IL PASTOR FIDO: OR The faithfull Shepheard.

Translated out of Italian into English.

LONDON Printed for Simon VVaterson. 1602.

To the right worthie and learned Knight, Syr Edward Dymock, Champion to her Maiestie, concerning this translation of Pastor Fido.

I do reioyce learned and worthy Knight,
That by the hand of thy kinde Country-man
(This painfull and industrious Gentleman)
Thy deare esteem'd Guarini comes to light:
Who in thy loue I know tooke great delight
As thou in his▪ who now in England can
Speake as good English as Italian,
And here enioyes the grace of his owne right.
Though I remember he hath oft imbas'd
Ʋnto vs both, the vertues of the North,
Saving, our costes were with no measures grac'd,
Nor barbarous tongues could any verse bring forth.
I would he sawe his owne, or knew our store,
Whose spirits can yeeld as much, and if not more.
Sam. Daniell.

A Sonnet of the Translator, dedicated to that honourable Knight his kinsman, Syr Edward Dymock.

A silly hand hath fashioned vp a sute
Of English clothes vnto a traueller,
A noble minde though Shepheards weeds he weare,
That might consort his tunes with Tassoes lute,
Learned Guarinies first begotten frute,
I haue assum'd the courage to rebeare,
And him an English Denizen made here,
Presenting him vnto the sonnes of Brute.
If I haue faild t'expresse his natiue looke,
And be in my translation tax'd of blame,
I must appeale to that true censure, booke
That sayes, t'is harder to reforme a frame,
Then for to build from ground worke of ones wit,
A new creation of a noble fit.

TO THE RIGHT VVORTHY and learned Knight, Syr Edward Dymock, Champion to her Maiestie.

SYr, this worke was committed to me to publish to the world, and by rea­son of the nearenesse of kinne to the deceased Translator, and the good knowledge of the great worth of the Italian Author, I knew none fitter to Patronize the same then your wor­thinesse, to whom I wish all happinesse, and a prospe­rous new yeare. London this last of December. 1601.

Your Worships euer to be
commaunded.
Simon Waterson.

The persons which speake in it.

  • Siluio, the sonne of Montanus.
  • Linco, an old seruant of Montanus.
  • Mirtillo, in loue with Amarillis.
  • Ergasto, his companion.
  • Corisca a Nymph, in loue with Mirtillo.
  • Montanus, high Priest.
  • Titirus, a Shepheard.
  • Dametas, an old seruant of Montanus.
  • Satir, an old Louer of Coriscaes.
  • Dorinda, enamoured of Siluio.
  • Lupino a Goteheard, her seruant.
  • Amarillis, daughter of Titirus.
  • Nicander, chiefe minister of the Priest.
  • Coridon, a Louer of Coriscaes.
  • Carino, an old man, the putatiue father of Mirtillo
  • Vranio, an old man his companion.
  • Nuntio.
  • Tirenio, a blind Prophet.

PASTOR FIDO, OR The faithfull Shepheard.

Chorus of

  • Shepheards.
  • Huntsmen.
  • Nymphes.
  • Priests.

The Scene is in Arcadia.

Scene. 1. Act. 1.

Siluio. Linco.
GO you that haue enclos'd the dreadfull beast,
And giue the signe that's vsuall to our hunting,
Go swell your eyes and harts with hornes and shoutes,
If there be any swaine of Cinthia's troupe
In all Arcadia, delighted in her sports,
Whose generous affects are stung with care,
Or glory of these woods: let him come forth
And follow me, where in a circle small
(Though to our valure large) inclosed is
The ougly Bore, monster of nature & these woods.
That vast and fierce (by many harmes well knowne)
Inhabitant of Erimanthus, plague to the fields,
Terror to country clownes. Go then preuent
Not onely, but prouoke with hornes shrill sound,
Blushing Aurora out. Linco wee'le goe
And worship first the Gods: for there t'is best
We any worke begin.
Lin.
[Page]
Siluio I praise
Thy worshipping the Gods, but yet to trouble them
That are their ministers I do not praise.
The keepers of the temple are a sleepe,
They cannot see the day break for the mountaines top.
Sil.
To thee perhaps, that art not yet awake,
All things do seeme a sleepe.
Lin.
O Siluio,
Did nature on these youthfull yeares of thine
Bestow such beautie to be cast away?
Had I but such a ruddie cheeke? so fresh?
Farwell to woods, I'ld follow other sports:
I'ld weare my dayes in mirth: all sommer tide
In daintie shades, winter by the fire side.
Sil.
Thy counsell (Linco) is like vnto thy selfe.
Lin.
At other pleasures would I aime, were I Siluio.
Sil.
So would I, were I Linco, but I Siluio am,
Therefore I Siluioes deeds do like, not Lincoes.
Lin.
O foole, that seekst so farre for hurtfull beasts▪
And ha'st one lodg'd so neare thy dwelling house.
Sil.
Art thou in earnest? or dost thou but iest?
Lin.
Thou iests, not I.
Sil.
And is he then so neare?
Lin.
As neare as t'is to thee.
Sil.
Where? in what wood?
Lin.
Siluio thou art the wood: the ougly beast
That's harbour'd there, is this thy beastlinesse.
Sil.
Was't not well gest of me thou didst but iest?
Lin.
A Nymphe so faire, so delicate! but tush
Why do I call her Nymphe, a Goddesse rather.
More fresh, more daintie, then the morning rose.
More soft, more purely white then swanny downe.
(For whom there's not a shepheard mongst vs all so braue,
But sighes, and sighes in vaine) for thee alone
Reserues her selfe, ordaind by heau'n and men:
And yet thou neither thinkst of sighes or plaints.
O happie boy (though most vnworthily)
Thou that mighst her enioy, still sliest her Siluio,
Still her despisest. Is not then thy heart
Made of a beast, or or of hard Iron rather?
Sil.
If to relinquish loue be crueltie,
[Page] Then is it vertue, and I not repent
That I haue banisht loue my hart: but ioy
That thereby I haue ouercome this loue,
A beast more daungerous then th'other farre.
Lin.
How hast thou ouercome that which thou neuer prou'd [...].
Sil.
Not prouing it, I haue it ouercome.
Lin.
O if thou hadst but prou'd it Siluio once,
If thou but knewst what a high fauour t'were,
To be belou'd, and louing to possesse
A louing hart, It'am sure thou then wouldst say,
Sweet louely life why hast thou staid so long?
These woods and beasts leaue foolish child, and loue.
Sil.
Linco, I sweare a thousand Nymphs I'le giue
For one poore beast that my Melampo kills:
Let them that haue a better taste then I
In these delights possesse them, I wil none.
Lin.
Dost thou tast ought, since loue thou dost not tast,
The onely cause that the world tasteth all?
Beleeue me boy, the time wil one day come
Thou wilt it taste. For loue once in our life
Will show what force he hath. Beleeue me childe,
No greater paine can any liuing proue,
Then in old limmes the liuely sting of loue.
Yet if in youth loue wound, that loue may heale:
But come it once in that same frozen age,
Wherefore oftentimes the disabilitie,
More then the wound we plaine. O mortall then,
And most intollerable are those paines.
If thou seekest pittie, ill if thou findst it not,
But if thou findst it ten time worse, do not
Protract it til thy better time be past,
For if loue do assaile thy hoary heares,
Thy silly flesh a double torment teares.
Of this which when thou wouldst thou canst not,
These woods and beasts leaue foolish boy & loue.
Sil.
As though there were no life but that which nurst
These amorous sollies and fond extasies.
Lin.
[Page]
Tell me if in this pleasant time now flowres renew,
And the world waxeth yong againe; thou shouldst
In stead of flowry valleyes, fragrant fields,
And well clad woods: see but the oake, the ashe, the pine,
Without their leauy heares: graslesse the ground▪
The meadowes want their floures. Wouldst thou not say
The world doth languish? nature did decay?
Now that same horror, that same miracle,
That monstrous noueltie thou hast thy selfe.
As loue in old men is ridiculous:
So youth without loue is vnnaturall.
Looke but about (Siluio) what the world hath
Worthy to be admir'd. Loue onely made
The heauens, the earth, the seas themselues do loue.
And that same starre that the dayes. breake foretells,
Tasteth the flames of her thrise puissant sonne.
And at that houre, because perhaps she leaues
The stolne delights and bosome of her loue:
She darteth downe abroad her sparkling smiles.
Beasts in the woods do loue; and in the seas
The speedie Dolphins and the mightie Whales.
The bird that sweetly sings, and wantonly
Doth she, now from the oake vnto the ashe,
Then from the ashe vnto the mirtill tree:
Sayes in her language I in loue do burne.
(Wou'd I might heare my Siluio answere her the same!)
The Bull amid the heard doth loudly lowe,
Yet are those lowes but bidding to loues feasts.
The Lyon in the wood doth bray, and yet
Those brayes are not the voice of rage, but loue.
Well to conclude, all things do loue but thou,
Thou onely Siluio art in heauen, in earth,
In seas, a soule vncaple of loue.
Leaue, leaue these woods, these beasts, and learne to loue.
Sil.
Was then my youth committed to thy charge?
That in these soft esseminate desires
Of wanton loue, thou shouldst it nurse and traine?
Remembrest not what thou, and what I am?
Lin.
[Page]
I am a man, and humane me esteeme,
With thee a man, or rather shouldst be so,
I speake of humane things. Which if thou skornst
Take heed least in dishumaning thy selfe,
A beast thou proue not sooner then a God.
Sil.
Neither so famous nor so valiant
Had bene that monster-tamer, of whose blood
I do deriue my selfe, had he not tamed loue.
Lin.
See blind child how thou erst: where hadst thou bene
Had not that famous Hercules first lou'd?
The greatest cause he monsters tam'd was loue.
Knowest thou not that faire Omphale to please,
He did not onely chaunge his Lions skin
Into a womans gowne; but also turn'd
His knottie club into a spindell and a rocke.
So was he wont from trouble and from toyle
To take his ease, and all alone retire
To her faire lappe, the hauen of happie loue.
As rugged Iron with purer mettall mixt
Is made more fit (refin'd) for noble vse:
So fierce & vntam'd strength that in his properrage
Doth often breake: yet with the sweets of loue
Well temper'd proueth truly generous.
Then if thou dost desire to imitate
Great Hercules, and to be worthy of his race,
Though that thou wilt not leaue these sauadge woods
Doo: follow them: but do not leaue to loue,
A Loue so lawfull as your Amarillis.
That you Dorinda she I you excuse,
For t'were vnfit your mind on honour set,
Should be made hot in these amorous thefts:
A mightie wrong vnto your worthy spouse.
Sil.
What saist thou Linco? shee's not yet my spouse.
Lin.
Hast thou not solemnely receiu'd her faith?
Take heed proud boy, do not prouoke the gods.
Sil.
The gift of heauen is humane libertie,
May we not force repell, that force receiue?
Lin.
Nay if thou would'st but vnderstand! the heauens
[Page] Hereto do tye thee that haue promised,
So many fauours at thy nuptiall feast.
Sil.
I'm sure that gods haue other things to do
Then trouble and molest them with these toyes.
Linco, nor this, nor that loue pleaseth me,
I was a huntsman not a louer borne,
Thou that dost folow loue thy pleasure take.
Exit Sil.
Lin.
Thou cruel boy descended of the gods,
I scarce beleeue thou wert begot by man,
Which if thou wert, thou sooner wert begot
With venome of Meger and Ptisifo,
Then Ʋenus pleasure which men so commend.
Exit. Lin.

Sce. 2.

Mirtillo. Ergasto.
CRuell Amarillis, that with thy bitter name
Most bitterly dost teach me to complaine.
Whiter then whitest Lillies and more faire,
But deafer and more fierce then th'adder is.
Since with my words I do so much offend,
In silence will I die: but yet these plaines
These mountaines and these woods, shal cry for me,
Whom I so oft haue learned to resound
That loued name. For me my plaints shall tell
The plaining fountains and the murm'ring windes:
Pittie and griefe shall speake out of my face,
And in the end though all things else proue dombe,
My verie death shal tell my martirdome.
Er.
Loue (deare Mirtillo)'s like a fire inclosde,
Which straightly kept, more fiercely flames at last,
Thou shouldst not haue so long conceald from me
The fire, since it thou couldst not hide.
How often haue I said Mirtillo burnes,
But in a silent flame and so consumes.
Mi.
My selfe I harmed her not to offend
(Curteous Ergasto) and should yet be dombe,
But strict necessitie hath made me bold.
I heare a voice which through my scared eares
[Page] Woundeth alas my wretched heart with noise
Of Amarillis nighing nuptiall feast,
Who speakes ought els to me he holds his peace.
Nor dare I further search, as wel for feare
To giue suspition of my loue, as for to finde
That which I would not. Well! I know (Ergasto)
It fits not with my poore and base estate
To hope at all a Nymphe so rarely qualifide,
Of bloud and spright truly celestiall,
Should proue my wife. O no, I know too well,
The lowlinesse of my poore humble starre,
My desteny's to burne! not to delight
Was I brought forth, but since my cruell fates
Haue made me loue my death more then my life,
I am content to die, so that my death
Might please her that's the cause thereof;
And that she would but grace my latest gaspe
With her faire eyes, and once before she made
Another by her marriage fortunate,
She would but heare me speake. Curteous Ergasto,
If thou lou'st me, helpe me with this fauour,
Aide me herein, if thou tak'st pittie of my case.
Er.
A poore desire of loue; and light reward
Of him that dies: but dang'rous enterprise.
Wretched were she, should but her father know
She had bow'd downe her eares to her louers words,
Or should she be accused to the priest
Her father in lawe, for this perhaps she shunnes
To speake with you, that els doth loue you well,
Although she it conceales; for women though
They be more fraile in their desires,
Yet are they craftier in hiding them;
If this be true, how can she show more loue
Then thus in shunning you? she heares in vaine,
And shunnes with pittie that can giue no helpe.
It is sound counsell, soone to cease desiring,
When we cannot attaine to our aspiring.
Mi.
Oh were this true, could I but this beleeue,
[Page] Thrise happie paine. Thrise fortunate distresse.
But tell me sweet Ergusto, tell me true,
Which is the shepheard whom the starres so friend?
Ergust.
Knowst thou not Siluio Montane's onely sonne?
Dianaes priest: that rich and famous shepheard,
That gallant youth? He is the very same.
Mi.
Most happie youth, that hast in tender yeares
Found fate so ripe. I do not enuy thee,
But plaine my selfe.
Erg.
Nor need you enuy him
That pittie more then enuy doth deserue.
Mi.
Pittie! and why?
Erg.
Because he loues her not.
Mi.
And liues he? hath a hart? and is not blinde?
Or hath she on my wretched hart spent all her flames?
And her faire eyes blowne all their loues on mee?
Why should they giue a lemme so precious
To one that neither knowes it, nor regards it?
Erg.
For that the heauens the health of Arcady
Do promise at these nuptialls. Know you not
How we do stil appease our goddesse wrath,
Each yeare with guiltlesse blood of some poore Nymphe?
A mortall and a miserable tribute.
Mi.
T'is newes to mee, that am a new inhabitant,
As't pleaseth loue and my poore desteny:
That did before inhabit sauadge woods,
But what I pray you was that greeuous fault
That kindled rage in a celestiall brest?
Erg.
I will report the dolefull tragedy
From the beginning of our misery,
That able are pittie and plaints to drawe
From these hard rocks, much more from humane brests.
In that same golden age when holy priesthood, and
The temples charge was not prohibited
To youth. A noble swaine Amintas call'd,
Priest at that time, loued Lucrina bright:
A beauteous Nymphe, exceeding faire: but therewithall
Exceeding false, and light. Long time she loued him,
Orat the least, she seemed so, with fained face
Nursing his pure affections with false hopes.
[Page] Whilst she no other suters had. But see
Th' vnconstant wretch! no sooner was she wooed
By a rude shepheard, but at first assault,
At his first sighe, she yeelded vp her loue:
Before Amintas dream't of Iealousie.
At last Amintas was forlorne, despide,
So that the wicked woman would nor see, nor heare
Him speake, now if the wretch did sigh,
Be thou the iudge that knowst his paine by proofe.
Mi.
Aye me, this griefe all other griefs exceeds.
Er.
After he had his heart recouered
From his complaints, he to his goddesse turnes,
And praying saves: Great Cinthia if I haue
At any time kindled with guiltlesse hands
The holy flames, reuenge thou then for me
This broken faith of my vnconstant Nimphe.
Diana heares the praiers of her priest,
And straight out-breathing rage, she takes her bowe
And shootes shafts of mennitable death
Into the bowels of Arcadia.
People of euery sexe, of euery age,
Soone perished, no succour could be found,
T'was bootlesse art to search for remedies,
For often on the patient the phisitian died.
One onely remedie did rest, which was
Strait to the nearest Oracle they went,
From whom they had an answere verie cleare,
But aboue measure deadly horrible.
Which was, our Cinthia was displeasd, and to
Appease herire, either Lucrina or some else for her,
Must by Amintas hands be sacrifiz'd.
Who when she had long time in vaine complain'd,
And lookt for helpe from her new friend in vaine,
Was to the sacred Altars led with solemne pompe,
A wofull sacrifice. Where at those seete
Which had pursued her long time in vaine
At her betrayed Louers feete she bends
Her rtembling knees, attending cruell death.
[Page] Amintas stretcheth out the holy sword,
Seeming to breath from his inflamed lippes,
Rage and reuenge; turning to her his face,
Speakes with a sigh, the messenger of death:
Lucrina for thy further paines, behold
What Louer thou hast left, and what pursude
Iudge by this blow. And with that very word
Striketh the blade into his wofull brest,
Falling a sacrifice vpon the sacrifice.
At such a straunge and cruell spectacle,
The Nymphe amazed stand twixt life and death,
Scarce yet assur'd whether she wounded were
With griefe, or with the sword. At last, assoone
As she recouered had, her spright, and speech,
She plaining saies. O faithfull valiant loue!
O too late knowne! that by thy death hast giu'n
Me life and death at once. If t' were a fault
To leaue thee so? behold I'le mend it now,
Eternally vniting both our soules,
And therewithall she takes the sword, all warme,
With the blood of her too late loued friend,
And strikes it through her hart, falling vpon
Amintas, that was scarcely dead as yet,
And felt perchance that fall. Such was their ende,
To such a wretched end did too much loue,
And too much trechery conduct them both.
Mi.
O wretched Shepheard, and yet fortunate,
That hadst so large and famous scope, to showe
Thy troth, and waken liuely pittie of thy death
Within anothers brest. But what did follow?
Was Cinthia pleasd, found they a remedie?
Er.
Somewhat it slak't, but yet not quite put out:
For after that a yeare was finished,
Her rage began a fresh, so that of force
They driuen were, vnto the Oracle:
To aske new counsell, but brought back againe
An answere much more wofull then the first.
Which was, to sacrifice them: and each after yeare,
[Page] A maid, or woman, to our angry power,
Eu'n till the third and past the fourth degree:
So should ones blood for many satisfie.
Besides, she did vpon th' vnhappie sexe,
Impose a wretched and a cruell lawe.
And (if you marke their nature) in obseruable.
A law recorded with vermilian blood:
What euer maid or woman broken had
Their faith in loue, and were contaminate,
If they should find none that would die for them▪
They were condemn'd without remission.
To these our greeuous great calamities,
The fathers hop'd to finde a happie ende,
By this desired marriage day. For afterward
Hauing demaunded of the Oracle
What end the heauens prescribed had our ill,
Answere was giu'n in such like words as these:
No end there is to that which you offends,
Till two of heauens issue loue vnite;
And for the auncient fault of that false wight,
A faithfull Shepheards pittie make amends.
Now is there not in all Arcadia
Other bowes left, of that celestiall roote:
Saue Amarillis, and this Siluio,
Th' one of Pans seed, th' other of Hercules.
Nor to our mischiefe yet hath neuer hapt,
That male and female met at any time
Till now. Therefore good reason Montane hath
To hope, though all things sort not to the Oracle,
Yet here's a good foundation laid: the rest
High fates haue in their bosomes bred,
And will bring forth at this great marriage day.
Mi.
O poore Mirtillo! wretched man!
So many cruell enemies? such warres?
To worke my death cannot great Loue suffice?
But that the Fates, their armes will exercise.
Er.
This cruell loue (Mirtillo) feeds himselfe
With teares, and griefe, but's neuer satisfide.
[Page]
I promise thee to set my wits a worke,
That the faire Nymphe shall heare thee speake. Lets goe?
These burning sighes do not as they do seeme,
Bring any cooling to th'inflamed hart:
But rather are huge and impetuous windes,
That blow the fire, and make it greater proue,
With swelling whirlwindes of tempestuous loue,
Which vnto wretched louers alwaies beares
Thick cloudes of griefe, and showres of dreary teares.

Scene. 3.

Corisca.
WHo euer sawe or heard a straunger, and
A fonder passion of this foolish loue?
Both loue, and hate, in one selfe hart combin'd,
With such a wondrous mixture: as I know not how,
Or which of them hath got the deeper roote.
If I Mirtilloes beautie do behold:
His gracious count'nance, good behauior,
Actions, customes, words and manly lookes:
Loue me assailes, with such a puissant fire,
That I burne altogither. And it seemes
Other affections are quite vanquished with this.
But when I thinke vpon th'obstinate loue
He to another beares; and that for her
He doth despise (I will be bold to say)
My famous beautie of a thousand soft:
I hate him so, I so abhorre the man,
That t's impossible me thinkes at all,
One sparke of loue for him should touch my heart.
Thus with my selfe sometime I say: Oh if I could
Enioy my sweet Mirtillo! were he mine,
And had not others interest in him,
Oh more then any other happie Corisca.
And then in me vpflames such great good will,
And such a gentle loue to him; that I resolue
Straight to discouer all my hart to him,
To follow him, and humbly sue to him:
Nay more, eu'n to fall downe and worship him.
[Page]
On th'other side, I all reclaimed say,
A niceproud foole? one that disdaineth me?
One that can loue another and despise my selfe?
One that can looke on me and not adore me?
One that can so defend him from my looke,
That he dies not for loue. And I that should
See him (as I haue many more ere this)
An humble suppliant before my feete,
Am humble suppliant at his feete my selfe.
Then such a rage at him possesseth mee,
That I disdain my thoughts should think on him,
Mine eyes should looke on him. His verie name
And all my loue, I worse then death do hate.
Then would I haue him the wofulst wight aliue:
And with these hands then could I kill the wretch.
Thus hate, and loue, spight, and desire make warre.
I that haue bene till now tormenting flame,
To thousand harts: must languish now my selfe,
And in my ill, know others wretchednesse.
I that so many years in cities, streets, courts,
Haue bene inuincible to worthy friends,
Mocking their many hopes, their great desires:
Now conquered am, with silly rusticke loue,
Of a base shepherds brat. Oh aboue all
Wretched Corisca now. What shall I do
To mitigate this amorous furious rage?
Whilst other women haue a heape of loues,
I haue no other but Mirtillo onely.
Am I not stoutly furnished? Oh thousand times,
Ill-counsell'd foole! that now reduced art
Into the pouertie of one sole loue:
Corisca was ne're such a foole before.
What's faith? what's constancy? but fables fain'd
By iealous men: and names of vanitie,
Simple women to deceiue. Faith in a womans hart,
(If faith in any womans hart there bee:)
Can neither vertue nor yet goodnesse bee.
But hard necessitie of loue, a wretched law
[Page] Of beautie weake that pleaseth onely one,
Because she is not gracious in the eyes of more.
A beautious Nymphe, sought too by multitudes
Of worthy louers, if she be content
With onely one, and all the rest despise,
Either she is no woman, or if so she be,
She is a foole. What's beautie worth vnseene?
Or seene, vnsought? or sought too but of one?
The more our louers be, the greater men,
The surer pledge haue we in this vild world.
That we are creatures glorious and rare,
The goodly splendor of a beautious Nymphe,
Is to haue many friends. So in good Townes
Wise men euer doo. It is a fault,
A foolish tricke, all to refuse for one.
What one cannot, many can well performe:
Some serue, some giue, some fit for other vse.
So in the Citie louely Ladies do,
Where I by wit, and by example too,
Of a great Lady learnd the Art of loue.
Corisca would she say. Let thy
Louers and thy garments be alike.
Haue many, vse, weare but one, and change often.
Too much conuersing breedeth noysomenesse,
And noysomenesse despight, which turnes to hate:
We cannot worser do, then fill our friends,
Let them go hungry rather from thee still.
So did I alwaies, alwaies louing store,
One for my hand, an other for mine eye:
The best I euer for my bosome kept,
None for my heart, as neare as ere I could.
And now I know not how Mirtillo comes
Me to torment, now must I figh, and worse
Sigh for my selfe, deceiuing no man else.
Now must I robbe my limmes of their repose,
Mine eyes of sleepe, and watch the breake of day:
Now do I wander through these shadow'd woods,
Seeking the footsteps of my hated loue.
[Page] What must Corisca do? shall I entreat him?
No: my hate not giues me leaue. Ile giue him o're,
Nor will my loue consent. What shall I do?
Prayers and subtilties I will attempt:
I will bewray my loue, but not as mine,
If this preuaile not, then Ile make disdaine
Finde out a memorable huge reuenge.
Mirtillo if thou canst not like my loue,
Then shalt thou trie my hate. And Amarillis,
Thou shalt repent thou er'e my riuall wer't.
Well, to your costs you both shall quickly proue,
What rage in her can do that thus doth loue.

Sce. 4.

