The shepheards holy-day A pastorall tragi-comædie. Acted before both their Maiesties at White-Hall, by the Queenes Servants. With an elegie on the death of the most noble lady, the Lady Venetia Digby. Written by J.R.

Author: J. R. (Joseph Rutter), fl. 1635-1640.1635

THE SHEPHEARDS HOLY-DAY. A PASTORALL TRAGI-COMAEDIE. ACTED BEFORE BOTH THEIR MAIESTIES AT WHITE-HALL, by the Queenes Servants. WITH AN ELEGIE ON THE DEATH of the most noble Lady, the Lady VENETIA DIGBY.

‘VIR. Nec erubuit Sylvas habitare Thalia.’ WRITTEN BY J. R.

LONDON: Printed by N. and I. Okes, for Iohn Benson, and are to be sold at his shop in St. Dunstans Church-yard in Fleetstreet. 1635.

[Page]

TO THE TRVELY NOBLE Sir KENELME DIGBY, K^t.

SIR,

IT is sayd, that all things naturally affect their place of birth. Fire fain'd to be stolne from Heauen, of its owne Nature tends upwards. The Soule of Man desires to be united with the Divine Essence from whence it is derived. Tis then but reason that these Poems should of themselves returne to you, by whose influence they were conceived; Both of them being borne in your house: The one whilst I admir'd the serenity, and sweetnesse of your disposition: the other when I kept time with your greife, which you tooke for the losse of that noble Lady, your deare wife: So that now I doubt whether I may call my selfe the Author, or you. At least, if this be my worke, I am yours: And [Page] could my capacity have reacht those Heroique vertues, which in the time of my attendance I beheld in you, I might perhaps have dar'd a higher flight, and from the hūble straine of shepheards, have growne up to you, as you are, the subiect of all morall vertues: I shouldh ha' then describ'd your valour, Industry, and Prudence in your actions at sea, your Bounty still exercised in the right place, your Piety in the memory of your deceased Lady, of whom, (besides the Monument you have erected to her,) the statues and pictures you have, and what ever else might render her, testifie what a value you set on the originall. Vxorem enim vivam amare voluptas est, defunctam religio. But these aymes are too high for me, yet may you somewhat raise my thoughts, if you descend to keepe these in your esteeme, and with them,

Your true servant, JOS. RVTTER.

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To my deare Sonne, and right-learned Friend, Master JOSEPH RVTTER.YOu looke, my Joseph, I should something say
Unto the world, in praise of your first Play:
And truely, so I would, could I be heard.
You know, I never was of Truth a feard,
And lesse asham'd; not when I told the crowd
How well I lov'd Truth: I was scarce allow'd
By those deepe-grounded, understanding men,
That sit to censure Playes, yet know not when,
Or why to like; they found, it all was new,
And newer, then could please them, by-cause trew.
Such men I met withall, and so have you.
Now, for mine owne part, and it is but due,
(You haue deserv'd it from me) I have read,
And weigh'd your Play: untwisted ev'ry thread,
And know the woofe, and warpe thereof; can tell
Where it runs round, and even: where so well,
So soft, and smooth it handles, the whole piece,
As it were spun by nature, off the fleece:
This is my censure. Now there is a new
Office of Wit, a Mint, and (this is true)
Cry'd up of late: Whereto there must be first
A Master-worker call'd, th'old standerd burst
Of wit, and a new made: a Warden then,
And a Comptroller, two most rigid men
For order, and for governing the pixe,
A Say-master, hath studied all the tricks
[Page]Of Finenesse, and alloy: follow his hint,
Yo' have all the Mysteries of Wits new Mint,
The valuations, mixtunes, and the same
Concluded from a Carract to a dramme.
Ben. Ionson.

To my much respected Friend, Master Ioseph Rutter▪ upon his Pastorall.WHy should I vainely strive to vindicate
Thy fame, or feare thy well-writ Poems fate?
Why should I wrong the age, to thinke a straine
So clearely sweete, so elegantly plaine,
Should be mistaken? that a Reader, though
Not of the best, who judge because they know,
But of the venturing ranke, should therefore cease
To praise, because he understands with ease?
Because he is not puzled, but may finde
A quicke delight, such as should moove the minde
In Playes or Pastoralls, whose gentle straines.
Should not perplexe, but recreate the braines?
Can unjust ignorance offer so much
Wrong to it selfe? yet I have heard that such,
For whom no language can be plaine enough,
Praise nought but intricate and clouded stuffe,
As if that conscious to their owne weake sence,
Because they know not perfect Eloquence,
And yet would seeme; they thinke that best must be,
That's farthest off from their capacity.
Let such, if such there be, have their desire;
And, though nor pleas'd, nor profited, admire.
I wish who ere shall read thy sweetest straine,
May love the Authours skill that made it plaine,
And so be just both to himselfe, and thee:
But I'le no more anticipate, nor be
Tedious in censure; to that Worthy's breast,
To whom thou send'st thy Booke, I leave the rest.
Thomas May.

[Page]
TO this faire Company I am to say,
You're Welcome all, to a well meaning play,
For such our Author made it, with intent
To defame none. His Muse is innocent,
A Virgin yet, that has not found the wayes
Out of foule crimes to raise her selfe a prayse;
And therefore She desires, you would excuse
All bitter straines, that suite a Satyr Muse:
And that which so much takes the Vulgar Eare,
Loosenes of speech, which they for jests do heare;
She hopes none such are here, therfore she dares
Venter this story, purg'd from lighter ayres:
A piece intire, without or patch, or maime,
Round in it selfe, and euery where the same.
And if there be not in't, what they call wit,
There might haue bin, had it bin thought so fit.
A Shepheards Muse gently of loue does sing,
And with it mingles no impurer thing.
Such she presents vnto your eares, and eyes,
And yet your Christian freedome not denies
Of liking, or disliking what you will,
You may say this is well, or that is ill,
Without dispute; for why should you that pay
For what you haue, be taught what you should say,
Or made to judge by any square, or rule,
As if you came not to a Stage, but Schoole?
[Page]No, he that made it, sayes, if you will eate,
He will not force your stomackes, there's your meat,
Which if you like tis well, if not, all's one,
There must be difference in opinion:
Besides, he's sure what ever hee could wish,
Your taste, and not his Art must praise the dish.

The Persons of the Play.

Thyrsis, the Lover of Sylvia.
Hylas, the Lover of Nerina.
Mirtillus, the common Lover.
Daphnis, the rich Shepheard.
Montanus, an ancient Shepheard.
Charinus, Father to Nerina.
Alcon, an ancient Shepheard.
Nuntius.

Chorus of Shepheards.

Sylvia, belov'd of Thyrsis.
Nerina, a huntresse, belov'd of Hylas & of Daphnis
Dorinda, enamored of Daphnis.
Delia, a Court Lady.
Euarchus, King of Arcady.
Eubulus, his Counsellor.
Cleander, Sonne to Eubulus.
Attendants.

The Scene Arcady.

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THE SHEPHEARDS HOLY-DAY.

ACTVS. 1.

SCENA 1.

Thyrsis, Montanus.

HEre in this Grove I left her, here amongst
These Poplars, Laurells, and these Sycamors,
Guilty of her sad losse: And yet behold
They doe appeare as fresh and full of verdure,
As when my Love cloth'd in her clearest lookes,
Did give them grace and lustre: Why do we
Poore silly men bred up in cares, and feare,
The Nurse of our Religion, stoope to Nature,
That onely knowes to forme, not to preserve
What she has made, since carelesse of her worke,
She leaves to giddy Fortune the whole power
Of ruling us: These senselesse Trees stand still,
And flourish too, and in their pride upbraide
My losse to me; but my deare Sylvia being
Natures best peece, made to excuse the rest
Of all her vulgar formes, ay me! was left
To desolation, till some horrid Satyr
Bred in these Woods, and furious in his lusts
[Page]Made her his prey, and now has carried her
Into his darke retirings, or some Cave
Where her poore Thyrsis never more shall see her.

But I will be reveng'd, this Wood that now
Is so bedeckt with leaves and fresh array,
Ile levell with the ground, untill it be
As desolate as I.

Mon.

Alas poore shepheard!

Thy.

It shall affoord no shade to any thing

That hither us'd to come for its releife;

But henceforth be for ever infamous:

That when some gentle shepheard passes by,

And sees this ground rent with the crooked plough,

Here, he may say, here 'twas that Sylvia

Was lost, and then shall turne another way.

Mon.

Good Thyrsis, do not make so much of griefe,

Y'have fed it with too many teares already,

Take comfort now.

Thy.

What has my present state

To doe with comfort? if you see the trees

Widdow'd of leaves, the earth growne hard, and spoild

Of the greene mantles which she wont to weare,

You wonder not if winter then appeare.

Mon.

By these we know that season.

Thy.

And must I,

When she is gone, whose Sun-like eyes did cherish

An everlasting Summer in my life,

Feele any spring of joy to comfort me?

[Page]No father, griefe with me is best in season.

Mon.

But whilst you mourne thus, who looks to your flock?

Thy.

All as the shepheard is, such be his flocks,

So pine and languish, they, as in despaire

He pines and languishes, their fleecy locks

Let hang disorder'd, as their Masters haire,

Since she is gone that deskt both him, and them.

And now what beauty can there be to live

When she is lost that did all beauty give?

Mon.

But yet, mee thinks, for one that is a stranger,

Scarce knowne to any here, but by her name,

These plaints are overmuch: besides there are

In fruitfull Arcady as faire as she,

I'me sure more rich and wise, make out of them

A choise. Nerina is as faire as she,

Dorinda's flocks are more then Silvia's,

And carry on their backs more wooll then hers.

Thy.

Let such base Pesants, as the Gods, do hate,

Admire their wealth, and them, for what they have,

Their bodies, and their soules materiall

Alike, of drossie substance are compounded,

And can contemplate nothing but the earth.

No, Silvia, whom some better God (perhaps

For the reward of my well tuned pipe)

Sent downe to me made up of ayre, and fire,

Though since, because I knew not how to use

With faire respect a gift so great as she,

Has justly reft her from me, is so much,

[Page]So great a part of me, that in her absence,

Amidst my griefe I feele some little joy,

To see how much of me each minute wasteth,

And gives me hope that when I shall dissolve

This earthly substance, and be pure as she

(For sure the Gods have taken her undefil'd)

I may injoy her lookes, and though it be

Prophane to touch a hallowed thing like her,

I may adore her yet, and recompence

With my religion the proud thoughts I had

once to injoy her.

Mo.

See how fond you are

T'embrace a shadow, and to leave the substance.

The love of Hylas to Nerina has

More hopes then yours; though she be yong and coy

Yet whilst Nerina is, and Hylas too,

One time or other, they may both haue joy

Thy.

May they prove happy in each others love,

And nothing please, but what each other do,

For so liv'd Thirsis and his Silvia,

Whilst Silvia was, and Thirsis was her loue,

What ever Thirsis pip'd pleasd Silvia,

Thirsis admird what ever Sylvia sung

And both their joyes were equall, or but one,

Well I can now remember (and it is

Some comfort to remember what I moane)

That when our loves began, how first I gaz'd

On her,, and she was pleasd that I should looke

[Page]Till greedily I had devour'd the hooke.

Love gave me courage then to speake my thoughts,

And gave her pitty to receive my words,

They linkt our hearts together: from that time

When ere she saw me strike the furious Boare,

(Though then my case she ru'd, and sigh'd full oft)

Yet was she pleas'd to see my victory,

And I receiv'd my vigour from her eye.

Then would she make me Chaplets of the best

And choicest flowers to adorne my head:

Which when I wore, methought I then did graspe

The Empire of the world; but what of that?

The more I then enjoy'd of heavenly blisse,

The more my present griefe and passion is.

Mon.

Well Thyrsis, since my words doe but renew

The story of your griefe, I'le leave to use

Perswasions to you; for 'tis time I see,

And not my words, must cure your maladie

Exit.

Thy.

That time must put a period to my life,

Or else it never will unto my griefe:

Come Boy, and under this same hanging bow,

The note which thou attemperst to my words,

Sing, and be happier then thy Master, Boy.

Boy.

1.SHall I because my Love is gon,
Accuse those golden darts
[Page]Which to a blessed union
Strooke our two loving hearts,
Since Fortune, and not Love hath caus'd my moane?

2.No, her pure Image I shall prize,
Imprinted in my brest,
More then the fairest Mistresse eyes
That ever Swaine possest,
Which in eternall bonds my fancie tyes.

3.Come then you sharpest griefes, and try
If you can pierce my heart,
But use, if you would have me dye,
The best you can of Art,
To wound a breast so arm'd with constancy.

Thy.

Enough: I'le sigh the rest out: Goe my boy,

Be carefull of thy tender Lambes, whilst I

Seeke out some hidden place to pine and dye.

SCENA SECUNDA.

Hylas, Mirtillus.

BEleeve Mirtillus, never any love

Was bought with other price then love alone,

Since nothing is more precious then it selfe.

It being the purest abstract of that fire,

Which wise Prometheus first indu'd us with;

[Page]And he must love that would be lov'd againe.

Mi.

