_Enter_ BRISTLE, HEATH, GUM.
BRIS. Pox o' the ugly baboon! she has got a face like a
Bartholomew Fair baby, and a mouth like the whale that
swallowed a whole fleet. Her fingers are rolling-pins, and her
arms coal-staves! Hang her, what should women do with money, or
anything that's good?
HEATH. You say true. If we had let 'um alone, I warrant these
boxes had been kept till they were mouldy, visited but once a
quarter, and at last bequeathed by will and testament to some
silly sober well-wisher of hers in her lifetime.
BRIS. One that never drank above four-shilling beer but once
at a christening, and then had like to have got a red nose by
it, cannot distinguish between a jug and a flagon, never was in
an alehouse, knows not what a bush means, nor ever spent above
twopence in his life, and that was upon a prayer-book.
GUM. Your tongues, methinks, run very glib; I wonder they do
not screek for want of liquor. What, tapster? attendance here.
BUNG. Anon, anon, sir; I have it in my hand.
_Enter_ TAPSTER.
TAP. You're welcome, gentlemen; here's a cup of the best ale in
London.
BRIS. How? gentlemen? untutored slave, saucy villain!
Gentlemen? why, sirrah, do I look like a gentleman? I scorn thy
terms, and let this kick put thee in mind of better language.
BUNG. Cry you mercy, I mistook you indeed.
HEATH. Sirrah, we'll make you know who you mistake; call one of
your master's best customers gentleman!
BUNG. [_To some one outside._] Anon, anon, sir; I'll be with
you presently.
BRIS. Sirrah, bid your master come in.
[_Exit_ TAPSTER.
GUM. Come, here's a round to the first inventor of the famous
art of drinking.
BRIS. No, no; to the first finder out of the noble art of
brewing; for we should be forced to drink water else.
HEATH. To neither; but to the first most commendable
alehouse-keeper that sold three cans for twopence; he is the
chief benefactor we have. Come, three cans to his health!
GUM, BRIS. A match!
_Enter_ WELCOME, DITTY, BUDGET, JENNITING,
CURDS.
WEL. Set you merry, my merry, merry lads; what, do the cans
dance nimbly?
HEATH. Yes, but we want a pipe or two; good mine host, let's
have some whiff.
WEL. Here's a musician; honest Ditty and Budget too: if they do
not make up the consort, they are very much out of tune.
DITTY. O Gum, have we found you out? my box, you slave!
BUD. And my budget!
WEL. Come, set about, set about, my boon companions.
BRIS. A devil on your snout! oatmeal face and tallow-chops, how
came you hither with a pox, trow?
HEATH. Look here, Bristle, how like shorn sheep they look.
Where shall we run? they have cast me into a fit o' th' shaking
palsy.
BRIS. Come, we'll outface 'um.
WEL. Come, sit down, my jovial boys, and roar. This night we'll
suck up all the dew.
_Enter_ BUNG, _with tobacco_.
BUNG. Here's a pipe o' th' best tobacco that Christendom
affords; it grew under the King of Spain's own window. [_To
other customers._] By and by; what do you want, sirs? [_Exit._
DITTY. And I warrant he used to fling pisspots out on't.
WEL. We'll drink ourselves into fish, and eat ourselves into
cormorants; we'll not fast, though it be an eve to a surfeiting
gawdy day.
HEATH. Is't an eve, say you? pray, what holiday is to-morrow?
WEL. Budget's and Ditty's nuptials. Drink freely; all is paid
already, and you are Ditty's guests to-night as well as mine.
There sit the brides. You shall not leave my house to-night,
that I may be sure of you to-morrow morning at the solemnities;
be merry then, and free. I'll pardon you your groats to-morrow,
and none shall forfeit but he that is not drunk. [_Exit_
WELCOME.
HEATH, BRIS, GUM. Joy to the brides and bridegrooms!
DITTY. Gentlemen, you may see how quickly a man may be shuffled
into a wedding; we liked at first sight, and why should we
then defer our joys any longer?
BUD. Like the Spanish, I was beaten into love; but at last have
overcome, thanks to mine host, that took my part.
CURDS. And I cheated into a bride; he that stole away my box
made up the match between you and me.
BRIS. Is't so, i' faith? then, mistress bride, pray take this
box. You know it, I believe, and me too.
HEATH. And you this bundle.
JEN. The thing I was cheated of! Art thou the thief too? O, the
very villain!
CURDS. Lay hold of 'um, sweet Budget--the slaves that cheated
us in a disguise.
DITTY. Come, what's the matter? we'll have no quarrelling
to-night; we forgive all.
GUM. Then your books may be freed for eighteen-pence; that's
all they are engaged for yet, and the budget but for two
shillings.
DITTY, BUD. We forgive most willing.
DITTY. A porter would not have carried 'um so far for the price.
BRIS. Here's a health to the brides, then, out of an
extinguisher. I'll find 'um in mice-traps, brushes, steel and
tinder-box all their lifetime.
HEATH. And I with brooms.
GUM. I'll cut their corns for nothing, and draw their teeth for
a touch of their lips.
DITTY. Defer that health till to-morrow; in the meanwhile let's
have on[e] to the genius of good ale.
OMNES. Begin't, begin't!
DITTY. _Submit, bunch of grapes,_
_To the strong barley ear:_
_The weak vine no longer_
_The laurel shall wear._
BUD. _Sack and all drinks else,_
_Desist from the strife,_
_Ale's th' only aqua vitæ_
_And liquor of life._
ALL TOG. _Then come, my boon fellows,_
_Let's drink it around;_
_It keeps us from th' grave,_
_Though it lays us o' th' ground._
BUD. _Ale's a physician,_
_No mountebank bragger,_
_Can cure the chill ague,_
_Though't be with the stagger._
DITTY. _Ale's a strong wrestler,_
_Flings all it hath met,_
_And makes the ground slippery,_
_Though't be not wet._
OMNES. _But come, my boon, &c._
DITTY. _Ale is both Ceres_
_And good Neptune too;_
_Ale's froth was the sea,_
_From whence Venus grew._
BUD. _Ale is immortal,_
_And be there no stops,_
_In bonny lads quaffing,_
_Can live without hops,_
OMNES. _Then come, my boon fellows,_
_Let's drink it around,_
_It keeps us from th' grave,_
_Though it lays us o' th' ground._
[_All drink._
_Enter_ WELCOME.
WEL. Well said, my whistling birds; 'tis spring with you all
the year long, while the ale flourishes. Come, I have provided
a supper will tire your teeth; 'tis but a prologue, though, of
to-morrow's feast. I hope your appetites need no provocations.
It now waits for you, but will not be ready till you concoct
it. Come then, cheer up, my buxom girls; the cakes and posset
my wife shall provide, and I'll engage myself to be father to
you both. Ditty's ballads and his budget shall be cut out into
favours and gloves. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[239] See Hazlitt's "Handbook," art. Jack. Only a second part is at
present known.
[240] It is well known that in our old inns the various rooms had
separate names.
[241] The usual burden of a song.
[242] This points to the custom of the landlord, when he joined any
guests at a table, contributing a free jug or bottle.
[243] This saying arose from the duty on wool, levied to defray the
cost of rebuilding the bridge (Knight's "London," i. 79). Nancy alludes
to a dance so called.
[244] A well-known and often-quoted dance. See the poem by N. Breton,
in "England's Helicon," 1600, repr. Collier, p. 222.
[245] Although Budget promises to await Ditty's return, he appears to
retire to the back of the stage.
[246] Old copy, _hast thou_.
[247] Ale.
EPILOGUE.
WELCOME _the Host_.
Gentlemen and ladies, I am sent to you,
Not to beg cast-by sheets, a shirt or two,
Or clouts for th' teeming women, nor bespeak
Gossips or guests against the christ'ning week:
No off'ring for the married couple. What, then?
Only to bid you welcome, gentlemen,
Before your parting; and for th' women, beg
That, when they travail, you'ld not sit cross-leg.
But when their notes are turn'd to childbirth cries,
You'd cry good speed to their deliveries;
And if our cries have wanted mirth or wit,
There's one more left, _We cry you mercy yet!_
THE SHEPHERDS' HOLIDAY.
_EDITION._
_The Shepheards Holy-day. A pastorall tragi-Comoedie._
_Acted before their Majesties at Whitehall by the Queenes_
_Servants. With an Eligie on the death of the most Noble
Lady, the Lady Venetia Digby. London, Printed by N. and I.
Okes for Iohn Benson.... 1635. 8o._
[This is one of the pieces which Isaac Reed did not retain in the
edition of 1780, nor is it in that of 1825. Yet there is no apparent
ground for its exclusion.
A piece bearing the same title as Rutter's was written by Sir W. Denny
at a later date, and is printed from the original MS. in "Inedited
Poetical Miscellanies," 1870.
It seems to be a hypothesis sufficiently plausible to justify a passing
notice, in that one of the suppressed printed at the end of the
"Private Memoirs of Sir Kinelm Digby," 1827, the intimacy of Digby with
a royal personage is described in very warm terms and colours, and that
Rutter, who was in Digby's family at one time, may have founded on what
came to his ears the episode of Sylvia and Thyrsis in this production.]
[DODSLEY'S PREFACE.]
This author wrote in the reign of Charles the First. He lived with the
Earl of Dorset, as tutor to his son, and translated, at the desire
of his patron, the Cid of Corneille, a tragi-comedy, in two parts
[1640-50, 8o]. It appears, from his dedication of this pastoral to Sir
Kenelm Digby, that he lived also with that gentleman for some time, but
in what capacity I cannot tell. The plainness and simplicity of this
pastoral is commended by Thomas May, author of "The Heir" and "The Old
Couple;" and also by Ben Jonson in the following lines--
"I have read
And weigh'd your play; untwisted every thread,
And know the woof and warp thereof; can tell
Where it runs round and even; where so well,
So soft, and smooth it handles, the whole piece,
As it were, spun by nature off the fleece."
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
THYRSIS, _the lover of Sylvia_.
HYLAS, _the lover of Nerina_.
MIRTILLUS, _the common lover_.
DAPHNIS, _the rich shepherd_.
MONTANUS, _an ancient shepherd_.
CHARINUS, _father to Nerina_.
ALCON, an ancient shepherd.
NUNTIUS.
_Chorus of Shepherds._
SYLVIA, _beloved of Thyrsis_.
NERINA, _a huntress, beloved of Hylas and of Daphnis_.
DORINDA, _enamoured of Daphnis_.
DELIA, _a court lady_.
EUARCHUS, _king of Arcady_.
EUBULUS, _his councillor_.
CLEANDER, _son to Eubulus_.
_Attendants._
_The Scene, Arcady._
THE PROLOGUE FOR THE STAGE.
To this fair company I am to say,
You're welcome all to a well-meaning play;
For such our author made it, with intent
To defame none. His muse is innocent:
A virgin yet, that has not found the ways
Out of foul crimes to raise herself a praise;
And therefore she desires you would excuse
All bitter strains, that suit a satire muse:
And that which so much takes the vulgar ear--
Looseness of speech, which they for jests do hear.
She hopes none such are here, therefore she dares
Venture this story, purg'd from lighter airs:
A piece entire, without or patch or maim,
Round in itself, and everywhere the same.
And if there be not in't what they call wit,
There might have been, had it been thought so fit.
A shepherd's muse gently of love does sing,
And with it mingles no impurer thing.
Such she presents unto your ears and eyes,
And yet your Christian freedom not denies
Of liking or disliking what you will:
You may say this is well, or that is ill,
Without dispute; for why should you that pay
For what you have, be taught what you should say?
Or made to judge by any square or rule,
As if you came not to a stage, but school?
No, he that made it says, if you will eat,
He will not force your stomachs: there's your meat;
Which if you like, 'tis well; if not, all's one;
There must be difference in opinion.
Besides, he's sure, whatever he could wish,
Your taste, and not his art, must praise the dish.
The Shepherds' Holiday.
ACTUS I., SCENA I.
THYRSIS, MONTANUS.
THYR. Here in this grove I left her, here amongst
These poplars, laurels, and these sycamores,
Guilty of her sad loss: and yet behold
They do appear as fresh and full of verdure,
As when my love, clothed in her clearest looks,
Did give them grace and lustre. Why do we,
Poor silly men, bred up in cares and fear,
The nurse of our religion, stoop to Nature,
That only knows to form, not to preserve
What she has made; since, careless of her work,
She leaves to giddy Fortune the whole power
Of ruling us? These senseless trees stand still,
And flourish too, and in their pride upbraid
My loss to me; but my dear Sylvia being
Nature's best piece, made to excuse the rest
Of all her vulgar forms, ah me! was left
To desolation, till some horrid satyr,
Bred in these woods, and furious in his lusts,
Made her his prey; and now has carried her
Into his dark retirings, or some cave,
Where her poor Thyrsis never more shall see her.
But I will be reveng'd: this wood, that now
Is so bedeck'd with leaves and fresh array,
I'll level with the ground, until it be
As desolate as I.
MON. Alas, poor shepherd! [_Aside._
THYR. It shall afford no shade to anything,
That hither us'd to come for its relief;
But henceforth be for ever infamous:
That, when some gentle shepherd passes by,
And sees this ground rent with the crooked plough:
Here, he may say, here 'twas that Sylvia
Was lost, and then shall turn another way.
MON. Good Thyrsis, do not make so much of grief,
Y' have fed it with too many tears already;
Take comfort now.
THYR. What has my present state
To do with comfort? If you see the trees
Widow'd of leaves, the earth grown hard, and spoil'd
Of the green mantles which she wont to wear,
You wonder not if winter then appear.