Titirus. Montanus. Damaetas.
SO helpe me Gods, I know I now do speake
To one that vnderstands more then I do.
These Oracles are still more doubtfull then
We take them, for their words are like to kniues,
Which taken by the hafts, are fit for vse,
But by the edges held, they may do harme.
That Amarillis as you argue, is
By the high heauenly Destenies elected for
Arcadiaes vniuersall health: who ought
More to desire, or to esteeme the same
Then I that am her father [...] but when I regard
That which the Oracle foretold, ill do the signes
Agree with our great hopes: since loue should then
Vnite, how falls it out he slies from her?
How can hate and despight bring forth loues fruite?
Ill could he contradict had heau'ns ordain'd it.
But since he doth contrary it, t'is cleare,
Heauens do not will: for if so they would
That Amarillis should be Siluioes wise,
A Louer, not a Huntsman, him they would haue made.
Mon.
Do you not see he is a child as yet?
He hath attain'd scarcely to eighteene yeares,
All in good time he may yet taste of loue.
Tit.
[Page]
Taste of a beast, heele neueuer woman like.
Mon.
Many things alter in a yong mans heart.
Tit.
But alwaies loue is naturall to youth.
Mon.
It is vnnaturall where yeares do want.
Ti.
Loue alwaies slowres in our green time of age.
Mon.
It doth but flowere, t'is quite without all fruit.
Ti.
With timely flowres loue euer brings forth fruit.
Hither I came not for to ieast (Montane)
Nor to contend with you. But I the father am
Of a deare onely child, and (if't be lawfull so to say)
A worthy child, and by your leaue of many sought.
Mon.
Titirus, if the Destenies haue not ordain'd
This marriage, yet the faith they gaue on earth,
Bindes them vntoo't, which if they violate,
They violate their vow to Cinthia,
Who is enrag'd gainst vs, how much thou knowst.
But for as much as I discouer can,
The secret counsailes of th' eternall powers:
This knot was knit by th' and of Desteny.
All to good end will sort, be of good cheere.
I'le tell you now a dreame I had last night.
I sawe a thing which makes my auncient hope
Reuiue within my heart, more then before.
Tit.
Dreames in the end proue dreames, but what saw you?
Mon.
Do you remember that same wofull night,
When swelling Ladon oue [...]flowd his bankes,
So that the fishes swam where birds did breed,
And in moment did the rauenous floud,
Take men and beasts by heapes and heards away.
(Oh sad remembrance) in that very night
I lost my child, more deare then was my heart:
Mine onely child, in cradle warmly laid.
Liuing, and dead, dearely belou'd of me.
The Torrent tooke him hence ere we could prooue
To giue him succour, being buried quite,
In terrour, sleepe, and darknesse of the night:
Nor could we euer find the cradle where he lay,
By which I gesse some whirlpit swallowd both.
Tit.
[Page]
Who can gesse otherwise? and I remember now,
You told me of this your mishap before:
A memorable misaduenture sure,
And you may say, you haue two sonnes begot,
One to the woods, the other to the waues.
Mon.
Perhaps the pitious heauens will restore
My first sonnes losse, in him that liueth yet;
Still must we hope, now listen to my tale.
The time when light and darknesse stroue together,
This one for night, that other for the day,
Hauing watcht all the night before, with thought
To bring this marriage to a happie end,
At last, with length of wearinesse, mine eyes
A pleasing slumber closde, when I this vision sawe,
Me thought I sat on famous Alfeus banke,
Vnder a leauy plane tree with a bayted hooke,
Tempting the fishes in the streame, in midst
Whereof, there rose me thought an aged man:
His head and beard dropping downe siluer teares,
Who gently raught to me with both his hands
A naked childe, saying, behold thy soone,
Take heed thou killst him not. And with that word
He diued downe againe. When straight the skies
Waxt blacke with cloudes, threatning a dismall showre,
And I afraid, the child tooke in mine armes,
Crying, ah heauens, and will you in an instant then,
Both giue and take away my child againe?
When on the sudden all the skie waxt cleare:
And in the Riuer sell a thousand bowes,
And thousand arrowes, broken all to shiuers.
The body of the plane tree trembled there,
And out of it there came a subtill voyce
Which said, Arcadia shalbe faire againe.
So is the Image of this gentle dreame
Fixt in my heart, that still me thinkes I see't:
But aboue all, the curteous aged man.
For this when you me met, I comming was
Vnto the temple for to sacrifize,
[Page] To giue my dreames presage prosperous successe.
Tit.
Our dreames are rather representments vaine
Of Idle hopes, then any things to come:
Onely daies thoughts made fables for the night.
Mon.
The mind doth not sleepe euer with the flesh,
But is more watchfull then, because the eyes
Do not lead it a wandring where they goe.
Tit.
Well, of cur children what the heauens disposed haue,
Is quite vnknowne to vs, but sure it is,
Yours gainst the law of nature feeles not loue.
And mine hath but the bond of his faith giu'n
For her reward. I cannot say she loues,
But well I wot she hath made many loue:
And t'is vnlike, she tastes not that she makes
So many taste. Me thinkes shee's alter'd much
From that she was: for full of sport and mirth,
Shee's wont to be. But t'is a grieuous thing,
To keepe a woman married and vnmarried thus.
For like a Rose that in some garden growes,
How daintie t'is against the Sunne doth rise,
Persuming with sweete odours round about,
Bidding the humming bees to honey feast:
But if you then neglect to gather it,
And suffer Titan in his middayes course
To scorch her sides, and burne her daintie seat,
Then ere Sun-set, discoloured she falls,
And nothing worth vpon the shadow'd hedge.
Euen so a maid whom mothers care doth keepe,
Shu [...]ing her heart from amorous desires.
But if the piercing lookes of hungry louers eyes
Come but to view her, if she heare him sigh,
Her heart soone ope's, her breast soone takes in loue:
Which if for shame she hide, or feare containe,
The silent wretch in deepe desire consumes.
So fadeth beautie if that fire endure,
And leesing time, good fortune's lost be sure.
Mon.
Be of good cheare, let not these humane feares,
Confound thy spright, let's put our trust [...]'th' Gods,
[Page] And pray to them (t'is meet) for good successe.
Our children are their off-spring, and be sure
They will not see them lost that others keepe.
Go'w, let vs to the Temple ioyntly goe,
And sacrifize you a hee Goat to Pan,
I a young Bull, to mightie Hercules.
He that the heard makes thriue, can therewithall
Make him thriue, that with the profits of his heard
Hallowes the Altars. Faithfull Dametas,
Go thou and fetch a young and louely Bu'l,
As anie's in the heard, and bring it by the mountaines way,
I at the Temple will attend for thee.
Tit.
A he Goat bring Dametas from my heard.
Exeunt Mon. & Titt.
Da.
Both one and other I will well performe.
I pray the Gods (Montane) thy dreame do sort
Vnto as good an end as thou dost hope.
I know remembrance of thy sonne thou lost,
Inspires thee with a happie prophecie.

Sce. 5.

Satir alone.
LIke frost to grasse, like drought to gentle flowres,
Like lightning vnto corne, like wormes to seeds,
Like nets to deere, like lime to silly birds,
So to mankind is loue a cruell foe.
He that loue lik'ned vnto fire, knew well
His pe [...]fidous and wicked kind. For looke
But on this fire, how fine a thing it is.
But touch it, and t'is then a cruell thing.
The world hath not a monster more to dread.
It rauens worse then beasts, and strikes more deepe
Then edged steele, and like the winde it slies:
And where it planteth his imperious feet,
Each force doth yeeld, all power giueth place.
Eu'n so this loue, if we it but behold,
In two faire eyes, and in a golden Tresse,
Oh how it pleaseth! oh how then it seemes
To breathe out ioy, and promise largely peace!
[Page] But if you it approach, and tempt it once,
So that it creepe and gather force in you,
Hircane no Tigres, Liby no Lyons hath,
Nor poisonous wormes, with teeth or stings so fierce,
That can surpasse, or equall loues disease,
More dreadfull then is hell, then death it selfe,
Sweete pitties foe, the minister of rage:
And to conclude, loue voyd of any loue.
Why speake I thus of loue? why blame him thus?
Is he the cause that the whole world in loue,
Or rather loue-dissembling, sinneth so?
Oh womans treacherie! that is the cause
That hath begotten loue this infamy.
How euer loue be in his nature good,
With them his goodnesse suddenly he leeseth.
They neuer suffer him to touch their hearts,
But in their faces onely build his bowre.
Their care, their pompe, and all their whole delight.
Is in the barke of a bepainted face.
T'is not in them now faith with faith to grace,
And to contend in loue with him that loues,
Into two breasts diuiding but one will:
Now all their labour is, with burnish'd gold
To die their haire, and tye it vp in curles,
Therein to snare vnwary louers in.
O what a stinking thing it is, to see them take
A Pencill vp, and paint their bloudlesse cheekes:
Hiding the faults of nature and of time,
Making the pale to blush, the wrinkled plaine,
The blacke seeme white, faults mending with farre worse.
Then with a paire of pincers do they pull
Their eye-browes till they smart againe.
But this is nothing, though it be too much,
For all their customes are alike to these.
What is it that they vse, which is not counterfeit?
Ope they their mouthes? they lie: mooue they their eyes?
They counterfeit their lookes: If so they sigh,
Their sighes dissembled are. In summe, each act,
[Page] Each looke, each gesture, is a verie lie.
Nor is this yet the worst. T'is their delight,
Them to deceiue eu'n most, that trust them most;
And loue them least, that are most worthy loue.
True faith to hate, worser then death it selfe:
These be the trickes that make loue so peruerse.
Then is the fault faithlesse Corisca thine?
Or rather mine, that haue beleeu'd thee so?
How many troubles haue I for thy sake sustaind?
I now repent, nay more I am ashamed.
Louers beleeue me, women once ador'd,
Are worser then the griefly powers of hell.
Strait by their valure vaunt they that they are
The same you by your folly fashion them.
Let go these base [...] sighes, praiers and plaints,
Fit weapons for women and children onely.
Once did I thinke that praiers, plaints, and sighes,
Might in a womans heart haue stirred vp
The flames of loue, but rush I was deceiu'd.
Then if thou wouldst thy mistresse conquer, leaue
These silly toyes, and close thou vp all loue.
Do that which loue and nature teacheth thee,
For modestie is but the outward vertue of
A womans face. Wherefore to handle her with mo­destie,
Is a meere fault, she though she vse it, loues it not.
A tender-harted Louer shalt thou not
Corisca euer find me more, but like a man
I will assaile and pierce thee through and through.
Twise haue I taken thee, and twise againe
Thou hast escap'd (I know not how) my hands:
But if thou com'st the third time in my reach,
I'le fetter thee for running then away.
T'hart wont to passe these woods, I like a hound
Will hunt thee out. Oh what a sweet reuenge
I meane to take: I meane to make thee proue
What t'is vniustly to betray thy Loue.
Exit.
Chorus.
[Page]
Oh high and puissant law writ, rather borne
Within loues mightie brest,
Whose euer swet and louely louing force,
Towards that good which we vnseene suborne,
Our harts doth pull and wills doth wrest,
And eu'n natures selfe to it doth force;
Not onely our fraile corpce
Whose sence scarce sees is borne and dies againe,
As daily houres waxe and waine.
But eu'n inward causes, hidden seeds
That moues and gouernes our eternall deeds.
If great with child the world do wondrous frame
So many beauties still:
And if within as farre as Sunne doth see
To'th mightie Moone and starres Titanian fame
A liuing spright doth fill,
With his male [...]alew this same vast degree▪
If thence mans of spring bee.
The plants haue life, and beasts both good and bad,
Whether the earth be clad,
With floures, or nipt haue her ill-feathered wing,
It still comes from thine euersting spring.
Nor this alone but that which hopes of fire
Sheds into mortall wights:
From whence starres gentle now strait fierce are found
Clad in good fortunes or mishaps attire,
From whence lifts frailest lights
The houre of birth haue, or of death the bound.
That which makes rise or else pull [...] downe
In their disturbd affects all humane will,
And giuing seemes, or taking still.
Fortune, to whom the world would this were giuen,
All from thy soueraigne bountie is deriuen,
Oh word ineuitably true and sure
If it thy meaning is
[Page] Arcadia shall after so many woes
Finde out new rest and peace, new life procure.
If the fore-told on blisse
Which the great Oracle did erst expose
Of the faire fatall marriage rose
Proceed from thee and in thy heau'nly minde
Her fixed place doth finde.
If that same voice do not dissemble still,
Who hinders then the working of thy will?
See loues and pitties foe, awayward swaine,
A proud and cruell youth,
That comes from heauen, and yet with heau'n contends.
See then another Louer, (faithfull in vaine)
Battring a harts chast truth,
VVho with his flames perhaps thy will offends,
The lesse that he attends,
Pittie to's pl [...]ints: reward to his desart
More straungely flames in faith his hart.
Fatall this beautie is to him that it high prizeth,
Being destenied to him that it despizeth.
Thus in it selfe alas diuided stands
This heauenly power,
And thus one fate another iustles still,
Yet neither conquered is, neither commaunds.
False humane hopes that towre
And plant a siege to th'Elementall hill,
Rebellious vnto heauens will:
Arming poore thoughts like giant fooles againe,
Louers and no Louers vine.
VVho would haue thought loue and disdaine blind things,
Should mount aboue the soueraigne starry wings.
But thou that standst aboue both starres & fate,
And with thy wit diuine
Great mouer of the skies dost them restraine,
Behold: we thee beseech our doubtfull state
VVith desteny combine.
And fathers louing zeale, loue and disdaine,
Mixe flame and frozen vaine.
[Page] Let them that shund to loue, now learne to loue,
Let not that other mone.
Ah let not others blindest folly thus
Thy gently promisde pittie take from vs.
But who doth know? perhaps this same that seemes
An vnauoydable mischieuous estate,
May proue right fortunate.
How fond a thing it is for mortall sight
To search into the Eternall sunnes high light.
An end of the first Act.

Act. 2. Scene. 1.

Ergasto. Mirtillo.
HOw I haue searcht alongst the riuers side,
About the meadowes, fountains, and the hils,
To find thee out: which now I haue, the gods be prais'd.
Mir.
Ah that thy newes Ergasto may deserue
This haste. But bringst thou life or death?
Er.
This though I had I would not giue it thee.
That do I hope to giue thee, though I haue it not
As yet. But fie, thou must not suffer griefe
To ouerthrow thy sences thus. Liue man and hope.
But to the purpose of my comming now,
Ormino hath a sister, knowst her not?
A tall big wench, a merry-countnaun'st Nymphe
With yealow haire, somewhat high-coloured.
Mir.
What is her name?
Er.
Corisca.
Mir
I know her well,
And heretofore haue spoke with her.
Er.
Then know that she (and see withall your lucke)
Is now become (I know not by what priuiledge)
Companion to your beauteous Amarillis.
I haue discouered all your loue to her,
And this which you desire, and readily
She me hath giu'n her faith to bring't about.
Mir.
O happie Mirtillo if this same proue true:
But said she nothing of the meanes whereby?
Er.
Nothing as yet, nor would she that conclude
Vntill she knew the manner of your loue.
[Page] How it began, and what hath hapt therein,
That she might easilier spie into the hart
Of your beloued Nymphe, and better know
How to dispose by praiers or by fraud
Of her request. For this I came to you,
And make me now acquainted from the head,
With all the historie of your deare Loue.
Mir.
So will I do, but yet Ergasto know
This memorie (a bitter hopelesse thing)
Is like a fire-brand tossed in the winde,
By which how much the fire increaseth still,
So much the brand with blazing flame consumes
O piercing shaft made by some power diuine!
The which the more we seeke to draw it out,
The faster hold it takes, the deeper roote.
Well can I tell you, that these Louers hopes
Are full of vanities and falshoods still,
Loues fruit is bitter, though the roote be sweet.
In that sweet time when dayes aduantage get
Aboue the nights, then when the yeare begins:
This daintie pilgrim, beauties bright new sunne,
Came with her count'nance like another spring,
T'illumin [...]te my then thrise happie soyle
Of Pisa, and Eglidis faire. Brought by her mother
To see the sacrifices and the sports
That celebrated in those solemne daies
Were vnto loue. Where while she ment to make
Her eye-sight blest with that same spectacle,
She blest the spectacle with her faire eyes,
Being loues greatest miracle beneath the skies.
No sooner had I scene that face, but straight
I burnt, defending not the formost looke,
Which though mine eies into my brest directed
Such an imperious beautie, as me thought did say,
Mirtillo yeeld thy hart for it is mine.
Er.
Oh in our brests what mighty power hath loue?
Ther's none can tell, saue they the same which proue
Mir.
[Page]
See how industrious loue can worke eu'n in
The simplest brests. A sister which I had
I made acquainted with my thoughts, who was
By chaunce companion to my cruell Nymphe.
The time she staid in Pisa and Elide,
Shee faithfull counsell, and good aide me gaue,
She drest me finely in one of her gownes,
Circling my temples with a periwig,
Which gracefully she trimmed vp with flowres.
A quiuer and a bowe hung at my side,
She taught me furthermore to faine my voice
And lookes, for in my face as then there grew no haire.
This done, she me conducted where the Nimphe
Was wont to sport her selfe, and where we found
A noble troupe of maydens of Megara,
By blood or loue allyed to my goddesse.
Mongst them she stood like to a princely Rose,
Among a heape of humble Violets.
We had not long bene there before vprose
One of the maydens of Megara, and thus bespake.
Why stand we idly still in such a time,
When plames and famous trophees are so rise?
Haue not we armes counterfait fights to make
As well as men? Sisters be rulde by mee:
Let's proue among our selues our armes in iest,
That when we come to earnest them with men,
We may them better vse. Let's kisse, and striue
Who can kisse sweetliest among our selues:
And let this garland be the victors gaine.
All at the proposition laught: and all
Vnto it strait agreed. Straightway began
A fight confused, no signall we attended.
Which by her seene that first ordaind the sport,
She saies againe. Let's make her worthy iudge
That hath the fairest mouth. All soone agreed,
And Amarillis chose. Who sweetly bowing downe,
Her beauteous eyes in modest blushing stand,
Did show they were as faire within as th'were without.
[Page] Or that her face her, rich-clad mouth enuyed,
And would be cloath'd in pompous purple too,
As who should say, I am as faire as it.
Er.
In good time did you chaunge into a Nymphe,
A happy token of good lucke to come.
Mir.
Now did the beautious iudge sit in her plate,
According as the Megarence prescrib'd.
Each went by lot to make due proofe of her
Rare mouth, that heauenly paragon of sweetnesse.
That blessed mouth that may be likened to
A perfum'd Indian shell of orientall pearle,
Op'ning the daintie treasure, mixt with hony sweet
And purple blush. I cannot (my Ergasto) tell
Th'inexplicable sweetnesse which I felt
Out of that kisse. But looke what Cypres caues
Or hiues of Hybla haue, are nothing all
Compar'd with that which then I tasted there.
Er.
Oh happy theft sweet kisse.
Mir.
Yea sweet,
But yet not gracious, for it wanted still
The better part: loue gaue it, but loue not
Return'd it backe.
Er.
But then how did you
When it was your lot to kisse?
Mir.
Vnto those lips
My soule did wholy flie, and all my life
So shut therein, as in a litle space
It waxed nothing but a kisse. And all
My other limmes stood strenghlesse trembling still,
When I approached to her lightning lookes,
Knowing my deed was theft and deceit,
I feared the maiestie of her faire face,
But she assures me with a pleasing smile:
And puts me forward more, loue sitting like
A Bee vpon two fresh and daintie Roses close.
Kissing, I tasted there the honey sweet,
But hauing kist, I felt the louely Bee
Strike through my hart with his sharp piercing sting.
And being wounded thus, halfe desperate,
I thought t'haue bitten those manslaught'ring lips,
But that her odoriferous breath like aire diuine,
[Page] Wak'ned my modestie and still my rage.
Er.
This modestie molesteth Louers still.
Mir.
Now were the lotts fulfild, and eu'ry one
With heedfull minds the sentence did attend:
When Amarillis iudging mine the best,
With her owne hands she crownes my tresses, with
The gentle garland kept for victorie.
But neuer was shadelesse meadow drier parcht,
Vnder the balefull fury of the heauenly dog,
Then was my hart in sunshine of that sweet,
Neuer so vanquisht as in victory.
Yet had I power to take the garland off,
And reach it her, saying to you belongs
Alone the same. T'is due to you, that made
Mine good, by vertue of your mouth.
She gently took't and crownd her selfe therewith.
And with an other that she ware crownd mine.
T's this I weare thus dried as you see,
It will I carry to my graue with mee.
In deare remembraunce of that happie day.
But more for signe of my dead hopes decay.
Er.
Thou pittie more then enuy dost deserue,
That wert another Tantalus in loues delights,
That of a sport a torment true didst make.
Thou pai'st too deare for thy stolne delicates.
But did she ere perceiue thy pollicies?
Mir.
That know I not (Ergasto) yet thus much I know,
That in the time she made Elidis blest
With her sweet count'nance, she liberall was
Of pleasing lookes to mee. But thereof did
My cruell fates robbe me so sodeinly,
That I perceiu'd it not till they were gone.
Whē I drawne by the power of her beauteous looke
Leauing my home came hither, where thou knowst
My father had this poore habitacle.
But now the day that with so faire a spring began,
Come to his western bound, thunders & lightēs out,
Ah then I saw these were true signes of death.
[Page] Now had (alas) my tender father felt,
My not-foreseene departure, and orecome
With griefe, fell sicke nigh hand to death,
Whereby I was constrained to returne.
Ah that returne prooued the fathers health,
But deadly sicknesse to the sonne: for in short time
I languished and pined quite away.
Which held me from the time the sunne had left
The bull, vntill his entry into Capricorne.
And so had still, had not my pitious father sought
For counsaile to the Oracle, which said,
Onely Arcadia could restore my health.
So I returnd to see her that can heale
My bodies griefe (O Oracles false lye)
But makes my soule sicke euerlastingly.
Er.
Strange tale thou telst (Mirtillo) though't be true.
The onely health to one that's desperate,
Is to dispaire of health. And now t'is time
I goe communicate with our Corisca.
Go to the fountaine you, there stay for me,
Ile make what haste I can.
Mir.
Goe happily,
The heauens (Ergasto) quith thy curtesie.

Sce. 2.