Why? who can say Mirtillus does not love,

Mirtillus, he who has imploy'd his youth

Ever in service of the fairest Nymphs.

Hy.

Mirtillus cannot love.

Mi.

No, gentle Hylas?

This Ribband, and this haire you see me weare

Are they not ensignes of a lover? say

What shepheardesse whom ever Swaine thought faire,

Has not Mirtillus courted, and obtaind

Some favour from? but you will thinke because

I do not fold my armes, and sigh, and spend

The dayes the Gods have given me to rejoice,

In whining passion, walking still alone,

Now proud with hopes, then cast downe with despaire,

Unequall to my selfe in every thing,

I cannot love. No, Hylas, know I love

Dorinda, Cloris, Amarillis, all

Whom ever love did to his Altars call:

And when this Mistresse frownes, I am content

To take another, when that flame is spent

By time, or put out by a Rivall, straite

A third supplies her place, perhaps more worthy,

If lesse, because she loves, Ile thinke her so.

Hy.

Alas, Mirtillus, I doe pitty thee,

Pittie the error which thou wandrest in,

That thinkst thou lov'st, and know'st not what it is,

Mi.

Why what is love say you, if mine be not?

Hy.

[Page]

I know Mirtillus, that no lover yet

Purchas'd a lasting pleasure without griefe;

For love has gall in it, as well as honie,

And so compounded, that who so ere will taste

The sweetes of it, must take the bitter too,

Out of both which is made our constancy,

You that embrace the false delights alone,

Are a faign'd lover, or more truly none.

Mi.

I know not what you meane by constancy,

I'me sure I loue the fairest.

Hy.

Still you erre,

For if you lov'd the fairest, none had bin

The object of your choise but my Nerina,

Nerina, she the glory of these woods

The only subject of all shepheards song.

Mi.

She has her share of beautie with the rest,

And I confesse she's fit for love as any;

But why she onely should take up your breast,

And shut out all that have a right as good,

Whose equall, or transcendent beautie pleades

As just a title to't, as hers can do,

I cannot reach the reason, but admire

Your faith, and what you praise, your constancie.

Hy.

Mirtillus, though I know your stubborn heart

Could never entertaine a lovers thought,

Yet did I thinke you would have bin more tender

How you prophan'd a name so sacred as

Nerina's is, whom never any Swaine

[Page]Nor rurall God, nor Satyr, though he be

Of savage kinde would ever violate;

Nerina in whose forme love ever dwells

Attended by the Graces, which do range

Themselves in order 'bout her comely face,

Whose breasts without are hills of whitest snow,

Within the seate of blamelesse modestie,

Regard of honor, and pure chastity

Nor may a loose thought ever harbor there

To tempt such lovers as you seeme to be.

Is it for that you slight her?

Mi.

No, I loue her

As I do others, with whom I compare her.

But you that loue with such intemperance,

Make of your love a glasse, wherein you see

Each thing much greater then indeed it is:

My loves too cold you say, but I am sure

Yours is too hot for any to endure:

A meane perhaps 'twixt these I might approve

Hy.

You might, if there were any meane in love.

Mi.

But whilst we talke thus, see, the flame has caught you,

your beauteous flame Nerina is at hand

Dorinda with her, dare you stay th'encounter.

Hy.

No let's with draw, and watch her where she gos.

SCENA III.

Merina, Dorinda.

DOrinda, I have mist the chase to day,

Such is my chance, and he that lodg'd the deere,

[Page]Told me it was the fairest in these Woods.

Do.

The Gods doe love you sure, that have left

Your thoughts so free for sport; mine are not so.

Ne.

Thou art in love, I warrant, art thou not?

Do.

That angry God pursues me in his fury,

And forces me to love where I am scorn'd.

Haplesse Dorinda, why should he despise thee?

Many a Swaine, and many a rurall God

Have sought thy favors, and have sought in vaine,

Now thou art justly punisht with disdaine.

Ne.

Trust me Sweet-heart, I cannot choose but wonder,

To thinke that one of such a comely grace

(I doe not flatter you) could sue to any

For love, who are much fitter to be lov'd:

Scorne him asmuch as he does thee, for men

Love us no more, when we love them agen.

Do.

Ah good Nerina, you have spoken truth:

It may warne other Nymphs by my example

How they professe their loves to any man:

I'me past the cure, he that wounded me,

Has left me quite disarm'd, and robb'd me of

All those defensive arts which men will say

Are naturall and proper to our sexe:

I cannot change a face, or weepe one teare,

Or laugh against my will, so violently

My Fate hath thrust me to this love, that all

My faculties confesse their weaknesse, and

My flame is got so much above my reach,

[Page] [...] can not put it out, nor smother it.

Me.

Alas poore wench, tell me who is the man

Made up of so much rigid cruelty,

That I may shun him wheresoere I goe.

Do.

Do not you know him?

Me.

No.

Do.

I heare he boasts

To every shepheard, and to every Nymph,

How much I love him.

Me.

Then it must be Daphnis.

Do.

Venus forgive me, if I do disclose him,

But he will do't himselfe: Tis he Nerina.

Me.

Daphnis, that woes my father to win me,

He is my daily suitor, now I know

How much he owes to pitty, and to thee:

Untill he pay that debt, I shall despise him.

Do.

Why, do not you love him as much as I?

Me.

Love him? I know no greater misery,

Then to love one that's not of humane race,

A Tyger rather, but a Tyger is

More milde then he.

Do.

For loves sake say not so.

He has a manly feature, and does shew

As much of grace in his comportment, as

The best of shepheards can him Titan made

Of better clay, then he did other men:

Although his heart be flint, and hardest rocke.

Yet is his heart so hard, or are my parts

[Page]Rather unequall to his high deserts?

For he can love I see, since you he loves,

And you deserve it: had he thought me worthy,

He would have lov'd me too; but as I am

Worthlesse Dorinda, I am made his scorne,

And I had rather be so, then Nerina

Should want a servant such as Daphnis is.

Me,

Prethee no more of him, I hate his name

As much, as I would do the losse of honor,

Which he injuriously would rob me off,

No, no, Dorinda, if by love I be

In [...]hrald to any, Daphnis is not he.

Do.

Why, is there any can deserve you more?

Me.

Yes many, that I could tell how to love

Rather then him: for why should I love him

Whilst Hylas lives and languishes for me?

Hylas who lov'd me in my infancy,

And being then a boy was never well

If I was absent, nor indeed was I

Content with any but his company.

Our flocks still fed together, I on him,

And he on me did feed his greedie eyes.

Since though his yeares have stild him man, he has

Continu'd that first love with such respects,

So full of innocence and simple truth,

That howsoere my outward coynesse is,

My heart within tells me, 'tis onely his:

Ay me! my father! prithee let's away.

Do.

[Page]

But Daphnis comes with him, for loves sake stay.

SCENA QVARTA.

Hylas, Mirtillus, Charinus, Daphnis.

PAn be as cruell to his flocks and him,

As he has bin to me.

Mi.

Go, leave your cursing,

And follow her, let me alone with him.

Cha.

Ha! have I found you? Hoh! Nerina, stay,

Your father calls you; was not that my daughter

That made away so fast?

Mi.

Who, she thats gon?

[...]eleeve your eies no more, they are false to you.

Could you take one for her, thats nothing like her.

Twas Cloris went from us.

Cha.

Ist possible?

Mi.

Tis true.

Da.

I thought, that it had bin my love.

Cha.

I durst have sworne that she had bin my daughter,

What made she here? 'Twill nere be otherwise;

Young women will be chatting with young men,

What ere their father say. It was not so

When I was young, a boy, as you are, shepheards.

Mi.

Wee are not men with him, till after fiftie.

Cha.

We never durst keepe company with women,

Nor they with us, each one did carefully

[Page]Attend his charge: And when the time was come

That we grew ripe in yeares, and were staid youths,

Our Fathers would provide us wives: we did not

Carve for our selves, as now a daies they doe:

But now our children thinke themselves as wise,

Nay wiser then their Fathers, and will rule 'em:

They can no sooner peepe out of the shell,

But they must love forsooth; I would faine know,

Whether 'twere fit a Maide should be in love,

(I speak now of that skittish girle my daughter

Before she aske her Fathers leave and liking?

Da.

Tis true Charinus, 'twere not fit indeed:

Who should bestow the daughter, but the Father?

Mi.

But Shepheards did you never heare, that once

There was an Age, the nearest to the Gods:

An age we rather praise then imitate;

When no mans will, nor womans was inforc'd,

To any bent, but its owne motion:

Each follow'd Natures lawes, and by instinct

Did love the fairest, and injoy'd their wishes;

Love then not ty'd to any interest

Of blood or fortune, hastned to his end,

Without controll, nor did the Shepheard number

Her sheepe that was his choice, but every grace

That did adorne her beauteous minde or face;

Riches with love then were not valued,

Pure uncompounded love, that could despise

The whole worlds riches for a Mistresse eyes.

[Page]Pray tell me Daphnis, you are young and handsome,

The lover of our fairest Nymph Nerina:

Would you for all that fruitfull Sicilie

Can yeeld, or all the wealth of Persia,

Change one poore locke of your faire Mistresse haire,

Whilst she is yours, and you her shepheard are.

Da.

Would she were mine, I'de aske no portion.

Mi.

Spoke like a Lover of the ancient stampe.

Cha.

Sonne, sonne, she shall be yours: why? am not I

Her Father, she my daughter; may not I

Bestow her where I please?

Mi.

Yes if she like

The man, she will bestow her selfe, ne're feare it.

Cha.

What? she bestow herselfe without my leave?

No, no, Mirtillus, you mistake my daughter.

I cannot get her once to thinke of marriage,

And truely I do muse to see a wench,

That in all other things (although I say it)

Has wit at will, can pin her sheepe in fold

As well as any, knowes when to drive them home:

And there she can do twenty things as well:

Yet when I speake to her of marriage,

She turnes the head, shee'le be a Dryade, she

Or one of those fond Nymphs of Dians traine.

Mi.

Old man, beleeve her not, she meanes not so,

She loves to keepe the thing for which she is

So much belov'd, I meane her Maidenhead;

Which, whilst she has, she knowes to play the Tyrant,

[Page]And make us slaves unto her scornefull lookes:

For beauty then it selfe most justifies,

When it is courted, if not lov'd, it dies.

Cha.

Well, we will thinke of this: Come Daphnis, come,

I see you love my daughter, and you onely

Shall have her, it is I that tell you so,

That am her Father.

Da.

Thanke you good Charinus:

But I had rather she had told me so.

ACTUS SECUND.

SCENA PRIM.

Thyrsis, Montanus.

To them Mirtillus.

THis day the Sunne shot forth his beames as faire

As ere he did, and through the trembling aire

Coole Zephyrus with gentle murmuring

Breath'd a new freshnesse on each Tree and Plant:

My Kids as game some too, as ere they were;

All shew a face of gladnesse but my selfe.

Mon.

And why not you aswell by their example?

Thy.

Not in this life, here joy would be untimely:

The Gods reserve for me their comforts in

Th' Elyzian fields, or else they mocke my sorrows.

Mon.

O say not so, they're just and pittifull.

Thyr.

They are, but Father, (so I still must call you)

[Page]When in the sadnesse of my soule I askt

Before the Altar of our great Apollo,

What should become of me, or where my love

Bright Silvia was, whether alive or dead,

Why should the Oracle reply, Goe home,

Thou shalt enjoy thy Silvia?

Mon.

What more could you

Desire to heare?

Th.

I, but when greedily

I askt the time, the answere was, That day

Thou art not Thirsis, nor she Silvia.

Then in this life I'me sure it must not be,

For I was Thyrsis ever call'd, and she

Knowne by no other name then Sylvia.

Mon.

It may be for your importunity

You might deserve this answere, or else is it

Because the Gods speake not their mysteries

To be conceiv'd by every vulgar sence?

I now remember what Acrisius,

The wise and vertuous Acrisius

Was wont to say.

Th.

Why? what said he?

Does it concerne me ought?

Mon.

It may do sonne,

He bid us flie all curiositie.

Seeking to know what future time may bring

To us, which onely Gods above do know,

And if at any time they do impart

[Page]This knowledge unto us, it is inwrapt

In such a mist, as we shall neere see through it:

Because, said he, we have enough to doe

With what is present: the celestiall powers

Would not cut of our hopes, nor multiply

Our cares, by shewing us our destinie.

Thy.

Oh this discourse to a despairing lover,

What comfort does it bring? for heavens sake leave it,

And me; for I am best, I finde, alone:

Yet stay, there's something that I faine would aske you:

You said this Circle here about my necke

Has so continu'd from my infancie,

When first you tooke me up.

Mon.

Tis true, that Circle

Hung loosely then about your necke, which since

Is filld with it. I left it there, because

I saw some letters that were wrought about it.

Thy.

And may they not be read?

Mon.

I thinke they may:

But I could never finde so greate a Clerke,

As could tell how t'expound the meaning of them.

Thy.

My life is nothing but a Mystery;

That which I was, and that which I shall be,

Is equally unknowne. Now, if you'le leave me

Unto my thoughts, they'le keepe me companie.

Mon.