MON. By these we know that season.
THYR. And must I,
When she is gone, whose sun-like eyes did cherish
An everlasting summer in my life,
Feel any spring of joy to comfort me?
No, father, grief with me is best in season.
MON. But whilst you mourn thus, who looks to your flock?
THYR. All as the shepherd is, such be his flocks,
So pine and languish they, as in despair
He pines and languishes; their fleecy locks
Let hang disorder'd, as their master's hair,
Since she is gone that deck'd both him and them.
And now what beauty can there be to live,
When she is lost that did all beauty give?
MON. But yet, methinks, for one that is a stranger,
Scarce known to any here, but by her name,
These plaints are overmuch. Besides, there are
In fruitful Arcady as fair as she:
I'm sure more rich and wise: make out of them
A choice. Nerina is as fair as she,
Dorinda's flocks are more than Sylvia's,
And carry on their backs more wool than hers.
THYR. Let such base peasants as the gods do hate
Admire their wealth and them for what they have,
Their bodies' and their souls material
Alike of drossy substance are compounded,
And can contemplate nothing but the earth.
No, Sylvia, whom some better god, perhaps
For the reward of my well-tuned pipe,
Sent down to me, made up of air and fire;
Though since, because I knew not how to use
With fair respect a gift so great as she,
Has justly reft her from me,--is so much,
So great a part of me, that in her absence
Amidst my grief I feel some little joy,
To see how much of me each minute wasteth,
And gives me hope, that when I shall dissolve
This earthly substance, and be pure as she
(For sure the gods have ta'en her undefil'd),
I may enjoy her looks, and though it be
Profane to touch a hallowed thing like her,
I may adore her yet, and recompense
With my religion the proud thoughts I had
Once to enjoy her.
MON. See how fond you are
T'embrace a shadow, and to leave the substance!
The love of Hylas to Nerina has
More hopes than yours; though she be young and coy,
Yet whilst Nerina is and Hylas too,
One time or other they may both have joy.
THYR. May they prove happy in each other's love,
And nothing please, but what each other do;
For so liv'd Thyrsis and his Sylvia:
Whilst Sylvia was, and Thyrsis was her love.
Whatever Thyrsis pip'd, pleas'd Sylvia;
Thyrsis admir'd whatever Sylvia sung,
And both their joys were equal or but one.
Well, I can now remember (and it is
Some comfort to remember what I moan)
That, when our loves began, how first I gaz'd
On her, and she was pleas'd that I should look,
Till greedily I had devour'd the hook.
Love gave me courage then to speak my thoughts,
And gave her pity to receive my words,
They link'd our hearts together: from that time,
Whene'er she saw me strike the furious boar,
Though then my case she ru'd, and sigh'd full oft,
Yet was she pleas'd to see my victory,
And I receiv'd my vigour from her eye.
Then would she make me chaplets of the best
And choicest flowers, to adorn my head:
Which when I wore, methought I did then grasp
The empire of the world. But what of that?
The more I then enjoy'd of heavenly bliss,
The more my present grief and passion is.
MON. Well, Thyrsis, since my words do but renew
The story of your grief, I'll leave to use
Persuasions to you; for 'tis time, I see,
And not my words, must cure your malady. [_Exit._
THYR. That time must put a period to my life,
Or else it never will unto my grief:
Come, boy, and under this same hanging bough
The note, which thou attemper'st to my words,
Sing, and be happier than thy master, boy.
1.
BOY. _Shall I, because my love is gone,_
_Accuse those golden darts,_
_Which to a blessed union_
_Struck our two loving hearts,_
_Since fortune, and not love, hath caus'd my moan?_
2.
_No, her pure image I shall prize,_
_Imprinted in my breast,_
_More than the fairest mistress' eyes,_
_That ever swain possessed,_
_Which in eternal bonds my fancy ties._
3.
_Come then, you sharpest griefs, and try_
_If you can pierce my heart,_
_But use, if you would have me die,_
_The best you can of art,_
_To wound a breast so arm'd with constancy._
THYR. Enough: I'll sigh the rest out. Go, my boy,
Be careful of thy tender lambs, whilst I
Seek out some hidden place to pine and die.
SCENA II.
HYLAS, MIRTILLUS.
Believe, Mirtillus, never any love
Was bought with other price than love alone,
Since nothing is more precious than itself:
It being the purest abstract of that fire
Which wise Prometheus first indu'd us with;
And he must love that would be lov'd again.
MIR. Why, who can say Mirtillus does not love?
Mirtillus, he who has employ'd his youth
Ever in service of the fairest nymphs.
HYL. Mirtillus cannot love.
MIR. No, gentle Hylas?
This riband and this hair you see me wear,
Are they not ensigns of a lover? Say,
What shepherdess whom ever swain thought fair,
Has not Mirtillus courted, and obtain'd
Some favour from. But you will think, because
I do not fold my arms, and sigh, and spend
The days, the gods have given me to rejoice,
In whining passion, walking still alone,
Now proud with hopes, then cast down with despair,
Unequal to myself in everything,
I cannot love. No, Hylas, know I love
Dorinda, Chloris, Amarillis, all
Whom ever love did to his altars call:
And when this mistress frowns, I am content
To take another; when that flame is spent
By time, or put out by a rival, straight
A third supplies her place, perhaps more worthy;
If less, because she loves, I'll think her so.
HYL. Alas, Mirtillus! I do pity thee--
Pity the error which thou wander'st in,
That think'st thou lov'st, and know'st not what it is.
MIR. Why, what is love, say you, if mine be not?
HYL. I know, Mirtillus, that no lover yet
Purchas'd a lasting pleasure without grief;
For love has gall in it as well as honey,
And so compounded that, whosoe'er will taste
The sweets of it, must take the bitter too,
Out of both which is made our constancy.
You, that embrace the false delights alone,
Are a feign'd lover or (more truly) none.
MIR. I know not what you mean by constancy:
I'm sure I love the fairest.
HYL. Still you err;
For, if you lov'd the fairest, none had been
The object of your choice but my Nerina;
Nerina, she the glory of these woods,
The only subject of all shepherds' song.
MIR. She has her share of beauty with the rest,
And I confess she's fit for love as any;
But why she only should take up your breast,
And shut out all that have a right as good,
Whose equal or transcendent beauty pleads
As just a title to't as hers can do,
I cannot reach the reason, but admire
Your faith and (what you praise) your constancy.
HYL. Mirtillus, though I know your stubborn heart
Could never entertain a lover's thought,
Yet did I think you would have been more tender
How you profan'd a name so sacred as
Nerina's is, whom never any swain,
Nor rural god, nor satyr, though he be
Of savage kind, would ever violate:
Nerina, in whose form love ever dwells,
Attended by the Graces, which do range
Themselves in order 'bout her comely face:
Whose breasts without are hills of whitest snow,
Within, the seat of blameless modesty,
Regard of honour and pure chastity;
Nor may a loose thought ever harbour there
To tempt such lovers as you seem to be:
Is it for that you slight her?
MIR. No, I love her
As I do others, with whom I compare her.
But you, that love with such intemperance,
Make of your love a glass, wherein you see
Each thing much greater than indeed it is:
My love's too cold, you say; but I am sure
Yours is too hot for any to endure:
A mean, perhaps, 'twixt these I might approve.
HYL. You might, if there were any mean in love.
MIR. But whilst we talk thus, see, the flame has caught you;
Your beauteous flame, Nerina, is at hand,
Dorinda with her: dare you stay th' encounter?
HYL. No, let's withdraw, and watch her, where she goes.
SCENA III.
NERINA, DORINDA.
Dorinda, I have miss'd the chase to-day,
Such is my chance, and he that lodg'd the deer
Told me it was the fairest in these woods.
DOR. The gods do love you, sure, that thus have left
Your thoughts so free for sport; mine are not so.
NER. Thou art in love, I warrant, art thou not?
DOR. That angry god pursues me in his fury,
And forces me to love where I am scorn'd.
Hapless Dorinda, why should he despise thee?
Many a swain and many a rural god
Have sought thy favours, and have sought in vain:
Now thou art justly punish'd with disdain.
NER. Trust me, sweetheart, I cannot choose but wonder,
To think that one of such a comely grace--
I do not flatter you--could sue to any
For love, who are much fitter to be lov'd:
Scorn him as much as he does thee; for men
Love us no more! when we love them again.
DOR. Ah, good Nerina, you have spoken truth:
It may warn other nymphs by my example,
How they profess their loves to any man:
I am past cure, for[248] he that wounded me
Has left me quite disarm'd, and robb'd me of
All those defensive arts which men will say
Are natural and proper to our sex.
I cannot change a face or weep one tear,
Or laugh against my will, so violently
My fate hath thrust me to this love, that all
My faculties confess their weakness; and
My flame is got so much above my reach,
I cannot put it out, nor smother it.
NER. Alas, poor wench! tell me, who is the man
Made up of so much rigid cruelty,
That I may shun him wheresoe'er I go.
DOR. Do not you know him?
NER. No.
DOR. I hear he boasts
To every shepherd and to every nymph
How much I love him.
NER. Then it must be Daphnis.
DOR. Venus forgive me if I do disclose him,
But he will do't himself: 'tis he, Nerina.
NER. Daphnis, that wooes my father to win me;
He is my daily suitor; now I know
How much he owes to pity and to thee;
Until he pay that debt, I shall despise him.
DOR. Why, do not you love him as much as I?
NER. Love him! I know no greater misery,
Than to love one that's not of human race--
A tiger rather; but a tiger is more mild
Than he.
DOR. For love's sake, say not so!
He has a manly feature, and does show
As much of grace in his comportment as
The best of shepherds can; him Titan made
Of better clay than he did other men,
Although his heart be flint and hardest rock.
Yet is his heart so hard, or are my parts
Rather unequal to his high deserts?
For he can love, I see, since you he loves,
And you deserve it. Had he thought me worthy,
He would have lov'd me too; but as I am
Worthless Dorinda, I am made his scorn,
And I had rather be so, than Nerina
Should want a servant such as Daphnis is.
NER. Prythee, no more of him: I hate his name
As much as I would do the loss of honour,
Which he injuriously would rob me of.
No, no, Dorinda, if by love I be
Enthrall'd to any, Daphnis is not he.
DOR. Why, is there any can deserve you more?
NER. Yes, many, that I could tell how to love
Rather than him: for why should I love him,
Whilst Hylas lives, and languishes for me?
Hylas, who lov'd me in my infancy,
And being then a boy, was never well
If I was absent; nor indeed was I
Content with any but his company.
Our flocks still fed together: I on him,
And he on me did feed his greedy eyes.
Since, though his years have styled him man, he has
Continu'd that first love with such respects,
So full of innocence and simple truth,
That howsoe'er my outward coyness is,
My heart within tells me 'tis only his.
Ah me! my father! prythee, let's away.
DOR. But Daphnis comes with him: for love's sake, stay!
SCENA IV.
HYLAS, MIRTILLUS, CHARINUS, DAPHNIS.
Pan be as cruel to his flocks and him
As he has been to me!
MIR. Go, leave your cursing,
And follow her; let me alone with him.
CHAR. Ha! have I found you? Ho! Nerina, stay!
Your father calls you; was not that my daughter
That made away so fast?
MIR. Who, she that's gone?
Believe your eyes no more, they are false to you.
Could you take one for her that's nothing like her?
'Twas Chloris went from us.
CHAR. Is't possible?
MIR. 'Tis true.
DAPH. I thought that it had been my love.
CHAR. I durst have sworn that she had been my daughter.
What made she here? 'Twill ne'er be otherwise;
Young women will be chatting with young men,
Whate'er their fathers say. It was not so
When I was young--a boy, as you are, shepherds.
MIR. We are not men with him till after fifty.
CHAR. We never durst keep company with women,
Nor they with us: each one did carefully
Attend his charge. And when the time was come,
That we grew ripe in years, and were staid youths,
Our fathers would provide us wives: we did not
Carve for ourselves, as nowadays they do.
But now our children think themselves as wise,
Nay, wiser than their fathers, and will rule 'em:
They can no sooner peep out of the shell,
But they must love, forsooth. I would fain know,
Whether 'twere fit a maid should be in love--
I speak now of that skittish girl, my daughter--
Before she ask her father's leave and liking?
DAPH. Tis true, Charinus, 'twere not fit indeed.
Who should bestow the daughter but the father?
MIR. But, shepherds, did you never hear that once
There was an age, the nearest to the gods:
An age we rather praise than imitate;
When no man's will nor woman's was enforc'd
To any bent but its own motion?
Each follow'd nature's laws, and by instinct
Did love the fairest, and enjoy their wishes:
Love then, not tied to any interest
Of blood or fortune, hasten'd to his end
Without control, nor did the shepherd number
Her sheep that was his choice, but every grace
That did adorn her beauteous mind or face.
Riches with love then were not valued--
Pure, uncompounded love--that could despise
The whole world's riches for a mistress' eyes.
Pray tell me, Daphnis--you are young and handsome,
The lover of our fairest nymph Nerina--
Would you, for all that fruitful Sicily
Can yield, or all the wealth of Persia,
Change one poor lock of your fair mistress' hair,
Whilst she is yours, and you her shepherd are?
DAPH. Would she were mine, I'd ask no portion.
MIR. Spoke like a lover of the ancient stamp!
CHAR. Son, son, she shall be yours: why, am not I
Her father, she my daughter? May not I
Bestow her where I please?
MIR. Yes, if she like
The man, she will bestow herself, ne'er fear it.