Dorindo. Lupino. Siluio.
O Fortunate delight, and care of my
Faire spightfull Siluio. Ah that I were
As deare vnto thy cruell maister as thou art.
(Happie Metampo) he with that white hand,
That nippes my heart, thee softly stroking feeds.
With thee all day and all the night he is,
Whilst I that loue him so, sigh still in vaine.
And that which greeues me worst, he giues thee still
Kisses so sweete, that had I one of them,
I should goe blest away, I cannot choose
But kisse Melampo. Now if th'appie starres
Of loue, sent thee to me bcause thou shouldst
Find out his steps. Go'w whither me great loue.
[Page] Thee nature teacheth. But I heare a horne
Sound in these woods.
Sil
Vo ho ho, Melampo ho,
Do.
If my desire deceiue me not, that is the voice
O my beloued Siluio, that call, his dogge,
He hath our labour sau'd.
Sil.
Vohoho, Melampo ho.
Do.
Doubtlesse t's he: happie Dorinda. heauens
Haue sent him whom thou soughtst, t'is best I put
The dogge aside, so may I win his loue.
Lupino. (Lu.) Whats your will?
Do.
Go hide thy selfe
In that same thicke, and take the dogge with thee.
Lu.
I goe.
Do.
And stirre not till I call.
Lu.
No more I will.
Do.
Go soone.
Lu.
And call you soone, least hunger make
The dogge beleeue I am a shoulder of mutton, and so fall too.
Do.
Go get you hence hen-hearted wretch.
Sil.
O wretched me, whither shall I goe
To follow thee my deere, my faithfull dogge?
The dales, the mountaines, I haue sought with care,
All weary now I am. Curst be the beast
Thou didst pursue. But see a Nymphe, perhaps
She can tell newes of him. Out vpon her,
T'is she that's still so troublesome to me.
I must dissemble. Faire and gracious Nymphe,
Did you my good Melampo see to day?
Do.
I faire good Siluio? can you call me faire?
That am not faire a whit vnto your eyes.
Sil.
Or faire or soule, did you not see my dogge?
Answere to this, or I am quickly gone.
Do.
Stil thou art froward vnto her that thee adores,
Who would beleeue that in that smooth aspect
Were harboured such rugged thoughts. Thou through
These sauage woods and rocky hills pursu'st
A beast that flies thee, and consum'st thy selfe
In tracing out thy greyhounds steps: and me
Thou shunst and dost disdaine that loues thee so.
Ah leaue these does that runne so fast away,
Take hold of me thy preordained pray.
Sil.
Nymphe, I Melampo came to seeke, not to loose time,
Farewell.
Do.
Do not so shun me cruell Siluio,
[Page] I'le tell thee newes of thy Melampo man.
Sil.
Thouiests Dorinda. (Do.) Siluio, I protest
By that deare loue that me thy handmaid makes,
I know where thy Melampo is that courst the doe.
Sil.
How did he leese her?
Do.
Both dog and doe are in my power.
Sil.
Both in your power?
Do.
Why doth it grieue you then
That I them hold that do adore you so?
Sil.
Deare Dorinda, quickly giue me him.
Do.
See wau'ring child, am I not fortunate?
When a beast and a dogge can make me deare to thee.
Sil.
Good reason too, but yet her Ile deceiue.
Do.
What will you giue me?
Sil.
Two guilded apples
Which my mother gaue me yesterday.
Do.
I want no apples, and perhaps I could
Thee better-tasted giue; didst thou not thus
Disdaine my gifts.
Sil.
What wouldst thou haue, a kid,
A lambe? Ah but my father giues me no such leaue.
Do.
Nor kids, nor lambes do I desire, it is thy loue
My Siluio which I seeke.
Sil.
Wilt thou nought but my loue?
Do.
Nought else.
Sil.
I giue it thee. Now my deare Nymph
Giue me my dog and doe.
Do.
Ah that thou knewst
That treasures worth whereof thou seemst so liberall,
Or that thy heart did answere to thy tongue.
Sil.
Heare me faire Nymphe, thou euer telst me of
A certaine loue, I know not what it is.
Thou dost desire I should thee loue, and so I do.
As farre forth as I can, or vnderstand,
Thou callst me cruell, and I know not crueltie.
Do.
Wretched Dorinda, how hast thou plast thy hopes
In beautie, feeling ne're a sparke of loue?
Thou louely boy art such a fire to me,
And yet burnes not thy selfe. Thee vnder humane shape
O [...] daintie mother, did the Cyprian dame
Bring forth, thou hast his arrowes and his fire.
Well knowe my breast both burnt and wounded too,
Get but hi [...] wings vnto thy shoulders, and
New Cupia shal [...] thou be, wer't not thy hear [...]
Is made of rocky frozen Isy shelfe,
[Page]
Thou wantedst naught of loue, but loue it selfe.
Sil.
Tell me, what kind of thing is this same loue?
Do.
If in thy face I looke (oh louely boy)
Then is this loue a paradize of ioy.
But if I turne and view my spirit well,
Then t'is a flame of deepe infernall hell.
Sil.
Nymphe, no more words, giue me my dog and doe.
Do.
Nay giue me first, the loue you promised.
Sil.
Haue I not giu'n it? what a stirre is here,
Her to cnntent: take it, do what thou wilt,
Who doth forbid thee? what wouldst thou haue more?
Do.
Thou sow'st thy seed in sand wretched Dorinda.
Sil.
What would you haue? why do you linger thus?
Do.
As soone as you haue got what you desire,
(Perfidious Siluio) you are gone from me.
Sil.
No trust me Nymph.
(Do.)
Giue me a pledge.
(Sil.)
What pledge?
Do.
I dare not tell.
(Sil.)
And why?
(Do.)
I am asham'd.
Sil.
Are you asham'd to speake, and not asham'd
It to receiue?
(Do.)
If you will promise me
To giue it, I will tell.
(Sil.)
I promise you.
Do.
(Siluio my deare) do you not vnderstand me yet?
I should haue vnderstood you but with halfe of this.
Sil.
Thou art more subtill much then I.
Do.
I am more earnest, and lesse cruel much then thou.
Sil.
To say the troath, I am no Prophet I,
You must speake if you'le haue me vnderstand.
Do.
O wretch one of those which thy mother gaue to thee.
Sil.
A blow on th'eare?
(Do.)
A bloe on th'ear to one yt loues
Sil.
Sometime she maketh much of me with one of thē.
Do.
Doth she not kisse you then?
(Sil.)
Nor she nor any else
Doth kisse me. But perhaps youl'd haue a kisse.
You answere not, your blushing you accuseth,
I am content, but giue me first my dogge.
Do.
Y'haue promist me?
(Sil.)
T'is true, I haue promist thee.
Do.
And will you stay?
(Sil.)
Tush what a stirre is here? I will.
Do.
Come forth Lupino, Lupino dost not hear?
Lu.
Who calls? I come, I come, it was not I,
It was the dogge that slept.
(Do.)
behold thy dogge
More courteous then thy selfe.
(Sil.)
O happy me.
Do.
[Page]
He in these armes that thou despisest so,
Did put himselfe.
(Sil.)
O my most deare Melampo.
Do.
Esteeming deare my kisses and my sighes.
Sil.
I'le kisse thee thousand times poore curre.
Hast thou no harme in running poore Melampo?
Do.
O happie dog might I change lots with thee:
Am I not brought vnto an excellent passe,
That of a dog I must be iealous thus?
Lupino go vnto the hunting strait,
Ile follow thee.
(Lu.)
Mistresse I go.
Exit.

Scene. 3 Siluio. Dorindo.

Is ought behind? Where is the Doe you promist me?
Do.
Will you her haue aliue or dead?
Sil.
I vnderstand you not.
How's she aliue, hath not my dog her kild?
Do.
But say the dog hath not.
(Sil.)
Is she aliue?
Do.
Aliue.
(Sil.)
So much more welcome she'is.
Do.
Onely shee's wounded in the hart.
(Sil.)
Thou mockst:
How can she liue and wounded in the hart?
Do.
My cruell Siluio, I am that same Do
Without pursuit or conquest taken so.
Quicke if thou pleasest to accept of me,
Dead if thou dost despise my companie.
Sil.
Is this the Do, the game you told me of?
Do.
This is the same. Ay me, why looke you so?
Hold you a Nimph no dearer then a Do?
Sil.
I neither hold thee deare nor like of thee:
But hate thee brute, vilde, lying filth.
Exit.
Do.
Is this my guerdon cruell Siluio?
Vngratefull boy, is this all my reward?
I gaue Melampo and my selfe with him to thee,
Hoping that thus thou wouldst not haue denide
The sunshine of thine eyes to me. I would
Haue kept thee and thy dog most faithful company.
I would haue wipte thy browes from toilefull sweat:
Vpon this lap that neuer taketh rest,
Thou might'st haue ta'ne thy rest. I would
[Page] Haue carried all thy [...]ew and prou'd thy pray,
When beasts had wanted in the woods thou mightst
Haue shot at me for one, and in this brest
Haue vsed still thy tough-well-sinew'd bowe.
So as thou wouldst, I like thy seruant might
Thy weapons carried haue, or prou'd thy pray,
Making my brest both quiuer and the marke
For those thy shafts. But vnto whom speake I?
To him that heares me not, but's fled from me,
Flie where thou wilt, thee will I still pursue,
Eu'n into hell, if any hell can be
More painfull then my griefe, then thy great crueltie.
Exit.

Scene 4.

Corisca.
O How Fortune fauours my disseignes
More then I lookt for. She good reason hath,
For I ne're askt her fauour shamefastly.
Great pow're she hath, and with good cause the world
Calls her a puissant goddesse: yet must we not sit still,
For sildome idle folkes proue fortunate.
Had not my industry made me companion vnto her,
What would this fit occasion haue auailed me,
To bring my purpose vnto passe? Some foole
Would haue her riuall shund, and shew'd signes of
Her iealousie, bearing an euil eye
About, but that had bene ill done, for easilier
May one keepe her from an open then a hidden foe.
The couer'd rocks are those which do deceiue
The wisest marriners Who cannot friendship faine,
Cannot truly hate. Now see what I can do,
I am not such an [...]asse to thinke she doth not loue,
It might she make some other foole beleeue.
But tush, I am the mistresse of this art. A tender wench,
Scarce from the cradle crept, in whom loue hath
Still'd but the first drops of his sweet, so long
Pursude and woo [...]d by a worthy friend,
And worse, [...], and [...]ekist, and yet not loue [...]
[Page] She is an asse that it beleeues. Ile not beleeu't.
But see how Fortune fauours me: Behold
Where Amarillis is her selfe. Ile make
As though I sawe her not, and stand aside.

Scene 5.

Amarillis. Corisca.
DEare blessed woods, and you the silent groues
Of rest and peace, the harbour-houses true:
How willingly I turne to visit you.
And if my starres had so bene pleasde t'haue let
Me liue vnto my selfe, I with th'elizian fields
The happie gardeins of the demy gods,
Wou'd not haue chang'd your gentle shadow spots.
If I iudge right, these worldly goods are nought
But muschiefes, still the richest haue least goods,
And he possesseth most that is most poore.
Riches are euer snares of libertie.
What's fame of beautie worth in tender yeares?
Or heauenly noblenesse in mortall blood?
So many fauours, both of heauen and earth,
Fields large, and happie, goodly meadow plaines,
Fat pastures, that do fatter flocks present,
If in the same the hart be not content.
Happie that shepheardesse, whose scarcely knees,
A poore, but yet a cleanly gowne doth reach:
Rich in her selfe, onely in natures gifts.
Who in sweet pouertie, no poorenesse knowes:
Nor feeles no tortures which this [...]iches brings.
Desire to haue much, nere doth her torment,
If she be poore, yet is she well content.
She natures gifts doth nurse with natures gifts,
Making milke spring with milke, saucing her natiue sweet
With hony of the Bee, one fountaine serueth her
To drinke, to wash, and for her looking glasse.
If she be well, then all the world is well.
Let the cloudes rise, and thunder threat amaine,
Her pouertie doth all the feare preuent,
[Page] If she be poore, yet is she well content.
Finely the flocke committed to her charge
Feeds on the grasse, the whilst her shepheard friend
Feeds on her eyes, not whom the starres, or men,
Her destenies, but whom affection chooseth.
Then in the shadow of a M [...]tell tree,
Cherisht, she cherisheth againe; nor doth
She feele that heat which she discouers not:
Nor euer heat discouer which she doth not feele.
Alwaies declaring troth of her intent,
If she be poore, yet is she well content.
True life that knowes not death before they die.
Ah that I might my fortune chaunge with theirs.
But see Corisca. Gods saue you good Corisca.
Co.
Who calleth me? Deare Amarillis dearer then
Mine eies, my life, whither go you alone?
Ama.
No further then you see, glad I haue found you out.
Co.
You haue her found that will not part from you.
And eu'n now, thus was I thinking with my selfe,
Were I her soule how could she stay away so long?
And therewithall you came my deare, and yet
You do not loue your poore Corisca.
Am.
Why so?
Co.
Aske you why so? and you a bride to day.
Ama.
A bride?
Co.
A bride, and yet from me you keep it.
Ama.
How should I vtter that I do not know?
Co.
Yet wil you faine?
Am.
You iest.
Co.
T'is you that iest.
Ama.
And can it then be true?
Co.
Most certaine true.
Do not you know thereof?
Ama.
I know I promist was,
But know not that the marriage is so neare.
Co.
I heard it of my brother Ormin: and to say the troth,
There is no other talke. But you looke pale.
This newes perhaps doth trouble you.
Ama.
It is
Long since the promise past, and still my mother said
This day it should reuiue.
Co.
Vnto a better life
You shall reuiue, for this you should be merry,
Why do you sigh? let that poore wretch go sigh.
Ama.
What wretch?
Co.
Mirtillo, whom eu'n now I found
Readie to die: and surely he had died
[Page] Had I not promist him this marriage to disturbe,
Which though I onely for his comfort said,
Yet were I fit to do it.
Am.
And did he giue cōsent?
Co.
I: and the meanes.
Am.
I pray you how?
Co.
Easily:
So you thereto disposed be to yeeld.
Ama.
That could I hope, and would you giue your faith
Not to disclose it, I discouer would
A thought which in my heart I long haue hid.
Co.
I it disclose! Ground open first thy iawes
And swallow me vp by a miracle.
Ama.
Know then (Corisca) when I think I must
Be subiect to a child, that hates, that flies from me,
And hath no other sport but woods and beasts,
And loues a dogge better then thousand Nimphs,
I malcontented [...]ue halfe desperate.
But dare not say so for respect I beare
Vnto mine honestie, vnto my faith
Which to my father, and what worser is,
Which to our puissant goddesse I haue giu'n:
If by thy helpe my faith my life both sau'd,
I might diuide me from this heauie knot,
Then shouldst thou be my health, my verie life.
Co.
If so for this thou sigh'st good reason thou
Deare Amarillis hast. How oft he said?
A thing so fare to one that can despise it?
So rich a lemme to one that knowes it not:
But you too craftie are to tell the troth.
What let's you now to speake?
Ama.
The shame I haue.
Co.
Sister you haue a mischieuous disease,
I'had rather haue the poxe. the f [...]uer, or the fistula,
But trust to me, youl'e quickly leaue the same:
Once do but master it, and then t'is gone.
Ama.
This shamefastnesse that nature stamps in vs
Cannot be mastered for if you seeke
To hunt it from your hart, it shes into your face.
Co.
O Amarillis, who (too wise) conceales
Her ill, at last great folly she reueales.
Hadst thou but at the first discouered
[Page] This thought to me, thou hadst bene lose ere this.
Now trie Coriscaes art, you could not haue
Entrusted you into more subtil faithfull hands.
But when you shall be freed by my helpe
From this same captiue husband, will you not
Prouide you of another Louer then?
Ama.
At better leysure we will thinke of that.
Co.
Trust me you cannot faithfull Mirtillo.
You know there is not at this day a swaine
For valew, honest troth and beautie, worthier
Of your affection. And you will let him die,
Without so much as saying so. Yet heare him once.
Ama.
How better t'were to giue him peace & stab:
The roote of such desire as hath no hope.
Co.
Giue him this comfort yet before he die.
Ama.
It rather double will his miserie.
Co.
Leaue that to him.
Ama.
But what becomes of me,
If euer it be knowne?
Co.
Small hurt thou hast.
Ama.
And small t'shalbe before my name it do endaunger.
Co.
If you may faile in this then in the rest.
I you may faile. Adiew.
Ama.
Nay stay Coris [...]a,
Heare me but speak.
Co.
No not a word, vnlesse
You promise me.
Am.
I promise you, so you
Do tie me to nought else.
Co.
To nothing else.
Ama.
And you shall make him thinke I knew not of it.
Co.
Ile make him think it was by chance.
Am.
And that I may
Depart assoone as I thinke good.
Co.
Assoone
As you haue heard him speake.
Ama.
And that he shall
Quickly dispatch.
Co.
So shall he do.
Ama.
And that
He come not neare me by my darts length neuer.
Co.
O what a toyle t'is to reforme your simplenesse:
All parts sauing his tongue wee'le surely tie.
Wil you ought else?
Am.
No nothing else.
Co.
Whē wil you do't?
Ama.
When you think good, giue me but so much time
I may go home and heare more of this marriage.
Co.
Go. But take heed you do it warily.
But heare what I am thinking on. To day
About noone time among these shadow trees
[Page] Come you without your Nimphs, here shall you find
Me to that end, with me shalbe Nerine,
Aglaure, Elisa, Phillis, and Licoris, all mine owne.
As wise as faithfull good companions.
Here may you now (as often you haue done)
Play at blind buffe. Mirtill will easily thinke,
That for your sport and not for him you came.
Ama.
This pleaseth me, but yet I would not haue
Your Nimphs to heare the words Mirtillo speakes.
Co.
I vnderstand, and well aduisde, let me alone,
I'le make them vanish when I see my time:
Go, and forget not now to loue your poore Corisca.
Am.
How can I chuse but loue her in whose hands
I haue reposde my life.
Co.
So she is gone.
Exit. Am.
Small force will serue to batter downe this rocke,
Though she haue made defence to my assault,
Yet will she neuer his abide. I know too well
How hartie praiers of a gracious Loue
Can tempt a tender wenches hart. Yet with this sport
I'le tye her so, shee'le scarcely thinke it sport.
I'le by her words, will she or nill she, spie
And pierce into the bowels of her hart,
I'le make me mistresse of her secrets all.
Then I'le conduct her so that she shall thinke
Her most vnbrideled loue and not my art
Hath brought her in to play this wretched part.

Scene 6.

Corisca. Satir.
O I am dead,
Sa.
And I aliue?
Co.
Ah turne
My Amarillis, turne againe, I taken am.
Sa.
Tush Amarillis heares thee not, be quiet now.
Co.
Oh me my heare.
Sa.
I haue hunted thee so long
That at the last th'art falne into my snare.
This is the roabe sister, this is the heare.
Co.
Speake you to me Satir?
Sa.
I eu'n to thee.
Are you not that same famous Corisca, that
Excellent mistresse of lyes, that at so deare a ra [...]e
[Page] False hopes, fain'd lookes, and lying words dost sell,
That hast betraied me so many waies perfidous Corisca.
Co.
I am Corisca gentle Satir, but not now
So pleasing to thine eyes as I haue bene.
Sa.
I gentle wicked wretch, I was not so
When me thou [...] to follow Coridon.
Co.
I le [...]t thee for another.
Sa.
See, see a wonder,
This is newes indeed. But when I stole
Faire Lillaes bowe, Clor [...] scarfe, Daphnes rich [...]oabe,
And Silutaes buskins, then thou promi'st me
Thy loue thou gau'st another should be my reward.
The daintie garland which I gaue to thee,
Thou gau'st to Nisus. And when me thou mad'st
To watch so many frostie night▪ both [...]n
The caue, the woods, and by the riuer side,
And euer mockedst me, was I not gentle then?
Beleeue me now thou shalt me pay for all.
Co.
Thou stranglest me as if I were a dogge.
Sa.
Now see if thou canst runne away againe.
Thy pollicies shall not auaile thee now.
If but thy head hold on t'is vaine to striue.
Co.
Good Satir giue me leaue to speak to thee.
Sa▪
Sp [...]ak tlhen
Co.
How can I speak? let me go:
Vpon my faith I will not runne away.
Sa.
What faith oh faithlesse woman hast? Dar'st thou
Yet speak of faith to me? Ile carry thee
Into the darkest caue this mountaine hath:
Where neuer Sunne nor humane steppe approach't,
Il'e hide the rest there thou with my delight
And with thy scorne shalt feele what I wil do with thee.
Co.
And canst thou be so cruel to that haire
For which thou oft hast sworne t'were sweet to die,
And that thou coulst not suffer too much ill for me?
Oh heauens, oh fa [...]es, whom shall a woman trust?
Sa.
Ah wicked, thinkst thou to deceiue me yet?
Canst thou yet tempt me with thy subtilties?
Co.
Oh gentle Satir do not make a scorne
Of her that thee adores. If so thy hart
[Page] Be not of marble made, behold me at
Thy feete, if euer I offended thee (ô Idole of
My soule) I pardon craue. By these same strong
And more then manlike knees which I embrace,
By that same loue thou sometime bar'st to me,
By that same sweetnesse which thou wont'st to draw
Thou said'st out of mine eyes calling them starres,
Now wretched fountaines of these bitter teares,
I pray thee pittie me, let me but go.
Sa.
The wretch hath almost mou'd me, should I but trust
Affection onely I were ouercome.
But to be short, I wil not trust thee, striue no more.
For all this humblenesse thou art Corisca still.
Co.
Oh me my head, stay yet do not deny
Me one poore fauour yet.
Sa.
What fauour's that?
Co.
Heare me but once.
Sa.
Thou think'st with fained words
And forged teares to mollifie my heart.
Co.
Ah curteous Satir, what wilt thou make of me?
Sa.
Wee'le trie.
Co.
No pittie then?
Sa.
No pittie I.
Co.
Art thou resolu'd of this?
Sa.
I am resolu'd.
Hast thou now made an end of all thy charmes?
Co.
Oh villaine indiscreet, vnseasonable.
Halfe a man, halfe a goat, and all a beast:
Dryed Carogne, defect of wicked nature.
Dost thou beleeue Corisca loues not thee?
It is most true. What should I loue in thee:
This goodly bunch of that beslauered beard,
These goatlike eares, that stinking toothlesse caue?
Sa.
Oh witch are these to me?
Co.
These are to thee.
Sa.
Ribald to me?
Co.
Halfe goat to thee.
Sa.
And do
Not I with these my hands thrust out thy bitches tongue?
Co.
I if thou durst.
Sa.
A silly woman in my hands,
Dares braue me? dares despise me thus? Well I'le.
Co.
Villaine what wilt thou do?
Sa
Ile eate thee quick.
Co.
Where be thy teeth?
Sa.
Oh heauens who can endure
I'le pay you home, come on.
Co.
I wil not come.
Sa.
That will I see.
Co.
Spite of thy hart I will not.
Sa.
Come on, wee'le see who hath the stronger, thou
[Page] The necke or I the armes. Nay soft and faire.
Well let vs see.
(Sa.)
Go too.
(Co.)
Satir hold fast.
Farewell, I would thy necke were broke.
Exit Co.
Sa.
O me my head, my backe, my side. Oh what
A fall is this? I scarce can turne my selfe.
And is she gone and left her head behind?
Vnusuall wonder. Nimphs and shepheards come,
Behold a witchcraft tricke of one that's fled
And liues without a head! How light it is?
It hath no braines, there commeth out no blood.
Why looke I so? Oh foole she gone without a head,
Thou art without a head that seest not
How thou art mockt. Treacherous perfidous witch,
Is't not inough th'ast made thy hart to lie,
Thy face, thy words, thy laughter and thy lookes,
But that thy haire must lie. Poets behold
Your natiue gold, your amber pure, that you
So fondly praise, for shame your subiect chaunge,
In steed whereof sing me a witches subtiltie,
That robbeth sepulchres and rotten heads
To dresse her owne. As well you may go praise
Megeraes viprous monstrous haires. Louers
Behold, and be ashamed wretches now,
Make this the meanes your sences to recouer
That are insnar'd in such without more plaints.
But why stay I to publish out her shame?
This haire my tongue so famous made erewhile,
I will go proue to make againe as vile.
Finis Act. 2.
Chorus.
Great was her fault and errour sure,
That did occasion all our teene:
Who loues great lawes holy and pure
(Breaking her faith) did violate
And thereby did illuminate
The mortall rage of our immortall queene.
[Page]
That neither teares nor blood
Of many harmlesse soules haue done vs good.
So faith to euery vertue roote
The ornament of euery soule well borne,
In heauen hath surely set his foote,
That worthily are faithlesse held in scorne.
So nature truth would euer happie make,
Eu'n for the true almightie makers sake.
Blind mortalls you that haue so deep desire
To get and to possesse
A guilded carkasse of a painted tire,
That like a naked shadow walkes on still,
Seeking her sepulchre by gesse:
What loue, or rather fond will,
Hath witcht your hart dead beautie to pursue?
Rich treasures are loues follies found. The true
And liuely loue is of the soule:
All other subiects want what loue requires,
Therfore they not deserue these amorous desires.
The soule because it onely loues againe,
Is onely worthie of this louing paine.
It is a pretie thing to kisse
The delicate vermilion Rose
Of some faire cheeke, they that haue prou'd that blisse
(Right happie Louers) so will say. Yet those
Will say againe kisses are dead and vaine,
Where beautie kist restores it not againe.
The strokes of two inamour'd lips are those
Where mouth on mouth loues sweetest vengeance showes.
Those are true kisses where with equall wills
We euer giue and take againe our fills.
Kisse but a curious mouth, a daintie hand,
A breast, a brow, or what you can demand,
You will confesse no part in woman is,
Saue for sweet mouth that doth deserue a kisse,
By which two soules with liuely spirits meet,
Making liue rubres kindly entergreet,
So mongst themselues those sowly sprightfull kisses
[Page] Do enter-speake, and in a little sowne
Great things bewray, and sweetest secret blisses
To others hidden, to themselues well knowne.
Such ioy, nay such sweet life doth louing proue,
Soule knit to soule by th'earthly knot of loue.
Kisses that kisses meet, do paint vnmou'd,
Th'incounters of two harts, louing belou'd.

Scene 1.

Mirtillo.
O Spring, the gentle childhood of the yeare,
Mother of floures, fresh hearbs, & fresh desires,
Thou turn'st againe, but with thee do not turne
The happie dayes of my delightfull ioyes:
Thou turnst, thou turnst, but with thee turnst nought else
Saue of the losse of my deare trusures lorne,
The miserable wretched memorie.
Thou art the same thou wert, so fresh, so faire,
But I am not as I was wont to be,
So deare to other eyes. Oh bitter sweets of loue,
Much worser t'is to leese you once possest,
Then neuer to haue you enioy'd at all,
Much like the griefe to chaunge a happie state.
The memorie of any good that wasts,
Consumes it selfe as th'other is consum'd.
But if my hopes be not as is their vse,
Of brittle glasse, or that my deep desire
Make not my hope much greater then the truth,
Here shall I see the sun-beames of mine eyes.
Here if I be not mockt I shall her see
Stay her quick feete at sound of my lament.
Here shall my greedie eyes after long fast
Receiue sweet foode from her diuinest looke.
Here will she turne her son'raigne lights on mee,
If not gentle, yet cruell will they bee.
If not the meanes to breed mine inward ioy,
So [...]ierce, yet as I die to mine annoy.
O happie day sigh'd for long time in vaine,
[Page] If after times so clouded with complaints
Loue thou dost graunt me sight of her faire eies,
I meane made bright as is the morning Sun,
Hither Ergasto sent me, where he said
Corisca and my beauteous Amarillo
Would be together playing at blind man buffe:
Yet here see I none blind, saue my blind will,
That wandring seekes her sight by other meanes
But findes it not. O poyson to my food,
This long delay blindeth my heart with feare.
My cruell desteny will neuer chaunge.
Each houre, each moment that a Louer staies
Expecting his contentment, seemes a world.
But who doth know? perhaps I staid too long.
And here Corisca hath attended mee.
Ay me! If this be true, then welcome death.

Sce. 2.