I will, but here is one come to supplie me.

Enter to him Mirtillus.

Mi.

I, let me alone.

[Page]

Sings.

HE that mournes for a Misteris,
When he knows not where she is,
Let him kisse her shaddow faire,
Or ingender with the ayre;
Or see if with his teares he can
Swell at an ebb the Ocean:
Then, if he had not rather die,
Let him love none, or all as I.

This is the doctrine that I ever taught you,

And yet you profit not; these scurvy passions

Hang on you still: You that are yong and active,

That may have all our Nymphs at your devotion,

To live a whining kind of life as this,

How ill it does become you?

Th.

True Mirtillus.

And yet I doe not envie thee the pleasure,

Thou hast in thy dispers'd affections.

You would, if your head were right once; but love,

Your love does make an Asse of all your reason.

Th.

Sure, a true lover is more rationall

Then you, that love at randome every where.

Mi.

I doe not thinke so; all the reason love

Has left you, to imploy in this discourse,

Will hardly bring me to confesse it to you.

Th.

Why? all mens actions have some proper end,

Whereto their meanes and strict endeavours tend:

[Page]Else there would be nought but perplexitie

In humane life, and all uncertaintie.

Mi.

Well, what will you inferre on this?

Thy.

That you,

Who know no end at all of wild desire,

Must in your wandring fancie see this way

Leads unto madnesse, when too late you finde

That nothing satisfies a boundlesse minde.

Mi.

I, but I do confine my selfe to two,

Or three at most; in this varietie

I please my selfe, for what is wanting in

One, I may finde it in another.

Th.

No.

Not in another, one is the onely Centre

The line of love is drawne to, must have all

Perfections in her, all that's good and faire,

Or else her Lover must beleeve her so.

Mi.

I, there's your error, that's the ground of all

Your teares, and sighs, your fruitlesse hopes and feares,

When she perhaps has not so much t'adorne her

As the least grace your thoughts bestow upon her.

Th.

Well, be it so; and yet this faire Idea

Which I have fram'd unto my selfe, does argue

Vertue in me; so that if she be lost,

Or dead, (ay me! the sad remembrance of

My Sylvia causes this) yet I must love,

Because the Character is indelible,

Writ in my heart, and heaven is witnesse to it.

Mi.

[Page]

Well, I'le no more of this, I'le be converted,

Rather then call this griefe to your remembrance.

Th.

Why? dost thou thinke I ever shall forget her?

Or that where ere I set my carefull foote,

As in this place, will it not tell me, that

Here Sylvia and I walkt hand in hand,

And here she pluckt a flower, and anon

She gave it me; and then we kiss't, and here

We mutually did vow each others love?

Mi.

Nay leave good Thyrsis, I did come to tell you,

This holy-day our Royall Prince Euarchus

Being remov'd to his house here neere adjoyning,

Sent to command us to attend his person,

With all our sports and wonted merriment,

Wherein you alwaies bore the chiefest part.

And I have heard, ('tis not to make you blush)

The Princesse has commended your rare Art

And hansome graces, which you gave your Musicke.

Come, you must goe with us, for Hylas is

So farre ingag'd in love, and neere his hopes,

He will not stirre unlesse his Mistresse goe.

Thy.

Alas Mirtillus, I have broke my Pipe,

My sighs are all the musicke which I now

Can make, and how unfit I am t'attend

So great an expectation, you may see.

Yet give me leave to thinke on it, at night

Perhaps Ile goe with you.

Mi.

Till then farewell.

[Page]The gentlest youth that ever plaid on Pipe:

But see, who's here? oh, 'tis my other Lover,

His Mistresse with him, I will not disturbe him.

SCENA SECUNDA.

Nerina, Hylas, Mirtillus.

SHepheard, I would you'd leave to follow me.

Hy.

How can I sweetest, when my heart is with you?

Ne.

With me? then tell me where, and see how soone

I shall restore it you.

Aside.

Mi.

Oh, this is fine.

Hy.

It hangs upon your eies, where being scorcht

With their disdaine, and dazel'd with their lustre,

It flies for ease unto your rosie lips.

But beaten thence with many a harsh deniall,

Faine would it come for better harbour here,

But here for ever it must be an Exile:

For pittie then faire Nymph, receive it you;

And if you can, teach it the hardnesse of

Your owne, and make it marble as yours is.

Mi.

I see he is not such a Novice as

Aside.

I tooke him for; he can tell how to speake.

Ne.

Well, if my heart be such as you will make it,

I am so much the gladder; that it is

Of strength to be a fence unto my honour.

Hy.

In vaine a fence is made to guard the sheep,

[Page]Where no wolfe ever came.

Ne.

What if within

It keepe a dog of prey, would they be safe?

For my part Ile not cherish in my breast,

The man that would undoe my chastitie.

Hy.

Then cherish me, for you best know, I never

Attempted any thing to cast a spot

On that white Innocence, to which I am

A most religious votary.

More foole you;

Aside.

It may be if you had, it needed not

Ha' come to this.

Ne.

Yes, yes, you may remember,

I blush to tell it you, when first my thoughts

Were pure and simple, (as I hope they are

Still, and will so continue, whilst I flie

Such companie as you) I thought you one

Whom never any flame impure had toucht:

Then we converst without suspect together.

Hy.

And am I not so still? why do you now

Flie from me thus?

Ne.

The cause I shall tell you,

Since you will not remember; though it be

Unfit for me to speake, yet you shall know

How just my anger is.

Ay me! most wretched!

What have I don?

Ne.

When tending of my flocks

[Page]Under the shade of yonder Mirtle tree.

(Which beares the guilt of your soule misdemeanour)

My maide Corisca cried out for my helpe,

Because a bee had stung her in the face:

You heard me speake in pittie of her smart,

A charme, my mother taught me, (that being said

Close to the place affected, takes away

The paine) which gave her ease, but you uncivill,

Turning my courtesie to your vile ends,

Fain'd you were stung too, and cried out, your lips

Had from the same sharpe point receiv'd a wound;

Prayd me to say the same charme over there.

I charitably lent my helpe to you,

Mistrusting nothing of your purposes,

When with ungentle hands you held me fast,

And for my thanks gave me a lustfull kisse,

Canst thou remember this, and yet not blush?

O impudence!

Hy.

You will excuse the heate

Of my desires; still I feele that sting

But dare not aske the cure, nor did I then

Do any hurt, but since you thinke it was

A fault, I do repent it, and am sorry

I did offend you so.

Mi.

Better, and better

He'le cry anon, he has already askt

Forgivenesse of her.

Aside.

Ne.

Well shepheard looke

[Page]You never see me more, I cannot love

At all, or if at all, not you: let this

Settle your thoughts.

Hy.

Oh, it distracts them more:

But since my presence is offensive to you,

I must obey, yet if I thought you would,

When I am dead, the Martyr of your beautie,

Shed one poore teare on my untimely grave,

And say that Hylas was unfortunate

To love, where he might not be lov'd againe,

My ashes would find rest, and so farewell

The fairest, but the cruellst Nymph alive.

Mi.

What will you leave her thus?

Hy.

I prithee, come,

The sentence of my banishment is past,

Never to be recall'd.

Mi.

Are these the hopes

You fed upon? O what a thing in Nature

Is a coy woman! or how great a foole

The man is, that will give her leave to rule.

SCENA TERTIA.Nerina.
ALas my Hylas, my beloved soule,
Durst she, whom thou hast call'd cruell Nerina,
But speake her thoughts, thou wouldst not thinke her so,
[Page]To thee she is not cruell, but to her selfe:
That law which Nature hath writ in my heart,
Taught me to love thee, Hylas, and obey
My father too; who saies I must not love thee?
Oh disproportiond love and duty, how
Do you distract me? if I love my choise,
I must be disobedient; if obedient
I must be linkt to one I cannot love.
Then either love give me my libertie,
Or nature from my duty set me free. Exit.

SCENA QUARTA.Daphnis.
NErina, since nor teares nor praiers can move
Thy stubborne heart, Ile see what gifts can do:
They of my ranke, whom most do deeme unworthy
Of any virgins love, being rough, and bred
To mannage the estates our fathers left us,
Unskild in those hid mysteries, which loues
Professors onely know, have yet a way
To gaine our wishes: first we get the father,
He knowes our pleasures, and gives his consent:
The daughters eies being blinded with our gifts
Cannot so soone spie our deformities,
But we may catch her to: This Alcon saies,
A man whom age and observation taught
[Page]What I must learne; yet though most women be
Such as he has deliver'd, my Nerina
Seemes not to have regard to what I give,
But holds me and my gifts both at one rate.
What can I hope then out of this poore present,
A looking-glasse, which though within our Plaines
'Tis seldome seene; yet I have heard in Citties,
They are as common as a locke of wooll:
However, if she take it, I am happy,
So Alcon tells me; and he knowes full well,
(He gave it me) that whosoe're shall looke
Her face in it, shall be at my dispose:
In confidence of this I will present it,
And see my Fortune; sure I must needs speed:
My friend, her father comes along with her.
But oh my Fate! is not that Nymph Dorinda
Which keepes them company? Yes, sure 'tis she;
A curse light on her importunitie.
Her father urges something, and I hope
On my behalfe; let me observe a little.

SCENA QUINTA.

Charinus, Nerina, Dorinda, Daphnis.

ANd as I oft have told you, I doe wish

To see you wise.

Do.

[Page]

Is she not so Charinus?

Does she say any thing that's out of reason?

Cha.

Do not tell me of reason; I would heare

Of her obedience, therefore I say, be wise,

And doe as I would have you.

Do.

What would you

Have her to doe? you see she answers not

To contradict you.

Cha.

I will have her answer

To what I now demand, that is, to marry

Daphnis, and I will have her love him too.

Do.

Love him Charinus? that you cannot do.

Her body you may linke i'th' rights of Hymen,

Her will she must bestow her selfe, not you.

Da.

Oh, she was borne to be a plague unto me.

Aside.

Cha.

Why should she wish or hope for any thing,

But what I'de have her wish or hope for onely?

Come, to be short, answere me, and directly;

Are you content to marry Daphnis, say?

Ne.

What is your pleasure Father?

Cha.

You do not heare

It seemes, but what you list; I aske you once

Againe, if you will marry Daphnis, speake?

Ne.

Sir, I would marry whom you please to give me:

I neither can, nor ought to make my choice,

I would referre that to you: But you know

My inclination never lay to marry.

Cha.

I know you shal do that which I command.

Ne.

[Page]

Now heaven forbid, that I who have thus long

Vow'd to Diana my Virginitie,

To follow her a Huntresse in these Woods,

Should yeeld my selfe to the impure delights

Of Hymen, and so violate my faith.

Cha.

A fine devotion, is it not? to make

A vow, and never aske your Father leave;

The Lawes will not permit it to be so.

Do.

The vow Charinus, is not made to men:

The Lawes have not to doe with that which is

Seal'd and recorded in the Court of Heaven.

Cha.

Do not tell me of vowes, I'le have her marry;

And marry Daphnis: Is he not rich and handsome?

Do.

Ay me! I would he were nor rich, nor handsome,

It may be then he would regard my sufferings.

Aside.

Cha.

No, Daughter, do not you beleeve, you can

Catch me with shifts and tricks: I see, I tell you,

Into your heart.

Ne.

Alas, I would you did,

Then your discourse would tend another way.

Cha.

Yes, you have made a vow I know, which is,

Whilst you are young, you will have all the Youth

To follow you with lies and flatteries.

Foole, they'le deceive you, when this colour fades,

Which will not alwaies last, and you goe crooked,

As if you sought your beautie lost i'th' ground:

Then they will laugh at you, and finde some other

Fit for their love; where if you doe as I

[Page]Command you, I have one will make you happie.

Ne.

Ay me most miserable!

Da.

Now I'le come in,

And see what I can doe with this my gift.

Cha.

Looke now, as if the Fates would have it so,

He comes just in the nicke of my discourse:

Come, use him kindly now, and then you shall

Redeeme what you have lost, my good opinion.

Ne.

O most ungratefull chance! how I doe hate

The sight of him!

Do.

Were it to me he came,

How happie would this faire encounter be!

Cha.

Daphnis, you're welcome, very welcome to me,

And to my Daughter: what is that you have there?

Da.

A present, which I meane to give my love.

Cha.

See but how true a lover Daphnis is;

His hand is never emptie when he comes:

Welcome him Daughter, looke what he has for you.

Da.

O good Charinus, none must looke in it,

But she herselfe to whom it is presented.

Cha.

I am an old man, I, and therefore care not

To see my wither'd face, and hoarie haire:

Give it that young thing, she knows what to doe with it.

Daughter, come hither, use him courteously,

And kindly too: (Be sure you take his gift.)

Daphnis, I'le leave you both together here;

My sheepe are shearing, I can stay no longer.

Da.

Farewell old man; health to my dearest Mistresse

Ne.

[Page]

And to you shepheard.

Do.

Daphnis am not I

Worthy to have a share in your salute?

Do.

How can I give thee part of that, whereof

I have no share my selfe?

Do.

If you would love

There, where you are belov'd againe, you might

Make your content such, as you would your selfe.