CHAR. What! she bestow herself without my leave?
No, no, Mirtillus, you mistake my daughter.
I cannot get her once to think of marriage,
And truly I do muse to see a wench,
That in all other things (although I say it)
Has wit at will: can pin her sheep in fold
As well as any: knows when to drive them home;
And there she can do twenty things as well:
Yet when I speak to her of marriage,
She turns the head: she'll be a Dryad, she,
Or one of those fond nymphs of Dian's train.
MIR. Old man, believe her not, she means not so;
She loves to keep the thing for which she is
So much belov'd--I mean her maidenhead--
Which, whilst she has, she knows to play the tyrant,
And make us slaves unto her scornful looks:
For beauty then itself most justifies,
When it is courted; if not lov'd, it dies.
CHAR. Well, we will think of this. Come, Daphnis, come,
I see you love my daughter, and you only
Shall have her; it is I that tell you so,
That am her father.
DAPH. Thank you, good Charinus;
But I had rather she had told me so. [_Aside._
FOOTNOTES:
[248] [Old copy, _the cure, he_.]
ACTUS II., SCÆNA 1.
THYRSIS, MONTANUS. _To them_ MIRTILLUS.
[THYR.] This day the sun shot forth his beams as fair
As e'er he did, and through the trembling air
Cool Zephyrus with gentle murmuring
Breath'd a new freshness on each tree and plant:
My kids are gamesome too, as e'er they were;
All show a face of gladness but myself.
MON. And why not you as well by their example?
THYR. Not in this life: here joy would be untimely:
The gods reserve for me their comforts in
Th' Elysian fields, or else they mock my sorrows.
MON. O, say not so, they're just and pitiful.
THYR. They are, but, father--so I still must call you--
When in the sadness of my soul I ask'd
Before the altar of our great Apollo,
What should become of me, or where my love,
Bright Sylvia, was, whether alive or dead,
Why should the oracle reply: _Go home_,
_Thou shall enjoy thy Sylvia_?
MON. What more could you
Desire to hear?
THYR. Ay, but when greedily
I ask'd the time, the answer was, _That day_
_Thou art not Thyrsis, nor she Sylvia._
Then in this life I'm sure it must not be,
For I was Thyrsis ever call'd, and she
Known by no other name than Sylvia.
MON. It may be, for your importunity
You might deserve this answer, or else is it
Because the gods speak not their mysteries
To be conceiv'd by every vulgar sense?
I now remember what Acrisius,
The wise and virtuous Acrisius,
Was wont to say.
THYR. Why, what said he?
Does it concern me aught?
MON. It may do, son;
He bid us fly all curiosity,
Seeking to know what future time may bring
To us, which only gods above do know;
And if at any time they do impart
This knowledge unto us, it is enwrapp'd
In such a mist, as we shall ne'er see through it:
Because, said he, we have enough to do
With what is present; the celestial powers
Would not cut off our hopes, nor multiply
Our cares, by showing us our destiny.
THYR. O, this discourse to a despairing lover
What comfort does it bring? for heaven's sake, leave it
And me; for I am best, I find, alone.
Yet stay, there's something that I fain would ask you:
You said this circle here about my neck
Has so continued from my infancy,
When first you took me up.
MON. 'Tis true, that circle
Hung loosely then about your neck, which since
Is fill'd with it. I left it there, because
I saw some letters that were wrought about it.
THYR. And may they not be read?
MON. I think they may:
But I could never find so great a clerk
As could tell how t' expound the meaning of them.
THYR. My life is nothing but a mystery;
That which I was, and that which I shall be,
Is equally unknown. Now, if you'll leave me
Unto my thoughts, they'll keep me company.
MON. I will; but here is one come to supply me.
_Enter to him_ MIRTILLUS.
MIR. Ay, let me alone.
_Sings._
_He that mourns for a mistress,_
_When he knows not where she is,_
_Let him kiss her shadow fair,,_
_Or engender with the air;_
_Or see, if with his tears he can_
_Swell at an ebb the ocean:_
_Then, if he had not rather die,_
_Let him love none, or all, as I._
This is the doctrine that I ever taught you,
And yet you profit not: these scurvy passions
Hang on you still. You that are young and active,
That may have all our nymphs at your devotion,
To live a whining kind of life as this,
How ill it does become you!
THYR. True, Mirtillus;
And yet I do not envy thee the pleasure
Thou hast in thy dispers'd affections.
MIR. You would, if your head were right once; but love--
Your love does make an ass of all your reason.
THYR. Sure, a true lover is more rational
Than you, that love at random everywhere.
MIR. I do not think so; all the reason love
Has left you to employ in this discourse
Will hardly bring me to confess it to you.
THYR. Why, all men's actions have some proper end,
Whereto their means and strict endeavours tend:
Else there would be nought but perplexity
In human life, and all uncertainty.
MIR. Well, what will you infer on this?
THYR. That you,
Who know no end at all of wild desire,
Must in your wand'ring fancy see this way
Leads unto madness, when too late you find
That nothing satisfies a boundless mind.
MIR. Ay, but I do confine myself to two
Or three at most; in this variety
I please myself; for what is wanting in
One, I may find it in another.
THYR. No.
Not in another; one is the only centre
The line of love is drawn to, must have all
Perfections in her, all that's good and fair,
Or else her lover must believe her so.
MIR. Ay, there's your error, that's the ground of all
Your tears and sighs, your fruitless hopes and fears,
When she perhaps has not so much t' adorn her
As the least grace your thoughts bestow upon her.
THYR. Well, be it so; and yet this fair idea,
Which I have fram'd unto myself, does argue
Virtue in me; so that, if she be lost,
Or dead--ah me! the sad remembrance of
My Sylvia causes this--yet I must love,
Because the character is indelibly
Writ in my heart, and heaven is witness to it.
MIR. Well, I'll no more of this, I'll be converted
Rather than call this grief to your remembrance.
THYR. Why, dost thou think I ever shall forget her?
Or that where'er I set my careful foot,
As in this place, will it not tell me that
Here Sylvia and I walk'd hand in hand,
And here she pluck'd a flower, and anon
She gave it me; and then we kiss'd, and here
We mutually did vow each other's love?
MIR. Nay leave, good Thyrsis: I did come to tell you
This holiday our royal Prince Euarchus,
Being remov'd to his house here near adjoining,
Sent to command us to attend his person,
With all our sports and wonted merriment,
Wherein you always bore the chiefest part.
And I have heard ('tis not to make you blush)
The princess has commended your rare art
And handsome graces, which you gave your music.
Come, you must go with us, for Hylas is
So far engag'd in love, and near his hopes,
He will not stir unless his mistress go.
THYR. Alas, Mirtillus! I have broke my pipe,
My sighs are all the music which I now
Can make, and how unfit I am t' attend
So great an expectation, you may see.
Yet give me leave to think on it; at night
Perhaps I'll go with you.
MIR. Till then farewell. [_Exit_ THYRSIS.
The gentlest youth that ever play'd on pipe,
But see, who's here? O, 'tis my other lover,
His mistress with him; I will not disturb him.
SCENA II.
NERINA, HYLAS, MIRTILLUS.
NER. Shepherd, I would you'd leave to follow me.
HYL. How can I, sweetest, when my heart is with you?
NER. With me? Then tell me where, and see how soon
I shall restore it you.
MIR. O, this is fine! [_Aside._
HYL. It hangs upon your eyes where, being scorch'd
With their disdain, and dazzl'd with their lustre,
It flies for ease unto your rosy lips.
But, beaten thence with many a harsh denial,
Fain would it come for better harbour here;
But here for ever it must be an exile.
For pity then, fair nymph, receive it you;
And if you can, teach it the hardness of
Your own, and make it marble, as yours is.
MIR. I see he is not such a novice as
I took him for; he can tell how to speak. [_Aside._
NER. Well, if my heart be such as you will make it,
I am so much the gladder that it is
Of strength to be a fence unto my honour.
HYL. In vain a fence is made to guard the sheep,
Where no wolf ever came.
NER. What, if within
It keep a dog of prey, would they be safe?
For my part, I'll not cherish in my breast
The man that would undo my chastity.
HYL. Then cherish me, for you best know I never
Attempted anything to cast a spot
On that white innocence, to which I am
A most religious votary.
MIR. More fool you!
It may be, if you had, it needed not
Ha' come to this. [_Aside._
NER. Yes, yes, you may remember,
I blush to tell it you, when first my thoughts
Were pure and simple--as I hope they are
Still, and will so continue, whilst I fly
Such company as you--- I thought you one
Whom never any flame impure had touch'd:
Then we convers'd without suspect together.
HYL. And am I not so still? why do you now
Fly from me thus?
NER. The cause I shall tell you,
Since you will not remember; though it be
Unfit for me to speak, yet you shall know
How just my anger is.
HYL. Ah me most wretched!
What have I done?
NER. When tending of my flocks
Under the shade of yonder myrtle-tree.
Which bears the guilt of your foul misdemeanour,
My maid Corisca cried out for my help,
Because a bee had stung her in the face:
You heard me speak in pity of her smart,
A charm my mother taught me, that, being said
Close to the place affected, takes away
The pain: which gave her ease. But you, uncivil,
Turning my courtesy to your vile ends,
Feign'd you were stung too, and cried out your lips
Had from the same sharp point receiv'd a wound:
Pray'd me to say the same charm over there.
I charitably lent my help to you,
Mistrusting nothing of your purposes,
When with ungentle hands you held me fast,
And for my thanks gave me a lustful kiss.
Canst thou remember this, and yet not blush?
O impudence!
HYL. You will excuse the heat
Of my desires; still I feel that sting,
But dare not ask the cure, nor did I then
Do any hurt: but since you think it was
A fault, I do repent it, and am sorry
I did offend you so.
MIR. Better and better!
He'll cry anon, he has already ask'd
Forgiveness of her. [_Aside._
NER. Well, shepherd, look
You never see me more: I cannot love
At all, or if at all, not you: let this
Settle your thoughts.
HYL. O, it distracts them more:
But since my presence is offensive to you,
I must obey, yet, if I thought you would,
When I am dead--the martyr of your beauty,
Shed one poor tear on my untimely grave,
And say that Hylas was unfortunate,
To love where he might not be lov'd again,
My ashes would find rest. And so farewell:
The fairest, but the cruel'st nymph alive!
MIR. What, will you leave her thus?
HYL. I prythee, come,
The sentence of my banishment is pass'd,
Never to be recall'd.
MIR. Are these the hopes
You fed upon? O, what a thing in nature
Is a coy woman! or how great a fool
The man is that will give her leave to rule! [_Exit_ HYLAS.
SCENA III.
NERINA.
NER. Alas! my Hylas, my beloved soul,
Durst she whom thou hast call'd cruel Nerina
But speak her thoughts, thou wouldst not think her so;
To thee she is not cruel, but to herself:
That law, which nature hath writ in my heart,
Taught me to love thee, Hylas, and obey
My father too, who says I must not love thee.
O disproportion'd love and duty, how
Do you distract me? If I love my choice,
I must be disobedient; if obedient,
I must be link'd to one I cannot love.
Then either, Love, give me my liberty,
Or, Nature, from my duty set me free. [_Exit._
SCENA IV.
DAPHNIS.
DAPH. Nerina, since nor tears nor prayers can move
Thy stubborn heart, I'll see what gifts can do:
They of my rank, whom most do deem unworthy
Of any virgin's love, being rough, and bred
To manage the estates our fathers left us,
Unskill'd in those hid mysteries, which Love's
Professors only know, have yet a way
To gain our wishes. First we get the father:
He knows our pleasure, and gives his consent.
The daughter's eyes being blinded with our gifts,
Cannot so soon spy our deformities,
But we may catch her too. This Alcon says,
A man whom age and observation taught
What I must learn; yet though most women be
Such as he has deliver'd, my Nerina
Seems not to have regard to what I give,
But holds me and my gifts both at one rate.
What can I hope, then, out of this poor present:
A looking-glass which, though within our plains
'Tis seldom seen, yet I have heard in cities
They are as common as a lock of wool.
However, if she take it, I am happy,
So Alcon tells me; and he knows full well
(He gave it me) that, whose'er shall look
Her face in it, shall be at my dispose.
In confidence of this, I will present it,
And see my fortune; sure, I must needs speed:
My friend, her father, comes along with her.
But, O my fate! is not that nymph Dorinda
Which keeps them company? Yes, sure, 'tis she;
A curse light on her importunity!
Her father urges something, and I hope
On my behalf; let me observe a little.
SCENA V.
CHARINUS, NERINA, DORINDA, DAPHNIS.
CHAR. And as I oft have told you, I do wish
To see you wise.
DOR. Is she not so, Charinus?
Does she say anything that's out of reason?
CHAR. Do not tell me of reason; I would hear
Of her obedience: therefore I say, be wise,
And do as I would have you.
DOR. What would you
Have her to do? you see she answers not
To contradict you.
CHAR. I will have her answer
To what I now demand, that is, to marry
Daphnis, and I will have her love him too.
DOR. Love him, Charinus! that you cannot do:
Her body you may link i' th' rites of Hymen;
Her will she must bestow herself, not you.
DAPH. O, she was born to be a plague unto me. [_Aside._
CHAR. Why should she wish or hope for anything,
But what I'd have her wish or hope for only?
Come, to be short, answer me, and directly;
Are you content to marry Daphnis, say?
NER. What is your pleasure, father?
CHAR. You do not hear,
It seems, but what you list; I ask you once
Again, if you will marry Daphnis? speak.