Amarillis. Mirtillo. Chorus of Nimphs. Corisca.
BEhold the buffe!
Ms.
Behold indeed! ah sight.
Am.
Why stay ye now▪
Mir.
Ah voice that hast at once
Both wounded me and healed me againe?
Am.
Where be ye? what do ye? Lisetta you
That so desir'd this sport, where are you now?
Where is Corisca? and where be the rest?
Mir.
Now may't be truly said that loue is blinde,
And hath a scarse that bindeth vp his eyes.
Ama.
Come list to me! guide me cleare of these trees,
There set me in the paine, you round about
A circle make and so begin the play.
Mir.
What shall I do? I see not how this sport
Can do me good, not I Corisca see that is
The load-starre of my hopes. Heauens aide me.
Am.
Why are ye come? think ye nought else to do
But blind mine eies? Where are ye let's begin?
Cho. Nim.
Blind loue I do not trust to thee,
That makes desires full of obscuritie.
Thou hast s [...] all sight lesser troath,
[Page] Vnhappie they that trust thine oath.
Blind or not blind thou tempest in vaine,
For I can shift me in this plaine.
Blind thou dost see through Arons eies,
Blind thou best sighted safely ties.
Now that I am at libertie,
I were a foole to trust to thee.
In test nor earnest I'le not stay,
Because thou kill'st when thou dost play.
Am.
But ye play too far off, ye should touch me.
Mir.
O mightie Gods! what do I see? am I
In heauen or earth? y'haue no such h [...]rmonie.
Co. Nim.
But you that blind and faithlesse proue,
That calleth me to play this houre,
Behold I play and with my hand
Hit your backe and by you stand.
I play and round about you run,
And for I trust not you I shun.
Here am I no [...] and there againe,
Whilst you take me striue in vaine.
The reason is my hart is free,
Therefore you cannot handle mee.
Ama.
I thought I had Licoris caught, and I
Haue got a tree. I heare you laugh full well.
Mir.
Oh would I were that tree. Me thinkes I see Corisca
Hidden in yonder shrubs, she nods to mee,
Tis eu'n she, she beckens still to mee.
Cho. Nim.
Free harts haue euer feet to fly,
And so (entising power) haue I▪
Yet will you tempt me in to traine?
In saith (sweet) no: t's all in vaine.
The reason is my harts is free,
Therefore you cannot handle mee.
Ama.
I would this tree were burn'd, now had I thought
I had E [...]sa ta'en.
Mir.
Yet doth Corisca point,
She threatens me, sh'would haue me put my selfe
Among these Nimphes.
Ama.
Belike thus I all day
Must play with trees.
Co.
I must spite of my hart
[Page] Go out and speake. Why staist thou fearfull wretch?
Vntill she come into thy armes? let her take thee,
Giue me thy [...] (foole) go and meet with her.
Mir.
How ill agree my hart with my desire?
Th'one dares so little, th'other seekes so much.
Ama.
T'is time I turne againe vnto the sport,
I almost weary am. Fie, [...]ie: you make
Me run too much, in faith y'are too blame.
Cho Nim.
Now looke about triumphant powre,
That the worlds tribute dost deuoure.
Now bearst thou mocks and many a bat,
And like an Owle th'art wondred at.
About whom birds fl [...]cke thicke and round,
Vt hilst them she striues in vaine to wound.
So art thou loue this instant tide
Laught at and mockt on euery side.
Some hit thy backe and some [...]hy face,
Sparing thee neither time nor place.
It will not boote thee spread thy wings,
Nor that thy pi [...]tons whistling stings.
Catch how thou wilt thou geist not mee,
The reason is my hart is free.
(Amari [...]i [...] takes Mirtillo now.)
Him thou hast caught it is no wonder,
For loue holds all his sences vnder.
Exeunt Cho. Nim,

Sce. 3.

Amaril [...]is. Mirtillo. Corisca.
IN faith Auglaura I haue catcht you now.
Will you be gone? nay [...] Ile hold you fast.
Co.
Trust me had I not vnawares to him
Thrust him on her, this labour had bene lost.
Ama.
What not a word? are you she or not she?
Co.
Here do I take this dart, and in this groue
I turne me to obserue what followeth.
Ama.
So now I know Corisca are you not?
T'is so you are so great and haue no haire,
I could haue wisht no better match then this.
[Page] And since you ti'de me, do vntie me too,
Quickly my hart, and I will pay thee with
The sweetest kisse thou euer hadst. Why stai'st?
Me thinkes your hands do shake. Put to your teeth,
If with your nailes you cannot do the deed.
How tedious y'are? Let me alone,
My selfe will rid me of this trouble soone:
But see how many knots haue made me sure.
Ah that I may but make you play this part.
So now I see. Ay me what do I see?
Let me alone (traytor) ay wretched me.
Mir.
Stand stil my soule.
Am.
Let me alone I say,
Date you thus offer force to Nimphs Aglaure,
Elisa treachours where are you become?
Let me alone.
Mir.
Behold I let you go.
Ama.
This is Coriscaes craft, well keep you that
Which you haue not deseru'd.
Mir.
Why flie you hence▪
(Cruell) behold my death, behold this dart
Shall pierce my woful brest.
Am.
What wil you do?
Mir.
That which perhaps grieues you (most cruell Nimph.
That any else beside your selfe should do.
Am.
Oh me, me thinkes I am halfe dead.
Mir.
But if this worke belong alone to you,
Behold my brest, here take this fatall dart.
Ama.
Death you haue merited. But tell me who
Hath made you boldly thus presume?
Mi.
My loue
Ama.
Loue is no cause of any villain-act.
Mi.
Loue trust me t'was in me. I made me respec­tiue:
And since you first laid hold on me lesse cause
You haue to call my action villanie.
Yea eu'n when I by so commodious meanes
Might be made bold to vse the lawes of loue,
Yet did I quake a Louer to be found.
Ama.
Cast not my blind deeds in my teeth I pray.
Mir.
My much more loue makes me more blind then you.
Ama.
Prayers and fine conceits, not snares and thefts,
Discreetest Louers vse.
Mir.
Assauadge beast
With hunger hunted, from the woods breakes forth
[Page] And doth assaile the straunger on his way,
So I that onely by your beauteous eyes
Do liue: since that sweet foode me haue forbad,
Either your crueltie or else my fate
A starued Louer issuing from those woods
Where I haue suffered long and wretched fast,
Haue for my health assaid this stratage me
Which loues necessitie vpon me thrust.
Now blame not me (Nimph cruell) blame your selfe,
For praiers and conceits true loues discretion
As you them call, you not attend from me,
You haue bereau'd with shunning me the meanes
To loue discreetly.
Ama.
Discreetly might you to do
To leaue to follow that which flies you so,
In vaine you know you do pursue me still.
What is't you seeke of me?
Mir.
Onely one time
Daine but to heare me, ere I wretched die.
Ama.
T's well for you, the fauour that you aske
You haue alreadie had: now get you hence.
Mir.
Ah Nimph that which I haue already said,
Is but a drop of that huge ample sea
Of my complaints, if not for pittie sake,
Yet for your pleasure now heare (cruell) but
The latest accents of a dying voice.
Ama.
To ease your mind and me this cumber rid,
I graunt to heare you, but with this condition,
Speake small, part soone, and neuer turne againe.
Mir.
In too too small a bundle (cruell Nimphe)
You do ccommaund me binde my huge desires,
Which measure, but by thought nought could con­taine:
That I you loue, and loue more then life,
If you deny to know, aske but these woods
And they will tell, and tell you with them will
Their beasts, their trees & stones of these great rocks
Which I so oft haue tender made to melt
At found of my complaints. But what make I
Such proofe of loue where such rare beautie is?
See but how many beauteous things the skies containe,
[Page] How many dresse the earth in braue attire:
Thence shall you see the force of my desire.
For as the waters fall, the fire doth rise,
The ayre doth fl [...]e, the earth lies firmly still,
And all these same the skies do compasse round.
Eu'n so to you as to their chiefest good,
My soule doth flie, and my poore thoughts do run
With all affection to your louely beauties:
He that from their deare obiect would them turne,
Might fast turne from their viuall course the skie,
The earth, the ayre, the water, and the fire.
And quite remooue the earth from oft his seate.
But why commaund you me to speake but small?
Small shall I tell, it I but tell you shall
That I must die, and lesse shall dying doo,
If I but see what is my turne too.
Ay me, what shall I do? which may out-last
My miserable loue? When I am dead,
Yet cruell soule haue pitie on my paines.
Ah faire! ah deare I sometime so sweete a cause
Why I did liue whilst my good fates were pleasd.
Turne hitherward those starry lights of loue,
Let me them see once meeke and full of pitie
Before I die. So may my death be sweet.
As they haue bene good guide, vnto my life,
So let them be vnto my death, and that
Sweet lo [...]ke which first begat my loue, beget
My death [...] my loues Hesperus become
The [...] star [...]e of my decaying day.
But you obdurate, neuer [...],
Whil [...] I more humble you more haughtie are.
And can you heare me and not speake a word?
Whom do I speake too wretch a marble stone?
If you will say nought else, yet bid me die,
And you shal see what force your words will haue.
Ah wicked loue, this is a miserie extreame,
A Nymph so cruell so desirous of my death,
Because I aske it as a fauour, scornes to giue it,
[Page] Arming her cruell voyce in silence so,
Least it might fauour mine exceeding wo.
Ama.
If I as well to answere as to heare,
You pronus'd had, iust cause you might haue found
To haue condemn'd my silence for vniust.
You call me cruell, imagining perhaps
By that reproofe more easily to drawe
Me to the contrary. No know (Mirtillo)
I am no more delighted with the sound
Of that desertlesse and disliked praise
You to my beautie giue, then discontent
To heare you call me cruell and vniust.
I graunt this crueltie to any else a fault,
But to a louer vertue t's and honestie,
Which in a woman you call crueltie.
But be it as you you'd blame-worthy fault,
To be vnkinde to one that loues. Tell me,
When was Amarillis cruell vnto you?
Perhaps when reason would not giue me leaue
To vse this pitie: yet how I it vs'd
Your selfe can iudge, when you from death I sau'd:
I meane when you among a noble sort of maides,
A lustfull Louer in a womans cloathes
Banded your selfe, and durst contaminate
Their purest sports, mingling mong kisses innocent,
Kisses lasciuious and impure: which to remember
I am asham'd. But heauens my witnesse are,
I knew you not, and after I you knew,
I scornd your deed, and kept my soule vntoucht
From your lasciuiousnesse, not suffering at all
The venome there to runne to my chaste heart.
You violated nothing saue th'out side
Of these my lips. A mouth kist but by force
Spits out the kisse, and kill the shame withall.
But tell me you, what fruite had you receiu'd
Of your rash theft, had I discouered you
Vnto those Nymphes? The Thracian Orfeus had not bene
So lamentably torne on Ebers bankes
[Page] Of Bacchus dames as you had bene of them,
Had not you help't, her pittie whom you cruell call.
That pittie which was fit for me to giue, I euer gaue:
For other t'is in vaine you either aske or hope:
If you me loue, then loue mine honestie,
My safetie loue, and loue my life withall.
Thou art too farre from that which thou desir'st,
The heauens forbid, the earth contraries it,
Death is the punishment thereof. And aboue all
Mine honestie desies forbidden acts:
Then with a safer keeper of her honours floure,
A soule well-borne will euer scorne to haue.
Then rest in peace (Mirtillo) giue ore this suite,
Get thee farre hence to liue if thou art bee'st wise.
T'abandon life for peeuish griefe or smart,
Is not the action of a valiant hart.
From that which pleaseth vertue, t'is t'abstaine,
Is that which pleaseth breeds offence againe.
Mir.
To saue ones life is not within his power,
That hath his soule forsaken and giu'n ore.
Ama.
One arm'd in vertue conquereth all desire.
Mir.
Vertue small conquest gets where loue tryumphes.
Ama.
Who cannot what he would will he what he can.
Mir.
Oh loues necessitie no lawes endures.
Ama.
Distance of place may heale your wound againe.
Mir.
In vaine one flies from that his hart doth harbour.
Ama.
A new desire an old will quite displace.
Mir.
Had I another hart, another soule.
Ama.
Time will at last clearly this loue consume.
Mir.
I after loue hath quite consum'd my life.
Ama.
Why then your wounds will not be cur'd at all?
Mir.
Neuer till death.
Ama.
Till death▪ well heare mee now,
And looke my words be lawes vnto your deeds.
Howbee't I know to die is the more vsuall voice
Of an inamour'd tongue, then a desire
Or firme conceit his soule hath entertain'd,
Yet if by chaunce such a straunge folly hath
Possest thy minde, know then thy death will be
[Page] Death to mine honour as vnto thy life.
Now if thou lou'st me, liue and let it be
A token of thy wit henceforth thou shun
To see me, or to seeke my company.
Mir.
O cruell sentence! can I without life
Liue thinke you then? Or can I without death
Find end vnto my torment and my griefe?
Ama.
Well now t'is time you go (Mirtillo) hence!
Yow'le stay too long. Go comfort your selfe,
That infinit the troupe of wretched Louers is.
All wounds do bring with them their seuerall paine,
Nor can you onely of this loue complaine.
Mir.
Among these wretches I am not alone: but yet
A miserable spectacle am onely I,
Of dead and liuing, nor can liue nor die.
Ama.
Well go your waies.
Mir.
Ah sad departure,
End of my life, go I from you, and do not die?
And yet I feele the verie pangs of death,
That do giue life vnto mine exttasie,
To make my hart immortally to die.

Scene 4.

Amarillis.
OH Mirtillo! oh my dearest soule
Could'st thou but see into her hart whom thou
Call'st cruell Amarillis, then wouldst thou say
Thou hadst that pittie which thy hart desires.
Oh mindes too much infortunate in loue!
What bootes it thee my hart to be belou'd?
What bootes it me to haue so deare a Loue?
Why should the cruell sates so disvnite
Whō loue conioines? and why should traiterous loue
Conioyne them whom the destenies do part?
Oh happie sauadge beasts whom nature giues
No lawes in loue, saue verie loue it selfe.
Inhumane humane lawe, that punish'st
This loue with death, if't be so sweet to sin,
And not to sin so necessary bee,
[Page] Imperfect nature that repugneth law,
Or law too hard that nature doth offend.
But rush, she loues too litle that feares death,
Would gods death were the worst that's due to sin.
Deare chastitie, th'inviolable powre
Of soules well-borne that hast my amorous will
Retein'd in chaines of holy rigour still:
To thee I consecrate my harmlesse sacrifize.
And thou my soule (Mirtillo) pardon me,
That cruell [...] where I should piteous bee.
Pardon her that in lookes and onely words
Doth seeme thy foe, but in my heart thy friend.
If thou wouldst be reueng'd, what greater paine
Wouldst thou [...], thou this my cruel griefe?
Thou art my heart, and sha [...]t be spite of heauen
And earth, when thou dost plaine & sigh, and weep,
Thy teares become my bloud, thy sighes my breath:
And all thy paines they are not onely thine,
For I them feele, and they are turned mine.

Sce. 5.

Corisca. Amarillis.
HIde you no more my Amarillis now.
Ama.
Wretch I discouered am.
Co.
I all haue heard,
Be not afraid, did I not say I lou'd you,
And yet you are afraid? and hides your selfe
From her that loues you so▪ Why do you blush?
This blushing is a common fault.
Ama.
Corisca I am conquer'd I confesse.
Co.
That which you cannot hide you wil confesse.
Ama.
And now I see too weake a thing doth proue
A womans heart t'encounter mightie loue.
Co.
Cruel vnto Mirtillo, but more cruel to your selfe.
Ama.
It is no crueltie that springs of pitie.
Co.
Cicute and Aconite do grow from hoisome rootes.
I see no difference twixt this crueltie
That doth offend, and pitie helping not.
Ama.
Ah me Coriscal
Co.
These sighes good sister
[Page] Are but weakenesse of your heart Th'are fit
For women of small worth.
Ama.
I could not be
Thus cruel but I should loue cherish hopelesly.
Therefore to shun him shewes I haue compassion
Of his ill and mine.
(Co.)
Why hopelesly?
Ama.
Do you not know I am espows'd to Siluio,
And that the law each woman doomes to death
That violates her faith?
(Co.)
Oh simple foole,
Is this the let? Which is more auncient among vs,
Dianaes lawe or loues? this in our breasts
Is bred and growes with vs, Nature her selfe
With her owne hands imprints in our hearts breasts:
And where this law commands, both heau'n & earth obey.
Ama.
But if the other law do take my life,
How can loues lawe restore it me againe?
Co.
You are too nice, were eu'ry woman so,
Had all such straight respects Good times farewell,
Small practisers are subiect to this paine.
The lawe doth neuer stretch vnto the wise.
Beleeue me should blame-worthy all be slaine,
The countre then would soone prooue womanlesse.
It needfull was, theft should forbidden bee
To them that closely could not couer theft.
This honestie is but an art to seeme so,
Let others as they list beleeue, Ile thinke so still.
Ama.
These are but vanities (Corisca) t'were best
Quickly to leaue that which we cannot hold.
Co.
And who forbids thee foole? This life's too short
To passe it ouer with one onely loue:
Men are too sparing of then fauours now,
(Whether't be for want, or else for frowardnesse
The fresher that we are, the dearer still:
Beautie and youth once gone w'are like Bee hiues
That hath no honey, no nor yet no waxe.
Let men prate on they do not feele our woes,
For their condition differs much from ours,
The elder that they grow, they grow the perfectest:
If they loose beautie, yet they wisedome gaine:
[Page]
But when our beautie fades that oftentimes
Conquers their greatest witts, straight fadeth all our good,
There cannot be a vilder thing to see
Then an old woman. Therfore ere thou age attaine,
Know me thy selfe, and vse it as thou shouldst.
What were a Lion worth did he not vse his strength?
What's a mans wit worth that lies idly by?
Eu'n so our beautie proper strength to vs,
As force to Lyons, wisedome vnto men,
We ought to vse whilst it we haue. Time flies
Away and yeares come on, our youth once lost
We like cut flowres neuer grow fresh againe.
And to our hoary haires loue well may runne,
But Louers will our wrinkled skinnes still shunne.
Ama.
Thou speakest this (Corisca) me to trie,
Not as thou think'st I am sure. But be assur'd
Except thou show'st some meanes how I may shun
This marriage bonds, my thought's irreuocable,
And I resolued am rather to die
Then any way to spot my chastitie.
Co.
I haue not seene so obstinate a foole,
But since you are resolu'd I am agreed.
But tell me do you thinke your Siluio is
As true a friend to faith as you to chastitie?
Ama.
Thou mak'st me smile. Siluio a friend to faith?
How can that be? hee's enemy to loue.
Co.
Siluio an enemy to loue? O foole,
These that are nice put thou no trust in them:
Loues theft is neuer so securely done
As hidden vnder vaile of honestie,
Thy Siluio loues (good Sister) but not thee.
Ama.
What goddesse is she? for she cannot bee
A mortall wight that lighted hath his loue.
Co.
Nor goddesse, nor a Nimph.
(Ama.)
What do you tell?
Co.
Know you Lisetta?
(Ama.)
She that your cattell keeps?
Co.
Eu'n she.
(Ama.)
Can it be true?
(Co.)
That same's his hart.
Ama.
Sure hee's prouided of a daintie Loue.
Co.
Each day he faines that he on hunting goes.
Ama.
[Page]
I eu'ry morning heare his cursed horne.
Co.
About noone-time when others busie are,
He his companions shuns, and comes alone
By a backe way, vnto my garden there,
Where a shadow hedge doth close it in,
There doth she heare his burning sighes his vowes,
And then she tells me all, and laughes at him.
Now heare what I thinke good to doo. Nay I
Haue don't for you alreadie. You know the law
That tyes vs to our faith, doth giue vs leaue
Finding our spowses in the act of perfidie,
Spite of our friends the marriage to denie,
And to prouide vs of an other if we list.
Ama.
That know I well, I haue examples two,
Leucipp to Ligurine, Armilla to Turingo,
Their faith once broke, they tooke their owne again.
Co.
Now heare! Lisetta by my appointment hath
Promist to meet th'vnwary Louer here
In thi [...]same Caue, and now he is the best
Contented youth that liues, attending but the houre
There would I haue you take him. Ile be there
To beare you witnesse oft't, for else we worke
In vaine, so are you free from this same noisome knot
Both with your honour, and your fathers too.
Ama.
Oh braue inuentiō, good Corisca what's to do?
Co.
Obserue my words. In midst of this same caue
Vpon the right hand is a hollow stone,
I know not if by Art or nature made,
A litle Caue all linde with Iuy leaues,
To which a litle hole aloft giues light,
A fit and thankfull receptacle for loues theft.
Preuent their comming and attend them there:
Ile haste Lisetta forward, and as soone
As I perceiue your Siluio enter, so will I:
Step you to her, and as the custome is,
Weele carry both vnto the Priest, and there dissolue
This marriage knot.
(Ama.)
What to his father?
Co.
What matter's that? Think you Montanus dare
[Page] His priuate to a publike good compare?
Ama.
Then closing vp mine eyes, I let my selfe
Be ledde by thee my deare, my faithfull guide.
Co.
But do not stay now, enter me betime.
Ama.
I'le to the T [...]mple first, and to the Gods
My prayers make, without whose aide no happy end
Can euer sort to mortall enterprise.
Co.
All places (Amarillis) temples are,
To hearts deuout, you'le slacke your time too much.
Ama.
Time's neuer lost in praying vnto them
That do commaund the time.
Co.
Go then dispatch.
Now if I erre not, am I at good passe,
Onely this staying troubles me, yet may it helpe,
I must goe make new snares to traine in Coridon.
Ile make him thinke that I will meet him there,
And after Amarillis send him soone,
Then by a secret way Ile bring Dianaes Priests:
Her shall they finde, and guiltie doome to death.
My riuall gone (Mirtillo) sure is mine,
See where he comes. Whilst Amarillis stayes
Ile somewhat trie him. Loue now once inspire
My tongue with words, my face with heau'nly fire.

Sce. 6.

Mirtillo. Corisca.
HEre weeping sprights of hell new torments heare,
New sorts of paine, a cruell mind behold
Included in a looke most mercifull,
My loue more fierce then the infernall pit,
Because my death cannot suffice to glut
Her greedie will, and that my life is but
A multitude of deathes commaund me liue,
That to them all my life might liuing giue.
Co.
Ile make as though I heard him not, I heare
A lamentable voyce plaine hereabouts,
I wonder who it is, oh my Mirtillo.
Mir.
So would I were a naked shade or dust.
Co.
How feele you now your selfe after your long
[Page] Discourse with your so dearely loued Nymph?
Mir.
Like a weake sick man that hath long desir'd
Forbidden drinke, at last gets it vnto his mouth
And drinks his death, ending at once both life & thirst.
So I long sicke, burn't and consumed in
This amorous drought, frō two faire fountains that
Ice do distill from out a rockie braine
Of an indurate heart,
Haue drunke the poyson that my life will kill,
Sooner then halfe of my desire fulfill.
Co.
So much more mightie waxeth loue as from
Our hearts the force is he receiues (deare Mirtillo)
For as the Beare is wont with licking to giue shape
To her mishapen brood, that else were helplesse borne.
Eu'n so a Louer to his bare desire,
That in the birth was shapelesse, weake and fraile.
Giuing but forme and strength begetteth loue:
Which whilst t'is young and tender, then t'is sweet,
But waxing to more yeares, more cruell growes,
That in the end (Mirtillo) an mueterate affect
Is euer full of anguish and defect.
For whilst the mind on one thought onely beates;
It waxeth thicke by being too much fixt.
So loue that should be pleasure and delight,
Is turn'd to malancholy, and what worser is,
It proues at last, or death, or madnesse at the least:
Wherefore wise is that heart that often changeth loue.
Mir.
Ere I change will or thought, chang'd must my life
Be into death, for though the beautious Amarillis
Be most cruell, yet is she all my life:
Nor can this bodies bulke at once containe
More then one heart, more then one soule retaine.
Co.
O wretched shepheard, ill thou knowst to vse
Loue in his kind, loue one that hates thee, one
That flies from thee, fie man, I had rather die.
Mir.
As gold in fire, so saith in griefe's refinde,
Nor can (Corisca) am [...]rous constancie
Shewe his great power, but thorough crueltie.
[Page] This onely rests amongst my many griefes.
My sole content doth my heart burne or die,
Or languish ne're so much, light are the paines,
Plaints, torments, sighes, exile, and death it selfe,
For such a cause, for such a sweet respect.
That life before my faith shall broken bee,
So worse then death I hold inconstancie.
Co.
O braue exploit, Louer magnanimous,
Like an enraged beast or sencelesse rocke,
There cannot be a greater damned plague,
More mortall poyson to a soule in loue.
Then is this faith. Vnhappie is that heart
That let it selfe be guld with vaine fantas [...]nes
Of this erronious and vnseasonable
Disturber of these amorous delights.
Tell me poore man with this thy foolish vertue of constancie,
What lou'st thou in her that doth thee despise?
Lou'st thou the beautie that is none of thine?
The ioy thou hast not? the pittie thou wantst?
The reward thou dost not hope for? if thou deem'st right,
Thou lou'st thine ill, thy grief, thy very death,
Th'art mad to hunt thus that thou canst not haue.
Lift vp thy selfe (Mirtillo) happily thou wantst
[...]ome choise of friends, thou finds none to thy mind.
Mir.
More deare to me is paine for Amarillis▪
Then any ioy a thousand else can giue:
If me my fates forbid her to enioy,
For me then die all other kinds of ioy.
I fortunate in any other kinde of loue?
No though I would I could not:
Nor though I could I would not.
And if I thought in any time henceforth
My will would wish or power obtaine the same,
I would desire of heau'n and loue at once
Both will and power might quite be ta'ne away.
Co.
Wilt thou then die for her that thee disdaines?
Mir.
Who pitie not expects doth feare no paines.
Co.
Do not deceiue thy selfe, perhaps thou think'st
[Page] Shee doth dissemble in this deepe despight,
And that she loues thee well for all this showe.
Oh that thou knewst what vnto me shee euer sayes.
Mir.
All these are trophees of my truest faith,
With which I will triumph ouer her cruell will,
Ouer my paines, and my distressed chance,
Ouer worlds fortune, and ouer death it selfe.
Co.
(What would he do, did he but know her loue?)
How I bewaile thee wretched phrensie man:
Tell me didst thou e're any loue besides?
Mir.
She was my first, and she my last shall be.
Co.
For ought that I can see you neuer try'd
Loue but in cruell moodes, but in disdaine.
Oh if you had but prou'd him one time kind,
Proue him but so, & you shal see how sweet a thing
It is t'enioy a gratefull Nymph; sheel'e you adore,
Shee'le make your Amarillis bitter to your taste.
How deare a thing it is wholy to haue
What you desire, and be nought bard thereof.
Here your Nymph sigh to coole your scalding sighs,
And after say (my deere) all that you see is yours.
If I be faire, I am onely faire for you:
Onely for you I cherish these my cheekes,
My lockes, my brest, your deare hearts onely lodge.
But this (alas [...]e) is but a brooke to that
Great Sea of sweets which we in loue might taste,
Which none can vtter saue by proofe.
Mir.
Thousand times blest that vnder such a star is borne.
Co.
Here me (Mirtillo) how like I was t'haue said
My heart) a Nymph as gentle as the winde
Doth blow vpon with haire of glistering gold,
As worthy of your loue as you of hers,
Praise of these woods, loue of a thousand hearts,
By worthy youthes in vaine sollicited,
You onely loues more then her heart, her life,
If you be wise do not dispise her then.
She like a shadow to thy selfe will be,
A faithfull follower of thy footsteps euer,
[Page] One at thy word, obedient at thy becke,
All houres of day and night at thy commaund.
Do not forsake this rare aduenture then,
No pleasure in this earth so sweet as this,
It will not cost a teare, no not a sigh.
A ioy accommodated to thy will,
A sweetnesse temp'red sweetly to thy taste,
Is't not a treasure worth the hauing (man)?
Leaue then the feet of flying hopelesse trace,
And her that followes thee, scorne not t'embrace.
I feed you not with hopes of vanitie.
If you desire to see her, you shall see her straight.
Mir.
My hart's no subiect for these loues delights.
Co.
Proue it but once, and then returne againe
Vnto thy sollitary griefe, so may'st thou see
What are those ioyes that in loues pleasures bee.
Mir.
A taste corrupted, pleasant things abhors.
Co.
Be not you cruel yet to rob her life,
That on your eye, depends, you know what t'is
To beg with pouertie, if you desire
Pitie your selfe, do it not her denie.
Mir.
What pitie can he giue that none can get?
In summe I am resolu'd whilst here I liue,
To keepe my faith to her how ere she proue,
Cruell or pitifull, or how she will.
Co.
(Oh truly blind, vnhappie sencelesse man)
To whom preseru'st thou faith? trust me I am loth
T'augment thy griefe, but for the loue I beare thee
I cannot choose. Thinkst Amarillis is vnkind
For zeale she to religion beares?
Or vnto chastitie? Thou art a foole,
The roome is occupied and thou must weepe
Whilst others laugh. What? now th'art dumbe.
Mir.
Now stands my life in midst twixt life and death,
Whilst I in doubt do stand, if to beleeue,
Or not beleeue, this makes me so amaz'd.
Co.
You'le not beleeue me then?
Mir.
Oh if I do,
Straight shall you see my miserable end.
Co.
[Page]
Liue wretched man, liue and reuenged bee.
Mir.
Oh no it is not true, it cannot bee.
Co.
Well theres no remedie, I must rehearse
That which will vexe thy heart. Seest thou that caue?
That is the true custodian of her faith
And her religion. There thee to scorne she laughes,
There with thy torments doth she sauce the ioyes
Of thy thrise happie riuall. There to be plaine
Thy faithfull Amarillis oft is wont
To dally in the armes of a base shepheard slaue.
Go sigh, preserue thy faith, there's thy reward.
Mir.
Dost thou tell true Corisca? may I beleeue thee?
Co.
The more thou seek'st, the worse thou findest still.
Mir.
But hast thou seene this thing Corisca?
Co.
I haue not seen't, yet may'st thou if thou wilt,
For euen this day is order ta'ne this houre,
That they may meete. Hide thee but somewhere here,
And thou shalt see her first go in, then he.
Mir.
Then comes my death.
Co.
See where she comes,
Softly descending by the Temples way. Seest thou her?
Do not her stealing feete bewray her stealing heart?
Attend thou here and thou shalt see th'effect.
Mir.
Since I am here, the truth I now will see,
Till then, my life and death suspended bee.