Da.

If you, Nerina, would vouchsafe to love

Him that loves you, and ever will, you might

Make your content such as you would your selfe.

Ne.

Shepheard, I oft have wisht you not to trouble

Me and your selfe with words: I cannot love you.

Da.

As oft Dorinda have I spoke to you,

To leave to trouble me: I cannot love you.

Do.

Will you then slight my love, because 'tis offer'd?

Da.

Will you then slight my love, because 'tis offer'd?

Ne.

Some body else may love you, I cannot.

Da.

Some body else may love you, I cannot.

Do.

O cruell words; how they do peirce my heart!

Da.

O cruell words, how they do peirce my heart!

Ne.

How can I helpe it, if your destinie

Lead you to love, where you may not obtaine?

Da.

How can I helpe it, if your destinie

Leade you to love, where you may not obtaine.

Do.

It is not destinie that injures me,

It is thy cruell will, and marble heart.

Da.

It is not destinie that injures me,

[Page]It is thy cruell will, and marble heart.

Ne.

No Daphnis, 'tis not hardnes of my heart,

Nor any crueltie that causes this.

Da.

Then 'tis disdaine of me.

Ne.

Nor is it that:

I do not see in Daphnis any thing

To cause disdaine.

Do.

Why do you not replie

In those same words to me, malicious Eccho?

Da.

Pray leave me, I have other businesse now

To trouble me; if you disdaine me not,

Faire Nymph, as you pretend, receive my offer.

Ne.

What's that?

Da.

My heart.

Do.

I will gentle Daphnis.

Da.

O importunitie!

Ne.

Give her thy heart,

She has deserv'd it, for she loves thee, Daphnis.

Da.

First I would teare it peecemeale here before you.

Do.

O me unfortunate! O cruell man!

Ne.

Stay good Dorinda, I'le goe with thee, stay.

Da.

Let her goe where she will, behold sweete saint

This Mirror here, the faithfull representer

Of that which I adore, your beautious forme,

When you do see in that how how lovely are

your lookes, you will not blame my love.

Ne.

If I refuse it,

My father will be angrie, let me see it:

[Page]Here take thy glasse againe: what ailes my head?

I know not where I am, it is so giddie:

And something like a drousinesse has seiz'd

My vitall spirits.

Da.

How do you love? not well?

Ne.

Heavy o'th suddaine; Ile goe home, & sleepe.

Da.

So, let her goe, and let this worke awhile.

Shee cast an eye upon me as she went,

That by its languishing did seeme to say,

Daphnis I'me thine, thou hast o'recome at last:

Alcon, th'hast made me happy by thy art.

ACTUS, 3.

SCENA 1.Sylvia, Delia.
Q. TEll me what you thinke on earth
The greatest blisse?
A. Riches, honor, and high birth.
Q. Ah, what is this?
If love be banished the heart,
The joy of Nature, not of Art?
2.What's honor worth, or high descent?
Or ample wealth,
If cares do breed us discontent,
Or want of health?
[Page] A. It is the order of the Fates,
That these should waite on highest states.
3.Cho. Love onely does our soules refine,
And by his skill
Turnes humane things into divine,
And guides our will.
Then let us of his praises sing,
Of love, that sweetens every thing.
Del.
Madam, you're overheard.
Sy.
I care not Delia.
Although my libertie, and free discourse
Be here denide me, yet the Aire is common:
To it then will I utter my complaints,
Or to thee, friend, to whom my love will dare
To shew the secrets of my heart, for others
I do not care, nor feare; so thou be faithfull.
Del.
Madam, I have no life, but what I wish
May be imploy'd to do your beauties serice;
My tongue is rul'd by yours: what you would have
It speake, it shall; else further then my thoughts
Nothing shall venter, that you leaue to me:
And those my thoughts, Ile keepe to such restraint,
As they shall never come within my dreames,
Lest they betray your counsells: this I vow
Religiously by—
Syl.
Hold, I will not
[Page]Have thee to sweare, nor would I thou shouldst thinke,
That I so much suspect thee, as to urge
An Oath; I know thou hast too much of goodnesse
(That's bred within thee) to betray a trust:
And therefore without further circumstance,
I'le let thee know my fortunes, part of which
I'me sure th' hast heard already.
Del.
Madam, I have,
And wisht that they had sorted to your wishes.
Syl.
I thanke thee Delia, but my evill Genius,
That has pursu'd my innocence with hate,
Brought me from thence where I had set my heart,
Unto this cursed Court, which, though it be
My place of birth and breeding, I doe finde
Nothing but torment, and affliction in it.
Del.
I guesse the cause sweet Madam, but that's past
And now forgotten: if you cleere your looks,
Your Father will inlarge you, and ne're thinke
On what you did, but that you are his daughter.
Syl.
Alas my Delia, thou dost mistake,
My liberty is of no worth to me,
Since that my love, I feare, will ne're be free:
Nor doe I care what idle Ladies talke
Of my departure, or my strange disguise,
To colour my intents; I am above
Their envie or their malice:
But for th' unluckie chance that sent to me
The over-curious eyes of him I hate,
[Page]Thou know'st the man.
De.
Yes, you meane Cleander,
Sonne to Eubulus, who is now your keeper:
What Starre directed him to finde you out?
Syl.
His love forsooth, for so he colour'd his
Unseason'd boldnesse, told me, he was not able
To want my sight: and so, when every one
Had given o're their strict enquirie of me,
He onely with too much officiousnesse,
Observ'd me in the Woods, walking alone:
And when I would have shunn'd him (which perhaps
Had I not done, he had not so well knowne me)
He came, and utter'd, as his manner was,
His tedious complaints; untill at length
He brought me with him, making no resistance:
And to ingratiate himselfe the more,
He said he would convey me where my Father
Should have no knowledge of me: I refused it;
Willing however to be ridde of him.
And now you know, it is a full Moneth since
I did returne to Court, but left my heart
Behinde me in those fields, wherein I joy'd.
Del.
Madam, has not the Court more pleasure in it,
Then the dull Countrie, which can represent
Nothing, but what does taste of solitude?
'Twas something else that carried you away.
Syl.
Tis true my Delia; for though thou wert
Privie to my departure, yet the cause
[Page]Thou couldst not tell, which I will now unfold,
And thinke I trust my honor in thy hands,
And maiden modestie: 'twas love that did it.
Del.
Love Madam? sure it is impossible
You should finde any thing there worth your love.
Syl.
Thou know'st the shepheards, that do dwell about
This place (which for their entertainements onely
The King my father built) did use to come,
As now they do, being sent for unto Court:
I ever lik't their sports, their harmelesse mirth,
And their contentions, which were voide of malice,
And wisht I had bin borne just such a one.
Del.
Your state is better Madam as you are.
Syl.
But I confesse the rather, cause there was
One amongst them, of a more comely grace
(Though none of them did seeme uncomely to me)
Call'd Thyrsis; and with him me thought I could
Draw out my life, rather then any other,
Such things my fancie then suggested to me:
So well he sung, so passionate his love
Shew'd in his verse, thereto so well exprest,
As any one would judge it naturall:
Yet never felt he flame, till this of me:
Often he came, and oftner was desir'd
Of me, nor did I shame in publique there
Before my father, to commend his graces;
Which when I did, the whole Court, as they use,
Consented with me, and did strive to make them
[Page]Greater then I, or any else could thinke them:
At last I was surpriz'd, I could not helpe it;
My Fate with love consenting, so would have it.
Then did I leave the Court, I've told thee all.
Del.
Tis strange, but Madam, though in that disguise,
How could you hope, a stranger, to be lov'd
Of him you held so deare?
Syl.
I fain'd my selfe
Of Smyrna, and from thence some Goats I had,
And Sheepe, with them a rich commoditie.
Neare him I bought me land to feed them; he
Seem'd glad of it, and thinking me a stranger,
Us'd me with such civilitie and friendship,
As one would little looke for of a shepheard;
And did defend me from the avarice
Of the old shepheards, which did thinke to make
A prey of what I had. At length I saw,
He did addresse himselfe with feare to me,
Still gazing on me: knowing my love to him,
I easily beleev'd he lov'd me too:
For love, alas, is ever credulous.
And though I was resolv'd, having my end,
(Which was no more, then to discourse with him)
Nev [...]r to let him know what flame I felt:
Yet when I saw his teares, and heard his vowes,
(Perswasive speakers for affection)
I could not choose but open to his view
My loving heart; yet with this caution,
[Page]That he should ever beare respect unto
My honor, and my virgin chastitie:
Which then he vow'd, and his ambition
Never was more then to attaine a kisse,
Which yet he hardly got: thou seest, sweete Delia,
How willingly I dwell upon this Theame.
But canst thou helpe me now, that I have open'd
My wound unto thee.
Del.
Alas, I would I could
Invent the way to cure you; I should soone
Apply my helpe: yet stay, this day it is
The shepheards come to Court.
Syl.
'Tis true, they come;
But what is that to me, if Thyrsis come not?
Or if he come, how shall he know me his,
Or I injoy his companie?
Del.
Let me alone
To worke out that.
Syl.
Thou dreamst, thou canst not do it.
Del.
Ile undertake it, but how shall I know him
Without inquiring, which must breede suspition.
Syl.
True, and beware thou aske; the Majestie
Which sits upon his brow, will say 'tis he,
Thyrsis my love; but yet perhaps at this time,
If I my selfe not flatter, thou shalt know him,
By his eies cast downe, and folding of his armes,
And often sighs, that interrupt his words.
For if his sorrow weares the liveries,
[Page]Which mine does for his absence, by these signes
Thou shalt descrie him.
Del.
These are silent markes:
Yet will I not despaire to finde him out.
Syl.
But when thou hast, what wilt thou say to him?
Del.
Give me but leave to use my mother wit,
You would be gone together, would you not?
Syl.
Thou speak'st my thoughts: do this, and I will crowne
Thy faith, thou shalt be Queene in steed of me.
Del.
If you could crowne me with your vertues Madam,
I should be a Queene indeed; in the meane time,
As I am Delia, Ile do this busines.
Sil.
Do it, and when th' hast don, the God of love
Reward thee with thine owne desires for this.
Del.
Madam withdraw, I heare your keepers comming.

SCENA 2.

Cleander, Eubulus.

SIr you have put a bridle on my passions,

And given my soule the libertie it wisht:

I now intreate your pardon, for beginning

A thing of so great consequence without

Leave and advice from you.

Eu.

Tis well Cleander,

It will behove you then to be reserv'd,

And locke this secret up: for 'tis no jesting

[Page]With Kings that may command our lives and fortunes:

You now perceive her whom we call the Princesse,

To be your sister, and the love you beare her,

Must be a brothers freindship, not a lovers

Passionate heate; but yet she must not know,

That I her father am, and you her brother:

And trust me son, had I not seene despaire

Of life in you, which this love brought you too,

I should not have reveal'd, what now you know.

Cle.

It was a comfort Sir, I doe confesse,

That came in time to rescue me from death,

So great her scorne was, and my love so violent.

Eu.

Now you're at peace, I hope.

Cle.

I am: but if

I be too curious in asking where

The Kings son is, I shall desire your pardon:

For sure it were injustice to deprive

So great a Prince, of that which he was borne too.

Eu.

You are too far inquisitive; yet because

I have ingag'd you in a secret of

As great importance, this I will not hide.

The King, I told you, when his wife grew neere

The time of her deliverie, sent to know

Of our great Oracle, whether the childe should be

Female, or Male, and what should be their fortune.

Cle.

What said the Oracle? have you the answere?

Eu.

It onely was imparted unto me,

And this it is which I have never shewen

[Page]To any but the Queene: here take and reade it.

If ere thy issue male thou live to see,
The childe thou thinkst is thine, thine shall not be,
His life shall be obscure: twice shall thy hate
Doome him to death. Yet shall he scape that Fate:
And thou shalt live to see that not long after,
Thy onely son shall wed thy onely daughter.

This Oracle is full of mysterie.

Eu.

It is; and yet the King would needs interpret

That should it prove a man-childe, twas a Bastard:

And being loth that one not of his blood

(As he conceiv'd by this) should be his heire,

Told me in private, that if it were Male,

He would not have it live, yet fearing most

To publish his dishonor, and his wives,

He charg'd me not reveale it unto any,

But take the childe, and see it made away,

And make the world beleeve it was still borne.

Cle.

And did you so?

Eu.

No, for indeed I durst not

For any thing, become a murderer.

Cle.

How did you then?

Eu.

I went unto the Queene,

Shew'd her the state she was in, and besought her

To be as carefull of me, as I was

Of her, and we would worke a better end

[Page]Then she expected, so we both agree'd;

That if the Childe she then did labour with,

Prov'd to be Male, I should with care conceale

The birth of it, and put a female childe

Insteed of it, which I was to looke out.

It fortun'd that your Mother then was ready

To be deliver'd of your sister, and

Time and good fortune did conspire to save

The Kings child, and to make my daughter Princesse.

Cle.

But what did then become of the yong Prince?

Eu.

The Queene protesting to me, that it was

The Kings owne Childe, conjur'd me to preserve it,

Which as mine owne I could not; for already

Many tooke notice that my childe was female:

And therefore I was faine to publish her

As dead, and buried an emptie coffin.