NER. Sir, I would marry whom you please to give me;
I neither can nor ought to make my choice,
I would refer that to you: but you know
My inclination never lay to marry.
CHAR. I know you shall do that which I command.
NER. Now heaven forbid that I, who have thus long
Vow'd to Diana my virginity,
To follow her a huntress in these woods,
Should yield myself to the impure delights
Of Hymen, and so violate my faith.
CHAR. A fine devotion, is it not? to make
A vow, and never ask your father leave!
The laws will not permit it to be so.
DOR. The vow, Charinus, is not made to men:
The laws have not to do with that which is
Seal'd and recorded in the court of heaven.
CHAR. Do not tell me of vows: I'll have her marry,
And marry Daphnis: is he not rich and handsome?
DOR. Ah me! I would he were not rich nor handsome:
It may be then he would regard my sufferings. [_Aside._
CHAR. No, daughter, do not you believe you can
Catch me with shifts and tricks: I see, I tell you,
Into your heart.
NER. Alas! I would you did;
Then your discourse would tend another way.
CHAR. Yes, you have made a vow, I know, which is,
Whilst you are young, you will have all the youth
To follow you with lies and flatteries.
Fool, they'll deceive you; when this colour fades,
Which will not always last, and you go crooked,
As if you sought your beauty lost i' th' ground;
Then they will laugh at you, and find some other
Fit for their love; where, if you do as I
Command you, I have one will make you happy.
NER. Ah me most miserable!
DAPH. Now I'll come in,
And see what I can do with this my gift.
CHAR. Look now, as if the Fates would have it so,
He comes just in the nick of my discourse:
Come, use him kindly now, and then you shall
Redeem what you have lost--my good opinion.
NER. O most ungrateful chance! how I do hate
The sight of him!
DOR. Were it to me he came,
How happy would this fair encounter be!
CHAR. Daphnis, you're welcome, very welcome to me,
And to my daughter: what is that you have there?
DAPH. A present, which I mean to give my love.
CHAR. See but how true a lover Daphnis is;
His hand is never empty when he comes.
Welcome him, daughter: look what he has for you.
DAPH. O good Charinus! none must look in it,
But she herself to whom it is presented.
CHAR. I am an old man, I, and therefore care not
To see my wither'd face and hoary hair:
Give it that young thing, she knows what to do with it.
Daughter, come hither; use him courteously
And kindly too: be sure you take his gift. [_Aside._
Daphnis, I'll leave you both together here;
My sheep are shearing, I can stay no longer. [_Exit._
DAPH. Farewell, old man; health to my dearest mistress.
NER. And to you, shepherd.
DOR. Daphnis, am not I
Worthy to have a share in your salute?
DAPH. How can I give thee part of that, whereof
I have no share myself?
DOR. If you would love
There where you are belov'd again, you might
Make your content such as you would yourself.
DAPH. If you, Nerina, would vouchsafe to love
Him that loves you, and ever will, you might
Make your content such as you would yourself.
NER. Shepherd, I oft have wish'd you not to trouble
Me and yourself with words: I cannot love you.
DAPH. As oft, Dorinda, have I spoke to you,
To leave to trouble me: I cannot love you.
DOR. Will you then slight my love because 'tis offer'd?
DAPH. Will you then slight my love because 'tis offer'd?
NER. Somebody else may love you, I cannot.
DAPH. Somebody else may love you, I cannot.
DOR. O cruel words, how they do pierce my heart!
DAPH. O cruel words, how they do pierce my heart!
NER. How can I help it, if your destiny
Lead you to love where you may not obtain?
DAPH. How can I help it, if your destiny
Lead you to love where you may not obtain?
DOR. It is not destiny that injures me;
It is thy cruel will and marble heart.
DAPH. It is not destiny that injures me;
It is thy cruel will and marble heart.
NER. No, Daphnis; 'tis not hardness of my heart,
Nor any cruelty that causes this.
DAPH. Then 'tis disdain of me.
NER. Nor is it that:
I do not see in Daphnis anything
To cause disdain.
DOR. Why do you not reply
In those same words to me, malicious Echo?
DAPH. I pray, leave me; I have other business now
To trouble me; if you disdain me not,
Fair nymph, as you pretend, receive my offer.
NER. What's that?
DAPH. My heart.
DOR. I will, gentle Daphnis.
DAPH. O importunity!
NER. Give her thy heart.
She has deserv'd it, for she loves thee Daphnis.
DAPH. First, I would tear it piecemeal here before you.
DOR. O me unfortunate! O cruel man!
NER. Stay, good Dorinda, I'll go with thee; stay.
DAPH. Let her go where she will; behold, sweet saint,
This mirror here, the faithful representer
Of that which I adore, your beauteous form;
When you do see in that how lovely are
Your looks, you will not blame my love.
NER. If I refuse it,
My father will be angry. [_Aside._] Let me see it.
Here, take thy glass again: what ails my head?
I know not where I am, it is so giddy:
And something like a drowsiness has seiz'd
My vital spirits.
DAPH. How do you, love?
NER. Heavy o' th' sudden; I'll go home and sleep.
DAPH. So, let her go, and let this work awhile.
She cast an eye upon me as she went,
That by its languishing did seem to say,
Daphnis, I'm thine; thou hast o'ercome at last.
Alcon, th' hast made me happy by thy art [_Exeunt._
ACTUS III, SCENA I.
SYLVIA, DELIA.
Q. _Tell me what you think on earth_
_The greatest bliss?_
A. _Riches, honour, and high birth_.
Q. _Ah! what is this?_
_If love be banished the heart,_
_The joy of Nature, not of Art?_
2.
_What's honour worth or high descent?_
_Or ample wealth,_
_If cares do breed us discontent,_
_Or want of health?_
A. _It is the order of the Fates,_
_That these should wait on highest states._
3.
CHORUS. _Love only does our souls refine,_
_And by his skill_
_Turns human things into divine,_
_And guides our will._
_Then let us of his praises sing:_
_Of love, that sweetens everything._
DEL. Madam, you're overheard.
SYL. I care not, Delia.
Although my liberty and free discourse
Be here denied me, yet the air is common:
To it, then, will I utter my complaints,
Or to thee, friend, to whom my love will dare
To show the secrets of my heart; for others
I do not care nor fear, so thou be faithful.
DEL. Madam, I have no life, but what I wish
May be employ'd to do your beauty's service;
My tongue is rul'd by yours: what you would have
It speak, it shall; else further than my thoughts
Nothing shall venture that you leave to me:
And those my thoughts I'll keep to such restraint,
As they shall never come within my dreams,
Lest they betray your counsels. This I vow
Religiously by----
SYL. Hold, I will not
Have thee to swear, nor would I thou shouldst think
That I so much suspect thee, as to urge
An oath; I know thou hast too much of goodness,
That's bred within thee, to betray a trust:
And therefore, without further circumstance,
I'll let thee know my fortunes, part of which
I'm sure th' hast heard already.
DEL. Madam, I have,
And wish'd that they had sorted to your wishes.
SYL. I thank thee, Delia; but my evil genius,
That has pursu'd my innocence with hate,
Brought me from thence, where I had set my heart,
Unto this cursed Court which, though it be
My place of birth and breeding, I do find
Nothing but torment and affliction in it.
DEL. I guess the cause, sweet madam, but that's pass'd
And now forgotten: if you clear your looks,
Your father will enlarge you, and ne'er think
On what you did, but that you are his daughter.
SYL. Alas, my Delia! thou dost mistake,
My liberty is of no worth to me,
Since that my love, I fear, will ne'er be free:
Nor do I care what idle ladies talk
Of my departure or my strange disguise,
To colour my intents; I am above
Their envy or their malice:
But for th' unlucky chance that sent to me
The over-curious eyes of him I hate--
Thou know'st the man.
DEL. Yes, you mean Cleander,
Son to Eubulus, who is now your keeper:
What star directed him to find you out?
SYL. His love, forsooth; for so he colour'd his
Unseason'd boldness: told me he was not able
To want my sight: and so, when every one
Had given o'er their strict inquiry of me,
He only, with too much officiousness,
Observ'd me in the woods, walking alone:
And when I would have shunn'd him, which perhaps
Had I not done, he had not so well known me:
He came and utter'd, as his manner was,
His tedious complaints; until at length
He brought me with him, making no resistance:
And to ingratiate himself the more,
He said he would convey me where my father
Should have no knowledge of me. I refused it;
Willing, however, to be rid of him.
And now, you know, it is a full month since
I did return to Court, but left my heart
Behind me in those fields wherein I joy'd.
DEL. Madam, has not the Court more pleasure in it
Than the dull country, which can represent
Nothing but what does taste of solitude?
'Twas something else that carried you away.
SYL. 'Tis true, my Delia; for though thou wert
Privy to my departure, yet the cause
Thou couldst not tell, which I will now unfold;
And think I trust my honour in thy hands,
And maiden modesty: 'twas love that did it.
DEL. Love, madam! Sure, it is impossible
You should find anything there worth your love.
SYL. Thou know'st the shepherds that do dwell about
This place which, for their entertainments only,
The king my father built, did use to come,
As now they do, being sent for unto Court:
I ever lik'd their sports, their harmless mirth,
And their contentions, which were void of malice,
And wish'd I had been born just such an one.
DEL. Your state is better, madam, as you are.
SYL. But I confess the rather, 'cause there was
One amongst them of a more comely grace
(Though none of them did seem uncomely to me)
Call'd Thyrsis; and with him methought I could
Draw out my life rather than any other,
Such things my fancy then suggested to me:
So well he sung, so passionate his love
Show'd in his verse, thereto so well express'd,
As any one would judge it natural:
Yet never felt he flame, till this of me:
Often he came, and oft'ner was desir'd
Of me; nor did I shame in public there
Before my father to commend his graces;
Which when I did, the whole Court, as they use,
Consented with me, and did strive to make them
Greater than I or any else could think them:
At last I was surpris'd, I could not help it;
My fate with love consenting, so would have it:
Then did I leave the Court--I've told thee all.
DEL. 'Tis strange! but, madam, though in that disguise,
How could you hope (a stranger) to be lov'd
Of him you held so dear?
SYL. I feign'd myself
Of Smyrna, and from thence some goats I had
And sheep, with them a rich commodity.
Near him I bought me land to feed them; he
Seem'd glad of it, and thinking me a stranger,
Us'd me with such civility and friendship,
As one would little look for of a shepherd;
And did defend me from the avarice
Of the old shepherds, which did think to make
A prey of what I had. At length I saw
He did address himself with fear to me,
Still gazing on me. Knowing my love to him,
I easily believ'd he lov'd me too--
For love, alas! is ever credulous--
And though I was resolv'd (having my end,
Which was no more than to discourse with him)
Never to let him know what flame I felt;
Yet when I saw his tears, and heard his vows--
Persuasive speakers for affection--
I could not choose but open to his view
My loving heart; yet with this caution,
That he should ever bear respect unto
My honour and my virgin chastity:
Which then he vow'd, and his ambition
Never was more than to attain a kiss,
Which yet he hardly got. Thou seest, sweet Delia,
How willingly I dwell upon this theme.
But can'st thou help me, now that I have open'd
My wound unto thee?
DEL. Alas! I would I could
Invent the way to cure you; I should soon
Apply my help: yet, stay, this day it is
The shepherds come to Court.
SYL. 'Tis true, they come;
But what is that to me, if Thyrsis come not?
Or if he come, how shall he know me his,
Or I enjoy his company?
DEL. Let me alone to work out that.
SYL. Thou dream'st: thou can'st not do it.
DEL. I'll undertake it; but how shall I know him
Without inquiring, which must breed suspicion?
SYL. True, and beware thou ask; the majesty
Which sits upon his brow will say 'tis he--
Thyrsis my love. But yet, perhaps, at this time,
If I myself not flatter, thou shalt know him
By his eyes cast down and folding of his arms,
And often sighs that interrupt his words.
For if his sorrow wears the liveries
Which mine does for his absence, by these signs
Thou shalt descry him.
DEL. These are silent marks:
Yet will I not despair to find him out.
SYL. But when thou hast, what wilt thou say to him?
DEL. Give me but leave to use my mother-wit.
You would be gone together, would you not?
SYL. Thou speak'st my thoughts: do this, and I will crown
Thy faith: thou shalt be queen instead of me.
DEL. If you could crown me with your virtues, madam,
I should be a queen indeed; in the meantime,
As I am Delia, I'll do this business.
SYL. Do it, and when th' hast done, the god of love
Reward thee with thine own desires for this.
DEL. Madam, withdraw; I hear your keepers coming. [_Exeunt._
SCENA II.
CLEANDER, EUBULUS.
Sir, you have put a bridle on my passions,
And given my soul the liberty it wish'd:
I now entreat your pardon for beginning
A thing of so great consequence without
Leave and advice from you.
EUB. 'Tis well, Cleander,
It will behove you then to be reserv'd,
And lock this secret up: for 'tis no jesting
With kings, that may command our lives and fortunes:
You now perceive her, whom we call the princess,
To be your sister, and the love you bear her
Must be a brother's friendship, not a lover's
Passionate heat; but yet she must not know,
That I her father am, and you her brother:
And trust me, son, had I not seen despair
Of life in you, which this love brought you to,
I should not have reveal'd what now you know.
CLE. It was a comfort, sir, I do confess,
That came in time to rescue me from death,
So great her scorn was, and my love so violent.
EUB. Now you're at peace, I hope?
CLE. I am: but if
I be too curious in asking where
The king's son is, I shall desire your pardon:
For, sure, it were injustice to deprive
So great a prince of that which he was born to.