Sce. 7.

Amarillis.
LEt neuer mortall enterprise be ta'ne in hand
Without this heauenly counsell, halfe confusde
And doubtfull was my heart when I went hence
Vnto the Temple, whence thankes be to heauen,
I do well comforted, and well dispos'd returne.
Me thought to my pure prayers and deuout,
I felt a spright celestiall mooue within me
Hartning my thoughts, that as it were did say,
What fear'st thou Amarillis? be assurd.
So will I goe assur'd, heau'ns be my guide,
Fauour faire Mother of loue her pure desseignes,
[Page] That on thy succour onely doth depend.
Queene of the triple skie if e're thou prou'dst
Thy sunnes hotte fire, take pitie then of mine.
Guide hither curteous goddesse that same swaine
With swift and subtill feet that hath my faith.
And thou deare Caue into thy bosome take
Me, loues handmaid, and giue me leaue there to
Accomplish my desires. Why do I stay?
Here's none doth see or heare. Enter secure.
Oh Mirtillo, couldst thou but dream to find me here.

Sce. 8.

Mirtillo.
WHat am I blind, or do I too much see?
Ah had I but bene borne without these eyes,
Or rather not at all had I bene borne.
Did spitefull fates reserue me thus aliue
To let me see so bad, so sad a sight?
Mirtill thy torments passe the paines of hell.
No: doubt no more: suspend not thy beliefe,
Thine eies, thine eares, haue seene, haue heard it true.
Thy loue an other ownes not by the lawe
Of earth, that bindes her vnto any one,
But by loues lawe that tyes her sole to thee.
O cruell Amarillis, wa'st not inough
To kill me wretch, but thou must scorne me too?
That faithlesse mouth that sometime gra [...]'t my ioies,
Did vomit out my hatefull name, because
She would not haue it in her heart to be
A poore partaker of her pleasures sweet.
Why stay'st thou now? she that did giue me life
Hath ta'n't away, and giu'n't an other man:
Yet wretch thou liu'st, thou dost not die. O die
Mirtillo, die to thy tormenting griefe,
As to thy ioy thou art alreadie dead.
Die dead Mirtillo, finish't is thy life.
Finish thy torment too: fleet wretched soule
Through this foure constrain'd and wayward death:
[Page] Tis for thy greater ill that thus thou liust.
But what? And must I die without reuenge?
First will I make him die that giues me death:
Desire to liue so long I will retaine
Till iustly I haue that Vsurper slaine.
Yeeld Griefe vnto Reuenge: Pittie to Rag [...],
Death vnto life, till with my life I haue
Reueng'd the death, another guiltles gaue.
This Steele shall not drinke mine vnuenged blood,
My hand shall rage ere it shall pitteous bee.
What ere thou art that ioyst my comfortes all,
I'le make thee feele thy ruine in my fall.
I'le place me heere eu'n in this very Groue,
And as I see him but approach the Caue,
This Dart shall sodaine wound him in his side.
It shalbe cowardlike to strike him thus,
I'le challenge him to single combat, I:
Not so; for to this place so knowne and vsd,
Shepheards may come to hinder vs, and worse:
May search the cause that moou'd me to this fight,
Which to deny were wickednesse to faigne,
Will make me faythlesse held: and to discouer,
Will blot her name with endlesse infamiet
In whom albeit I like not what I see,
Yet what I lou'd I do, and euer shall.
But what hope I to see, th'adult'rer die
That robd her of her honor, me my life?
But if I kill him, shall not then his blood
Be to the world a token of this deed?
Why feare I death? since I desire to die.
But then this murder once made plaine, makes plaine
The cause whereby she shall incurre that infamie:
I'le enter then this Caue, and so assayle him,
I so, that pleaseth me: I'le steale in softly,
So that she shall not heare me. I beleeue
That in the secretst and the closest part
I gather by her wordes I shall her finde,
Therefore I will not enter in too farre.
[Page] A hollow hole there is made in a Rocke,
The left side couer'd all with Y [...]ie leaues:
Beneath th'other asscent there will I stand,
And tune attend t'effect what I desire:
I'le beare my dead foe to my lyuing foe;
Thus of them both I shalbe well reueng'd:
Then with this selfe same Dart Ile pierce this brest,
So shall there be three pier'st without reliefe,
First two with Steele, the third with deadly griefe,
(Fierse) she shall see the miserable end
Of her belou'd, and her betrayed friend,
This Caue that should be harbour of her ioyes,
Of both her loues, and that which more I craue,
Of her great shame, may proue the happy graue.
And you the steppes that I in vaine haue followed,
Could you me speed of such a faythfull way?
Could you direct me to so deare a Bowre?
Behold I follow you. O Corisea, Corisea,
Now hast thou told too true, now I beleeue thee.

SCE. 9.

Satyre.
DOth this man then beleeue Corisea, following her steps
Into the Caue of Eri [...]a [...]. Well, hee's mad,
He knowes her not; beleeue mee he had need
Haue better hold of her ingaged fayth,
Then I had of her heare: But knottes more stranged,
Then gaudy guiftes on her he cannot tie.
This damned Whoore hath sold her selfe to him,
And here shee'le pay the shamefull markets price.
Shee is within, her steps bewray the same,
This falles out for her punishment, and thy reuenge:
With this great ouerstu [...]ding stone close thou the Caue,
Goe then about, and fetch the Priest with thee:
By the hill way which few or none do know,
Let her be executed as the law commaunds,
For breach of marriage troth, which she to Coridon
[Page] Hath plighted, though she euer it conceal'd
For feare of me, so shall I be reueng'd
Of both at once, I'le leese no farther time:
From off this Elme I'le cut a bough, with which
I may more speedely remoue this stone! Oh how great it is!
How fast it stickes. I'le digge it round about.
This is a worke in deed: Where are my wonted forces:
Oh peruerse Starres! in spight of you I'le moou't.
Oh Pan Licciu, helpe me now, thou wert a louer once,
Reuenge thy loue disdaind, vpon Corisea.
So, in the name of thy great power it mooues.
So, in the Power of thy great name it falles.
Now is the wicked Foxe ta'ne in the trappe.
Oh that all wicked Women were with thee within,
That with one fire they might be all destroyd.
Chorus.
HOw Puissaunt art thou Loue,
Natures miracle, and the Worldes wonder?
What sauadge nation, or what rusticke hart
Is it that of thy power feeles no part?
But what Wit's so profound can pull asunder
That powers strength?
Who feeles those flames thy fire lightes at length,
Immoderate and vaine,
Will say amortall spright thou sole dost raigne
And liue, in the corporall and fleshly brest.
But who feeles after how a louer is
Wak'ned to Ʋertue, and how all those flames
Do tremble out at sight of honest shames,
(Ʋnbrid'led blust'ring lustes brought downe to rest)
Will call thee Spright of high immortall blisse,
Hauing thy holy receptacle in the soule.
Rare miracle of human: and diuine aspectes,
(That blind) dost see, and Wisedome (mad) corrects,
Of sence and vnderstanding intellects,
Of reason and desire confus'd affects.
[Page] Such Emperie hast thou on earth,
And so the heauens aboue dost thou controule:
Yet (by your leaue) a wonder much more rare,
And more stupendious hath the world then you,
For how you make all wonders yeeld and bow
Is easely knowne. Your powers do berthe,
And being taken from vertue of a woman faire.
O Woman guift of the high heauenly skie,
Or rather his who did their spangled gowne
So gorgious make vnto our mortall eye:
What hath it which a Womans beautie push not downe,
In his vast brow a monstrous Cicloplike,
It onely one eye hath,
Which to beholding gazers giues no light,
But rather doth with terrour blindnesse, strike:
Yf it do sigh or speake, t'is like the wrath
Of an enraged Lion that would fight:
And not the skies alone but euen poore fieldes,
Are blasted with the flames his lightning weildes.
Whilst thou with Lampes most sweete,
And with an amorous angelicke light
Of two Sunnes visible that neuer meete,
Dost alwayes the tempesteous troubled spright
Of thy beholder quiet and delight:
Sound, motion, light, that beautie doth assume,
State, daintinesse, and valew, do aright
Mixe such a harmony in that farre sight,
That skyes themselues with vanitie presume,
Yf lesse then Paradice those skies do shine
To Paragon with thee (thing most deuine)
Good reason hath that soueraigne creature (nam'd
A Man) to whom all mortall thinges do how,
If thee beholding, higher cause allow
And yeeld to bee.
What though he rule and triumph truely fam'd,
It is not for high powers more worth do see
In him then is in thee,
Either of scepter or of victorie:
[Page] But for to make thee farre more glorious stand,
Because the Conqurour thou dost commaund:
And s [...]'t must bee, for mans humanitie
Is subiect still to Beauties deutie.
Who will not trust this, but contrary saith,
Let him behold Mirtilloes wondrous fayth:
Yet Woman to thy worth this is a staine,
Loue is made loue so hopelesly and vaine.

SCE. 1.

Corisea.
SO fixed was my hart and whole intent
In bringing of this Deere vnto the bow,
That I forgotten had my dearest heire
That brutish villaine robd me of: Oh how I grieud,
With such a price to purchace mine escape:
But t'was of force to get out of the handes
Of that same senceles beast, who though he haue
Lesse hart then any Conny hath, yet might he do
Me many iniuries and many skornes.
I alwayes him despisd: whilst he had blood
In any of his vaines (like a Horse-leach)
I suckt him still. Now doth it grieue him that
I haue giu'n o're to loue him still; iust cause he had.
If one could loue a most vnlouely Beast,
Like hearbes that earst were got for holsome vse,
The iuice drawne out, they rest vnprofitable,
And like a stinking thing we them despise:
So him, (when I had what so ere was good suckt out
From him) how should I vse, but throw the saples trunke
Vnto the dunghill heape? Now will I see
Yf Coridon be gotten close into the Caue.
What newes is this I see? Sleepe I or do I wake?
I am assurd this Caues mouth erst was ope,
How close tis shut? How is this auncient Stone?
Rould downe? was it an Earthquake since.
Yet would I know if Coridon were there
[Page] With Amarillis, then car'd I little for the rest,
Certaine hee's there, for tis a good while since
Lisetta gaue him word. Who knowes the contrary?
T'may be Mirtillo moued with disdaine,
Hath done this deed, hee had hee but my minde,
Could onely haue perform'd this rare exployte.
Well by the Mountaines way will I go see,
And learne the troth of all how it hath past.

SCE. 2.

Dorinda, Linco.
LInco, I am assur'd thou knowst me not.
Lin.
Who would haue thought that in these rusty rags
Gentle Dorinda had been euer hid.
Were I some Dogge, as I but Linco am,
Vnto thy cost I should thee know too well.
VVhat do I see? Dor. Linco, thou seest great loue,
VVorking effectes both strange and miserable.
Lin.
One like thy selfe, so soft so tender yet,
That wer't but now (as one would say) a babe,
And still me thinkes it was but yesterday
Since in mine armes I had thee little wretch,
Ruling thy tender cryes, and taught thee too
To call thy Father Dad, thy Mother Mamme:
When in your house I was a Seruant hir'd,
Thou that so like a fearefull Doe wa'st wont
To feare earch thing before thou feltst this loue,
Why, on a sodaine thee would scarre each blast,
Each Bird that stird a bush, each Mouse that from
Her hole did run, each Leafe would make thee start,
Now wandrest all alone by hills, by woodes,
Fearing no Beast that hauntes the Forrestes wilde?
Dor.
Wounded with Loue, who feares another hurt.
Lin.
Loue had great power, that could not onely thee
Into a Man, but to a Wolfe transeforme.
Dor.
O Linco, could'st thou but see here within,
There should'st thou see a lyuing Wolfe deuoure
[Page] My wretched soule like to a harmeles Lambe.
Lin.
And who's that Wolfe? Siluio. Do. Ah thou hast said.
Lan.
Thou, for he is a Wolfe, hast changd thy selfe
Into a Wolfe because no humane lookes
Could mooue his loue, perhaps this beastes yet mought.
But tell me, where had'st thou these cloathes so ragd?
Do.
I'le tell thee true, to day I went betime
There where I heard that Siluio did intend
A noble hunting to the sauage Boore,
At Erimantus foote, where Eliceit
Puts vp his head, not farre off from the lawnd,
That from the hill is seuer'd by discent,
I found Mel [...]mpo my faire Siluioes Dogge,
Whose thirst I thinke had drawne him to that place:
I that each thing of Siluio held full deare,
Shade of his shape, and footsteps of his feete,
Much more the Dogge which he so dearely lou'd,
Him straightway tooke, and hee without adoo,
Like to some gentle Cade, came quietly with mee:
Now whilst I cast this Dogge to reconuey
Home to his Lord and mine, hoping to make
A conquest of his loue by guift so deare,
Behold he comes seeking his footsteps out,
And heere he stayes. Deare Linco I will not
Leese further time in telling euery thing
That twixt vs past, but briefly to dispatch:
After a heape of faigned vowes and wordes,
The cruell Boy fled from me straight away
In ire'full mood with his thrice-happy Dogge,
And with my deare and sweetest sweete reward.
Lin.
Oh desperate Siluio! Oh cruell Boy!
What didst thou then? Disdaind'st thou not his deed?
Dor.
As if the heate of his disdaine had been
Of loue vnto my hart the greatest fire,
So by his rage increased my desire:
Yet still pursuing him vnto the chace,
Keeping my broken way, I Lupus met,
Heere thought I good with him to change my cloathes,
[Page] And in his seruile habite me to hide,
That mongst the Swaines I for a Swaine might passe,
And at my pleasure see my Sila [...]o.
Lin.
Went'st thou to hunt in likenesse of a Woolfe,
Seene by the Dogges, and yet return [...]'st safe?
Domida, thou hast done [...].
Do
[...]
No wonder t'is, the Dogge [...] could do no harme
Vnto their Maisters [...].
There stood I [...] sort
Of neighbour [...],
Rather to see the [...].
At euery [...] Beast
My hart did quake: [...]
My soule step: [...]
But my chiefe hope the [...] disterb'd,
Of that immeasurable Boore [...],
Like as the rau'nous strength of [...] storme
In little time bringes trees and rockes to ground:
So by his tuskes bedew'd with blood and foame,
VVe see Dogges slaine, Staues broke, and wounded men.
How many times did my poore blood desire
For Siluioes blood to combat with the Boore,
How often times would I haue stept to make
My brest a buckler for my Siluioes brest,
How often sayd I in my sefe, excuse,
Excuse the daintie lapp of my deare Loue:
So to my selfe spake I with praying sighes,
VVhilst he his Dogge all arm'd with hardned skin,
Lets loose against the Beast, who waxed proud
Of hauing made a wretched quarries sight
Of wounded Shepheardes and Dogges slaine outright:
Linca, I cannot tell this Dogges great worth,
And Siluio loues him not without good cause.
Looke how an angry Lyon entertaines
The poynted hornes of some vndaunted Bull,
Sometime with force, sometime with pollicie,
And fastens at the last his mightie pawes
So on his backe as no powre can remou't:
[Page] So strong Me [...]p' auoyding craftely
The Boores swift [...] and mortall wounding blowes:
At last taints on his eare, which first he shakes,
And afterward so firmely him he holdes,
As his vast sides might wounded be at ease:
The dismall token of a deadly stroke,
The Siluio innocating Phoebes name,
Du [...]ct this blow (sayd he) and here I vow
To sacrifize to thee his gastly head.
This l [...]yd, from out his q [...]uer of pure gold,
He takes a speedy Sha [...]t, and to his eare
He drawes his mighty Bow, and straight the Boore
Betweene his neck [...] and shoulder wounded, dyes:
I free'd a sigh, seeing my Silui [...] safe.
Oh happy beast mightst thy life so leaue,
By him that hartes from humane beastes doth reaue.
Lin.
But what became of that same fearefull beast?
Dor.
I do not know, because I came away
For feare of being seene: But I beleeue
That solemnly they meane to carry it
Vnto the Temple, as my Siluio vow'd.
Lin.
And meane you not to change these rustie cloathes?
Dor.
Yes wis full faine, but Liep [...]e hath my Gowne,
And promised t'attende me at this Spring,
But [...] misse: deare Linco if thou lou'st me
Goe seeke him in these Woods, he is not farre,
I'le rest me in the meane time by this Den,
For weerinesse makes me to sleepe desire,
Nor would I home returne in this attire.
Lin.
I go, and stirre not you till I returne.

SCE. 3.

Chorus, Ergasto.
SHepheardes, haue you not heard our Demi-God
Montanus, worthy sonne of Hercules discent,
Hath slaine the dreadfull Boore, that did infest
All Arcady, and now he doth prepare
To satisfie his Vowes, if we will thankefull bee
[Page] For such a benefite, lets go and meete him,
And giue him all the reuerence that we can.
Er.
Oh dolefull fortune! Oh most bitter chaunce!
Immedicable wounde, Oh mornefull day!
Cho.
What voyce of horror and of plaint heare wee?
Er.
Starres foomen to our good, thus mocke you vs?
Did you so high our hopes lift vp, that with
Their fall you might vs plague the more?
Cho.
This seemes Ergasto, and t'is surely hee.
Er.
Why do I Starres accuse, accuse thy selfe,
That brought'st the Yron to Loues Anuile so,
Thou didst it strike, thou mad'st the sparkes fly out
From whence this fire growes so vnquenchable:
But heauens do know my pittie brought me to't.
Oh haples Louers, wretched Amarillis,
Vnfortunate Titirus, childles father,
Sad Montanus, desolate Arcadia:
Oh miserable we; and to conclude,
All that I see, speake, heare, or thinke, most miserable.
Cho.
What wretched accident is this that doth containe
So many miseries? Gow' Shepheards Gow'!
Lets meete with him: Eternall heauenly powers,
Will not your rage yet cease? Speake good Ergasto,
What lamentable chaunce is this thou plainst?
Er.
Deare friendes, I plaine vs all the ruine of Arcadia.
Cho.
What's this?
Er.
The prop of all our hopes is downe.
Cho.
Ah speake more plaine.
Er.
Daughter of Titirus,
The onely branch of her decaying stocke,
Hope of our health, which to Montanus sonne,
Was by the heauens promist and deste [...]ied,
Whose marriage should haue freed Arcadia,
Wise Amarillis, Nimph celestiall,
Patterne of honor, flowre of chastetie:
My hart wil not giue me leaue to speak.
Ch.
Why, is she dead?
Er.
Nay doom'd to death.
Cho.
Ay me, what's this.
Er.
Nay worse, With infamie.
Cho. Amarillis
infamous.
Er.
Found with the adult'rour, & if hence ye go not soone,
Ye may her see led captiue to the Temple.
Cho.
[Page]
Oh rare! but wicked, valure of this female sexe,
Oh chastetie, how singuler thou art,
Scarce can a man say any woman's chast,
Saue she that ne're was try'd; vnhappy age:
But curteous Shepheard, tell vs how it was?
Er.
This day betime you know Montanus came,
With th'haples father of the wretched Nimph,
Both by one selfe deuotion led, which was
By pray'rs, to haste the marriage to good end:
For this the Sacrifizes offered were,
Which solemnly perform'd with good aspectes:
For neuer were there seene intrailes more faire,
Nor flames more bright, by which the blind Diuine
Mooued, did to Montanus say: This day
With Amarillis shall your sonne be wed:
Goe quickly and prepare the marriage feast.
Oh blindly done, blind Prophets to beleeue,
The fathers and the standers by were glad,
And wept, their hartes made tender with this ioye.
Titirus was no sooner gone, but straight we heard
And saw vnhappy fearefull signes, the messengers
Of sacredire: at which so sodaine and so fierce,
Each stood amaz'd, the Priestes inclosed were
VVithin the greater Cloysture, we without,
VVeeping were saying holy pray'res, when loe
The wicked Satyre audience earnest craues
Of the chiefe Priest: and for this was my charge,
I let him in, to whom he thus begins,
Fathers, if to your Vowes the Incense and
The Sacrifizes be not answerable,
If on your Aulters purely burne no flames,
Woonder not, for in Ericinaes Caue,
A treacherous Nimph prophanes your holy Lawes:
And in adultry her fayth doth breake.
Come Ministers with me, wee'le take in the fact.
A while th' vnhappy father breathes, thinking he had
Found out the cause of this so dismall signes,
Straight he commaundes chiefe Minister Nacander go
[Page] With that same Satyre, and captiud to bring
Them to the Temple both: him straight accompanied
With all our troupe of vnder Ministers,
The Satyre by a darke and crooked way,
Conductes into the Caue: the young-man scar'd
Without torch-light, so sodainely assail'd:
Assayes to fly vnto that outward issue,
But it the Satyre closed hath too fast.
Cho.
What did you then?
Er.
I can not tell you how
Amaz'd we were, to see her that we taken had,
To be Titirus daughter, whom no sooner we
Had layd hold on, but out Mirtillo steps,
And throwes his Dart, thinking to wound Nicander:
And had the steele hit as he did direct,
Nicander had been slaine: but shrinking backe,
Whether by chaunce or wit, he shund the harme:
But the strong Dart pierced his hayrie cloathes,
And there stucke fast, Mirtillo not being able
It to recouer, captiue taken was.
Cho.
What's come of him?
Er.
He by an other way is led.
Cho.
VVhat shall he do?
Er.
To get more out of him,
Besides, perhaps he shall not skotfree scape:
For hauing so offended our high Priest,
Yet would I could haue comforted the wretch.
Cho.
Why could you not?
Er.
Because the Law forbids
Vs vnder Ministers to speake with gultie folkes:
For this I came about, and left the rest,
Prouoking heauens with teares and prayers deuout,
To turne away this dreadfull storme from vs:
And so pray yee, and therewithall farewell.
Cho.
So shall we do, had we but once performd
Our duetie vnto Siluio, eternall Gods
In pittie, not in furie, shew your selues supreame.