I rode forth with the childe a full nights journey,

With purpose to deliver it to some

Plaine honest man, that would be carefull of it,

And not inquisitive to know whose childe

It was, but give it breeding as his owne:

When being frighted with the noise of Armes

Of some out-lawed theeves, that did infest

The place, I made all haste I could to scape 'em,

Considering my charge; for that I knew

If I were taken, though they spar'd my life,

The charge I had, must needs betray me to

The King, and then I could not hope for mercy:

[Page]I laid it downe there cover'd closely o're,

A circle 'bout his necke, wherein was writ,

Archigenes Sonne of Euarchus and Eudora,

In characters knowne onely to my selfe,

And to the King; in which I us'd to cloath

Secret dispatches, when I writ to him

From forraigne States, and within the Circle

I grav'd the Kings lesse Seale, which then I kept.

Some Gold besides, and Jewels there I left,

That whosoe're should finde him, might with that

Defray the charge of his education;

Howe're, next day I purpos'd to returne

With speede, and carrie it to some abode.

Cle.

But did the Queene know this?

Eu.

She did not,

Till my returne next day: then when I told her,

The childe was thence remov'd where I had left him,

Cle.

Belike those theeves had carried him away.

Eu.

'Tis probable.

Cle.

How could the Queene take this

So sad a storie?

Eu.

With such impatience,

That being weake before, she shortly di'd.

Cle.

But yet sir, with your favour might you not

Have made inquirie after him?

Eu.

I durst not,

For feare of being discover'd; on your life

[Page]Take heed how you reveale this.

Cle.

I am charm'd.

Eu.

Then let us watch my daughter, for I feare

The flight she made was for some other end,

Then for retirement which she does pretend.

Cle.

Henceforth I shall obey her as my Princesse,

And love her as my sister, not my Mistresse.

Eu.

You shall do well: Come, let us to the King.

SCENA 3.

Hylas, Mirtillus, Chorus of Shepheards and Shepheardesses, representing Paris, Oenone, Ʋenus, and the Graces.

IT was my dreame, and I will send it to her;

Though I my selfe by her too cruell sentence,

Must never see her face.

Mi.

What paper's that?

Love-verses, as I live; what's here, a Dreame?

Nay, I will read 'em, therefore stand aside.

Mirtillus reades.

SLeepe, thou be calmer of a troubled sprîte,
Which leadst my fancy to that sweet delight,
Wherein my soule found rest, when thou didst show
Her shadow mine, whose substance is not so:
[Page]Wrappe up mine eyes in an eternall night.
For since my day springs onely from that light
Which she denies me; I account the best
Part of my life is that which gives me rest.

And thou more hard to be intreated, then
Sleepe to the heated eyes of franticke men;
Thou that canst make my joyes essentiall,
Which are but shadowes now, be liberall,
And out-doe sleepe, let me not dreame in vaine,
Ʋnlesse thou mean'st I ne're shall sleepe againe.

Alas poore foole! will she not let thee sleepe?

Hy.

I knew I should be mock't, but I'le divert him;

What are these thou hast brought along with thee?

Mi.

The Masquers, Hylas, these are they must trip it

Before the King: dost like their properties?

Hy.

What Paris, and Oenone, the old storie?

Mi.

But newly made, and fashion'd to my purpose;

Brought hither to make good my owne positions

Against the company of puling lovers;

Which if I doe not, and with good effect,

Let me be one my selfe; and that's a torture

Worse then Apollo laid upon the Satyr,

When the rude villaine durst contend with him:

Looke this way Hylas, see Oenone here,

The fairest Nymph that ever Ida blest,

Court her departing shepheard, who is now

Turning his loue unto a fairer object;

[Page]And for his judgement in varietie

See how the seaborne Goddesse, and the Graces

Present their darling Helena to him.

Be happy in thy choise, and draw a war

On thee, and thine, rather then set thy heart

Upon a stale delight: Do, let her weepe,

And say thou art inconstant. Be so still;

The Queene of love commands it: you that are

The old companions of your Paris here,

Moue in a well pac'd measure, that may shew

The Goddesse, how you are content for her

Faire sake to leave the honor of your woods:

But first let her, and all the Graces sing

The Invitation to your offering.

Venus, and the Graces sing.

COme lovely boy unto my Court,
And leave these uncouth woods, and all
That feed thy fancy with loves gall,
But keepe away the honey, and the sport.
Cho. Come unto me,
And with varietie
Thou shalt be fed, which Nature loves, and I.

2.There is no Musique in a voice,
That is but one, and still the same.
Inconstancy is but a name,
[Page]To fright poore lovers from a better choice.
Cho. Come then to me, &c.

3Orpheus, that on Euridice
Spent all his love, on others scorne,
Now on the bankes of Heber torne,
Findes the reward of foolish constancy.
Cho. Come then to me, &c.

4And sigh no more for one love lost,
I have a thousand Cupids here,
Shall recompence with better cheere
Thy mis-spent labours, and thy bitter cost.
Cho. Come then to me, &c.

The Dance ended.

Enter a Messenger.

Nun.

Shepheards, if you have any pittie, come,

And see a woefull spectacle.

Mi.

What is't

That can be worth the breaking of our sports?

Nun.

The gentle Nymph Nerina.

Hy.

What of her?

Nun.

The last of her I thinke, she lies a dying,

And calls to speake with you.

Hy.

Curse of your follies;

[Page]Do I live here whilst she is dying there?

Mi.

But shepheard, what disease is't that so soone

Could spend his force upon her? she was well

This morning, when she made poore Hylas sicke.

Mun.

I know not, I am sent unto the well

Of Aesculapius to fetch some water

For her recovery. I must be gone.

Mi.

Shepheards here let us end. I thinke we are

Perfect in all the rest: This night the King

Must see't, resolve on that.

Cho.

We are all ready.

Mi.

Then lets away, and see what will betide

This gentle Nymph Nerina.

Cho.

We'le goe with you.

SCENA. 4.

Charinus, Nerina, Dorinda, Hylas, Mirtillus, Nuntius.

HOld up thy head good childe, see he is come;

Bring me the water quickly, whilst there is

Some life in her: now chafe her good Dorinda.

Ne.

All is in vaine, I cannot live; deare father

Farewell: what shepheard's that lies on the ground?

Is it not Hylas?

Do.

Yes, it is he, Nerina.

Ne.

Alas poore shepheard, tis my greatest griefe,

[Page]That I have grieved him, I would beg life

For nothing but to make him satisfaction.

Mi.

Hylas, what on the ground? looke up and speake

Alas, he's dead.

Ne.

It cannot be: good father

Let me goe to him, and but touch his eare,

It may be that my voice may have more vertue.

Cha.

Do what thou wilt sweete heart: see my poore child

How charitable she is, being halfe dead

Her selfe, she pities others.

Ni.

Marke her finenesse,

Now at the brimm of death: she kisses him:

And tooke this way to mock her simple father;

O fine invention! sure a womans wit,

Does never faile her.

Ne.

Hylas, Hylas, speake,

Nerina calls thee; speake to thy Nerina.

Mi.

What cannot love doe? It revives the dead,

He's come to himselfe againe.

Hy.

What God is it,

That has the power to returne my soule

From the Elysian fields?

Mi.

It is no God,

A Goddesse rather, Hylas. 'Tis Nerina,

Looke where she is.

Hy.

Ah then I do not wonder

I cannot die, when my best soule comes to me:

Shall wee live ever thus?

Ne.

[Page]

How faine I would

Forthy sake, Hylas, but it cannot be:

I feele a heavy sleepe sit on my head,

And my strength failes me, helpe me sweet Dorinda,

Farewell for ever: oh I die, I die.

Hy.

And must I then be call'd to life againe,

To see my life expire before my face?

You Fates, if you will take a ransome for her,

Then take my life: but you are sure of that

Youle say already: for in her one death

Two lives are forfeit: Nerina, gentle Nymph,

The cause why now I live, open these eyes

Once more, and I shall flourish like those plants

The sunne gives life to: else I fall, and wither,

Leaving behinde naught but a worthlesse stemme:

Speake to thy Hylas, sweete Nerina, speake.

Cha.

Ay me! my daughter, hadst thou liv'd, perhaps,

I might have seene thee married to Daphnis,

Now we must see thee buried: Ay me!

Ne.

Hylas.

Hy.

She lives, give me some more of that,

That water there, see now she comes againe:

O gentle destinies, but spare this thred,

And cut a thousand courser, speake Nerina,

Give me some comfort, give thy father some,

Or else behold three lives fall in thy death.

Ne.

You Fates, that keepe th' accompt of all our daies,

Adde but one minute to my life, that I

[Page]May quit my soule of those two heavy burthens

Which now oppresse it: Dry your eyes good father,

Remember that the Gods doe send us nothing

But for our good; and if my journey be

Shorter then yours, the lesse will be my trouble:

Will you forgive me father, that I have not

Paid so much duty to you; as I ow'd you:

Take my good will, I pray, insteed of it.

Cha.

See her good Nature: I childe, 'tis enough,

Thou alwaies wert obedient.

Ne.

Shall I dare

To speake my thoughts, and so discharge my soule

Of one loade yet?

Cha.

I, doe my childe, speake freely.

Ne.

I've heard you say, that no sinne was so heavy

As is ingratitude.

Cha.

'Tis true, Nerina,

How she remembers what her father said!

Ne.

Then be not angry, if I now must tell you,

That this poore shepheard, whose swolne eyes you see

Cover'd with teares, for many yeares now past

Has courted me: but still with such a love,

So full of truth and gentle services,

That should I not requite him with my love,

I should be guilty of ingratitude:

Therefore before I die, spray give leave

That he may have my dying heart, which living,

I still debar'd him of. Hylas, thy hand.

[Page]O stay a little death: here, take thou mine,

And since I cannot live the wife of Hylas,

Yet let me die so: Sir, are you content?

Cha.

I am, with any thing that pleaseth thee.

Ne.

Tell me, are you so Hylas?

Hy.

O my love,

Aske me if I would live amongst the Gods,

But aske not this: Sir, have we your consent?

Cha.

You have, it is in vaine now to denie it:

You see, Dorinda, what her vow's come to.

Ne.

Then let me die, take me into thy Armes,

Sweet love, you'le see my coffin strew'd with flowers,

And you Dorinda, will you make a garland?

I die a virgine, though I die his wife.

Do.

Alas, she's gon.

Hy.

She's dead, and do I live?

Cha.

Looke to the shepheard there: oh my Nerina!

Do.

Vexe not her soule, I pray, with often calling,

You see she's dead.

Cha.

Then there is no hope left:

Pray helpe us shepheards now to beare her hence;

You'le come I hope to see her in her grave.

ACT. 4.

SCENA 1.Thyrsis, Delia.
HEre I am come unto a place, where griefe
[Page]They say has no abode. In Princes Courts,
I've heard there is no roome for loves laments:
For either they enjoy, or else forget,
Thrice happy men, to whom love gives such leave:
It may be that this place, or people may
Worke so with me, and melt this frozen heart:
Ah foole, that canst beleeve the change of place,
Or ayre, can change thy minde; the love thou bearst,
Is woven so within thy thoughts, that as
Out of this piece thy Sylvia wrought for thee,
Thou canst not take her name forth, but withall
Thou must deface the whole: so Thyrsis thinke
The winde that here may rise, or heat, or raine
Thou maist auoide, thy love will still remaine,
And when thou diest, then may it die with thee;
Till then resolve to endure thy misery.
Del.
This is the garden, which I saw him go to,
And that is he, for all the markes she gave me
To know him by, he beares.
Thy.
A heavinesse
Weighs downe my head, and would invite me to
Repose my selfe; Ile take the offer, here
Ile rest awhile, for I have need of it.
Del.
How if I be deceiv'd, and this should proove
Another man: what then? I can excuse it;
He's layd already, and I feare, asleepe,
Ile stay untill he wake, but then suppose
That any body come, and take me here,
[Page]What will they thinke of me? Best wake him: shepheard:
It is a hansome youth, see what a grace
Shewes it selfe in his feature, such a face
Might take the heart of any Lady living,
I, though she were a Princesse: shepheard: what
Not yet? his sleepes are sound.
Thy.
Ah Sylvia,
Preserve thy life, oh let me die; Alas
I do but dreame; me thought I saw my selfe
Condemn'd to die, and Sylvia to save me,
Offerd her selfe, and would needs die for me:
'Twas a sweet shadow, let me court this dreame.
Del.
He must not sleepe againe: shepheard looke up.
Thy.
Who envies me this small repose, indeed
I do not often sleepe; ha, who are you?
Del.
Sent to thee, from thy Sylvia, shepheard rise
And follow me.
Thy.
Doe I dreame still? what are you?
Came you from heaven where my Sylvia is,
And must I thither? whoso ere you are,
An Angell, or a feind, in such a name
You come, as I'me conjurd to follow you:
But I must die first: Here is to be with thee.
Del.
Stay, hold thy hand, I live, thy Sylvia lives
To make thee happy, if thou wilt goe to her.
Thy.
You're habited like those I've seene at Court,
And courtisie they say is ever there,
Yet mingled with deceit: if you do meane
[Page]T'abuse me for your sport, this way will prove
Too sad to raise mirth out of. There's no ill
That I have done to you, or any else,
Unlesse my constancy be here a sinne.
Del.
His griefes have made him wilde, I have no time
Left me to use perswasions, or to make
This truth apparant to you; on my word
You shall be safe, and if you dare beleeve me,
Ile bring you where your love is; follow me.
Thy.
Why should I doubt, or feare to goe with her?
Ill does he call for physicke, whom the Law
Has doom'd to die: There's no condition
Can prove worse to me then my present one.
Pray lead me where you please, I'me sure of this,
To one that's desperate, no way's amisse.