EUB. You are too far inquisitive; yet because
I have engag'd you in a secret of
As great importance, this I will not hide.
The king, I told you, when his wife grew near
The time of her delivery, sent to know
Of our great oracle whether the child should be
Female or male, and what should be its fortune.
CLE. What said the oracle? have you the answer?
EUB. It only was imparted unto me,
And this it is, which I have never shown
To any but the queen. Here take and read it.
_If e'er thy issue male thou live to see,_
_The child thou think'st is thine, thine shall not be;_
_His life shall be obscure: twice shall thy hate_
_Doom him to death. Yet shall he 'scape that fate:_
_And thou shalt live to see, that not long after_
_Thy only son shall wed thy only daughter._
This oracle is full of mystery.
EUB. It is; and yet the king would needs interpret
That, should it prove a man-child, 'twas a bastard:
And being loth that one not of his blood,
As he conceived by this, should be his heir,
Told me in private that, if it were male,
He would not have it live; yet, fearing most
To publish his dishonour and his wife's,
He charg'd me not reveal it unto any,
But take the child and see it made away,
And make the world believe it was still-born.
CLE. And did you so?
EUB. No, for indeed I durst not
For anything become a murderer.
CLE. How did you then?
EUB. I went unto the queen,
Show'd her the state she was in, and besought her
To be as careful of me as I was
Of her, and we would work a better end
Than she expected. So we both agreed
That, if the child she then did labour with
Proved to be a male, I should with care conceal
The birth of it, and put a female child
Instead of it, which I was to look out.
It fortun'd that your mother then was ready
To be deliver'd of your sister, and
Time and good fortune did conspire to save
The king's child and to make my daughter princess.
CLE. But what did then become of the young prince?
EUB. The queen protesting to me that it was
The king's own child, conjur'd me to preserve it,
Which as mine own I could not; for already
Many took notice that my child was female,
And therefore I was fain to publish her
As dead, and buried an empty coffin.
I rode forth with the child a full night's journey,
With purpose to deliver it to some
Plain honest man, that would be careful of it,
And not inquisitive to know whose child
It was, but give it breeding as his own:
When, being frighted with the noise of arms
Of some outlawed thieves, that did infest
The place, I made all haste I could to 'scape 'em,
Considering my charge; for that I knew,
If I were taken, though they spar'd my life,
The charge I had must needs betray me to
The king, and then I could not hope for mercy
I laid it down there, cover'd closely o'er,
A circle 'bout his neck, wherein was writ--
_Archigenes, son of Euarchus and Eudora_
In characters known only to myself
And to the king, in which I us'd to clothe
Secret despatches when I writ to him
From foreign states, and within the circle
I grav'd the king's less seal, which then I kept.
Some gold besides and jewels there I left,
That, whosoe'er should find him might with that
Defray the charge of his education;
Howe'er, next day I purposed to return
With speed, and carry it to some abode.
CLE. But did the queen know this?
EUB. She did not,
Till my return next day: then, when I told her,
The child was thence remov'd where I had left him.
CLE. Belike those thieves had carried him away.
EUB. 'Tis probable.
CLE. How could the queen take this
So sad a story?
EUB. With such impatience
That, being weak before, she shortly died.
CLE. But yet, sir, with your favour, might you not
Have made inquiry after him?
EUB. I durst not,
For fear of being discover'd. On your life,
Take heed how you reveal this.
CLE. I am charm'd.
EUB. Then let us watch my daughter, for I fear
The flight she made was for some other end
Than for retirement, which she does pretend.
CLE. Henceforth I shall obey her as my princess,
And love her as my sister, not my mistress.
EUB. You shall do well: come, let us to the king.
SCENA III.
HYLAS, MIRTILLUS, _Chorus of shepherds and shepherdesses,_
_representing Paris, OEnone, Venus,_
_and the Graces_.
HYL. It was my dream, and I will send it to her;
Though I myself by her too cruel sentence
Must never see her face.
MIR. What paper's that?
Love verses, as I live! What's here? a dream!
Nay, I will read 'em: therefore stand aside.
MIRTILLUS _reads_.
_Sleep, thou becalmer of a troubled sprite,_
_Which lead'st my fancy to that sweet delight_
_Wherein my soul found rest when thou didst show_
_Her shadow mine whose substance is not so,_
_Wrap up mine eyes in an eternal night:_
_For since my day springs only from that light,_
_Which she denies me, I account the best_
_Part of my life is that which gives me rest._
_And thou, more hard to be entreated than_
_Sleep to the heated eyes of frantic men;_
_That thou canst make my joys essential_
_Which are but shadows now, be liberal,_
_And outdo sleep; let me not dream in vain,_
_Unless thou mean'st I ne'er shall sleep again._
Alas, poor soul! will she not let thee sleep?
HYL. I knew I should be mock'd, but I'll divert him. [_Aside._
What are those thou hast brought along with thee?
MIR. The masquers, Hylas; these are they must trip it
Before the king: dost like their properties?
HYL. What, Paris and OEnone--the old story?
MIR. But newly made, and fashion'd to my purpose;
Brought hither to make good my own positions
Against the company of puling lovers;
Which if I do not, and with good effect,
Let me be one myself; and that's a torture
Worse than Apollo laid upon the satyr,
When the rude villain durst contend with him.
Look this way, Hylas; see OEnone here--
The fairest nymph that ever Ida bless'd,
Court her departing shepherd, who is now
Turning his love unto a fairer object;
And for his judgment in variety.
See how the sea-born goddess and the Graces
Present their darling Helena to him!
Be happy in thy choice, and draw a war
On thee and thine, rather than set thy heart
Upon a stale delight. Do, let her weep,
And say thou art inconstant. Be so still;
The queen of love commands it: you, that are
The old companions of your Paris here,
Move in a well-pac'd measure, that may show
The goddess how you are content for her
Fair sake to leave the honour of your woods;
But first let her and all the Graces sing
The invitation to your offering.
_Venus and the Graces sing._
_Come, lovely boy, unto my court,_
_And leave these uncouth woods, and all_
_That feed thy fancy with love's gall;_
_But keep away the honey and the sport._
CHORUS. _Come unto me,_
_And with variety_
_Thou shalt be fed, which nature loves and I._
2.
_There is no music in a voice_
_That is but one, and still the same:_
_Inconstancy is but a name_
_To fright poor lovers from a better choice._
CHORUS. _Come then to me, &c._
3.
_Orpheus, that on Eurydice_
_Spent all his love, on others scorn,_
_Now on the banks of Hebrus torn,_
_Finds the reward of foolish constancy._
CHORUS. _Come then to me, &c._
4.
_And sigh no more for one love lost:_
_I have a thousand Cupids here,_
_Shall recompense with better cheer_
_Thy misspent labours and thy bitter cost._
CHORUS. _Come then to me, &c._
_The dance ended, enter a Messenger._
NUN. Shepherds, if you have any pity, come
And see a woful spectacle.
MIR. What is't,
That can be worth the breaking of our sports?
NUN. The gentle nymph Nerina--
HYL. What of her?
NUN. The last of her: I think see lies a-dying,
And calls to speak with you.
HYL. Curse of your follies!
Do I live here whilst she is dying there?
MIR. But, shepherd, what disease is't that so soon
Could spend his force upon her? she was well
This morning, when she made poor Hylas sick.
MON. I know not; I am sent unto the well
Of Esculapius to fetch some water
For her recovery. I must be gone. [_Exit._
MIR. Shepherds, here let us end. I think we are
Perfect in all the rest. This night the king
Must see't, resolve on that.
CHORUS. We are all ready.
MIR. Then let's away, and see what will betide
This gentle nymph Nerina.
CHORUS. We'll go with you.
SCENA IV.
CHARINUS, NERINA, DORINDA, HYLAS, MIRTILLUS,
NUNTIUS.
Hold up thy head, good child: see, he is come.
Bring me the water quickly, whilst there is
Some life in her. Now chafe her, good Dorinda.
NER. All is in vain, I cannot live; dear father,
Farewell. What shepherd's that lies on the ground?
Is it not Hylas?
DOR. Yes, it is he, Nerina.
NER. Alas, poor shepherd! 'tis my greatest grief,
That I have grieved him; I would beg life
For nothing but to make him satisfaction.
MIR. Hylas, what, on the ground! look up and speak:
Alas, he's dead!
NER. It cannot be: good father,
Let me go to him, and but touch his ear,
It may be that my voice may have more virtue.
CHAR. Do what thou wilt, sweetheart: see, my poor child,
How charitable she is: being half-dead
Herself, she pities others.
MIR. Mark her finesse,
How at the brink of death she kisses him,
And took this way to mock her simple father:
O fine invention! sure, a woman's wit
Does never fail her. [_Aside._
NER. Hylas, Hylas, speak,
Nerina calls thee! speak to thy Nerina!
MIR. What cannot love do? It revives the dead,
He's come to himself again!
HYL. What god is it
That has the power to return my soul
From the Elysian fields?
MIR. It is no god:
A goddess rather, Hylas. 'Tis Nerina,
Look where she is!
HYL. Ah! then I do not wonder
I cannot die, when my best soul comes to me:
Shall we live ever thus?
NER. How fain I would
For thy sake, Hylas; but it cannot be:
I feel a heavy sleep sit on my head,
And my strength fails me; help me, sweet Dorinda,
Farewell for ever! O, I die, I die!
HYL. And must I then be call'd to life again,
To see my life expire before my face?
You Fates, if you will take a ransom for her,
Then take my life: but you are sure of that,
You'll say, already; for in her one death
Two lives are forfeit. Nerina, gentle nymph,
The cause why now I live, open these eyes
Once more, and I shall flourish like those plants
The sun gives life to: else I fall and wither,
Leaving behind nought but a worthless stem.
Speak to thy Hylas, sweet Nerina, speak.
CHAR. Ah me! my daughter, hadst thou liv'd, perhaps
I might have seen thee married to Daphnis,
Now we must see thee buried. Ah me!
NER. Hylas!
HYL. She lives! give me some more of that----
That water there, see now she comes again!
O gentle Destinies, but spare this thread,
And cut a thousand coarser! Speak, Nerina;
Give me some comfort, give thy father some,
Or else behold three lives fall in thy death.
NER. Ye Fates, that keep th' account of all our days,
Add but one minute to my life, that I
May quit my soul of those two heavy burthens,
Which now oppress it: dry your eyes, good father,
Remember that the gods do send us nothing
But for our good; and if my journey be
Shorter than yours, the less will be my trouble.
Will you forgive me, father, that I have not
Paid so much duty to you as I ow'd you?
Take my good-will, I pray, instead of it.
CHAR. See her good nature. Ay, child, 'tis enough,
Thou always wert obedient.
NER. Shall I dare
To speak my thoughts, and so discharge my soul
Of one load yet?
CHAR. Ay, do, my child; speak freely.
NER. I've heard you say that no sin was so heavy
As is ingratitude.
CHAR. Tis true, Nerina.
How she remembers what her father said!
NER. Then be not angry, if I now must tell you,
That this poor shepherd, whose swoll'n eyes you see
Cover'd with tears, for many years now pass'd
Has courted me: but still with such a love,
So full of truth and gentle services,
That should I not requite him with my love,
I should be guilty of ingratitude.
Therefore, before I die, I pray give leave
That he may have my dying heart, which living
I still debarr'd him of. Hylas, thy hand!
O, stay a little, death: here, take thou mine,
And since I cannot live the wife of Hylas,
Yet let me die so. Sir, are you content?
CHAR. I am with anything that pleaseth thee.
NER. Tell me, are you so, Hylas?
HYL. O my love,
Ask me if I would live amongst the gods,
But ask not this. Sir, have we your consent?
CHAR. You have: it is in vain now to deny it.
You see, Dorinda, what her vow's come to!
NER. Then let me die, take me into thy arms,
Sweet love, you'll see my coffin strew'd with flowers,
And you, Dorinda, will you make a garland?
I die a virgin, though I die his wife.
DOR. Alas, she's gone!
HYL. She's dead, and do I live?
CHAR. Look to the shepherd there! O my Nerina!
DOR. Vex not her soul, I pray, with often calling;
You see she's dead.
CHAR. Then there is no hope left:
Pray help us, shepherds, now to bear her hence;
You'll come, I hope, to see her in her grave. [_Exeunt._
ACTUS IV., SCENA I.
THYRSIS, DELIA.
Here I am come unto a place where grief,
They say, has no abode. In princes' courts,
I've heard there is no room for love's laments:
For either they enjoy or else forget.
Thrice-happy men, to whom love gives such leave!
It may be that this place or people may
Work so with me, and melt this frozen heart:
Ah fool! that can'st believe the change of place
Or air can change thy mind; the love thou bear'st
Is woven so within thy thoughts, that as
Out of this piece thy Sylvia wrought for thee,
Thou can'st not take her name forth, but withal
Thou must deface the whole: so, Thyrsis, think
The wind that here may rise, or heat or rain,
Thou may'st avoid, thy love will still remain;
And when thou diest, then may it die with thee;
Till then resolve to endure thy misery.
_Enter_ DELIA.
DEL. This is the garden which I saw him go to,
And that is he; for all the marks she gave me
To know him by he bears.
THYR. A heaviness
Weighs down my head, and would invite me to
Repose myself; I'll take the offer; here
I'll rest awhile, for I have need of it.
DEL. How if I be deceived, and this should prove
Another man! What then? I can excuse it.
He's laid already, and (I fear) asleep;
I'll stay until he wake; but then suppose
That anybody come, and take me here,
What will they think of me? Best wake him. Shepherd!