SCE. 4.

Corisea.
NOw crowne my temples with triumphant Bayes,
Victorious ten ples, this day happely
[Page] I combated haue in the field of Loue,
And vanquished: this day both heauen and earth,
Nature and Art, Fortune and Destenie,
Both friendes and enemies haue fought for mee.
The wicked Satyre whom I hated so,
Hath helpt me much: for it was better that
Mirtillo should, then Coridon, be ta'ne,
To make her fault more likely and more ill:
VVhat though Mirtillo taken be, hee'le soone be free,
To her alone the punishment is due.
O solemne victorie, On famous triumph,
Dresse me a Trophee amorous deceites,
You in this toung, in this same precious brest
Are aboue Nature most omnipotent.
VVhy stay I now? t'is time for me to go,
Vntill the Law haue iudg'd my riuall dead,
Perhaps the Priest may draw the troth from mee:
Fly then Corisea, daunger t'is to ly,
For them that haue no feete wherewith to fly▪
I'le hide me in these woodes vntill I may
Returne t'enioy my ioyes: happy Corisea,
VVho euer saw a brauer enterprise?

SCE. 5.

Nicander, Amarillis.
HEe had a hart most hard, or rather had
No hart at all, nor any humane sence,
That did not pittie thee poore wretched Nimph,
And felt no sorrow for thy miserie:
Onely to see a Damsell captiuate,
Of heauenly countenance and so sweete a face,
VVorthy the world should to thee consecrate
Temples and Sacrifices, led to the Temple
For a Sacrifice, surely t'were a thing
That with dry eyes I thinke none could behold:
But who knowes how and wherefore thou wert borne?
Titirus daughter, Montan'es daughter in law,
That should haue been, and that these two are they
[Page] VVhich do vphold Arcadia, and that thy selfe
A daintie Nimph, so faire of forme,
The naturall confines of this thy life,
Approachest now so neare the boundes of death:
Hee that knowes this, and doth not plaine the same,
He is no man, but beast, in humane shape.
Am.
If that my fault did cause my wretchednesse,
Or that my thoughtes were wicked, as thou thinkst
My deed, lesse greeuous would my death be then:
For it were iust my blood should wash the spots
Of my defiled soule, heauens rage appease,
And humane iustice iustly satisfie,
Then could I quiet my afflicted sprights,
And with a iust remorse of well-deserued death,
My senses mortifie, and come to death:
And with a quiet blow passe foorth perhaps
Vnto a life of more tranquilitie:
But too too much Nicander too much grieu'd
I am, in so young yeeres Fortune so hie,
An Innocent, I should be doom'd to die.
Nic.
Ah pleasd it heauens we had gainst thee offended,
Not thou offended gainst the heauenly powers:
For we alas with greater case might haue
Restor'd thee to thy violated name,
Then thou appeasd their violated powers:
But I see not who thee offended hath,
Sauing thy selfe. Tell me? wert thou not found
In a close place with the Adulterer, alone
With him alone? Wer't thou not promised
Vnto Montanus sonne? Hast thou not broke thy fayth?
How art thou innocent?
Am.
I haue not broke
The Law, and I am innocent.
Ni.
Thou hast not broke
The law of Nature happely (Loue if thou likest)
But humane law and heauens thou hast transgrest,
(Loue lawfully.)
Am.
Both heauens & men haue er'd to me:
If it be true that thence our haps do come,
For is it reason in my destenie,
I beare the paine that's due to other's faultes?
Ni.
[Page]
Peace Nimph, came vp thy toung in wilfull rage,
Let loose, do not condemne the Starres, for wee
Our selues procure vs all our miserie.
Am.
I none accuse in heau'n, but my ill fates.
And worse then them is shee, that mee deceiu'd.
Ni.
Then blame thy selfe, that hast deceiu'd thy selfe,
Am.
I was deceiu'd, but by an others fraude.
Ni.
T'is no deceite, to whom deceite is deare.
Am.
Then you I see condemne me for vnchast?
Ni.
I say not so, aske but your deedes, they' [...]e tell.
Am.
Deedes often are false tokens of the hart.
Ni.
The deedes we see, we cannot see the hart.
Am.
See what you will, I'am sure my hart is cleare.
Ni.
VVhat led you then into the Caue alone?
Am.
Simplicitie, and my too much beliefe.
Ni.
Trust you your Chastitie vnto your Loue?
Am.
I trusted my false friend, and not my Loue.
Ni.
VVhat friend was that, your amorous desire?
Am.
Orminoes sister, who hath me betrayde.
Ni
Sweete trecherie, to fall into your loue.
Am.
I knew not of Mirtilloes comming I.
Ni.
VVhy did you enter then? and to what end?
Am.
Let it suffize not for Mirtilloes sake.
Ni.
You are condemn'd except y'haue better proofe.
Am.
Let her be asked of my innocencie.
Ni.
VVhat shee, that was the occasion of your fault?
Am.
Shee that betray'd mee, will you not her beleeue?
Ni.
VVhat fayth hath she that was so faythlesse then?
Am.
I by our Goddesse Cinthiaes name will sweare.
Ni.
Thy deedes haue mard the credite of thine oath:
Nimph, to be plaine, these are but dreames, and waues
Of muddy water, cannot wash cleane, nor guilty hartes
Speake troth; thou should'st haue kept thy chastitie
As dearely as the apple of thine eye.
Am.
And must I then thus (good Nicander) die?
Shall none me heare, nor none my cause defend?
Thus left of all, depriu'd of euery hope,
Onely accompanied with an extreame
[Page] Vnhappy Funerall [...] that not helpes mee.
Ni.
Nimph be content, and since thou wert so fond
In [...], be more [...] punishment:
[...] eyes to heau'n, thence [...] thou come,
And thence doth come all [...] that hap [...],
As from a Fountaine doth a [...]:
And though to vs it ill do seeme, as eu'ry good
[...] with some ill, yet there t'is [...].
Great [...] doth know to whom all thoughtes are knowne:
So doth our Goddesse whom we worshyp heere,
How much I grieue for thee: and if I haue
[...] with my wordes thy soule, like a Phisicion I
Haue done, who searcheth first the wound
VVhere it suspected is: be quiet then
Good Nimph, and do not contradict that which
Is writ in heau'n aboue of thee.
Am.
O cruell sentence, whether writ in heau'n
Or earth? In heau'n it is not writ,
For there mine innocencie is knowne: but what
Auailes it since I needes must die? Ah too too hard,
And too too bitter cupp. Ah good Nicander,
For pittie sake make not such haste with mee
Vnto the Temple! stay, Oh stay a little while!
Ni.
O Nimph, to whom death is so greeuous now,
Each moment seemes a death, it is thine ill to stay:
Death hath not so much harme, as feare thereof;
Thou sooner dead, thy paine is sooner past.
Am.
Some helpe may come, deare father: father now
Dost thou leaue me, now leaue thine onely child.
VVilt thou not helpe me yet before I die?
Do not deny me yet thy latest kisse:
One blade shall wound both brestes, and out of mine
Thy blood must streame. Oh father! Oh sweete name!
Sometime so deare which I ne're calld in vaine,
Make you your onely daughters marriage thus,
A morninges Bri [...]e, an euening Src [...]fize?
Ni.
Nimph. Do not thus torment thy selfe and me,
T'is time I lead you to the Temple now,
[Page] My duetie t'is, I may not slacke it so.
Am.
Deare Woods farewell, my dearest Woods farewell,
Receiue my latest sighes vntill my soule
By cruell wound from this my body free,
Returne to seeke your loued shadowes out:
For Innocentes can not be doom'd to hell,
Nor mongst the blessed can despayrers dwell.
O Mirtillo, wretched was that day
That first I saw thee, and thy sight did please,
Since I my [...] must leaue, more neare to thee
Then thine, which prooues the occasion [...] my death.
VVilt thou beleeue that she is doom'd to death
For thee, that cruell euer was to thee,
To keepe me innocent? For mee too bold,
For thee too little dating [...] my will: [...]ow euer t'was,
I faultles die, fruitles, and without thee
My deare I die, my deare Mirt. Ni. Surely shee
Is dead, and in Mirtilloes loued [...] her life
Hath finished: her loue and griefe the blade
Preuented hath: come helpe to hold her vp,
Shee lyueth yet, I feele her hart doth throb:
Carry her to the Fountaine here hard by,
Fresh water may restore her stonied sprights,
But were it not a deed of pittie now,
To let her die of griefe, and shun the blade:
No let vs rather succour now her life,
Wee do not know what heau'ns will do with her.

SCE. 6.

Chorus of Huntsmen. Chor. of Shepheardes with Siluio.
Chor. Hunt.
O Glorious child of great Alci [...]es race,
That Monsters kilst, and Wild-bestes dost deface.
Cho. Sh.
O glorious child, who [...] Boore
Hast ouerthrowne, vnconquerable thought:
Behold his head, that seemes to breath out death,
[Page] This is the [...] of our Demi-God,
Helpe Shepheardes helpe to celebrate his name,
And with solemnitie his deedes to grace.
Cho. Hu.
O glorious child of great Alcides race,
That Monsters kilst, and Wild-bestes dost deface.
Cho. Sh.
O glorious child, by whom the fertile plaines,
Depriu'd of till age, haue their good regain [...]:
Now may the Plough-man goe securelie, and
Sow both his Seede, and reape his Haruest in:
These ougly teeth can now no more them chace.
Cho. Hu.
O glorious child of great Alcides race,
That monsters [...], and wild Beastes dost deface.
Cho. Sh.
O glorious child, how thou dost couple still
Pittie with fortitude. [...] behold
Thy humble Silui [...] vow; behold this head,
That here and here in thy despight is armd
With white and crooked tuskes, enuying thy hornes.
Thou puissant Goddesse, since thou didst direct
His shaft: the price of his great victorie
Is due to thee: hee famous by thy grace.
Cho. Hun
O glorious child of great Alcides race,
That monster, kilst, and wild Beastes dost deface.

SCE. 7.

Coridon.
VNtill this time I nener durst beleeue,
That which the Satyre of Corisea said,
Imagining his tale had been but fordg'd,
Maliciously to worke me iniurie:
Far from the t [...]oth it seemd to mee that place,
VVhere she appoynted I with her should meete,
(If that be true which was on her behalfe,
Deliuered me by young Lisetta late)
Should be the place to take th'Adult [...] ou [...] in:
But see a signe that may confirme the same,
Eu'n as he told mee, so it is in deed.
Oh what a Stone is this, which shuts vp thus
[Page] The huge mouth of this Caue? Oh Corisea,
All in good time I haue found out your guiles,
Which after so long vse, at last returne
VVith damage to your selfe. So manie lies,
So many trecheries, must needes presage
Some mortall disaduenture at the least,
To him that was not madd, or blinde with loue:
T'was good for mee [...] stayde away so long,
Great fortune that my father me detain'd
So with a tedious stay, as then me thought,
Had I kept time but as Lisetta bad,
Surely some strange aduenture had I had.
What shall I doe? shall I attir'd with spleene,
S [...]eke with outragious furie for reuenge?
F [...]no, I honour her too much: so bee
The case with reason waighd; it rather would
Haue pittie and compassion, then reuenge.
And shall I pittie her, that me betrayes?
Shee rather doth betray her selfe, that thus
Abandons mee, whose fayth to her was pure,
And giue her selfe in pray
To a poore Shepheard straunger vagaband,
That shall to morrow be more perfidous then shee.
Should I according to the Satyres counsell, her accuse,
Of the fayth broken, which to mee shee swore:
Then must shee die: My hart's not halfe so base,
Let her then liue for mee: or to say better,
Let her die vnto mee, and liue vnto others:
Liue to her shame, liue to her infamie;
Since she is such, she neuer can in me
Kindle one sparke of fearefull iealowsie.

SCE. 8.

Siluio.
O Goddesse, that no Goddesse art, but of
An idle people, blinde and vaine: who with
Impurest mindes and fond Religion,
Hallowes the Aulters and great Temples too.
[...][Page] [...][Page]
[Page] VVhat, sayd I Temples? wicked Theaters
O [...] beastly deedes, to colour their dishonest actes
With titles of thy famous Deitie,
Because thy shames in others shames made lesse,
Let lose the raines of their lasciuiousnesse.
Thou foe to Reason, plotter of mildeedes,
Corrupter to our soules, calamitie
To the whole worlde; thou daughter of the Sea,
And of that treacherous monster rightly borne,
That with the breath of hope dost first intice
These humane brestes, but afterward dost mooue
A thousand stormes of sighes, of teares, of plaintes:
Thou mayst be better calld Mother of tempestes and
O [...] rage, then Mother of Loue.
To what a miserie hast thou throwne downe
Those wretched Louers? now mayst thou vaunt thy selfe
To be omnipotent, if thou canst saue
That poore Nimphs life, whom with thy snares thou hast
Conducted to this miserable death.
O happy day I hallowd my chast minde
To thee my onely Goddesse Cinthia,
Such power on earth to soules of better sort,
As thou art light in heau'n aboue the Starres.
Much better are those studious practises
Then those which Venus vnchast seruantes vse:
Thy seruantes kill both Beares and ougly Boores,
Her seruantes are of Beares and Boores still slaine.
Oh Bowe and matchles Shaftes, my power and my delight,
Vaine fantastiue Loue, come prooue thyne armes,
[...]sseminate with mine: but fie, too much
I honour thee poore weake and wreckling child,
And for thou shalt me heare, I'le speake aloud.
A rod to chastise thee will be inough.—ynough.
VVhat art thou L [...]ho that so soundes againe?
Or rather Loue, that answerest loudly so?—y so.
I could haue wisht no better match; but tell
Me then, Art thou (by heauen) hee—eauen hee
The sonne of her that for Aaenis did
[Page] So miserably burne, in whom nought good it.—Goddesse.
A Goddesse? no, the Concubine of Mars,
In whom [...] doth wholly lye— [...]holly a lye.
O fine, thy tongue doth [...],
Wilt thou come foorth? thou do [...] but darkly dare,—y dare,
I helde thee for a coward [...], art thou a [...]
Dost thou that title brauely skorne—y skorne.
O God, then art thou Ʋul [...]a [...]es sonne, by that
Lame Smith begot.—God,
A God? of what? of Winds, madd with base [...]earth—earth.
God of the earth? makes thou thy foes to rue:—t' [...]ue.
VVith what dost thou still punish those that striue,
And obstinately do contende with Loue?—with Loue.
Nay soft, when shall crook't Loue (tell me good foole)
Enter my brest? I warrent t'is too straight.—straight,
What, shall I fall in loue so sodainely?—sodainely,
What is her name that I must then adore?—Dore.
Dorind [...] foole, thou canst not speake out yet,
But dost not thou meane her [...]—ee'n her.
Dorinda whom I hate; but who shall force my will [...]—I will.
What weapons wilt thou vse? perhaps thy Bow,—thy Bow
My Bow? not till it be by thy leawd folly broken,—broken
My broken armes incounter me, and who
Shall breake them? thou?—thou.
Fie fie thou art drunke, goe sleepe goe sleepe: but stay,
These maruailes must be done: but wheare?—heare.
O foole, and I am gone, how thou art loden with
Wit-robbing Grapes that grew vpon the Vine.—Diuine
But soft, I see, or els mee thinkes I see
Something that's like a Woolfe in yonder Groue.
T'is sure a Woolfe: How monstrous great it is.
This day for me is destenied to prayse:
Good Goddesse, with great fauours dost thou shew
To triumph in one day ouer two Beastes:
In thy great name, I loose this shaft, the swiftest and
The sharpest which my Q [...]iue [...] holdes.
Great Archeresse, direct thou my right hand,
And here I vow to sacrifize the spoyles
[Page] Vnto thy name. O daintie blow, blow falne
Eu'n where my hand and eye it destenyed.
Ah that I had my Dart, it to dispatch,
Before it get into the Woodes away.
But heere be Stones, what need I any else?
Heere's scarcely one, I need none now: heere is
Another Shaft will pierce it to the quicke.
What's this I see? vnhappie Siluio?
I'haue shot a Shepheard in a Woluish shape.
O bitter chaunce! O euer miserable!
[...] thinkes I know the wretch, ti's Linco that
Doth hold him vp. Oh deadly shaft! Oh most
Vnhappie Vow! I guiltie of anothers blood?
I thus the causer of anothers death?
I that haue been so liberall of my life,
So large a spender of my blood for others health?
So, cast away thy weapons, and go liue
All glorilesse. But see where he doth come,
A great deale lesse vnhappy then thy selfe.

SCE. 9.

Linco, Siluio, Dorinda.
LEane thou thy selfe (my Daughter) on this arme.
Vnfortunate Dorinda. Sil. O mee! Dorinda? I am dead.
Dor.
O Linco L [...]nco, Oh my second father!
Sil.
It is Dorinda sure: Ah voyce; ah sight.
Dor.
Dorinda to sustaine, Linco hath been
A fatall office vnto thee: thou hardst
The first cryes that I euer gaue on earth,
And thou shalt heare the latest of my death:
And these thine Armes, that were my Cradle once,
Shall be my Coffin now.
Lin.
O child more deare
Then if thou wer't mine owne. I cannot speake,
Griefe hath my wordes dissolued into teares.
Sil.
On earth hold ope thy iawes and swallow mee.
Do.
Oh stay both pace and plaint (good Linco) for
The one my griefe, my wound the other doth increase.
Sil.
[Page]
Oh what a hard reward most wretched Nimph,
Had thou receiued for thy wondrous loue?
Lin.
Be of good cheere, thy wound not mortall is,
Dor.
I but Dorinda mortall, wilbe quickly dead:
But dost thou know who t'is hath wounded me?
Lin.
Let vs care for the sore, not for the essence,
For neuer did Reuenge yet heale a wound.
Sil.
Why stay I still? Shall I stay whilst they see me?
Haue I so bold a face? Fly Siluio fly
The punishment of that reuengefull sight,
Fly the just edge of her sharpe cutting voice:
I cannot fly, fatall necessitie doth hold
Me heere, an I makes me seeke whom most
I ought to shunne.
Dor.
Why Linco, must I die
Not knowing who hath giuen me my death?
Lin.
It Siluio is.
Dor.
P [...]so.
Lin.
I know his shaft.
Dor.
On happie issue of my liues last end,
If I be shune by such a louely friend.
Lin.
See where he is, with countenance him accusing.
Now heauens be praysd, y'are at good passe,
VVith this your bowe and shaftes omnipotent,
Hast thou not like a cunning Wood-man shot?
Tell mee, thou that of Sil [...] liust; was it not I
That shot this daintie shoote? Oh Boy too wise,
Hadst thou beleeu'd this foolish aged man,
Had it not better been Answere me wretch.
What can thy life be worth, if thee do die?
I know thou'st say thou thoughtst t'haue shot a Woolfe,
As though it were no fault to shoote
Not knowing (carelesse wandring chi'd) if t'were
A man or beast thou shotst at: what Heardsman, or
What Plougsman dost thou see attyr'd in other cloathes?
Ah Siluio, Siluio, who euer soweth wi [...]t so greene,
Doth euer reape ripe fruite of ignorance.
Thinke you (vaine Boy) this chaunce by chaunce did come?
Neuer without the powers deuine did such like happen:
Heauen is enrag'd at your supportlesse spight,
To loue and deepe despising so humane affectes.
[Page] Gods will not haue companions on the earth,
They are not pleasd with this austeritie:
Now thou art dumbe, thou wert not wont t'indure.
Do.
Siluio, let Linco speake, he doth not know
What sou'raign [...]tie thou o're Dorinda hast,
In life and death by the great power of Loue.
If thou hast shot me, thou hast shot thine owne:
Thou hitst the marke that's proper to thy shaft,
These handes that wounded me, haue follow'd right
The ayme of thy faire eyes. Siluio, behold her whom
Thou hatest so, behold her as thou wouldst:
Thou wouldst me wounded haue, wounded I am:
Thou wish't me dead, I ready am for death,
What wouldst thou more? What can I giue thee more?
Ah cruell Boy, thou neuer wouldst beleeue
The wound by thee Loue made, canst thou deny
That which thy hand hath done? thou neuer sawst
The blood mine eyes did shed; seest thou this then,
That gusheth from my side: but if with pittie now
All gentlenesse and valoure be not spent,
Do not denie me cruell soule, I pray,
At my last gaspe, one poore and onely sigh:
Death should be blest, if thou but thus wouldst say,
Goe rest in peace poore soule, I humbly pray.
Sil.
Ah my Dorinda, shall I call thee mine,
That art not mine, but when I thee must loose:
And when thou [...]ast thy death receiued by mee,
Not when I might haue giu'n thee thy life:
Yet will I call thee mine, that mine shalt bee
Spight of my fortune: and since with thy life
I cannot haue thee, I'le haue thee in death:
All that thou seest in me, is ready for reuenge:
I kilde thee with these weapons, with the same
I'le kill my selfe: I cruell was to thee,
I now desire nothing but crueltie.
I proudly thee despi'd, vpon my knees
I humbly thee adore, and pardon craue;
But not my lyfe. Behold my Bowe, my Shaftes.
[Page] Wound not mine eyes or handes, th'are innocent:
But wound my brest, monster to pittie, foe
To loue: wound me this hart, that cruell was
To thee: behold, my brest is bare.
Do.
Siluio, I wound that brest? thou hadst not need
Let it be naked to mine eyes, if thou desirdst
I should it wound. O daintie beauteous rocke,
So often beaten by the waues and windes
Of my poore teares and sighes in vaine: and is it true,
Thou pittie feelst? or am I wretch but mockt:
I would not this same Alablaster skin
Should me deceiue, as this poore Beastes hath thee.
I wound thy brest? t'is well, Loue durst do so.
I aske no wore reuenge, then thou shouldst loue.
Blest be the day wherein I first did burne,
Blest be my teares and all my martirdomes:
I wish thy prayse, and no reuenge of thee.
But curteous Siluio, that dost kneele to her,
Whose Lord thou art; since mee thou needes wilt serue,
Let thy first seruice be, to rise when I thee bid:
The second, that thou liu'st: for mee, let heauens
Worke their will; in thee my hart will liue:
As long as thou dost liue, I cannot die.
But if it seeme vniust my wound should be
Vnpunished, then breake this cruell Bowe,
Let that be all the mallice thou dost show.
Si.
Oh curtuous doome: and so't shalbe,
Thou deadly Wood shalt pay the price of others life,
Behold, I breake thee, and I render thee
Ʋnto the Woodes, a trunke vnprofitable:
And you my Shaftes that pierced haue the side
O [...] my faire Loue, because you brothers bee
I put you both togither, and deliuer you,
Roddes armd in vaine, and vainely feathered.
T'was true Loue tolde me late in Ecchoes voyce.
O powerfull tamer both of Gods and men:
Late enemie, now Lord of all my thoughtes,
I [...] thou esteemest it glory to haue mollified
[Page] A proude obdurate hart, Defende me from
The fatall stroke of death? one onely blow
Killing Dorinda, will me with her kill:
So cruell death, if cruell death she proue,
Will triumph ouer thee triumphant loue.
Lin.
So wounded both, yet woundes most fortunate,
Were but Dorindaes sownd. Let's soone go seeke
Some remedie.
Dor.
Do not good Linco lead
Me to my fathers house in this attire.
Sil.
Shall my Dorinda go to other house
Then vnto mine? no sure: aliue or dead
This day I'le marrie thee.
Lin.
And in good time,
Since Amarillis hath lost life and marriage too.
O blessed couple! O eternall Gods!
Giue two their liues, giuing but one her health.
Dor.
Siluio I weary am, I cannot hold me on
My wounded side.
Sil.
Be of good cheere,
Thou shalt a burthen be to vs most deare.
Linco giue me thy hand.
Lin.
Hold there it is.
Sil.
Hold fast, and with our armes wee'le make a seate
For her. Sit there Dorinda, and with thy right hand
Hold Lincoes necke, and with thy left close mine:
Softly my hart, for rushing of thy wound.
Dor.
O now mee thinkes I am well. Sil. Linco hold fast.
Lin.
Do not you stagger, but go forward right,
This is a better triumph then a head.
Sil.
Tell me Dorinda, doth thy wound still pricke?
Dor.
It doth; but in thine armes my louelie treasure,
I hold eu'n pricking deare, and death a pleasure.
Chorus.
O Sweete and golden age, when Milke
Vnto the tender World was meate:
Whose Cradle was the harmelesse Wood,
Their dearer partes whose grasse like silke,
The Flockes vntoucht, did ioy to eate:
Nor feard the World the spoyle of blood,
[Page] The troublous thoughts that do no good
Did not then make a cloudy vaile
To dimme our sunnes eternall light:
Now Reason being shut vp quight,
Cloudes do our Wits skies ouer-haile:
From whence it is straunge landes we seeke for ease,
Ploughing with huge Oake trees the Ocean seaes,
This bootlesse superstutious voyce,
This subiect profit lesse then vaine,
Of toyes, of titles, and of sleight,
Whom the mad World through worthlesse choyce,
Honor to name doth not disdaine,
Did not with tyranny delight,
To rule our mindes, but to sustaine
Trouble for troth, and for the right
To maintaine sayth a firme decree
Amonst vs men of each degree,
Desire to do well was of right:
Care of true Honor, happy to be named,
Who what was lawfull pleasure to vs framed.
Then in the pastures grony shade,
Sweete Carroles and sharpe Madrigal [...].
Were flames vnto deare lawfull Loue:
There gentle Nimphes and Shepheards made
Thoughts of their wordes, and in the dales
Did Himen ioyes and kisses moue,
Farre sweeter and of more behoue,
True louers onely did enioy
Loues liuely Roses and sweete Flowers,
Whilst Wily-craft sound alwayes showers,
Showers of sharpe will, and wills annoy:
Were it in Woodes or Caues for quiet rest,
The name of Husband still was lik [...]d best.
False wicked World, that courrest still
With thy base mercenary name
The soules chiefe good, and dost entice
To nourish thought of newfound Will,
With likelihoodes [...] againe:
[Page] Ʋnbridling eu [...] secret vice,
Like to a Net layde by deuice
Among [...] Flowers and sweet [...] spread [...],
Thou cloathst vilde thoughtes in [...],
Esteeming seeming goodnesse, deedes,
By which the life with Art deceiue:
Nor dost thou care (this Honor is thy act)
What theft it be, so Loue may hide the fact.
But thou great Honour, great by right,
Frame famous spirits in our hartes,
Thou true Lord of each Noble brest:
O thou that rulest Kinges of might,
Once turne thee into th [...]se our partes,
Which wanting thee, cannot be blest:
Make the [...]r from out their mortall rest,
With mightie and with powerfull stanges,
Who by a base vnwarthy will
Haue left to work thy pleasure still,
And left the worth of antiqur thinges:
Let's hope our ills a truce will one day take.
And let our hopes not wauer no nor shake:
Let's hope the setting sunne will rise againe,
And that the skyes when they most aarke appeare,
Do dravv (though couer'd) after vvished cleare.
Finis Cho. Act. 4.

