou the wildest creature of the wood, 15

That bear’st me thus away, drown’d in my blood,

And dying, know I cannot injur’d be;

I am a maid; let that name fight for me.

_Sat._ Fairest virgin, do not fear

Me, that doth thy body bear, 20

Not to hurt, but heal’d to be;

Men are ruder far than we.—

See, fair goddess, in the wood

They have let out yet more blood.

Some savage man hath struck her breast, 25

So soft and white, that no wild beast

Durst ha’ toucht, asleep or ’wake;

So sweet, that adder, newt, or snake,

Would have lain, from arm to arm,

On her bosom to be warm 30

All a night, and, being hot,

Gone away, and stung her not.

Quickly clap herbs to her breast.

A man, sure, is a kind of beast.

_Clo._ With spotless hand on spotless breast 35

I put these herbs, to give thee rest;

Which till I heal thee, will abide,

If both be pure; if not, off slide.—

See, it falls off from the wound!

Shepherdess, thou art not sound, 40

Full of lust.

_Sat._ Who would have thought it?

So fair a face!

_Clo._ Why, that hath brought it.

_Amo._ For aught I know or think, these words my last,

Yet, Pan so help me as my thoughts are chaste!

_Clo._ And so may Pan bless this my cure, 45

As all my thoughts are just and pure!

Some uncleanness nigh doth lurk,

That will not let my medicines work.—

Satyr, search if thou canst find it.

_Sat._ Here away methinks I wind[3487] it: 50

Stronger yet.—Oh, here they be;

Here, here, in a hollow tree,

Two fond mortals have I found.

_Clo._ Bring them out; they are unsound.

_Enter_ CLOE _and_ DAPHNIS.

_Sat._ By the fingers thus I wring ye, 55

To my goddess thus I bring ye;

Strife is vain, come gently in.—

I scented them; they ’re full of sin.

_Clo._ Hold, Satyr; take this glass,

Sprinkle over all the place, 60

Purge the air from lustful breath,

To save this shepherdess from death:

And stand you still whilst I do dress

Her wound, for fear the pain increase.

_Sat._ From this glass I throw a drop 65

Of crystal water on the top

Of every grass, on flowers a pair:

Send a fume, and keep the air

Pure and wholesome, sweet and blest,

Till this virgin’s wound be drest.— 70

_Clo._ Satyr, help to bring her in.

_Sat._ By Pan, I think she hath no sin,

[_Carrying_ AMORET _into the bower._]

She is so light.—Lie on these leaves.

Sleep, that mortal sense deceives,

Crown thine eyes and ease thy pain; 75

May’st thou soon be well again!

_Clo._ Satyr, bring the shepherd near;

Try him, if his mind be clear.

_Sat._ Shepherd, come.

_Daph._ My thoughts are pure.

_Sat._ The better trial to endure. 80

_Clo._ In this flame his finger thrust,

Which will burn him if he lust;

But if not, away will turn,

As loth unspotted flesh to burn.—

[Satyr _applies_ DAPHNIS’S _finger to the taper._]

See, it gives back;[3488] let him go, 85

Farewell, mortal: keep thee so. [_Exit_ DAPHNIS.]

Stay, fair nymph; fly not so fast;

We must try if you be chaste.—

Here ’s a hand that quakes for fear;

Sure, she will not prove so clear. 90

_Clo._ Hold her finger to the flame;

That will yield her praise or shame.

_Sat._ To her doom she dares not stand,

[_Applies_ CLOE’S _finger to the taper_.]

But plucks away her tender hand;

And the taper darting sends 95

His hot beams at her fingers’ ends.—

Oh, thou art foul within, and hast

A mind, if nothing else, unchaste!

_Alex._ Is not that Cloe? ’T is my love, ’t is she!

Cloe, fair Cloe!

_Cloe._ My Alexis!

_Alex._ He. 100

_Cloe._ Let me embrace thee.

_Clo._ Take her hence,

Lest her sight disturb his sense.

_Alex._ Take not her; take my life first!

_Clo._ See his wound again is burst!

Keep her near, here in the wood, 105

Till I ha’ stopt these streams of blood.

[Satyr _leads off_ CLOE.]

Soon again he ease shall find,

If I can but still his mind.

This curtain thus I do display,

To keep the piercing air away. 110

[_Draws a curtain before the bower._]

[SCENE III.][3489]

_Enter_ Old Shepherd _and_ Priest of Pan.

_Priest._ Sure, they are lost for ever; ’t is in vain

To find them out with trouble and much pain

That have a ripe desire and forward will

To fly the company of all but ill.

What shall be counsell’d now? Shall we retire,

Or constant follow still that first desire 6

We had to find them?

_Old Shep._ Stay a little while;

For, if the morning’s mist do not beguile

My sight with shadows, sure I see a swain:

One of this jolly troop ’s come back again. 10

_Enter_ THENOT.

_Priest._ Dost thou not blush, young shepherd, to be known

Thus without care leaving thy flocks alone,

And following what desire and present blood

Shapes out before thy burning sense for good;

Having forgot what tongue hereafter may 15

Tell to the world thy falling off, and say

Thou art regardless both of good and shame,

Spurning at virtue and a virtuous name?

And like a glorious desperate man, that buys

A poison of much price, by which he dies, 20

Dost there lay out for lust, whose only gain

Is foul disease, with present age and pain,

And then a grave? These be the fruits that grow

In such hot veins, that only beat to know

Where they may take most ease, and grow ambitious 25

Through their own wanton fire and pride delicious.