It is a handsome youth: see what a grace
Shows itself in his feature--such a face
Might take the heart of any lady living,
Ay, though she were a princess. Shepherd! what,
Not yet? his sleeps are sound.
THYR. Ah Sylvia, [_Speaks in his sleep._
Preserve thy life! O, let me die. Alas!
I do but dream. Methought I saw myself
Condemn'd to die, and Sylvia, to save me,
Offer'd herself, and would needs die for me.
'Twas a sweet shadow: let me court this dream.
DEL. He must not sleep again: shepherd, look up.
THYR. Who envies me this small repose? Indeed
I do not often sleep: ha, who are you?
DEL. Sent to thee from thy Sylvia. Shepherd, rise,
And follow me.
THYR. Do I dream still! What are you?
Came you from heaven, where my Sylvia is,
And must I thither? whosoe'er you are,
An angel or a fiend, in such a name
You come, as I'm conjur'd to follow you:
But I must die first. Here is to be with thee.
[_Offers to stab himself._
DEL. Stay, hold thy hand: she lives--thy Sylvia lives
To make thee happy, if thou wilt go to her.
THYR. You're habited like those I've seen at court;
And courtesy, they say, is ever there,
Yet mingled with deceit. If you do mean
T' abuse me for your sport, this way will prove
Too sad to raise mirth out of. There's no ill
That I have done to you or any else,
Unless my constancy be here a sin.
DEL. His griefs have made him wild. [_Aside._
I have no time
Left me to use persuasions, or to make
This truth apparent to you; on my word,
You shall be safe; and if you dare believe me,
I'll bring you where your love is; follow me.
THYR. Why should I doubt, or fear to go with her?
Ill does he call for physic whom the law
Has doom'd to die. There's no condition
Can prove worse to me than my present one.
Pray, lead me where you please; I'm sure of this:
To one that's desperate no way's amiss. [_Exeunt._
SCENA II.
EUARCHUS, EUBULUS, CLEANDER, _Attendants_.
All leave the room. Eubulus, I'm resolv'd
To hold an easier hand over my daughter
Than I was wont: therefore I sent Cleander
To bring her to my presence. Though she have
Wrong'd her great birth and breeding by her follies,
Yet I consider that she is my daughter,
And this restraint cannot but harden her
In her fond resolutions. Have you sought
By all the means you can to sift the cause
Of her departure?
EUB. Sir, I have tried
By all the ways that fit a subject, to
Inquire a truth of one that is his princess.
EUAR. And what have you discover'd?
EUB. Nothing more
Than what my son Cleander did before.
EUAR. I have heard his relation: but [I] wonder
How for a whole month's time she should abide
Within our confines, when so great a search
Through all our countries, and loud proclamations,
Were made for her recovery.
EUB. 'Tis true.
She herein was ingenuous, and confess'd
That she foresaw what search would be made for her:
Therefore with some about her she had plotted
To hire a bark that might convey her hence
In a disguise to Smyrna, where she stay'd
Till time did fit her, that with safety
She might return in habit of a nymph
Unto the place where then Cleander found her:
But why she left the court she will not tell.
EUAR. I will not force her to't: some little time
Perhaps may make discovery of that secret.
But unto thee, my faithful councillor
(As unto one my heart hath still been open),
I will discover what my purpose is
In sending for these shepherds to my court.
EUB. I should believe they're sent for to delight
Your majesty, as they were wont.
EUAR. No, Eubulus;
But for a greater end: I fear my daughter,
And therefore I have sent for her to see
These sports with purpose to observe her looks.
For I suspect she loves some shepherd there.
EUB. It cannot be: she will not stain her birth
With such ignoble love; yet I confess,
Revolving all the causes of her strange
Departure, I could fix on none but that.
EUAR. Well, if she do so, I will let her forth--
Forth of my blood; and whosoe'er he be
Whose fortune mark'd him out to be the object
Of this her love, shall find Ixion's fate,
He shall embrace a shadow. By my life,
They both shall die.
EUB. O my gracious lord,
Remember she's your daughter!
EUAR. Ay, thou still
Dost plead for her, but yet am I her king
As well as father; private men respect
Their profits and their private interests
Of kindred, but the actions of a king
To honour and renown must be directed:
Consider that, and then thou wilt forget her.
_Enter_ CLEANDER.
Cleander, welcome! how does Calligone?
Is she not glad to come unto our presence?
Why dost not answer? Art thou frighted, man?
CLE. I know not how to answer anything,
Unless your majesty will sign my pardon.
EUAR. Why, what's the matter? speak, and speak it freely.
CLE. Then know, great sovereign, that, when I went
As full of joy as speed, with your glad message,
I found the princess----
EUAR. What, not dead, I hope?
CLE. Dead to her honour.
EUAR. Ha!
CLE. In short, my lord,
I found her walking in the garden with
A shepherd--more of him I cannot tell;
But she was habited in that attire
She wore, when from the woods I brought her home.
I slipp'd away, not being seen by them,
And if you please to go, perhaps, great sir,
You still may find them there.
EUAR. How now, Eubulus,
Are my presages true? Shall I then sleep
With this disgrace, and let my neighbour princes
Mock at my humble fortunes, when they hear
The daughter of Euarchus match'd herself
With a base shepherd? Go, Eubulus, quickly:
Here take my signet; let this be your warrant
To put them both to death.
EUB. How! both, my lord?
EUAR. Ay, both.
EUB. Your daughter too?
EUAR. Why do you question me?
Have I not said they both shall die: despatch.
Let me not see thee till they both be dead. [_Exit._
EUB. What hast thou done! thou rash, inhumane boy?
Depriv'd thy father of a child, thyself
Of thine own sister, whom but now thou knew'st?
Well may the king take that dear life away
Which he did never give: I will go tell him
I am her father: but I lose my life
If I do that, as guilty of a treason.
Go, murderer, hadst thou no pity in thee!
CLE. Sir, I do feel so much grief within me
For this my act that, if my blood will serve
To save her life, I'll make no price of it:
Yet could I not imagine that the king
Would have been so enrag'd; or if he would,
I had no time to think of it before.
EUB. No time! who bid thee hasten to the ruin
Of thy poor father and thy family?
The messages which come to do us hurt
Are speedy; but the good come slowly on.
CLE. But, sir, remember what a strait we're in:
It will concern us to invent some way
To save my sister, though the shepherd die;
He will deserve it for his bold attempt.
EUB. Go, take thy way, whither thou wilt, thyself;
That way is best which leads me to my grave. [_Exit._
CLE. What luck is this? This is more haste than speed:
I am resolv'd, though my life lie at stake,
To stand the fury of th' enraged king:
Who knows but he may be as sorry for
His sudden act, as I for mine. 'Tis here
To save her, though it cost her lover dear. [_Exeunt._
SCENA III.
SYLVIA, THYRSIS.
Nay, stay a little, Thyrsis; we are safe.
My wary keepers now are with the king.
THYR. Madam, for my poor self I do not fear;
But when I think on you, and how your name
And state, that is so eminent, must needs
Receive a certain scandal and foul blot
If we be seen together, blame me not,
Though I do fear or doubt. What cruel fate,
Angry with men, that gave us hearts alike
And fortunes so asunder? You're a cedar,
I a poor shrub, that may look up unto you
With adoration, but ne'er reach your height.
SYL. But, Thyrsis, I do love you. Love and death
Do not much differ; they make all things equal:
The monuments of kings may show for them
What they have been; but look upon their dust--
The colour and the weight of theirs and beggars'
You'll find the same: and if, 'mongst living men,
Nature has printed in the face of many
The characters of nobleness and worth,
Whose fortune envies them a worthy place
In birth or honour, when the greatest men,
Whom she has courted, bear the marks of slaves,
Love (sure,) will look on those, and lay aside
The accidents of wealth and noble blood,
And in our thoughts will equal them with kings.
THYR. 'Tis true, divinest lady, that the souls
Of all men are alike, of the same substance,
By the same Maker into all infus'd;
But yet the several matters which they work on--
How different they are, I need not tell you.
And as these outward organs give our souls
Or more or less room, as they are contriv'd,
To show their lustre, so again comes fortune
And darkens them, to whom the gods have given
A soul divine and body capable
Of that divinity and excellence.
But 'tis the order of the Fates, whose causes
We must not look into. But you, dear madam,
Nature and fortune have conspir'd to make
The happiest alive.
SYL. Ah me most wretched!
What pleasure can there be in highest state,
Which is so cross'd in love--the greatest good
The gods can tell how to bestow on men?
THYR. Yet some do reckon it the greatest ill,
A passion of the mind, form'd in the fancy,
And bred to be the worst disease of reason.
SYL. They that think so are such as love excludes:
Men full of age or foul deformity.
No, Thyrsis, let not us profane that deity:
Love is divine, the seed of everything,
The cause why now we live, and all the world.
THYR. Love is divine, for if religion
Binds us to love, the gods, who never yet
Reveal'd themselves in anything to us
But their bright images, the fairest creatures
Who are our daily objects; loving them,
We exercise religion: let us not
Be scrupulous or fear; the gods have care
Of us and of our piety.
SYL. But take heed:
We cannot be too wary. Many things
Oppose our wills; yet, if you think it fit,
And this night's silence will so favour us,
We'll go together: if we quit this country,
It is no matter: all the world to me
Will be Arcadia, if I may enjoy
Thy company, my love.
THYR. No, Sylvia--
Pardon me, dear, if still I call you so--
Enjoy your fortunes; think how much your honour
Must suffer in this act! For me, I find,
It is enough that I have ever lov'd you:
Now let me, at the light of your bright eye,
Burn like the bird whose fires renew her nest;
I shall leave you behind me to the world,
The Phoenix of true love and constancy:
Nor is that bird more glorious in her flames,
Than I shall be in mine, though they consume me.
SYL. It must not be; for know, my dearest shepherd,
I shall not tell one minute after thee;
I find my soul so link'd to thine, that death
Cannot divide us.
THYR. What then shall we do?
Shall we resolve to live thus, till we gaze
Our eyes out first, and then lose all our senses
In their succession? Shall we strive to leave
Our souls breath'd forth upon each other's lips?
Come, let us practise: this our envious fates
Cannot deny us.
_Enter_ CLEANDER.
CLE. What a sight were this,
To meet her father? This would make him mad
Indeed, and execute his rage himself.
Madam, your father's here!
SYL. Ha, Delia!
Cleander, is it thou? then I'm betray'd
The second time; but must thy fortune make thee
The instrument of my undoing still?
CLE. Shepherd, I will not honour thee so much
As to inquire thy name: thou hast done that
Thou wilt pay dear for, and I hope thy death
Will take away the blot of this disgrace
Th' hast laid upon the princess.
THYR. If you do this,
You'll make me happy: it was this I look'd for,
My trivial acts of life this of my death
Will recompense with glory; I shall die
To save my princess, and what's more, to save
The life of her life, her unspotted honour.
Bless'd lady, though you are as innocent
And chaste as purest virgins that have yet
Seen nothing in a dream to warm their blood,
Yet the malicious world, the censuring people,
That haste to cast dirt on the fairest things,
Will hardly spare you, if it once be known
That we were here together. As for me,
My life is nothing but variety
Of grief and troubles, which with constancy
I have borne yet; 'tis time that now I die,
Before I do accuse the gods, that have
Brought me to this, and so pull on my death
A punishment. Will you be merciful,
And end me quickly?
CLE. Shepherd, know for this
Thy resolution, which in noble bloods
I scarce have found, I willingly would grant
What thou desir'st. But something must be known
Before that time either from you or you.
SYL. I know, Cleander, it is me you aim at:
I do confess, this shepherd is my love;
For his sake I did leave the court and thee,
Unworthy as thou art to be his rival.
CLE. Madam, my duty bids me speak to you,
Not as a lover now, but as you are
My princess and the daughter of my king.
I would not for the world have those desires
Which I had then; for, sure, my bolder love
Would have transgress'd the limits of all duty,
And would have dar'd to tell you that this shepherd
Was not a match for great Arcadia's heir,
Nor yet one fit for my competitor.
'Tis not his outward feature--which how fair
It is, I do not question--that can make him
Noble or wise; whereas my birth, deriv'd
From ancient kings, and years not far unsuiting
Those of your own--to these my education,
To you well known, perhaps might make me worthy
Of being your servant.
SYL. Can'st thou look on this,
This piece, Cleander, and not blush to boast
Thy follies thus, seeking to take away
From his full virtue? If but this one act
Of his appear unto the world, as now
It shall; for I'll not shame to publish him,
Though I die for it: will it not devour
Thy empty glories and thy puff'd-up nothings
And (like a grave) will bury all thy honours?
Do, take his life, and glory in that act;
But, be thou sure, in him thou shalt kill two.
CLE. What mean you, madam?
SYL. Not to live a minute
After his death.
CLE. That all the gods forbid!
SYL. No, they command it rather, that have made
Our souls but one. Cleander, thou wert wont
To be more courteous; and I do see
Some pity in thee: if not for pity's sake,
Yet for thine own good, spare his life, and take
Mine; for thou know'st, when I am dead, this kingdom
Thy father will inherit or thyself.
'Tis but the waiting of an old man's death,
Who cannot long outlive me: will you do't?
THYR. Sir, you are noble, I do see you are,
You lov'd this lady once: by that dear love--
With me it was a conjuration
To draw my soul out, whilst I was so happy--
I do beseech you spare her noble life,
Her death will sit full heavy on your soul,
And in your height of kingly dignities
Disturb that head which crowns will give no rest to.