SCENA. 1.

Vranio, Carino.
THe place is euer good, where any thriues:
And euery place is natiue, to the wise.
Car.
True (good Ʋranio) I by proofe can tell,
That young, did leaue my fathers house, and sought
Strange places out, and now turne home gra [...] hear'd,
That earst departed hence with golden lockes;
Yet is our natiue soyle sweete vnto him
That hath his sence: Nature doth make it deare,
Like to the Adamant, whom though the Matrinet
[Page] Carry farre hence, sometime where as the Sunne
Is borne, and sometime where it dyes; yet still
The hidden vertue where with it beholdes,
The Northren Pole it neuer doth forgoe:
So he that goes farre from his natiue soyle,
And often times in straunger land doth dwell,
Yet he retaines the loue he to it bore.
O my Arcadia, now I greet thy ground,
And welcome good Ʋranio, for t'is meete
You do partake my ioyes, as you haue done my toyle.
Ʋra.
I may pertake your toyle, but not content,
When I remember how farre hence I left
My house and little houshold off: well may I rest
My limbes, but well I wot my hart will mone,
Nor saue thy selfe, could any thing haue drawne
Me from Elidis now: yet I know not
What cause hath made you trauaile to this place.
Car.
Thou knowst my deare Mirtillo, whom the heauens
Haue giu'n me: for my Sonne came hither sicke,
Heere to get health, according to the Oracle,
Which sayd onely Arcadia could restore it him:
Two monthes he hath been heere, and I not able to
Abide that stay, went to the Oracle
To know of his returne: which answered thus.
Returne thou to thy Countrey, where thou shalt
Liue merrily with thy Mirtillo deare:
Heauens haue determined great thinges of him;
Nor shalt thou laugh but in Arcadia.
Thou then my deare companion, merrie bee,
Thou hast a share in all my good, nor will
Carino smile, if my Ʋranio grieue.
Ʋra.
All labours that I for Ca [...]ino take,
Haue their reward: but for to short the way,
I pray you tell what made you trauaile first.
Car.
A youthfull loue I vnto Musicke bore,
And greedinesse of forraine fame, disdayning that
Arcadia onely should me prayse, made me
Seeke out Eli [...] and Pisa famoue so,
[Page] Where I saw glorious Aegen crowned with Bayes,
With Purple next to Vertue euermore;
So that he Ph [...]bus seem'd: when I deuout
Vnto his powre did consecrate my Lute:
Then left I Pisa, and to M [...]cen [...] went,
And afterwardes to Argos, where I was
At first, adored like a God: but twilbe too
Too troublesome to tell the storie of my life.
I many fortunes tride, sometime disdaind,
Sometime respected like a power deuine:
Now rich, then poore; now downe, then vp aloft:
But in the change of place, my fortunes neuer changd,
I learnd to know and sigh my former libertie;
And leauing Argos, I returned to
My homely Bowre I in Elidis had:
Where Gods be prays'd) I did Mirtillo buy,
Who since, hath comforted all mine annoyes.
Ʋr.
Thrise happie they who can conteine their thoughts
And not through vaine and most immoderate hope,
[...] the sweete tasted fruite of moderate good.
Ca
Who would haue thought t'haue waxed poore in gold
I thought t'haue found in royall Paliaces
People of more humanitie, then heere,
Which is the noble ornament of worthy sprightes;
But I (Ʋr [...]io) found the contrarie:
People in name and wordes right curtuous,
But in good deedes most [...]arse, and Pitties foes:
People in face, gentle and pleasant still;
But fiercer then th'outr [...]gious swelling Sea:
People with countenaunce all of charitie,
But throughly Couetous, and fraught with Enuie:
The greater showes they make, the lesse troth they meane▪
That which is vertue otherwhere, is there but vice:
Vprightest deedes, true loue, pittie sinceere,
[...] fayth, of hand and hart,
A hie most innocent; these they esteeme
But cowards still, and men of sillie wittes:
Follies and vanities, that are rediculous,
[Page] Coosonage, lying, theft, and rapine clad:
In holinesse, by others downefalles and their losse,
Rich still to grow, to builde their reputation
On others infamie, to lay fiue snares
To trap the innocent; these are the vertues of that place.
No merrit, worth, reuerence of age,
Of law, or of degree, no raines of shame,
Respect of loue or blood, nor memorie
Of any good receiued: and to conclude,
nothing so reuerend, pure, or iust can be,
That seemes forbidden to these gulfes of pride,
Of honour so ambitious: so couetous
Of getting still. Now I that alwayes liu'd
Vnwarie of their snares, and in my forehead had
All my thoughts written, my hart discouered;
You well may iudge, I was an open marke
To the suspicious shaftes of enuious folkes.
Ʋr.
What can be happie in that caytiue land,
Where Enuie euer Vertue doth commaund?
Ca.
If since I trauailed, my Muse had had
As good a cause to laugh as t'had to weepe,
Perhaps my stile would haue been fit t'haue sung
The armes, and honours, of my noble Lord,
So that he needed not to haue enuyed
The braue Meonian trumpet of Achilles fame.
I might haue made my Countries browe, been girt
With happie Laurell too: But too inhumane is this age,
And too vnhappie gui [...]t of Poetrie.
The Swans desire a quiet nest, a gentle ayre,
Pernassu [...] neuer knew this byting care.
Who quarrels with his fate and fortuue still,
His voyce must needes be hoarse, his song but ill:
But now t'is time to seeke Mirtillo out.
Oh how this Countrey's chaungd! I scarcely know't:
But Straungers neuer want a guide that haue a tongue,
We will enquire to the next harbour house,
Where thou thy wearie limmes mayst well repose.

SCE. 2.

Titirus, Nuntio.
WHich plaine I first (my child) of thee? thy life
Or honestie? Ile plaine thine honestie,
Because thy fire (though mortall) honest was:
And in thy steed my life I'le plaine and spend,
Of thy life and thine honestie to see an end.
O Montane, onely thou with thy deuices
And ill- [...]und Oracles, and with thy loue,
And proud despiser of my daughter, to this end,
Hast brought my child. Oh doubtfull Oracles,
How vaine you bee? and honestie gainst loue
In youthfull hartes a weake defence doth proue,
A woman whom no match hath euer sought,
Is euill guarded from this common thought.
Nun.
If dead he be not, or that through the ayre
No windes haue carried him, him might I finde:
But see him now, when least I thought I should:
O late for mee, for thee too quickly found,
Except the newes were better that I bring.
Ti.
Bringes thou the weapon that hath slaine my child?
Nun.
Not this, but lesse: But how heard you this newes?
Ti.
Why liues she then?
Nun.
Shee liues, and may do still,
For in her choyce it is to liue or die.
Ti.
Oh blest be thou that liftes me vp from death:
But how is she vnsafe, since at her choyce it is
To liue or die?
Nun.
Because she will not liue.
Ti.
Shee will not liue? What madnesse makes her thust
Nun.
Anothers death: and if thou dost not moue her,
Shee is so bent, as others send in vaine
Their praying wordes.
Ti.
Why stay we? let vs goe!
Nun.
What, soft and faire, the Temples gates are shut,
And know you not how it vnlawfull is
For any one saue sacerdotall foote,
To touch the sacred ground, vntill such time
The Sacrifize vnto the Aulters come,
Adorned with the Sanctuarie rites?
Ti.
[Page]
How if shee'ffect her purpose in the while?
Nun.
Shee cannot, for shee's kept.
Ti.
in meane time,
Then tell truely how all this is come to passe?
Nun.
Thy mournefull child now come before the Priest
With lookes of feare and griefe, that teares brought foorth,
Not onely from vs by, but by my troth,
Eu'n from the pillors of the Temples selfe
And hardest stones, that seemd to feele the same,
Was in a trice accus'd, conuic't, condemn'd.
Ti.
O wretched child, and why was she condemn'd?
Nun.
Because the groundes of her defence were small:
Besides, a certaine Nimph, whom she did call
In testimonie of her innocence,
Was absent now, and none could finde her out:
And fearefull signes, and monstrous accidents
Of horrour in the Temple proou'd the doubt,
As dolorous to vs, as strange and rare,
Not seene since we did feele heauenly ire
That did reuenge Amintas loue betrayde,
The first beginning of our miserie.
Diana swet out blood, the Earth did shake,
The sacred Caue did bellow out vnwonted howling▪
And dire deadly cries:
Withall, it breath'd out such a stinking mist,
As Plutoes impare kingdome hath no worse.
And now with sacred order goes the Priest
To bring thy daughter to her bloodie ende,
The whilst Mirtillo (wondrous thing to tell)
Offer'd by his owne death, to giue her life,
Crying, vnbind those handes (vnworthie striges)
And in her steed that should be sacrifiz'd
Vnto Diana, draue me to the Aulters
A Sacrifize to my faire Amarillis.
Ti.
O admirable deede of faythfull loue.
And noble hart.
Nu.
Now heare a miracle:
Shee that before so fearefull was to die,
Chaung'd on the sodaine by Mirtilloes wordes,
Thus answeres with a bold vndaunted hart:
[Page] Think'st thou (my deare) then by thy death to gaine
Life to her death, that by thy life doth liue.
O miracle vniust: on Ministers, on on, why do you stay?
Leade me foorthwith vnto mine end: Ile no such pittie I,
Mirtill replies, Liue cruell pitteous loue,
My hart his spightfull pittie doth reproue:
To me it longes to die. Nay then to me
(She answeres) that by Law condemned am:
And heere anew begins a wondrous strife,
As though that life were death, and death were life.
(O soules well borne) O couple worthy of
Eternall honour, neuer dying prayse:
O liuing, and o dying glorious louers.
Had I so many tongues, so many voyces,
As Heauen hath eyes, or Ocean sea hath sandes;
All would be dumbe and hoarse in setting out
Their wondrous and incomprehended prayse.
Eternall Childe of heauen, O glorious Dame,
That mortall deedes enchroniclest to time,
Write thou this Historie, and it infold
In solid Diamond with wordes of gold.
Ti.
But what end had this mortall quarrell then?
Nun.
Mirtillo vanquisheth? O rare debate,
Where dead on lyuing getts the victorie.
The Priest speakes to your Child, be quiet Nimph,
We cannot change this doome, for he must die
That offers death, our Law commaunds it so:
And after bids, your Daughter should be kept,
Least griefes extreame should bring her desperate death▪
Thus stood the state When Montane sent me for thee.
Ti.
In sooth tis true, sweete scented Flowers shall cease
To dwell on Riuers bankes, and Woodes in Spring
Shall be without their Leaues, before a Mayde
Adorn'd with youth, shall set sweete Loue at naught:
But if we stay still heere, how shall we know
When it is time vnto the Church to go?
Nun.
Heere best of all, for in this place alas,
Shall the good Shepheard sacrifized be.
Ti.
[Page]
And why not in the Church?
Nu.
Because there where
The fault is done, the punishment must be.
Ti.
And why not in the Caue? there was the fault.
Nun.
Because to open skyes it mus be hallow'd.
Ti.
And how knowst thou all these misteriall rites?
Nun.
From the High-priest, who from Tireno had them,
For true Amintas and vntrue Lucrine,
Were sacrifized so: But now tis time to goe;
See where the sacred Pempe softly descendes:
Twere well done of vs by this other way,
To go vnto the Temple to thy daughter.
Finis Sce. 2. Act. 5.

ACTVS. 5 SCE. 3.

Chorus of Shepheards, Chorus of Priestes, Montanus, Mirtillo.
Chorus of Shep.
OH daughter of great Joue, sister of Phebus bright,
Thou second Titan, to the blinder world that giuest light
Cho. Pri.
Thou that with thy well temper'd vitall ray,
Thy brothers wondrous heate doth well allay,
Which mak'st sweete Nature happely bring foorth
Rich firtile birthes of Hearbes, of Beastes, of Men:
As thou his heate dost quench, so calme thine ire
That sets Arcadiaes wretched hartes on fire.
Cho. Sh.
O daughter of great Ioue. &c.
Mon.
Yea sacred Priestes, the Aulters ready make,
Shepheardes deuout, reiterate your soundes,
And call vpon the name of our great Goddesse.
Cho. Sh.
O daughter of great Ioue. &c.
Mon.
Now Shepheards stand aside, nor you my seruants
Come not neare, except I call for you.
Valiant young man, that to giue life els where,
Abandonest thine owne, die comforted thus farre:
T'is but a speedie sigh, which you must passe;
For so seemes death to noble minded sprightes,
That once perform'd, this enuious age,
With thousandes of her yeeres shall not deface
The memorie of such a gentle deed:
[Page] But thou shalt liue the example of true fayth,
But for the Law commaundes thee sacrifiz'd,
To dye without a word: Before thou kneelst,
If thou hast ought to say, say it, and hold thy peace
For euer after that.
Mir.
Father, let it be lawfull that I call thee so,
For though thou gau'st not, yet thou tak'st my life:
My bodie to the ground I do bequeath, my soule
To her that is my life: But if she die,
As she hath threatned to do; aye mee,
What part of me shall then remaine aliue,
Oh death were sweete, if but my mortall parts
Might die, and that my soule did not desire the same:
But if his pittie ought deserues that dyes,
For soueraigne pittie then courteous father,
Prouide she do not die; and with that hope
More comforted, Ile pay my destenies,
Though with my death you me from her disioyne,
Yet make her liue, that she may me retaine.
Mon.
Scarse I containe from teares: ô frayle mankind!
Be of good cheare my sonne, I promise thy desire,
I sweare it by this head, this hand take thou for pledge.
Mir.
Then comforted, I die all comforted:
To thee my Amarillis do I come,
Soule of the faythfull Shepheard, as thine owne
Do thou receiue, for in thy loued name
My wordes and life I will determine straight:
So now to death I kneele, and hold my peace.
Mon.
On sacred Ministers, kindle the flame
With Frankensence and Mirrhe, and Incense throw thereon
That the thicke vapoure may on high ascend.
Cho. Sh.
O daughter of great Ioue. &c.

ACT. 5. SCE. 4. Carino, Montanio, Nicander, Mirtillo, Chorus of Shepheards.

Car.
WHat Countrymen are here, so brauely furnished
Almost all in a Liuerie? Oh what a show
[Page] Is heere? how rich, how full of pome it is?
Trust mee, I thinke it is some Sacrifize.
Mon.
Reach mee (Nicander) the golden Bason,
That containes the iuice of Bacchus fruite.
Ni.
Behold t'is ready here.
Mon.
So may this faultles blood
Thy brest (Oh sacred Goddesse) mollifie,
As do these falling droppes of Wine extinguish
This blasing flame. So, take the Bason, there;
Giue me the siluer Ewer now:
Ni.
Behold the Ewer.
M.
So may thine anger cease with that same faithles Nimph
Prouok't as doth this fire, this falling streame extinguish.
Car.
This is some Sacrifize, but where's the holocaust?
Mon.
Now all is fit, there wantes nought but the end.
Giue me the Axe.
Ca.
If I be not deceiu'd,
I see a thing that by his backe seemeth a man:
He kneeles: he is perhappes the holocaust.
O wretch tis so, the Priest holdes him by th'ead:
And hast thou not vnhappy countrey yet,
After so many yeeres heauens rage appeasd?
Cho. Sh.
O daughter of great Ioue, sister of Phebus bright,
Thou second Titan, to the blinder world that giuest light.
Mon.
Reuengefull Goddesse that for priuate fault,
Dost publicke punishment on vs inflict,
(Whether it be thy onely will, or els
Eternall prouidence immutable commaund)
Since the infected blood of (Lucrina false)
Might not thy burning iustice then appease,
Drinke now this innocent and voluntarie Sacrifize,
No lesser faythfull then Amintas was,
That at thy sacred Aulter in thy dire reuenge I kill.
Cho. Sh.
O daughter of great Ioue, sister of Phebus bright,
Thou second Titan, to the blinder world that giuest light.
Mon.
Oh how I feele my hart waxe tender now,
Binding my senses with vnusuall maze:
So both my hart not dares, my handes vnable are
To lift this Axe.
Car.
Ile see this wretches face,
And then depart: for pittie will not let me stay.
Mon.
Perhaps against the Sunne my strength doth faile,
[Page] And tis a fault to sacrifize against the Sunne,
Turne thou thy dying face toward this hill.
So now, tis well.
Car.
O wretch! what do I see?
My sonne Mirtillo, Is not this my sonne?
Mon.
So now I can.
Car.
It is euen so.
Mon.
Who lets my blow?
Car.
What dost thou sacred Priest?
Mo.
O man prophane,
Why hast thou held this holy Axe? how darest
Thou thy rash handes inpose vpon the same?
Car.
O my Mirtillo, how camst thou to this?
Nic.
Goe dotard old and foolish insolent.
Car.
I neuer thought t'haue thee imbraced thus.
Nic.
Patch stand aside, thou mayst not handle thinges
Sacred vnto the Gods, with handes impure.
Car.
Deare to thee Gods am also I, that by
Their good direction hither came euen now.
Mo.
N [...]er cease, heare him, and turne him hence.
Car.
Then courteous Priest, before thy sword doth light
Vpon his necke, Why dyes this wretched Boy?
I, why the Goddesse thou ador'st, beseech thee tell?
Mon.
By such a heauenly power thou coniur'st mee,
That I were wicked, if thee denied:
But what wil't profit thee?
Ca.
More then thou think'st.
Mon.
Because he for an other willing is to die.
Car.
Dye for an other? then I for him will dye:
For pittie then, thy falling blow direct,
In stead of his, vpon this wretched necke.
Mon.
Thou dotest friend.
Ca.
And will you me denie
That which you graunt another man?
Mo.
Thou art
A Stranger man.
Ca.
How if I were not so?
Mon.
Nor could'st thou, for he dyes but by exchange.
But tell me, what art thou? thy habite shewes
Thou art a Stranger, no Arcadian borne.
Ca.
I an Arcadian am.
Mo.
I not remember
That I euer saw thee earst.
Car.
Heere was I borne,
[...], and father of this wretch.
[...].
Art thou Mirtill [...]es father then? thou com'st
[...] both for thy selfe and mee:
Stand now aside, least with thy fathers teares,
[Page] Thou makest fruitlesse, vaine our Sacrifize.
Car.
If thou a father wert?
Mon.
I am a father man,
A tender father of an onely sonne:
Yet were this same, my Siluioes head, my hand
Should be as ready for't as t'is for this:
For he this sacred habite shall vnworthy weare,
That to a publique good, his priuate doth preferre.
Car.
O let me kisse him yet before he dye.
Mo.
Thou mayst not man.
Car.
Art thou so cruell sonne?
Thou wilt not answere thy sad father once.
Mir.
Good father hold your peace.
Mo.
O wretched wee
The holocaust contaminate ô Gods.
Mir.
The life you gaue, I cannot better giue,
Then for her sake, who sole deserues to liue.
Mon.
Oh thus I thought his fathers teares would make
Him breake his scilence.
Mir.
Wretch with errour haue
I done the law of scilence, quite I had forgot.
Mon.
On Ministers, why do we stay so long?
Carry him to the Temple backe to th'noly Cell,
There take againe his voluntary vow.
Then bring him backe, and bring new Water too,
New Wine, new Fire: dispatch, the sunne growes low.
Finis Scena 4. Acta. 5.

ACTA 5. SCE. 5. Montan. Carino, Dametas.