SCENA 2.

Euarchus, Eubulus, Cleander, Attendants.

Ev.

ALl leave the roome. Eubulus, I'me resolv'd

To hold an easier hand over my daughter

Then I was wont: Therefore I sent Cleander

To bring her to my presence, though she have

Wrong'd her great birth and breeding by her follies,

Yet I consider that she is my daughter,

And this restraint cannot but harden her

In her fond resolutions: have you sought

[Page]By all the meanes you can to sift the cause

Of her departure?

Eub.

Sir, I have tryed,

By all the waies that fit a subject, to

Enquire a truth of one that is his Princesse.

Eu.

And what have you discover'd?

Eub.

Nothing more

Then what my son Cleander did before.

Eu.

I have heard his relation: but I wonder

How for a whole moneths time, she should abide

Within our confines, when so great a search,

Through all our Countryes, and lowd proclamations

Were made for her recovery.

Eub.

Tis true.

She herein was ingenuous, and confest,

That she foresaw what search would be made for her,

Therefore with some about her she had plotted,

To hire a barke, that might convey her hence,

In a disguise to Smyrna, where she stayd,

Till time did fit her; that with safety

She might returne in habite of a Nymph,

Unto the place, where then Cleander found her:

But why she left the Court, she will not tell.

Eu.

I will not force her to't: some little time

Perhaps may make discovery of that secret:

But unto thee my faithfull Counsellor.

(As unto one my heart hath still bin open)

I will discover what my purpose is,

[Page]In sending for these shepheards to my Court.

Eub.

I should beleeve, they' resent for to delight

Your Majesty, as they were wont.

Eu.

No Eubulus,

But for a greater end; I feare my daughter,

And therefore I have sent for her to see

These sports, with purpose to observe her lookes,

For I suspect she loves some shepheard there.

Eub.

It cannot be: she will not staine her birth

With such ignoble love; yet I confesse,

Revolving all the causes of her strange

Departure, I could fixe on none but that.

Eub.

Well, if she do so, I will let her forth,

Forth of my blood, and whosoere he be

Whose fortune markt him out to be the object

Of this her love, shall finde Ixions Fate,

He shall embrace a shadow; by my life

They both shall die.

Eub.

O my gracious Lord,

Remember she's your daughter.

Eu.

I, thou still

Dost plead for her, but yet am I her King

As well as father, private men respect

Their profits, and their private interests

Of kindred, but the actions of a King,

To honor, and renowne must be directed:

Cleander enters.

Consider that, and then thou wilt forget her.

Cleander, welcome, how does Calligone?

[Page]Is she not glad to come unto our presence?

Why dost not answere? art thou frighted man?

Cle.

I know not how to answere any thing,

Unlesse your Majesty will signe my pardon.

Eu.

Why what's the matter, speake, and speak it freely

Cle.

Then know great soveraigne that when I went

As full of joy, as speed, with your glad message,

I found the Princesse.

Eu.

What, not dead, I hope?

Cle.

Dead to her honor.

Eu.

Ha!

Cle.

In short my Lord,

I found her walking in the garden with

A shepheard, (more of him I cannot tell)

But she was habited in that attire

She wore, when from the woods I brought her home,

I slipt away, not being seene by them,

And if you please to goe, perhaps great Sir,

You still may finde them there.

Eu.

How now Eubulus,

Are my presages true? shall I then sleepe

With this disgrace, and let my neighbour Princes

Mocke at my humble fortunes, when they heare

The daughter of Euarchus matcht her selfe

With a base shepheard? Goe Eubulus quickly,

Here take my signet, let this be your warrant

To put them both to death.

Eub.

How? both my Lord?

Eu.

[Page]

I, both.

Eub.

Your daughter too?

Eu.

Why do you question me?

Haue I not said they both shall die: dispatch.

Let me not see thee, till they both be dead.

Exit.

Eub.

What hast thou done? thou rash inhumane boy?

Depriv'd thy father of a childe, thy selfe

Of thine owne sister, whom but now thou knewst.

Well may the King take that deare life away,

Which he did never give: I will goe tell him,

I am her father: but I loose my life

If I do that, as guilty of a treason.

Go Murderer, hadst thou no pittie in thee?

Cle.

Sir I do feele so much of griefe within me,

For this my act, that if my blood will serve

To save her life, Ile make no price of it:

Yet could I not imagine, that the King

Would have bin so inrag'd; or if he would,

I had no time to thinke of it before.

Eu.

No time? who bid thee hasten to the ruine

Of thy poore father, and thy family?

The messages which come to do us hurt,

Are speedy: but the good come slowly on,

Cle.

But Sir, remember what a straight we're in:

It will concerne us, to invent some way

To save my sister, though the shepheard die;

He will deserve it for his bold attempt.

Eub.

Go take thy way, whither thou wilt thy selfe,

[Page]That way is best, which leads me to my grave.

Exit.

Cle.

What luck is this? This is more haste then speed:

I am resolv'd (though my life lie at stake)

To stand the fury of th'inraged King:

Who knowes but he may be as sorry for

His suddaine act, as I for mine. 'Tis here

To save her, though it cost her lover deare.

SCENA 3.Sylvia, Thyrsis, Cleander.
NAy stay a little Thyrsis, we are safe,
My warie keepers now are with the King.
Thy.
Madam, for my poore selfe I doe not feare,
But when I thinke on you, and how your name,
And state that is so eminent, must needs
Receive a certaine scandall, and foule blot,
If we be seene together, blame me not,
Though I do feare or doubt: What cruell fate
Angry with men, that gave us hearts alike,
And fortunes so asunder; you're a Cedar,
I a poore shrub, that may looke up unto you
With adoration, but ne're reach your height.
Syl.
But Thyrsis I do love you; love and death
Do not much differ, they make all things equall:
The Monuments of Kings may shew for them
What they have bin, but looke upon their dust,
[Page]The color, and the weight of theirs, and beggers,
You'le finde the same: and if 'mongst living men
Nature has printed in the face of many,
The characters of noblenesse and worth,
Whose fortune envies them a worthy place,
In birth, or honor. When the greatest men
Whom she has courted, beare the marks of slaves,
Love sure will looke on those, and lay aside
The Accidents of wealth and noble blood,
And in our thoughts wil equall them with Kings.
Thy.
'Tis true divinest Lady, that the soules
Of all men are alike, of the same substance
By the same maker into all infus'd,
But yet the severall matters which they worke on,
How different they are I neede not tell you:
And as these outward Organs give our soules
Or more, or lesse roome, as they are contriv'd,
To shew their lustre; so againe comes fortune,
And darkens them, to whom the Gods have given
A soule divine, and body capable
Of that divinity, and excellence:
But 'tis the order of the Fates, whose causes
We must not looke into: But you deare Madam,
Nature, and fortune have conspir'd to make
The happiest alive.
Syl.
Ay me most wretched!
What pleasure can there be in highest state,
Which is so crost in love, the greatest good,
[Page]The Gods can tell how to bestow on men?
Thy.
Yet some do reckon it the greatest ill,
A passion of the minde, form'd in the fancy,
And bred to be the worst disease of reason.
Syl.
They that thinke so, are such as love excludes,
Men full of age, or foule deformitie.
No Thyrsis, let not us prophane that deity:
Love is divine, the seed of every thing,
The cause why now we live, and all the world.
Thy.
Love is divine, for if religion
Binds us to love, the Gods who never yet
Reveald themselves in any thing to us
But their bright Images, the fairest creatures,
Who are our daily objects; loving them,
Wee exercise religion: let us not
Be scrupulous, or feare; the Gods have care
Of us, and of our piety.
Syl.
But take heed,
We cannot be too warie: many things
Oppose our wills, yet if you thinke it fit,
And this nights silence will so favour us,
Weele goe together: if we quit this Countrie,
It is no matter, all the world to me
Will be Arcadia, if I may injoy
Thy company, my love.
Thy.
No Sylvia,
(Pardon mee deare, if still I call you so)
Enjoy your fortunes, thinke how much your honor
[Page]Must suffer in this act: For me I finde,
It is enough that I have ever lov'd you:
Now let me at the light of your bright eie,
Burne like the bird whose fires renew her nest,
I shall leave you behind me to the world,
The Phenix of true love and constancy:
Nor is that bird more glorious in her flames,
Then I shall be in mine, though they consume me.
Syl.
It must not be, for know my dearest shepheard,
I shall not tell one minute after thee;
I finde my soule so linkt to thine, that death
Cannot divide us.
Thy.
What then shall we do?
Shall we resolve to live thus, till we gaze
Our eies out first, and then lose all our senses
In their succession? shall we strive to leave
Our soules breath'd forth upon each others lips?
Come let us practise: this our envious Fates
Cannot deny us. Cleander enters.
Cle.
What a sight were this
To meete her father? This would make him mad
Indeed, and execute his rage himselfe.
Madam, your father's here.
Syl.
Ha Delia!
Cleander, is it thou? then I'me betraid
The second time, but must thy fortune make thee
The instrument of my undoing still?
Cla.
Shepheard, I will not honor thee so much
[Page]As to enquire thy name) thou hast don that
Thou wilt pay deare for: And I hope thy death
Will take away the blot of this disgrace
Th'hast laid upon the Princesse.
Thy.
If you do this,
Youle make me happy, it was this I lookt for,
My triviall acts of life, this of my death
Will recompence with glory; I shall die
To save my Princesse, and whats more, to save
The life of her life, her unspotted honor.
Blest Lady, though you are as innocent
And chaste as purest Virgins, that have yet
Seene nothing in a dreame to warme their blood,
Yet the malicious world, the censuring people,
That haste to cast durt on the fairest things,
Will hardly spare you, if it once be knowne
That we were here together: As for me,
My life is nothing but variety
Of griefe and troubles, which with constancy
I have borne yet: tis time that now I die,
Before I do accuse the Gods that have
Brought me to this, and so pull on my death
A punishment. Will you be mercifull,
And end me quickly?
Cle.
Shepheard, know for this
Thy resolution, which in noble bloods
I scarce have found, I willingly would grant
What thou desir'st. But somthing must be knowne
[Page]Before that time either from you, or you.
Syl.
I know Cleander, it is me you aime at:
I do confesse this shepheard is my love;
For his sake I did leave the Court, and thee,
Unworthy as thou art, to be his Rivall.
Cle.
Madam, my duty bids me speake to you,
Not as a lover now; but as you are
My Princesse, and the daughter of my King.
I would not for the world have those desires
Which I had then; for sure my bolder love
Would have transgrest the limits of all duty,
And would have dar'd to tell you, that this shepheard
Was not a match for great Arcadias heire,
Nor yet one fit for my Competitor.
'Tis not his outward feature, (which how faire
It is I do not question) that can make him
Noble, or wise: Whereas my birth, deriv'd
From ancient Kings, and yeares not far unsuiting
Those of your owne; to these my education
(To you well knowne,) perhaps might make me worthy
Of being your servant.
Syl.
Canst thou looke on this,
This piece Cleander, and not blush to boast
Thy follies thus, seeking to take away
From his full vertue, if but this one act
Of his appeare unto the world? (as know
It shall; for Ile not shame to publish him,
Though I die for it) will it not devoure
[Page]Thy empty glories, and thy puft up nothings,
And like a grave will burie all thy honors?
Do, take his life, and glory in that act,
But be thou sure, in him thou shalt kill two.
Cle.
What meane you, madam?
Syl.
Not to live a minute,
After his death.
Gle.
That all the Gods forbid.
Syl.
No, they command it rather, that have made
Our soules but one: Cleander, thou wert wont
To be more courteous; and I do see
Some pitie in thee: if not for pitties sake,
Yet for thine owne good spare this life, and take
Mine; for thou knowst, when I am dead, this kingdome
Thy father will inherit, or thy selfe.
Tis but the waiting of an old mans death,
Who cannot long out-live me: will you do't?
Thy.
Sir, you are noble, I do see you are,
You lov'd this Lady once: by that dear love
(With me it was a conjuration
To draw my soule out, whilst I was so happy)
I do beseech you spare her noble life,
Her death will sit full heavie on your soule,
And in your height of Kingly dignities
Disturbe that head, which crownes will give no rest to.
To take my life is justice.
Syl.
Rather mine;
I have offended in first loving him,
[Page]And now betraying him unto his end.
Thy.
Be not so cruell madam to your selfe
And me, to envy me a death so noble.
Sir, as you hope your love shall ever prosper,
Your great designes, your fights, (what ere they are)
As you do hope for peace in your last houre,
And that the earth may lightly cloath your ashes,
Dispatch me quickly, send me to my death.
Cle.
A strange contention! Madam will you please
A little to retire: Tis your honor
That I do strive to save, as well as life:
Pray do not crosse my purpose, I shall do
Something that you may thanke me for.
Syl.
Cleander,
Save but the shepheard, and Ile crowne thy merit.
Cle.
Will you be pleasd to enter here?
Syl.
But sweare
That thou wilt save him.
Cle.
I shall do my best,
I dare not sweare, for tis not in my power
To do what you command.
Syl.
But will you sweare
To let me know of it before he die?
Cle.
I will by heaven.
Syl.
Then I take my leave.
And Thyrsis be thou sure, what ever Fate
Attends thy life, the same does governe mine:
One kisse I must not be deny'd.
Cle.
[Page]Fy Madam,
How low is this in you?
Syl.
Then thus we part,
To meete againe, I hope.
Thy.
Downe stubborne heart,
Wilt thou not breake yet? In my death I finde
Nothing that's terrible, but this Farewell
Presents my soule with all the paines of hell.