To take my life is justice.
SYL. Rather mine;
I have offended in first loving him,
And now betraying him unto his end.
THYR. Be not so cruel, madam, to yourself
And me, to envy me a death so noble.
Sir, as you hope your love shall ever prosper,
Your great designs, your fights, whate'er they are;
As you do hope for peace in your last hour,
And that the earth may lightly clothe your ashes,
Despatch me quickly, send me to my death.
CLE. A strange contention! Madam, will you please
A little to retire: 'tis your honour
That I do strive to save, as well as life.
Pray, do not cross my purpose; I shall do
Something that you may thank me for.
SYL. Cleander,
Save but the shepherd, and I'll crown thy merit.
CLE. Will you be pleas'd to enter here?
SYL. But swear
That thou wilt save him.
CLE. I shall do my best.
I dare not swear; for 'tis not in my power
To do what you command.
SYL. But will you swear
To let me know of it before he die?
CLE. I will, by heaven.
SYL. Then I take my leave.
And, Thyrsis, be thou sure, whatever fate
Attends thy life, the same does govern mine:
One kiss I must not be denied.
CLE. Fie, madam!
How low is this in you?
SYL. Then thus we part,
To meet again, I hope.
THYR. Down, stubborn heart,
Wilt thou not break yet? In my death I find
Nothing that's terrible; but this farewell
Presents my soul with all the pains of hell. [_Exeunt._
SCENA IV.
MIRTILLUS, _Chorus of_ SHEPHERDS.
1ST SHEP. I'm sorry that this business went not forward.
2D SHEP. So am not I; we're rid of so much trouble.
1ST SHEP. Yet it is strange the king should send for us,
And when we were come, command us to return.
MIR. No, 'tis not strange; it was his will to do
so.
But if you have an itch of dancing, friends,
Next holiday we'll ha't amongst ourselves,
And every man shall dance with his own sweetheart:
What say you, shepherds? will't not be as well?
1ST SHEP. It will be very fine. But where is Thyrsis?
2D SHEP. Ay, where is he! you went along with him;
Where did you leave him?
MIR. Walking in a garden,
Where when I came to call him, he was gone.
2D SHEP. It seems he cares not for our company.
MIR. Neither for yours nor any man's besides.
1ST SHEP. He is much alter'd since his love was lost;
Methinks he's nothing like the man he was.
MIR. Well then, beware, my friends, how you engage
Yourselves in love: he is a fair example.
And Hylas too--he's drooping for his mistress:
Daphnis is mad, they say; if you've a mind
To die or to run mad, then be in love.
2D SHEP. See where he comes, in what a fume he is!
MIR. I do not like his fumes: pray let's away. [_Exeunt._
SCENA V.
DAPHNIS. _To him_ DORINDA.
DAPH. He will not now be found, the traitor. But,
Where'er he be, nor heaven nor hell shall save him
From my revenge. To take away the life
Of that sweet innocent, without whose sight
He knew I could not live, and to do this
Under the name of friendship! O ye gods!
What age can parallel so great a mischief?
This is his magic glass, which had the virtue
To make her mine, but sent her to the gods.
Bless'd soul, I will revenge thy death, and then
I'll follow thee myself.
DOR. Daphnis, my, love,
Whither so fast?
DAPH. Now, love, deliver me;
And must you come to trouble me? Begone!
I cannot stay to hear thy tedious follies.
DOR. Were all your vows then made but to abuse me?
Are there not pains to punish perjur'd men?
And will they not o'ertake you?
DAPH. 'Las, poor fool!
The gods do laugh at such slight perjuries
As come from lovers.
DOR. Yet it was no conquest
To deceive one that would be credulous:
A simple maid, that lov'd you!
DAPH. Then I see
There is no end of women's reasoning;
Or else this might suffice thee--that I cannot,
No, nor I will not love thee.
DOR. Never?
DAPH. Never.
DOR. Go, cruel man, and if the god of love
Will hear my prayers, thou in thy love shalt thrive,
As I in mine: that, when thou art forlorn,
Thou may'st remember her thou now dost scorn. [_Exeunt._
ACTUS V., SCENA 1.
HYLAS.
It was the cruel practice of my fate
That lifted me unto the height of bliss
To make my fall the greater: for no sooner
Did I enjoy the love of my Nerina,
But in a moment she was taken from me:
A love so dearly bought with sighs and tears,
So many years spent in the gaining her,
And lost in one poor minute! It is better
Always to live a miserable life
Than once to have been happy. She is dead,
And I alive, that cannot live without her.
'Tis fit that I die too; but by what means?
By violence? No, that the gods forbid.
A ling'ring grief, I need not fear, will kill me,
When every day I shall repair, as now,
Unto her tomb, and consecrate my tears
And tearing sighs unto her blessed ghost.
Some pitying god, when I'm dissolv'd away
Upon her ashes, will congeal those tears,
That they may clothe her dust; whilst some kind shepherd,
Passing this way, does write this on her grave--
_See here Nerina, that from Hylas' eyes_
_Fed her fair flame, now in their dew she lies._
Thus I will have it: so the words shall run. [_Exit._
SCENA II.
DAPHNIS, ALCON, NERINA. _To them_ HYLAS,
MONTANUS, CHARINUS, MIRTILLUS.
DAPH. It shall not serve thy turn, malicious shepherd,
Though thou hast ta'en my love away by tricks,
Yet all thy cunning and thy practices
Shall not secure thee from my revenge.
ALC. Are these the thanks I have for that rich jewel
Which I bestow'd on thee, ungrateful man?
DAPH. Yes, for a poison'd glass--a precious jewel!
ALC. I do confess 'twas poison'd.
DAPH. Do you so!
And, to do me a courtesy, you kill'd her.
ALC. Yet hear me, she is not dead; and if she be,
I'll pay my life for hers.
DAPH. Be sure thou shalt.
But can'st thou hope for such a strong illusion
To mock my sense? Did I not see her dead?
ALC. She did appear so: what you thought was death
Is but a lethargy; though I profess not
To draw the moon down from the sphere she is in,
Or make the sun look bloody by my art,
Yet am I well-inform'd in everything
This glass is made of, and I know th' effects
It works, and can discourse 'em.
DAPH. Let me hear them.
ALC. Have patience, and you shall: the glass, you see,
Of this rare mirror which I gave you, is
Made of a Memphian stone, that has the power
To bring a deadly sleep on all the senses:
With it, to make th' effects more strong, is mingled
The quintessence, extracted in a limbec,
Of the torpedo, which has such a quality
That if the fisher touch it with his hook,
A poison straight will creep through all his veins,
Till it benumb his senses. This compounded,
And made into a glassy metal, soon
Reflects upon the eyes of him that looks in't
A sleepy poison, which will stupefy
The vital parts. Yet he that gave it me
Taught me the cordial water which he us'd
To restore spirits and heat unto those vitals;
And I have brought it with me for our purpose.
What have I wrong'd you now? Or is my present
Worthy the thanks you give me?
DAPH. Yet you were
To blame, that you'd not tell me this, before
I gave it her.
ALC. In that I show'd my love;
For I did fear your resolution,
Though I were certain of recovering her.
DAPH. And what must now be done?
ALC. Here, where you found me,
I saw her laid, and buried in the clothes
She wont to wear--her father so would have it.
I waited on the funeral with purpose
To see the stone laid hollow on her grave,
For fear of hurting her.
DAPH. It was well done.
ALC. Here I'll apply my medicine; you shall see
Whether I lie or no.
DAPH. Let's lose no time.
I long to see my love alive again.
ALC. Then help to lift this stone; see where she lies--
The same Nerina?
DAPH. She is dead, I see.
ALC. Love is still full of fears: give me the water.
DAPH. Here: but take heed it do not spoil her face.
ALC. If she be dead, you need not fear the change
Of any colour. What a child is love!
DAPH. The gods, I see, will not let beauty die.
She breathes--she stirs--her eyes begin to open
As after sleep. O miracle!
ALC. How now?
Is she alive? Will you believe your sense?
Now I have put her in your hands, be sure
You do not let her go, and lose no time.
If you give credit to her words, you're lost.
What cannot women's words and flatteries
Effect with simple lovers? Think on that.
Be confident: I'll leave you to your fate.
NER. Ye gods, where am I now? What place is this?
What light is this I see? Are the same things
Seen in this new world as they are in th' other?
Or in the grave do men see waters, trees,
As I do now, and all things, as I liv'd?
But (sure) I live still. If I do, why then
Was I here buried amongst these flowers?
Sure, I am dead; but yet I walk and speak,
And I have heard that those who once are dead
Can never use their voice or action.
But who is this I see here? Daphnis, ha!
Are you dead too, as well as I?
DAPH. No, sweet;
I live to be the servant of Nerina.
NER. Ay, so said Hylas, whilst I liv'd with him.
DAPH. She thinks of Hylas still: what shall I do?
NER. But tell me, Daphnis, in what place am I?
DAPH. In Daphnis' heart you live, and ever did.
NER. And so said Hylas, when we liv'd together.
DAPH. O gods, again! Nerina, think not on him;
You must love me.
NER. Must they in this new world,
As they have chang'd their lives, so change their loves?
I never shall do that.
DAPH. You are deceiv'd:
You are not dead.
NER. Not dead? How came I hither then?
DAPH. By my device to keep me company.
NER. But will you not declare how I came hither?
DAPH. Ask me not that; but go along with me.
NER. Stay, shepherd, whither would you have me go?
DAPH. Where love and silence shall befriend us best.
NER. But tell me, Daphnis, was not I once dead?
DAPH. You were; but I, your servant, chang'd that death
Into a sleep.
NER. I know not what you mean:
Can you change death into a sleep?
DAPH. I can,
And did for love of you.
NER. This is a riddle:
Pray let me know what you do mean by it?
DAPH. Come with me, and you shall.
NER. Nay, tell me first.
DAPH. Then know, fair shepherdess, that when I saw
My love, my services, my gifts, my vows,
Did all return to me without your love,
I had recourse unto this artifice:
A pleasant one of love's invention,
Which you may well remember.
NER. What was that?
DAPH. I did present you with a looking-glass.
NER. You did, but what of that?
DAPH. Nothing at all.
Pray, go this way with me.
NER. But tell me first.
DAPH. That cast you into this deep lethargy:
Such was the magic of it.
NER. To what purpose
Did you do this?
DAPH. To make you mine.
NER. Yours, Daphnis?
How could you hope that without my consent?
DAPH. My services, I thought, would merit it;
Besides, the world, not dreaming but you were
Dead and here buried, we two might live
Together, without being known to any.
NER. But could you practise tricks on those you love?
Now you are paid with your own artifice:
For know, there's none that can dispose of me
But Hylas, who has long preserv'd my heart;
And now my father, whom I did resolve
For ever to obey, has made him mine
By giving his consent, which had not been
But for this trick of yours.
DAPH. Why then it seems
You do not love me?
NER. Love you! Know, I had
Rather embrace my death again than thee.
DAPH. Then 'tis no time to dally: come along,
Or I will force you.
NER. Help me, shepherds, help!
DAPH. Fool! stop your mouth, no human help shall save thee.
_Enter_ HYLAS.
HYL. This is the place where I am come to pay
My tears' first sacrifice upon this tomb
That glories in the spoils of all my wealth.
NER. Hylas, come help me; see'st thou not that Daphnis
Will ravish me?
HYL. Ha! what do I hear?
The voice of my Nerina! so she spake
When she did live; but now, alas! she's dead.
Some devil mocks me with a vision,
And voice unto it.
NER. Will you see me ravish'd
Before your face? O Hylas! O my love!
HYL. Tis she, it is no vision: hold, ravisher,
My love thou canst not take without my life.
_Enter_ MIRTILLUS, MONTANUS, CHARINUS.
MIR. What noise is this?
MON. Some shriek much like a woman's.
NER. O, help my love, Mirtillus!
MIR. Shepherd, hold;
Let go this nymph.
DAPH. Or death or victory
Shall crown my enterprise.
CHAR. Who makes this outcry?
MIR. Sir, I shall cool you, if you be so hot.
CHAR. My daughter here! was she not buried?
Away, foul spirit, away! Let's part these shepherds.
NER. O father, do you think that I am dead?
I am alive, as you are; touch me, see.
CHAR. She is alive indeed! How cam'st thou hither?
NER. Daphnis, whom you would have to be my husband,
Brought me to this supposed death and grave.
CHAR. By what strange means, Nerina?
NER. By the glass
You bid me I should take: he has confess'd
To me that it was poison'd.
CHAR. Can it be?
Can Daphnis do this? He had little reason.
DAPH. She was a fool to cry; I should ha' pleas'd her
Ere this, perhaps.
CHAR. Here, Hylas, take my daughter,
For she is thine: you, Daphnis, I did further
In all I could, till you would find a trick
To put yourself beside her.
NER. I forgive him:
For though it was ill-meant, yet did it sort
By accident unto my good.
MON. But will
Our laws permit a ravisher to live?
HYL. No, no, Montanus: let him live, and envy
Our present happiness.
DAPH. Cover, you gods,
The world in public ruin, or else show me
A way to hide my shame.
MON. What will he do?
MIR. He will go hang himself: what plots he had
To fool himself with!
MON. They that practise tricks,
Find them as jades, that throw 'em first, then kick 'em,
As his has done.
CHAR. Come, shepherds, let's away,
And solemnise these nuptials.
MIR. Stay, Montanus,
Did the king send for you?
MON. He did.
MIR. And how?
MON. The message came from Thyrsis.