Montan.
BVt thanke thou heauens thou aged impudent,
Thou art his father? if thou wert not: well,
(I sweare by this same sacred habite on my head I weare)
Thou shouldst soone taste how ill I brooke thy boldnes.
Why, knowst thou who I am▪ knowst thou that with
This Rodd I rule affayres both humaine and diuine?
Car.
I cry you mercie holy sacred Priest.
Mon.
I suffered thee so long, till thou grow'st insolent.
Knowest thou not Rage that Iustice [...] vp,
The longer t'is delayde, the greater tis?
Car.
[Page]
Tempestius [...]urie neuer waigned rage,
In brestes magnanimus, but that one blast
Of Generous effect could coole the same:
But it I can not grace obtaine, let mee
Finde iustice yet, you can not that denie,
Law makers be not freed from the Lawes:
I aske you iustice, iustice graunt me then,
You are vniust, if you Mirtillo kill.
Mon.
Let me then know how I can be vniust?
Car.
Did you not tell me it vnlawfull was
To sacrifize a Strangers blood▪
Mon.
I told you so,
And told you that which heauens did commaund.
Car.
He is a Stranger you would sacrifize.
Mon.
A Stranger, how? is he not then thy sonne?
Car.
Let it suffize, and seeke no further now.
Mon.
Perhappes because you not begot him heere.
Car.
Oft he least knowes, that most would vnderstand.
Mon.
Heere we the kindred meane, and not the place.
Car.
I call him Stranger, for I got him not.
Mon.
Is he thy sonne, and thou begots him not?
Car.
He is my sonne, though I begot him not.
Mon.
Didst thou not say that he was borne of thee?
Car.
I sayd he was my sonne, not borne of mee.
Mon▪
Extremitie of griefe hath made thee madd.
Car.
If I were madd, I should not feele my griefe.
Mon.
Thou art ore-madd, or els a lying man.
Car.
A lying man will neuer tell the trueth.
Mon.
How can it be sonne, and not sonne at once?
Car.
The sonne of loue, and not of nature hee's.
Mon.
Is he thy sonne? he is no Stranger then:
If not, thou hast no part at all in him:
Father or not, thus thou conuinced art.
Car.
With words and not with trueth, I am conuin'st.
M [...]n.
His fayth is doubted that his wordes contraries.
Car▪
Yet do I say thou dost a deed vniust.
Mon.
On this my head, and on my Siluioes head,
Let my iniustice fall.
Car.
You will repent it.
Mon.
You shall repent, if you my duetie hinder.
Car.
[Page]
I call to witnesse men and Gods.
Mon.
Gods you
To witnesse call, that you despised haue.
Car.
Since you'le not heare me, heare me heauen and earth.
Mirtill a straunger is, and not my sonne,
You do prophane your holy sacrifice.
Mon.
Heauens aide me from this Bedlam man.
Who is his father since hee's not your sonne?
Car.
I cannot tell you, I am sure not I.
Mon.
See how he wauers, is he not of your bloud?
Car.
Oh no.
Mon.
Why do you call him sonne?
Car.
Because I from his cradle haue him nourisht still,
And euer lou'd him like my sonne.
Mon.
Bought you him? stole you him? where had you him:
Car.
A courteous straunger in [...] gaue me him.
Mon.
And that same straunger, where had he the childe?
Car.
I gaue him.
Mon.
Thou mou'st at once disdaine and laughter.
First thou him gau'st, and then hadst him in gift.
Car.
I gaue him that which I with him had found.
Mon.
And where had you him?
Car.
In a lowe hole,
Of daintie Mutle trees vpon Alpheus banke:
And for this cause Mirtillo I him call'd.
Mon.
Here's a fine tale, what haue your woods no beasts?
Car.
Of many sorts.
Mon.
How scapte he being deuour'd:
Car.
A speedie Torrent brought him to this hole,
And left him in the bosome of a litle Ile,
On euery side defended with the streame.
Mon.
And were your streames so pitifull they drownd him not?
Your Riuers gentle are that children nuise.
Car.
Laid in a cradle like a litle ship,
With other stuffe the waters wound together,
He was safe brought by chance vnto this hole.
Mon.
Laid in a cradle?
Car.
In a cradle laid.
Mon.
And but a childe?
Car.
I but a tender childe.
Mon.
How long was this ago [...]
Car.
Cast vp your cou [...]t
Is it not nineteene yeares since the great floud?
So long t'is since.
Mon.
Oh how I feele a horror shake
My bones.
Car.
He knowes not what to say:
Oh wicked act, orecome yet will not yeeld:
[Page] Thinking t'ourstrip me in his wit, as much
As in his force, I heare him murmur,
Yet he nill bewray that he conuinced is.
Mon.
What interest had the man you speake of in
That child? was he his sonne?
Ca.
I cannot tell.
Mon.
Had he no better knowledge then of it then thus?
Ca.
Nor that know I.
Mon.
Know you him if you see him?
Ca.
He seem'd a shepheard by his cloaths and face,
Of middle stature, of blacke haire his beard
And eye-browes were exceeding thicke.
Mon.
Shepheards
Come hither soone.
Damet.
Behold we are readie here.
Mon.
Which of these did he resemble then?
Ca.
Him whom you talke withall he did not onely seeme,
But tis the same, who though't be twentie yeares agoe,
Hath not a whit alter'd his auncient looke.
Mon.
Stand then aside, Dametas stay with me,
Tell me know'st thou this man?
Da.
Me seemeth so,
But yet I know not where.
Ca.
Him can I put in minde.
Mon.
Let me alone, stand you aside a while.
Ca.
I your commaundement willingly obey.
Mon.
Now answere me Dametas, and take heed
You do not lye, tis almost twentie yeares
Since you return'd from seeking out my child,
Which the outragious Riuer bare away:
Did you not tell me you had search'd in vaine
All that same countrey, with Alpheus waters?
Da.
Why aske you this?
Mon.
Did not you tell me him
You could not finde?
Da.
I graunt I told you so.
Mon.
What child then was it (tell me) which you gaue
Vnto this stranger which did know you here?
Da.
Will you I should remember what I did
So long agoe? old men forgetfull are.
Mon.
Is not he old? yet he remembers it.
Da.
Tush he doth rather dote.
Mon.
That shall we see,
Come hither straunger, come.
Ca.
I come.
Da.
Oh that
Thou wert as farre beneath the ground.
Mon.
Tell me
Is this the shepheard that gaue thee the gift?
Ca.
This same is he.
Da.
[Page]
What gift is't thou speak'st of?
Ca.
Dost not remember in the temple of Olimpich Ioue,
Hauing had answere of the Oracle,
And being readie to depart, I met with thee,
And ask'd thee of the Oracle, which thou declaredst,
After I tooke thee home vnto my house,
Where didst thou not giue me an Infant childe,
Which in a cradle thou hadst lately found?
Da.
And what of that?
Ca.
This is that very child,
Which euer since I like mine owne haue kept,
And at these Aultars must be sacrific'd.
Da.
Oh force of Destiny.
Mon.
Yet wilt thou faine?
Is it not true which he hath told thee here?
Da.
Oh were I dead as sure as it is true.
Mon.
And wherefore didst thou giue anothers goods?
Da.
Oh maister seeke no more, let this suffice.
Mon.
Yet wilt thou hold me off and say no more?
Villaine thou dyest if I but aske againe.
Da.
Because the Oracle foretold me that the child
Should be in danger on his fathers hands
His death to haue if he returned home.
Ca.
All this is true, for this he told me then.
Mon.
Ay me, it is too manifest, the case is cleare.
Ca.
What resteth then, would you more proofe then this?
Mon.
The proofe's too great, too much haue you declar'd,
Too much I vnderstand, [...]o Carino, Carino,
How I change griefe and fortunes now with thine,
How they affections now are waxen mine,
This is my sonne, oh most vnhappie sonne,
Of a more wretched father. More sauadge was
The water in him sauing, then in runing quite away,
Since at these sacred Aultars by thy fathers hands
Thou must be slaine, a wofull sacrifice,
And thy poore bloud must wash thy natiue soyle.
Ca.
Art thou Mirtilloes father then? how lost you him?
Mon.
The deluge rauisht him, whom when I lost,
I left more safe, now found, I leese him most.
Ca.
Eternal prouidence which with thy counsell hast
[Page] Brought all these occurrents to this onely point,
Th'art great with childe of some huge monstrous birth,
Either great good or ill thou wilt bring forth.
Mon.
This t'was my sleepe foretold, deceitfull sleepe.
In ill too time, in good too lying still.
This was th' vnwonted pitie, and the sudden horror that
I felt to stay the axe and shake my bones:
For nature sure abhorres a stroke should come
From fathers hands, so vilde abhominable.
Car.
Will you then execute the wicked sacrifice?
Mon.
By other hands he may not at these Altars die.
Ca.
Why will the father murder then the sonne?
Mon.
So bids our law, and were it pietie to spare
Him since the true Amyntas would not spare himselfe?
Ca.
O wicked Fates, me whither haue ye brought?
Mon.
To see two fathers soueraigne pitie made a homicide▪
Yours to Mirtillo, mine vnto the Gods,
His father you denying for to bee,
Him thought to saue, and him you lost thereby,
Thinking and seeking, I to kill your sonne,
Mine owne haue found, and must mine owne go kill.
Ca.
Behold the monster horrible this Fate brings forth.
O cruell chance (Mirtillo) ô my life.
Is this that which the Oracle told of thee?
Thus in my natiue soyle hast thou me happy made:
O sonne of me poore old and wretched man,
Lately my hope, my life, now my dispaire and death.
Mon.
To me Carino leaue these wofull teares,
I plaine my bloud: my bloud, why say I so,
Since I it shead? poore sonne why got I thee?
Why wert thou borne? did the milde waters saue thy life,
The cruell father might the same bereaue?
Sacred immortal powers, without whose deep insight
No waue doth stirre in seas, no blast in skies,
No leafe vpon the earth: what great offence
Haue I committed, that I worthy am
With my poore off-spring for to warre with heauen?
If I offended haue, oh yet my sonne
[Page] What hath he done you cannot pardon him?
O Iupiter the great disdainfull blast
Would quickly suffocate my aged sence,
But if thy thunder bolts will not, my weapons shall.
The dolorous example Ile renew,
Of good Amyntas our beloued Priest,
My sonne amaz'd shall see his father slaine,
Ere I a father will go kill my sonne:
Die thou Montane, tis onely sit for thee,
O powers, I cannot say whether of heauen or hell,
That agitooke with griefe, dispairefull mindes,
Behold your fury thus it pleaseth you.
I nought desire saue onely speedie death,
A poore desire my wretched life to end,
Some comfort seemes to my sad spright to send.
Ca.
Wretched old man, as greater flames do dimme
The lesser lights, euen so the sorrow I
Do of thy griefe conceiue, hath put out mine,
Thy case alone deserueth pittie now.

Act. 5. Sce. 6.

Tireme Mon. Carino.
SOftly my sonne, and set thy feet secure,
Thou must vphold me in this rugged way,
Thou art my bodies eye, I am thy mindes,
And when thou com'st before the Priest, there stay,
Mon.
Is't not the reuerend Tirenio which I see?
Who blind on earth, yet seeth all in heauen?
Some great thing moues him thus, these many years
I sawe him not out of his holy Cell.
Ca.
God grant he bring vs happie newes.
Mon.
Father Tirenio, what's the newes with you▪
You from the temple? how comes this to passe?
Tire.
To you I come for news, yet bring you news
How oft blind eyes do aide the inward sight,
The whilst the minde vntraueld with wilde sights,
Withdrawes into it selfe, and Linceus eyes
Doth set a worke in sightlesse sences blinde.
[Page] We may not Montane passe so lightly ore
The vnexpected things, that heauenly mixture temps with hu­mane,
Because the Gods do not conuerse on earth,
Nor partly hold with mortall men at all.
But all these workes so great, so wonderfull,
Which the blind world to blinder chance ascribes,
Is nothing but ce'estiall counsell talke,
So speake th'eternall powers amongst themselues,
Whose voices though they touch not deafened eares,
Yet do they [...]ound to hearts that vnderstand.
O foure, ô six times happy he that vnderstands it well.
The good Nicander as thou didst command,
Stayes to conduct the holy sacrifice,
But I retaind him by an accident
That's newly falne: the which (I know not) all
Vnwonted and confus'd, twixt hope and feare.
Dulleth my sence. I cannot vnderstand, and yet the lesse
I comprehend, the more I do conceiue.
Mon.
That which you know not wretch, I know too well,
But tell me can the Fates hide ought from thee?
That piercest to the deep'st of Destinies.
Tire.
If (sonne) the vse diuine of light propheticall
Were natures gift, and not the gift of heauen,
Then might'st thou see as well as I, that Fates
Secrets sometime denie our working mindes,
This onely tis that makes me come to thee,
That I might better be inform'd who tis
That is discouered father to the youth
That's doom'd to die (if I Nicander vnderstand.)
Mon.
That father you desire to know am I.
Tire.
You father of our Goddesse sacrifice?
Mon.
I am the wretched father of that wretched sonne.
Tire.
Of that same faithfull shepheard, that to giue
Life to an other, giues himselfe to death?
Mon.
His that by death giueth an other life,
Yet by that death kills him that gaue him life.
Tire.
And is this true?
Mon.
Behold my witnesse here.
Ca.
That which he saith is true.
Tire.
And who art thou?
Ca.
[Page]
I am Carino his father thought till now.
Ti.
Is this the childe the floud so bare away?
Mon.
The very same.
Ti.
And for this then dost thou
Montanus call thy selfe a wretched father?
O monstrous blindnesse of these earthly mindes,
In what a darke profound and mystie night
Of errors be they drowned? when thou O heauenly sonne
Dost not enlighten them: Montanus thou
Art blinder in thy minde then I of eyes,
That dost not see thy selfe the happiest father
And dearest to the gods that euer yet did child beget.
This was the secret which the Fates did hide.
This is that happy day, with so much bloud
So many teares we did expect.
This is the bl [...]ssed end of our distresse.
O thou Montanus turne into thy selfe,
How is the famous Oracle forgot,
Printed i'the hearts of all Arcad [...]a?
No end there is for that which you offends,
Till two of heauens issue loue vnite,
The teares of ioye [...] so satisfie my heart
I cannot vtter it. No end there i [...],
No end there is to that which you offends,
Till two of heauens issue loue vnite,
And for the auntient fault of that false wight,
A faithfull shepheards pitie make amends.
Tell me Montanus, is not this thy sonne
Heauens issue? is not Amarillis so?
Who hath vnited them but onely loue?
Siluio by parents force espowsed was
To Amarillis, whom he hated still,
If thou the rest examine, you shall plainly see
The fatall voyce onely Mirtillo ment.
For since Amyntas chance where haue we seene
Such faith in loue that might coequall this?
Who since Amyntas willing was to die
For any Nymph, onely Mirtill except.
This is that faithfull Shepheards pitie, which deserues
To cancell that same auncient error of Lucrine.
[Page] With this deed is the heauens ire appeaz'd,
Rather then with the sheading humane bloud,
Rendring vnto th'eternall iustice, that
Which female treacherie did take away.
Hence t'was no sooner he vnto the temple came,
There to renew his vow, but straight did cease
All those prodigious signes, now did
The holy Image sweat out bloud no more,
Nor shooke the ground, nor any noise nor stinch
Came from the Caue, saue gracious harmony,
And odours. O sweet mightie prouidence,
O heauenly Cods, had I all words, all hearts,
All to thy honour would I consecrate:
But to my power Ile render you your due.
Behold vpon my knees ô heauenly powers,
I praise your name, how much am I oblig'd
That you haue let me liue vntill this day?
An hundred yeares I haue alreadie worne,
And neuer yet was life so sweet as now:
I but begun to to liue, now am I borne againe.
Why leese I time with words that vnto deeds is due?
Helpe me vp sonne, without thee can I not
Vpraise these weake and feeble members sonne.
Mon.
Tirenio hath wak't such ioy in me
Vnited yet with such a myracle
As I scarce feele I ioy, nor can my soule
Confounded shewe me high reteined mirth,
O gracious pitie of the highest Gods,
O fortunate Arcadia, ô earth,
More happie then all earths beneath the sunne,
So deare's thy good, I haue forgot mine owne,
And my beloued sonnes, whom twise I lost,
And twise againe haue found, these seeme a drop
To the huge waues of thy great good: ô dreame,
O blessed dreame, celestiall vision rather.
Arcadia now thou waxest bright againe.
Ti.
Why stay we Montane now? heauens not expect
A sacrifice of rage, but thankes and loue,
[Page] In stead of death our Goddesse now commaunds
Of marriage knot a sweet solemnitie:
But say how farre's to night?
Mon.
Not past one houre.
Ti.
Then to the Temple turne, where let thy sonne
Espowsed be to Amarillis straight, whom he may leade
Vnto his fathers house before the sunne be set,
So heauens commaund. Come, gow Montanus, gow.
Mon.
Take heed Tiremo we do not violate
Our holy law, can she her faith now giue
Vnto Mirtillo, which she Silu [...]o gaue?
Ca.
And vnto Siluio may she giue her faith,
So said thy seruant, was Mirtillo call'd,
Though I more lik'd Mirtillo him to name.
Mon.
That's very true, I did reuiue his name
In this my younger sonne.
Ti.
That doubt's well clear'd, now let vs goe.
Mon.
Carino go with vs, this day Mirtillo hath
Two fathers found, Montane a sonne, and thou a brother.
Ca.
In loue Mirtilloes father, and your brother,
In reuerence a seruant to you both:
And since you are so kinde to me, I pray you then
Bid my companion welcome for my sake.
Mon.
Most welcome both.
Ca.
Eternall heauenly powers,
How diuerse are your high vntroden waies
By which your fauours do on vs descend?
From those same crook't deceitfull pathes whereby
Our thoughts would fame mount vp into the sky?

Sce. 7.

Corisca Linco.
LInco belike the spightfull Sil [...]io
When least he ment, a Louer is become,
But what became of her?
Lin.
We carried her
To Siluioes house, whose mother her embrac't
With teares of ioy or griefe I know not whether,
Glad that her sonne is waxt a louing spowse,
But sory for the Nymphs mishap, and that
She is a stepdame euill furnished
Of two daughters in law: playning one dead,
An other wounded.
Co.
Is Amarillis dead?
Lin.
She must die straight, for so doth fame report,
[Page] For this, I goe to comfort old Montanus,
Who l [...]esing one sonnes wife, hath found an other.
Co.
Then doth Dorinda liue?
Lin
Liue. I t'were well
Thou wert so well.
Co.
Her wound not mortall was.
Lin.
Had she bene dead, yet Siluioes cunning would
Haue her [...].
Co.
What Art her heal'd so soone?
Lin.
From top to toe ile tell the wondrous cure.
About the wounded Nymph stood men and women,
Each with a ready hand, but trembling heart.
But faire Dorinda would not any should
Saue Siluio touch her, saying that the hand
Which was her hurt, should be her remedie.
Siluio, his mother, and I, stay'd there alone,
Working with counsell too one with his hand,
Siluio when gently he had wip'd away
The bloudie streames that stain'd her Iuory flesh,
Assayes to draw the shaft out of the wound,
But the vilde steale yeelding vnto his hand,
Left hidden in the wound the harmfull head.
Hence came the griefe, for t'was impossible
With cunning hand, or daintie instrument,
Or other meanes, to draw it out from thence.
Opening the wound perhaps with wider wound
He might haue found the steele with other steele.
So mought he do, or so he must haue done,
But too too pitious, and too louing now
Was Siluioes hand, for such like cruell pitie
By such hard meanes, loue neuer healeth wounds.
Although it seem'd to her that paine it selfe
Was pleasant now betweene her Siluioes hands.
He not amaz'd sayes thus: this head shall out,
And with lesse paine then any will beleeue.
I put it there, and though I be not able straight
To take it out, yet with the vse of hunting
I will restore the losse I haue by hunting.
I do remember now an hearbe that is well knowne
Vnto the sauadge Goate, when he is wounded
With some Huntsmans shaft: this they to vs,
Nature to them bewray'd, and t'is hard by.
All suddenly he parts vnto a neighbour hill,
[Page] And there a bundle gathers, straight to vs
He comes, and out he drawes the iuyce thereof,
And mingles it with veruine seed, and roote
Of Centaures bloud, making a playster soft,
Which on the wound he laies: vertue myraculous,
The pain straight ceas'd, the bloud was quickly staid,
The steele straightway without or toile or paine,
The workmans hand obeying, issues out.
And now her strength returnes to her againe,
As though she had not suffered wound at all:
Nor was it mortall, for it had vntoucht
Both left the bones and bellies outward runne,
And onely pie [...]st into the musclouse slanke.
Co.
Great vertue of an hearb, but much more great
For fortune of a woman hast thou tolde.
Lin.
That which betweene them past when this was done,
Is better to be gesl'd at then be told.
Dorinda sure is well, and with her side
Can serue her selfe to any vse she likes.
Thou think'st she hath endur'd more wounds by this,
But as the piercing weapons diuers are,
So are the wounds: of some the griefe is sharpe,
Of some t'is sweet, one healing waxeth sound,
The lesse an other heales, the sounder t'is.
In hunting he to shoote such pleasure found,
That now he loues he cannot choose but wound.
Co.
Still thou wilt be that amorous Linco.
Lin.
In mind but not in force my deare Corisca,
Greene bloomes d [...]sire within this aged tronke.
Co.
Now Amarillis hath resign'd her life,
I will go see what deare Mirtillo doth.

Sce. 8.

Ergasto. Corisca.
ERg.
O day of wonders, day all loue, all grace,
All ioy, ô happie land, ô heauens benigne.
Co.
See where Ergasto is, he comes in time.
Er.
Now all things ioyfull are, the earth, the ayre,
The skies, the fire, the world, and all things laugh.
Our ioyes haue pierc't the lowest hell, nor is
There any place that not partakes our blisse.
Co.
[Page]
How iocond is this man?
Er.
O happy woods
That often sigh'd and wept out wofull case,
Enioy our ioyes, and vse as many tongues
As leaues that leape at sound of these sweet windes,
Which [...]l'd with our reioycings calmely smile,
Sing they the sweet aduentures of these friends.
Co.
He speakes of Siluio and Dorinda sure,
Well, we must liue, teares are no sooner ebb'd,
But straight the floud of ioy comes hussing in
Or Amarillis, not a word he speakes
Onely takes care to ioy with them that ioy.
Why tis well done, for else this humane life
Would still be full of sighes: whither away
Ergasto go'st so pleasantly, vnto some marriage?
Er.
Euen so, but hast thou heard the happy chance
Of the two fortunate Louers? is't not rare Corisca?
Co.
To my contentment euen now I heard it all
Of Linco, and t'doth somewhat mittigate
The griefe I for my Amarillis feele.
Er.
Why Amarillis? Of whom think'st thou I speak?
Co.
Of Siluio and Dorinda man.
Er.
What Siluio? what Dorinda? thou know'st nought,
My ioy growes from a higher nobler roote.
I Amarillis and Mirtillo sing,
The best contented subiects of loues ring.
Co.
Why is not Amarillis dead?
Er.
How dead?
I tell thee shee's a bright and merrie B [...]ide.
Co.
Was she not then condemned vnto death?
She was condemn'd, but soone releast againe.
Co.
Telst thou me dreames? or dreaming do I heare?
Er.
Thine eies shall tell thee if thou'lt stay a while,
Soone shalt thou see her with her faithfull friend
Come from the Temple, where they plighted haue
Their marriage troth, and so go to Montanus h [...]use
To reape sweet fruit of their long amorous toiles.
O hadst thou seene (Corisca) the huge ioy,
The mightie noyse of ioy full voyces, and
Th'innumerable troupes of men and women,
Thou should'st haue seene, old, young, sacred and prophane,
But litle lesse then mad or drunke with [...].
[Page] With wonder who ranne not to see the Louers?
Each reuerence to each them embraced there.
Some prais'd their pitie, some their constancie.
Some prais'd the gifts that Ioue, and some that nature gaue.
The hills, the dales, the meadowes did resound,
The glorious name of faithfull Shepheard,
From a poore Shepheard to become so soone
A Demy-god, and in a moment passe
From life to death, the neighbour obsequies
To chaunge for vnexpected and dispaired nuptialls.
This is some what (Corisca) but not halfe
Her to enioy, for whom he sought to die,
Her that disdaind to liue if he had dy'de,
This is fortune, this is such a sweet
As thought preuents, and yet thou art not glad.
Is not thy Amarillis then as deare to thee,
As my Mirtillo is to mee?
Co.
Yes, yes, Argasto, see how glad I am.
Er.
O hadst thou seene but Amarillis when
She gaue Mirtill her hand for pledge, and tooke
His hand againe, thou easily hadst perceiu'd
A sweet but vnseene kisse: I could not say
Whether she tooke it, or she gaue it him.
Her cheekes would haue the purest colour stain'd,
Purple or Roses Art, or nature brings,
How modestie was arm'd in daintie shield
Of sanguine beautie, with force of that stroke
Vnto the strikor turned, whilst she all nice
Seemed as though she fled, but to recouer force
Shee might more sweetly encounter that same blow,
Leauing it doubtfull if this kisse were giuen or ta'ne,
With such a wondrous Art it graunted was.
This taken sweet, was like an action mixt
With rapine and with yeelding both at once,
A [...]o so courteous, that it seem'd to craue
The very thing that it denying gaue:
Such a retrait, and such a speedlesse flight,
As mend the pace of the pursuer, might,
O sweetest kisse, I cannot stay Corisca,
[Page] I goe directly I to finde a wife:
For mongst the ioyes there is no pleasure sure,
If gentl [...] loue do not the same procure.
Co.
If he say true, then thou Corisca hast lost all.

Sce. 9.

Chorus of Shephear is, Corisca, Amarillis, Mirtillo.
CHo. Sh.
Come holy Himeneus, come this euen
According to our vowes and to our songs
[...] thou these Louers [...].
[...] one [...] of heauen,
Knit thou the [...].
Co.
Ah me it is too true, this is the fruite
Thou from thy store of vanities must reape.
O thoughts, o my desires, no lesse vniust
Then false and vaine. Thus of an innocent
I sought the death to haue my beastly wil [...],
So bloudie cruell was I then, so blinde.
Who opens now mine eye [...]? Ah wretch, I see
My fault most [...]oule that seem'd felicitie.
Cho. Sh.
Come holy Himeneus▪ &c.
See faithfull Shepheard, after all thy teares,
All thy distresses, whither thou art come,
Is not this shee from thee was ta'ne away
By lawe of heauen and earth? by cruell fate?
By her chaste will? and by thy poore estate?
By her faith giuen another man, and by her death,
Behold Mirtillo now shee's onely thine.
This face, these eyes, this breast, these daintie hands,
All that thou seest, hear'st, and feel'st, so often sought
In vaine by thee, are now rewards become
Of thine vndaunted faith, yet thou art dombe.
Mir.
How can I speak, I scarce know if I breathe,
Nor what I see, I scarce beleeue I see:
Let Amarillis you that pleasure giue,
In her alone my soules affections liue.
Cho. Sh.
Come holy Himeneus, &c.
Cor.
What do ye now with me trecherous toies,
Vilde frenzies of the body, spots of the soule?
You long inough haue me betrayed here,
Go get you to the earth, for earth you are,
[Page] You weare th'armes erst of lasciuious loue,
Trophes of chastitie now may you proue.
Cho. Sh.
Come holy Hymeneus, &c.
Co.
Why tris [...]est thou Corisca [...]? now's fit time
[...] impetrate, [...]ear'st thou thy paine?
Beheld, thy paine cannot be greater then thy fault.
[...] and blessed couple, of the skies
And earth b [...]lou'd, since to your glorious fate
This day hath me [...]kely bow'd all earthly force,
[...] reason she do bow that gainst the same
[...] set a worke a [...]l of her earthly force.
Now [...], I will not denie
[...] the same which you desir'd,
But you enioy it, for you worthy were.
You do enioy the loyalst man aliue.
And you Mirtillo do enioy the chastest Nymph
[...] the world hath bred. Beleeue you me,
For [...] whetstone was vnto your [...],
And to her chastitie. But courteous Nymph, before
Your anger do discend on me, behold
Your [...] face, there shall you finde the force
Both of my fault, and of your pardon too:
For in the vertue of such worthinesse,
You cannot choo [...] but cause of pardon finde.
Beside [...] you [...] the selfe [...]ame fire
That did inflame vnfortunate desire.
Ama.
I do not onely pardon thee [...]
I count thee [...] the effect beholding not the cause.
For fire and sword, although they wounds do bring,
Yet those once he [...]ld to vs to whole [...] deare,
Howsoeuer now thou prou'st or f [...]iend, or foe,
I am well [...] the Destinies did make
Thee the good instrument of my content.
Happie [...],
And if you please [...] with vs to be,
Come then and take part of our ioyes with vs.
Co.
I haue [...] pardon me,
And that [...].
Mir.
And I (Corisca) pardon all thy harmes,
Saue this delaying of my sweet content.
Co.
[Page]
You and your mirth I to the Gods commend.
Cho. Sh.
Come holy Himeneus▪ &c.

Sce. 10.

Mirtillo. Amarillis. Chorus of Shepheard.
MIr.
I am so tyed to paine, that in the midst
Of all my ioyes I needs must languish still.
Is't not inough this ceremonious pompe
Doth hold vs thus, but that Corisca must
Come in to hinder vs?
Ama.
Th'art too quick my deare.
Mir.
O my sweet treasure I am not secure,
Yet do I quake for feare of le [...]sing thee.
This seemes a dreame, and still I am afraid
My sleep should breake, and thou my soule shouldst flye away.
In better proofe my sences would I sleepe,
That this sweet sight is not a dreaming sleepe.
Cho. Sh.
Come holy Himeneus, come this euen
According to our vowes, and to our songs
Dresse thou these Louers as them best belongs.
Both t'one and t'other of the seed of heauen,
Knit thou the fatall knot this blessed eauen.
Chorus.
O Happie two,
That plants haue sow'd, and reaped smyles.
In many bitter grieuous foyles
Haue you imbellist your desires,
Henceforth prepare your amorous fires,
And bolden vp your tender sprights,
Vnto your true sincere delights.
You cannot haue a sounder ioy,
There is no ill can you annoy.
This is true ioy, true pleasure, and true mirth,
T'which vertue got, in patience giueth birth.
FINIS.

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