SCENA 4.

Mirtillus, Chorus of shepheards.

1 shep.

I'me sorry that this busines went not forward.

2 shep.

So am not I, we're rid of so much trouble.

2 shep.

Yet it is strange the King should send for us,

And when we were come, command us to returne.

Mi.

No, 'tis not strange, it was his will to do so:

But if you have an itch of dancing, friends,

Next holy-day we'le ha't amongst our selves,

And every man shall dance with his owne sweetheart:

What say you shepheards, wil't not be as well?

1 shep.

It will be very fine. But where is Thyrsis?

2. shep.

I, where is he! you went along with him,

Where did you leave him?

Mi.

Walking in a garden,

Where when I came to call him, he was gon.

2 shep.

It seemes he cares not for our company.

Mi.

[Page]

Neither for yours nor any mans besides.

1 shep.

He is much alter'd, since his love was lost;

Methinks he is nothing like the man he was.

Mi.

Well then beware my friends how you ingage

Your selves in love: He is a faire example,

And Hylas too, he's drooping for his mistresse;

Daphnis is mad, they say; if you have a minde

To die, or to runne mad, then be in love.

2 shep.

See where he comes, in what a fume he is.

Mi.

I do not like his fumes: pray let's away.

SCENA 5.

Daphnis, to him Dorinda.

HE will not now be found the Traitor: but

Where e're he be, nor heaven, nor hell shall save him

From my revenge. To take away the life

Of that sweet innocent, without whose sight

He knew I could not live, and to do this

Under the name of freindship: O you Gods,

What age can parallell so great a mischeife?

This is his Magicke glasse, which had the vertue

To make her mine, but sent her to the Gods.

Blest soule, I will revenge thy death, and then

Ile follow thee my selfe.

Do.

Daphnis, my love,

[Page]Whither so fast?

Da.

Now love deliver me;

And must you come to trouble me? Be gon;

I cannot stay to heare thy tedious follies.

Do.

Were all your vowes then made but to abuse me?

Are there not paines to punish perjur'd men?

And will they not ore'take you?

Da.

'Las poore foole,

The Gods doe laugh at such slight perjuries

As come from lovers.

Do.

Yet it was no conquest

To deceive one that would be credulous,

A simple maide that lov'd you.

Da.

Then I see.

There is no end of womens reasoning;

Or else this might suffice thee, that I cannot

No nor I will not love thee.

Do.

Never?

Da.

Never.

Do.

Goe cruell man, and if the God of love

Will heare my prayers, thou in thy love shalt thrive,

As I in mine: that when thou art forlorne,

Thou maist remember her thou now doest scorne.

[Page]

ACT. 5.

SCENA 1.Hylas.
IT was the cruell practise of my Fate,
That lifted me unto the height of blisse,
To make my fall the greater: for no sooner
Did I injoy the love of my Nerina,
But in a moment she was taken from me:
A love so dearely bought with sighs and teares,
So many yeares spent in the gaining her,
And lost in one poore minute: It is better
Alwaies to live a miserable life,
Then once to have bin happy: she is dead,
And I alive that cannot live without her:
Tis fit that I die too; but by what meanes?
By violence? No, that the Gods forbid.
A lingring greife, I neede not feare, will kill me,
When every day I shall repaire, as now,
Unto her tombe, and consecrate my teares,
And tearing sighs unto her blessed Ghost,
Some pittying God, when I'me disolv'd away
Upon her ashes, will congeale those teares,
That they may cloath her dust: whilst some kinde shepheard
Passing this way does write this on her grave.
See here Nerina, that from Hylas eyes
Fed her faire flame, now in their dew she lies.
Thus I will have it, so the words shall runne.

[Page]

SCENA 2.

Daphnis, Alcon, Nerina: to them Hylas, Montanus, Carinus, Mirtillus.

IT shall not serve thy turne, malicious shepheard,

Though thou hast tane my love away by tricks,

Yet all thy cunning, and thy practises

Shall not secure thee from my revenge.

Al.

Are these the thanks I have for that rich jewell

Which I bestowd on thee, ungratefull man?

Da.

Yes, for a poysond glasse, a precious jewel.

Al.

I do confesse 'twas poysond.

Da.

Do you so?

And to do me a courtesie, you kild her.

Al.

Yet heare me, she is not dead; and if she be,

[...]e pay my life for hers.

Da.

Be sure thou shalt:

But canst thou hope for such a strong illusion

To mocke my sence? did I not see her dead?

Al.

She did appeare so: what you thought was death,

[...]s but a lethargie: though I professe not

To draw the Moone downe from the sphere she is in,

Or make the sunne looke bloody by my Arte,

Yet am I well informd in everything

This glasse is made of, and I know th'effects

[...]t workes, and can dicourse 'em.

Da.

[Page]

Let me heare them.

Al.

Have patience, and you shall; the Glasse you see

Of this rare Mirrour which I gave you, is

Made of a Memphian stone, that has the power

To bring a deadly sleepe on all the senses:

With it, to make th'effects more strong, is mingled

The Quintessence, extracted in a Limbecke,

Of the Torpedo, which has such a quality,

That if the Fisher touch it with his hooke,

A poison straite will creepe through all his veines,

Till it benumme his senses: This compounded,

And made into a glassie metall, soone

Reflects upon the eyes of him that lookes in't

A sleepie poison, which will stupifie

The vitall parts. Yet, he that gave it me,

Taught me the Cordiall water, which he us'd

To restore spirits and heate unto those vitalls;

And I have brought it with me for our purpose.

What have I wrong'd you now? or is my present

Worthy the thankes you give me?

Da.

Yet you were

Too blame, that you'd not tell me this before

I gave it her.

Al.

In that I shew'd my love;

For I did feare your resolution,

Though I were certaine of recovering her.

Da.

And what must now be done?

Al.

Here, where you found me,

[Page] [...] saw her laid, and buried in the clothes

[...]e wont to weare, her father so would have it:

[...] waited on the funerall, with purpose

[...]o see the stone laid hollow on her grave,

[...]or feare of hurting her.

Da.

It was well don.

Al.

Here Ile apply my medicine; you shall see

Whether I lie or no.

Da.

Let's lose no time.

[...] long to see my love alive againe.

Al.

Then helpe to lift this stone; see where she lies,

[...]he same Nerina?

Da.

She is dead, I see.

Al.

Love is still full of feares: give me the water.

Da.

Here, but take heede it do not spoile her face.

Al.

If she be dead, you neede not feare the change

Of any color; what a childe is love?

Da.

The Gods, I see, will not let beautie die:

[...]he breathes, she stirs, her eies begin to open

As after sleepe. O miracle!

Al.

How now?

[...]s she alive? will you beleeve your sence?

Now I have put her in your hands, be sure

You do not let her goe, and lose no time.

If you give credit to her words, you're lost.

What cannot womens words and flatteries

Effect with simple lovers? thinke on that,

Be confident: Ile leave you to your Fate.

Ne.

[Page]

You Gods where am I now? what place is this?

What light is this I see? are the same things

Seene in this new world, as they are in th' other?

Or in the grave do men see waters, trees,

As I do now, and all things as I liv'd?

But sure I live still: if I doe, why then

Was I here buried amongst these flowers?

Sure I am dead; but yet I walke and speake,

And I have heard that those who once are dead,

Can never use their voice, or action:

But who is this I see here? Daphnis, ha!

Are you dead too, as well as I?

Da.

No sweet,

I live to be the servant of Nerina.

Ne.

I, so said Hylas, whil'st I liv'd with him.

Da.

She thinks of Hylas still, what shall I do?

Ne.

But tell me Daphnis, in what place am I?

Da.

In Daphnis heart you live, and ever did.

Ne.

And so said Hylas, when we liv'd together.

Da.

O Gods againe? Nerina thinke not on him,

You must love me.

Ne.

Must they in this new world,

As they have chang'd their lives, so change their loves,

I never shall do that.

Da.

You are deceiv'd.

You are not dead.

Ne.

Not dead? how came I hither then?

Da.

By my device to keepe me company.

Ne.

[Page]

But will you not declare, how I came hither?

Da.

Aske me not that, but goe along with me.

Ne.

Stay shepheard, whither would you have me goe?

Da.

Where love and silence shall befriend us best.

Ne.

But tell me Daphnis, was not I once dead?

Da.

You were, but I your servant chang'd that death [...]nto a sleepe.

Ne.

I know not what you meane,

Can you change death into a sleepe?

Da.

I can,

And did for love of you.

Ne.

This is a riddle,

Pray let me know what you do meane by it.

Da.

Come with me, and you shall.

Ne.

Nay, tell me first.

Da.

Then know faire shepheardesse, that when I saw

My love, my services, my gifts, my vowes,

Did all returne to me without your love,

I had recourse unto this Artifice,

A pleasent one of loves Invention,

Which you may well remember.

Ne.

What was that?

Da.

I did present you with a looking glasse.

Ne.

You did, but what of that?

Da.

Nothing at all.

Pray goe this way with me.

Ne.

But tell me first.

Da.

That cast you into this deepe lethargie:

[Page]Such was the Magicke of it.

Ne.

To what purpose

Did you do this?

Da.

To make you mine.

Ne.

Yours, Daphnis?

How could you hope that without my consent?

Da.

My services I thought would merit it,

Besides the world not dreaming but you were

Dead, and here buried, we two might liue

Together without being knowne to any.

Ne.

But could you practise tricks on those you love?

Now you are paid with your owne Artifice:

For know, ther's none that can dispose of me

But Hylas, who has long preserv'd my heart,

And now my father, (whom I did resolve

For ever to obey) has made him mine,

By giving his consent, which had not bin

But for this tricke of yours.

Da.

Why then it seemes

You do not love me.

Ne.

Love you? know I had

Rather embrace my death againe, then thee.

Da.

Then 'tis no time to dally, come along,

Or I will force you.

Ne.

Helpe me shepheards, helpe.

Da.

Foole, stop your mouth, no humane helpe shal save thee

Enter Hylas.

Hy.

This is the place where I am come to pay

[Page]My teares first sacrifice, upon this tombe

That glories in the spoiles of all my wealth.

Ne.

Hylas, come helpe me, see'st thou not that Daphnis

Will ravish me?

Hy.

Ha, what doe I heare?

The voice of my Nerina? so she spake

When shee did live; but now, alas, shee's dead:

Some Devill mockes me with a vision,

And voice unto it.

Ne.

Will you see me ravisht

Before your face? O Hylas! oh my Love!

Hy.

Tis she, it is no vision▪ hold Ravisher,

My love thou canst not take without my life.

Enter Mirtillus, Montanus, Charinus.

Mi.

What noise is this?

Mo.

Some shreike much like a womans.

Ne.

Oh helpe my love, Mirtillus.

Mi.

Shepheard, hold,

Let goe this Nymph.

Da.

Or death, or victory

Shall crowne my enterprize.

Cha.

Who makes this out-cry?

Mi.

Sir, I shall coole you, if you be so hot.

Cha.

My daughter here? was shee not buried?

Away foule spirit, away; let's part these shepheards.

Ne.

O father, do you thinke that I am dead,

I am alive, as you are; touch me, see.

Cha.

[Page]

She is alive indeede: how cam'st thou hither?

Ne.

Daphnis, whom you would have to be my husband,

Brought me to this supposed death and grave.

Cha.

By what strange meanes, Nerina?

Ne.

By the glasse

You bid me I should take: he has confest

To mee that it was poison'd.

Cha.

Can it be?

Can Daphnis doe this? he had little reason.

Da.

She was a foole to crie, I should ha' pleas'd her

Ere this perhaps.

Cha.

Here Hylas, take my daughter,

For she is thine: you Daphnis, I did further

In all I could, till you would finde a tricke

To put your selfe beside her.

Ne.

I forgive him:

For though it was ill meant, yet did it sort

By accident unto my good.

Mo.

But will

Our Lawes permit a Ravisher to live?

Hy.

No, no Montanus: let him live, and envie

Our present happinesse.

Da.