MIR. I'll go with you:
'Tis strange the king should send for you: pray heaven
Thyrsis have done no mischief there: he's handsome,
Of a good grace and moving eloquence:
Perhaps some lady may have taken him
Up for herself, and he, I'll lay a wager,
Will be so squeamish that, if Sylvia
Come in his mind, he ne'er will do her reason,
And then her plot will be how to betray him--
Would I were in his place!
MON. I would thou wert,
So he were safe.
MIR. I would comply, ne'er fear it;
They live a heavenly life of love in court
To that which we do here; a mistress there
Will satisfy the longings of her lover,
And never trouble Hymen for the matter:
Then, if they like not, they may look elsewhere.
MON. Thou wilt be punish'd one day for thy mischief.
MIR. The mischief's in my tongue, I ne'er do any.
MON. No, I have heard that Stella was with child
By thee, and thou must father it.
MIR. Who--I?
Take me at that once--fathering of children,
And make me common father of them all!
A child's a pretty thing, and I should joy
To see one of mine own. I'll tell thee truth,
Montanus. By this hand, I never lay
With any woman in my life.
MON. How then?
You have courted all; who is it that Mirtillus
Has not profess'd to love?
MIR. I do confess it,
And that is all I could do; for before
I could get earnest of any one's love,
To whom I made address, even she would say:
You have another mistress, go to her,
I will not be her stale: and so by this means,
Nor this nor that would do me any reason.
MON. You had ill luck, it seems; 'twas not your fault.
MIR. No, for if they would believe me, I did swear
I had no other. Pray, Montanus, tell me----
For you have known the several ways of wooing,
Which is the best and safest?
MON. O Mirtillus,
Grey hairs have put the wilder thoughts of love
Out of my head; cold blood and frozen limbs
Fright all those heats away, in place of which
Discretion and sobriety should come.
MIR. But, I have heard, old men do sometimes
love.
MON. They doat, Mirtillus--give it the right name;
In old men's bloods Cupid does quench his flames.
But as we go, I'll tell thee: not to love
At all is best; but if you needs must love,
Love one, and seek no further. Thou wilt find
Enough of her, if once she prove unkind.
SCENA III.
DAPHNIS, ALCON. _To_ DAPHNIS, DORINDA.
There is no way t' avoid the shame of this.
Each shepherd's boy, that sings unto his flock,
Will make me the scorn'd subject of his song.
ALC. Had you been sudden, as I counsell'd you,
You had not fail'd: but you young men do never
Go through with anything.
DAPH. For heaven's sake,
Call not that wicked deed to my remembrance.
I do repent me that I e'er begun it:
I would not for a world have ended it:
Nerina's chaste and fair, and I a villain.
Leave me, I pray; for something tells me you
Did first advise me to this damned act.
ALC. Nay, if you prize my friendship at this rate,
I'll leave you to your penance. [_Exit._
DAPH. This old man
Is full of malice; nothing troubles him.
The ills that he has done fly from his thoughts,
And he rejoices that he did them quaintly;
I have begun my youth as if I meant
To have my age so punish'd as his is.
_Enter_ DORINDA.
Who's this? Dorinda! I have done her wrong:
I sued for love to her first, which obtain'd,
I stuck disgraces on her; let me ask
Forgiveness now, for 'twere too much to hope
That she should love one stain'd with such a deed
As I have done, so foul and impious.
DOR. Great love, if yet thou art not satisfied
With all the wrongs I have sustain'd for thee;
My blood, I hope, thy anger will appease,
Which thou may'st glut thyself with.
DAPH. Gentle nymph.
DOR. I've been too gentle, do not mock me with't:
O Daphnis! is it you? This is not well
To mock me thus; your looks, when arm'd with frowns,
Gave not my heart so deep a wound as this.
DAPH. I mean no scorn; I come to ask your pardon
For what I've done already, not to heap
More sins upon my head.
DOR. 'Tis very strange.
DAPH. But true, Dorinda; will you spit upon me?
Take your revenge, for I have well deserv'd it.
DOR. But is this serious, Daphnis? O, take heed,
Crack not my heart with such a load of grief
And scorn, so press'd as this is: if you do,
The gods will punish it; for though they have
Neglected me thus long, they will revenge
Such injuries as these.
DAPH. My many ills
Discredit my repentance: if my words
Can find no faith with you, believe my tears:
Indeed they are not feign'd.
DOR. Even so you look'd
When first you stole my heart: but I forgive you,
Whate'er become of me, I still must love you.
DAPH. Forgive me first, and then I will begin
By my endeavours and true services
To deserve something of you, if not love.
DOR. There is not that hard-heartedness in man
Which I did think, for he repents, I see.
O Daphnis! if thou mean'st not this as scorn,
Take me into thine arms, and I will be
Thy slave.
DAPH. O, say not so; let me
Rather be thine; it will be pride in me
To be ambitious of it.
DOR. O my heart!
What sudden joy thou strik'st into it now!
But yet methinks I fear thou dost not love me.
DAPH. Why should you fear? By Pan, you are to me
Whate'er you can imagine; equal--above
All that I e'er thought fair; and if you be
Content to hide my faults, and take me to
Your nuptial bed, which yet I dare not hope--
But if you will, whene'er that day shall come,
Th' embraces of my love and me shall be
Such, as the Cyprian boy from our abundance
Shall take his fires to kindle other hearts,
Yet leave with us a flame which we will cherish,
And keep alive unto eternity.
DOR. Women are ever credulous--most then,
When knowledge of the truth would but afflict them.
I dare not now distrust you, though I knew
What you have said were false: it has a semblance
Of such a pleasing truth: give me thy hand,
And take thou mine; whilst we walk thus entwin'd,
I shall think Daphnis never was unkind. [_Exeunt._
SCENA IV.
EUBULUS, CLEANDER. _To them_ THYRSIS, SYLVIA.
What, are they dead? is the king's will obey'd?
CLE. No, sir, they live, and Hymen in his bands
Has tied them both; the happiest knot that e'er
Knit two such equal hearts and loves together.
O, I'm ravish'd with the news: my joy
Is greater now than if sh' had been the daughter
Unto our king, and I had married her.
EUB. I am amaz'd; pray Jove thou be'st not mad.
CLE. Somewhat exalted, sir, beyond myself,
But yet not mad. Go, sir, unto the king;
Tell him Cleander lives to make him happy.
EUB. Sure, thou wilt come unto thyself anon!
Prythee, bethink thee.
CLE. Yes, sir, I do think,
And know that I have news to make him live,
And you an age yet longer.
EUB. This is strange.
CLE. 'Tis true.
EUB. But what is true?
CLE. 'Tis true, my sister
Shall be a queen.
EUB. If she do live, I think
She will; but yet you know we were commanded
To cut that life off.
CLE. But your hasty son,
That came so speedy with a fatal message,
Was not so forward now; they both do live,
And both are married.
EUB. Jupiter forbid!
CLE. The Fates command it, 'tis their proper work:
The shepherd is a prince--your prince and mine,
And married to my sister.
EUB. Ha! what's that?
Prythee, digest thy troubled thoughts, and tell me
What prince is this thou mean'st?
CLE. Archigenes.
EUB. Thou dream'st: it cannot be.
CLE. No? then come forth,
You royal pair, and testify yourselves.
_Enter_ THYRSIS _and_ SYLVIA.
SYL. Father, your blessing.
EUB. Ha!
CLE. Nay, I've told all.
She knows she is your daughter: look, sir, here;
Here we must place our reverence.
EUB. Who's this?
CLE. Not yet? Then look upon this circle, that
You know for certain, though you know not him.
EUB. 'Tis it--it is the same: _Archigenes,_
_Son of Euarchus and Eudora_:
This is my character, and this my seal.
THYR. Sir, I have heard that by your piety
My infant life was sav'd: now by the goodness,
Deriv'd from you unto your son, I have
Not only found my life, but my content.
The sum of all my hopes--this lady here,
Without whose love my life had been a torment.
SYL. And I the happiest maid that ever was,
Conducted by the power of simple love,
Have found, in place of him I thought a shepherd,
A princely lover.
EUB. Rise, Calligone:
The gods are just, I see, that, favouring
My innocence, have brought this match about.
But say, Cleander, what fate guided thee
To this discovery?
CLE. Sir, should I tell you
How many ways I cast to save my sister
After the fatal message which I brought,
I should be tedious, and keep you from
What you do long to hear: in short, I soon
Resolv'd to make away this royal shepherd:
And knowing that, in this affair, to keep it
Secret, despatch was needful, I commanded
A servant, of whose faith and courage I
Was well-assur'd, to kill him in my presence.
EUB. 'Tis strange thou shouldst be present at a murder.
CLE. 'Twas a necessity was laid upon me,
Because I would be sure to see him dead.
I bade him choose his death; when manfully
He said he car'd not how, so he might die.
I knew to strangle him was the readiest way,
Which death himself was ready to embrace:
This his so noble resolution
Did startle me from mine; my servants' hands
Trembled for fear,
Presaging what a sin they were to act:
He bade him be assur'd he would not start.
And often call'd him to despatch him quickly.
SYL. What man could have a heart for such a deed,
And see his face?
CLE. The prince, before he came
To put the fatal twist about his neck,
Besought me, as I ever hop'd for peace,
I should preserve the princess; this I promis'd,
And whatsoever else he would desire.
He answered, nothing now, but hasty death;
Then stripping off his doublet, I espied
With a quick eye this golden circle here,
When hastily I bid my servant hold,
And let him go. He ask'd me why I stay'd;
I told him that about his neck was sacred.
He would have rent it off, but I forbad it.
EUB. What did you then?
CLE. Sir, I did well remember
What I had heard of th' oracle and you,
Which, with the computation of his years,
I found agreeing to make up a truth;
Which you before assur'd me. Then I ask'd him
Whether he would be married to the princess
Before he died; he thought that I had mock'd him,
And said I practis'd tyranny upon him.
Then went I to my sister, and desir'd
The same of her. In fine, I saw them both
Join hands and hearts together; but the prince
Thought this a dream of life, which certain death
Would wake him from, until I did assure him
Of his great state, and that his love, whom now
He thought to be the princess, was my sister;
All which I did refer unto your knowledge.
EUB. This day for ever let it holy be,
And you, whom love has brought through deep despair
Unto the haven of your happiness,
Enjoy each other freely. Of you, brave shepherd,
But now my prince, I shall inquire anon
Where and with whom you liv'd.
THYR. Sir, the shepherd
Whom I call father stays without. Montanus
His name is, by whose gentle hands (as he
Has often told me) I was rescu'd first
From cold and death, since under his kind roof
Foster'd, and bred as his.
EUB. Go, call him in.
_Enter_ MONTANUS, MIRTILLUS.
You're welcome both; you may applaud your fortune
That brought you such a shepherd. Stay all here,
Whilst I go to the king. This day will add
More years unto his life, when he shall say,
No day shone brighter on Arcadia. [_Exit._
MON. We are both come to do our duties to you,
I as being sent for, and Mirtillus with me,
To celebrate your joys. Within a while,
The shepherds and the nymphs will all be here.
THYR. My old companions shall be welcome all,
As you are now; I never shall forget
Your courtesy nor theirs.
SYL. Nor I the nymphs',
Once my dear fellows; but you, Mirtillus,
Though you did scorn to love, yet could you sing
Well, if you listed of it.
CLE. Can shepherds then
Despise that deity which we adore?
MIR. Madam, I reverence it in you,
The perfect'st pattern of a constant lover,
And in the honour of your nuptials
I have a song, which if your grace will hear,
'Twill entertain the time.
SYL. Let it be sung.
_Song._
_Hymen, god of marriage-bed,_
_Be thou ever honoured:_
_Thou, whose torch's purer light_
_Death's sad tapers did affright,_
_And instead of funeral fires_
_Kindled lovers' chaste desires:_
_May their love_
_Ever prove_
_True and constant; let not age_
_Know their youthful heat t' assuage._
_2._
_Maids, prepare the genial bed:_
_Then come, night, and hide that red,_
_Which from her cheeks his heart does burn;_
_Till the envious day return,_
_And the lusty bridegroom say,_
_I have chas'd her fears away,_
_And instead_
_Of virgin-head,_
_Given her a greater good:_
_Perfection and womanhood._
THYR. Thanks, good Mirtillus; this indeed was proper
Unto your subject.
MIR. Your thrice-happy match
Being but now come to my knowledge, made me
Contract myself into a straiter room
Than the large subject might afford.
CLE. The king!
_To these_ EUARCHUS, EUBULUS.
EUAR. Although I wonder, yet I do believe thee,
My faithful councillor.
EUB. Your majesty
Has found me always real; but this truth
The oracle's accomplishment will prove,
That did foretell their match.
EUAR. Read it, Eubulus,
Once more, and then call in my son and daughter.
EUB. _If e'er thy issue male thou liv'st to see,_
_The child thou think'st is thine, thine shall not be._
EUAR. Calligone is not my child; proceed.
EUB. _His life shall be obscure: twice shall thy hate_
_Doom him to death, yet shall he 'scape that fate._
EUAR. 'Tis true, that twice I did command his death,
First thinking him a bastard, then a shepherd,
For his offence: the gods are just. Go on.
EUB. _And thou shalt live to see, that not long after_
_Thy only son shall wed thy only daughter._
EUAR. This was a riddle ever till this day,
Their marriage has made it plain. Eubulus,
Call in Archigenes, and call thy daughter,
The fair Calligone, that I may pour
My blessings on them: and I long to see
Those characters thou writ'st about his neck,
That I may call him mine.
EUB. See where they are!