_The._ Right holy sir, I have not known this night

What the smooth face of mirth was, or the sight

Of any looseness; music, joy, and ease,

Have been to me as bitter drugs to please 30

A stomach lost with weakness, not a game

That I am skill’d at throughly: nor a dame,

Went her tongue smoother than the feet of time,

Her beauty ever-living like the rhyme

Our blessed Tityrus[3490] did sing of yore; 35

No, were she more enticing than the store

Of fruitful summer, when the loaden tree

Bids the faint traveller be bold and free;

’T were but to me like thunder ’gainst the bay,

Whose lightning may enclose, but never stay 40

Upon his charmed branches; such am I

Against the catching flames of woman’s eye.

_Priest._ Then, wherefore hast thou wand’red?

_The._ ’T was a vow

That drew me out last night, which I have now

Strictly perform’d, and homewards go to give 45

Fresh pasture to my sheep, that they may live.

_Priest._ ’T is good to hear you, shepherd, if the heart

In this well-sounding music bear his part.

Where have you left the rest?

_The._ I have not seen,

Since yesternight we met upon this green 50

To fold our flocks up, any of that train;

Yet have I walkt those woods round, and have lain

All this long night under an aged tree;

Yet neither wand’ring shepherd did I see,

Or shepherdess; or drew into mine ear 55

The sound of living thing, unless it were

The nightingale, among the thick-leav’d spring

That sits alone in sorrow, and doth sing

Whole nights away in mourning; or the owl,

Or our great enemy,[3491] that still doth howl 60

Against the moon’s cold beams.

_Priest._ Go, and beware

Of after-falling.

_The._ Father, ’t is my care. _Exit._

_Enter_ DAPHNIS.

_Old Shep._ Here comes another straggler; sure I see

A shame in this young shepherd.—Daphnis?

_Daph._ He.

_Priest._ Where hast thou left the rest, that should have been 65

Long before this grazing upon the green

Their yet-imprison’d flocks?

_Daph._ Thou holy man,

Give me a little breathing, till I can

Be able to unfold what I have seen;

Such horror, that the like hath never been 70

Known to the ear of shepherd. Oh, my heart

Labours a double motion to impart

So heavy tidings! You all know the bower

Where the chaste Clorin lives, by whose great power

Sick men and cattle have been often cur’d; 75

There lovely Amoret, that was assur’d[3492]

To lusty Perigot, bleeds out her life,

Forc’d by some iron hand and fatal knife;

And, by her, young Alexis.

_Enter_ AMARILLIS, _running from her_ Sullen Shepherd.

_Amar._ If there be

Ever a neighbour-brook or hollow tree, 80

Receive my body, close me up from lust

That follows at my heels! Be ever just,

Thou god of shepherds, Pan, for her dear sake

That loves the rivers’ brinks, and still doth shake

In cold remembrance of thy quick pursuit; 85

Let me be made a reed, and, ever mute,

Nod to the waters’ fall, whilst every blast

Sings through my slender leaves that I was chaste!

_Priest._ This is a night of wonder.—Amarill,

Be comforted: the holy gods are still 90

Revengers of these wrongs.

_Amar._ Thou blessed man,

Honour’d upon these plains, and lov’d of Pan,

Hear me, and save from endless infamy

My yet-unblasted flower, virginity!

By all the garlands that have crown’d that head, 95

By thy chaste office, and the marriage-bed

That still is blessed by thee; by all the rites

Due to our god, and by those virgin-lights

That burn before his altar; let me not

Fall from my former state, to gain the blot 100

That never shall be purg’d! I am not now

That wanton Amarillis: here I vow

To Heaven, and thee, grave father, if I may

Scape this unhappy night, to know the day

A virgin, never after to endure 105

The tongues or company of men unpure!

I hear him come; save me!

_Priest._ Retire a while

Behind this bush, till we have known that vile

Abuser of young maidens. [_They retire_.]

_Enter_ Sullen [Shepherd].

_Sull. Shep._ Stay thy pace,

Most lov’d Amarillis; let the chase 110

Grow calm and milder: fly me not so fast:

I fear the pointed brambles have unlac’d

Thy golden buskins. Turn again, and see

Thy shepherd follow, that is strong and free,

Able to give thee all content and ease. 115

I am not bashful, virgin; I can please

At first encounter, hug thee in mine arm,

And give thee many kisses, soft and warm

As those the sun prints on the smiling cheek

Of plums or mellow peaches; I am sleek 120

And smooth as Neptune when stern Aeolus

Locks up his surly winds, and nimbly thus

Can show my active youth. Why dost thou fly?

Remember, Amarillis, it was I

That kill’d Alexis for thy sake, and set 125

An everlasting hate ’twixt Amoret

And her beloved Perigot; ’t was I

That drown’d her in the well, where she must lie

Till time shall leave to be. Then, turn again, 129

Turn with thy open arms, and clip[3493] the swain

That hath perform’d all this; turn, turn, I say;

I must not be deluded.

_Priest_ [_coming forward._] Monster, stay!

Thou that art like a canker to the state

Thou liv’st and breath’st in, eating with debate

Through every honest bosom, forcing still 135

The veins of any that may serve thy will;

Thou that hast offer’d with a sinful hand

To seize upon this virgin, that doth stand

Yet trembling here!

_Sull. Shep._ Good holiness, declare

What had the danger been, if being bare 140

I had embrac’d her; tell me, by your art,

What coming wonders would that sight impart.

_Priest._ Lust and a branded soul.