Cover, you Gods,

The world in publique ruine, or else shew me

A way to hide my shame.

Mo.

What will he doe?

Mi.

He will go hang himselfe: what plots hee had

To foole himselfe with!

Mo.

[Page]

They that practise tricks

Finde them as jades, that throw 'em first, then kick 'em

As his has don.

Cha.

Come shepheards, lets away,

And solemnize these nuptials.

Mi.

Stay Montanus,

Did the King send for you?

Mo.

He did.

Mi.

And how?

Mo.

The message came from Thyrsis.

Ni.

I'le goe with you:

'Tis strange the King should send for you: pray heaven

Thyrsis have done no mischiefe there, he's hansome,

Of a good grace, and moving eloquence:

Perhaps some Lady may have taken him

Up for her selfe, and he, Ile lay a wager,

Will be so squeamish, that if Sylvia

Come in his minde, he ne're will do her reason,

And then her plot will be how to betray him:

Would I were in his place.

Mo.

I would thou wert,

So he were safe.

Mi.

I would comply, ne're feare it;

They live a heavenly life of love in Court,

To that which we do here; a Mistresse there

Will satisfie the longings of her lover,

And never trouble Hymen for the matter:

Then if they like not, they may looke else-where,

Mo.

[Page]

Thou wilt be punisht one day for thy mischiefe.

Mi.

The mischiefe's in my tongue, I ne're do any.

Mo.

No, I have heard that Stella was with childe

By thee, and thou must father it.

Mi.

Who, I?

Take me at that once, fathering of children,

And make me common father of them all:

A child's a prettie thing, and I should joy

To see one of mine owne. Ile tell thee truth

Montanus, by this hand I never lay

With any woman in my life.

Mo.

How then?

You' have courted all; who is it that Mirtillus

Has not profest to love?

Mi.

I do confesse it,

And that is all I could do; for before

I could get earnest of any ones love,

To whom I made addresse; even she would say,

You have another mistresse, go to her,

I wil not be her stale: and so by this meanes,

Nor this, nor that would do me any reason.

Mo.

You had ill lucke, it seemes, 'twas not your fault.

Mi.

No, for if they would beleeve me, I did sweare

I had no other. Pray, Montanus, tell me,

For you have knowne the severall waies of wooing,

Which is the best, and safest?

Mo.

O Mirtillus,

Gray haires have put the wilder thoughts of love

[Page]Out of my head; cold blood and frozen limbes,

Fright all those heates away, in place of which

Discretion and sobriety should come.

Mi.

But I have heard, old men doe sometimes love.

Mo.

They dote, Mirtillus, give it the right name;

In old mens bloods Cupid does quench his flames.

But as we goe, Ile tell thee, not to love

At all is best; but if you needs must love,

Love one, and seeke no further, thou wilt finde

Enough of her, if once she prove unkinde.

SCENA 3.

Daphnis, Alcon. To Daphnis, Dorinda.

THere is no way to avoide the shame of this:

Each shepheards boy that sings unto his flocke,

Will make me the scorn'd subject of his song.

Al.

Had you bin suddaine as I counsail'd you,

You had not faild: but you young men doe never

Goe through with any thing.

Do.

For heavens sake,

Call not that wicked deede to my remembrance.

I do repent me, that I e're beganne it:

I would not for a world have ended it:

Nerina's chaste, and faire, and I a villaine.

Leave me, I pray, for something tells me, you

Did first advise me to this damned act.

Al.

[Page]

Nay, if you prize my friendship at this rate,

I'le leave you to your pennance.

Exit.

Da.

This old man

Is full of malice, nothing troubles him;

The ills that he has done, flie from his thoughts,

And he rejoyces that he did, them queintly:

I have begun my youth, as if I meant

To have my age so punisht as his is,

Enter Dorinda.

Who's this? Dorinda? I have done her wrong:

I su'de for love to her first, which obtain'd,

I stucke disgraces on her; let me aske

Forgivenesse now, for 'twere too much to hope,

That she should love one stain'd with such a deed

As I have done, so foule and impious.

Do.

Great love, if yet thou art not satisfied

With all the wrongs I have sustain'd for thee:

My blood, I hope thy anger will appease,

Which thou maist glut thy selfe with.

Da.

Gentle Nymph.

Do.

I've beene too gentle, doe not mocke me with't:

O Daphnis, is it you? this is not well,

To mocke me thus; your looks when arm'd with frownes,

Gave not my heart so deepe a wound as this.

Da.

I meane no scorne, I come to aske your pardon

For what I've done already, not to heape

More sinnes upon my head.

Do.

'Tis very strange.

Da.

But true Dorinda, will you spit upon me?

[Page]Take your revenge, for I have well deserv'd it.

Do.

But is this serious Daphnis? oh take heed,

Cracke not my heart with such a loade of griefe

And scorne, so prest as this is; if you doe,

The Gods will punish it: for though they have

Neglected me thus long, they will revenge

Such injuries as these.

Da.

My many ills

Discredit my repentance: if my words

Can finde no faith with you, beleeve my teares,

Indeed they are not feign'd.

Do.

Even so you look't

When first you stole my heart: but I forgive you,

What ere become of me; I still must love you.

Da.

Forgive me first, and then I will beginne

By my endeavours and true services

To deserve something of you, if not love.

Do.

There is not that hard heartednesse in man

Which I did thinke, for he repents I see:

O Daphnis, if thou mean'st not this as scorne,

Take me into thine armes, and I will be

Thy slave.

Da.

O say not so, let me

Rather be thine; it will be pride in me

To be ambitious of it.

Do.

Oh my heart!

What suddaine joy thou strik'st into it now!

But yet methinkes I feare thou dost not love me.

Da.

[Page]

Why should you feare? by Pan you are to me

What ere you can imagine; equall, above

All that I ere thought faire; and if you be

Content to hide my faults, and take me to

Your nuptiall bed, (which yet I dare not hope)

But if you will, when ere that day shall come,

Th'embraces of my love and me, shall be

Such as the Cyprian boy from our abundance,

Shall take his fires to kindle other hearts,

Yet leave with us a flame, which we will cherish,

And keepe alive unto eternitie.

Do.

Women are ever credulous most then,

When knowledge of the truth would but afflict them:

I dare not now distrust you, though I knew,

What you have said, were false, it has a semblance

Of such a pleasing truth: Give me thy hand,

And take thou mine; whilst we walke thus intwin'd

I shall thinke Daphnis never was unkind.

SCENA 4.

Eubulus, Cleander: to them Thyrsis, Sylvia.

WHat, are they dead? Is the Kings will obey'd?

Cle.

No Sir, they live, and Hymen in his bands

Has ty'd them both; the happiest knot that ere

Knit two such equall hearts, and loves together:

Oh I am ravish'd with the newes, my joy

Is greater now, then if sh'had beene the daughter

Unto our King, and I had married her.

Eu.

I am amaz'd; pray Jove thou beest not mad.

Cle.

[Page]

Somewhat exalted, Sir, beyond my my selfe,

But yet not mad: Goe, Sir, unto the King,

Tell him, Cleander lives to make him happy.

Eu.

Sure thou wilt come unto thy selfe anon,

Prethee bethinke thee.

Cle.

Yes Sir, I doe thinke,

And know that I have newes to make him live,

And you an age yet longer.

Eu.

This is strange.

Cle.

Tis true.

Eu.

But what is true?

Cle.

Tis true, my Sister

Shall be a Queene.

Eu.

If she doe live, I thinke

She will; but yet you know we were commanded

To cut that life off.

Cle.

But your hastie sonne,

That came so speedy with a fatall message,

Was not so forward now; they both doe live,

And both are married.

Eu.

Jupiter forbid.

Cle.

The Fates command it, 'tis their proper worke▪

The Shepheard is a Prince, your Prince, and mine,

And married to my Sister,

Eu.

Ha! what's that?

Prithee digest thy troubled thoughts, and tell me

What Prince is this thou mean'st?

Cle.

Archigenes.

Eu.

Thou dream'st, it cannot be.

Cle.

No, then come forth

You royall paire, and testifie your selves.

Enter Thyrsis and Sylvia.

Syl.

Father, your blessing.

Eu.

Ha!

Cle.

Nay, I've told all.

[Page]She knowes she is your daughter: looke Sir here;

Here we must place our reverence.

Eu.

Who's this?

Cle.

Not yet? then looke upon this Circle, that

You know for certaine, though you know not him.

Eu.

'Tis it, it is the same: Archigenes

Sonne of Euarchus and Eudora:

This is my character, and this my seale.

Thy.

Sir, I have heard that by your piety,

My infant life was sav'd: now by the goodnesse

Deriv'd from you, unto your sonne, I have

Not onely found my life, but my content,

The summe of all my hopes, this Lady here,

Without whose love my life had bin a torment.

Syl.

And I the happiest maide that ever was

Conducted by the power of simple love,

Have found in place of him I thought a shepheard,

A Princely lover.

Eu.

Rise Calligone:

The Gods are just I see, that favoring

My innocence, have brought this match about.

But say Cleander, what Fate guided thee

To this discovery?

Cle.

Sir, should I tell you,

How many waies I cast to save my sister

After the fatall message which I brought,

I should be tedious, and keepe you from

What you do long to heare: In short I soone

[Page]Resolv'd to make away this royall shepheard.

And knowing that in this affaire, to keepe it

Secret, dispatch was needefull, I commanded

A servant, of whose faith and courage I

Was well assur'd, to kill him in my presence.

Eu.

'Tis strange, thou should'st be present at a murder.

Cle.

'Twas a necessity was laid upon me,

Because I would be sure to see him dead,

I bad him choose his death, when manfully

He said, he car'd not how, so he might die.

I knew to strangle him, was the readiest way,

Which death himselfe was ready to embrace:

This his so noble resolution,

Did stande me from mine; my servants hands

Trembled for feare,

Presaging what a sinne they were to act:

He bad him be assur'd he would not start,

And often call'd him to dispatch him quickly.

Syl.

What man could have a heart for such a deed,

And see his face.

Cle.

The Prince, before he came

To put the fatall twist about his necke,

Besought me, as I ever hop't for peace,

I should preserve the Princesse: this I promis'd,

And whatsoever else he would desire:

He answered, nothing now, but hasty death,

Then stripping off his doublet, I espide

With a quick eye this golden Circle here,

[Page]When hastily I bid my servant hold,

And let him goe. He ask't me why I staid,

I told him that about his necke was Sacred,

He would have rent it off, but I forbad it.

Eu.

What did you then?

Cle.

Sir, I did well remember

What I had heard of th' Oracle and you,

Which with the computation of his yeares,

I found agreeing to make up a truth

Which you before assur'd me; then I ask't him,

Whether he would be married to the Princesse

Before he died; he thought that I had mockt him,

And said, I practis'd Tyrannie upon him:

Then went I to my sister, and desir'd

The same of her; in fine, I saw them both

Joyne hands and hearts together, but the Prince

Thought this a dreame of life, which certaine death

Would wake him from, untill I did assure him

Of his great State, and that his love, whom now

He thought to be the Princesse, was my Sister,

All which I did referre unto your knowledge.

Eu.

This day for ever let it holy be,

And you whom love has brought through deepe despaire,

Unto the haven of your happinesse,

Enjoy each other freely. Of you brave shepheard,

(But now my Prince) I shall enquire anon

Where, and with whom you liv'd.

Thy.

Sir, the shepheard,

[Page] [...]hom I call father, stayes without; Montanus

[...]s name is, by whose gentle hands, (as he

as often told me) I was rescu'd first

[...]om cold and death, since under his kind roofe

[...]osterd, and bred as his.

Eu.

Goe call him in,

Enter Montanus, Mirtillus.

[...]ou're welcome both, you may applaud your fortune

[...]hat brought you such a Shepheard: stay all here,

Whilst I goe to the King. This day will adde

[...]ore yeares unto his life, when he shall say,

[...]o day shone brighter on Arcadia.

Exit.

Mon.

We are both come to doe our duties to you.

as being sent for, and Mirtillus with me,

[...]o celebrate your joyes: within a while

[...]he Shepheards and the Nymphs will all be here.

Thy.

My old companions shall be welcome all,

[...]s you are now; I never shall forget

[...]our courtesie, nor theirs.

Syl.

Nor I the Nymphs

[...]nce my deare fellowes; but you Mirtillus,

[...]hough you did scorne to love, yet could you sing

[...]ell, if you listed of it.

Cle.

Can shepheards then

[...]espise that Deity which we adore?

Mi.

Madam, I reverence it in you,

[...]he perfect'st patterne of a constant lover,

[...]nd in the honour of your Nuptialls

[...] have a Song, which if your Grace will heare,

[Page]'Twill entertaine the time.

Syl.

Let it be sung.

Song.

Hymen, God of marriage bed,
Be thou ever honoured:
Thou, whose torches purer light,
Deaths sad tapers did affright,
And insteed of funerall fires,
Kindled lovers chast desires:
May their love
Ever prove
True and constant: let not age
Know their youthfull heate t'asswage.

2.Maides prepare the Genial bed,
Then come night, and hide that red
Which her cheekes, his heart does burne:
Till the envious day returne,
And the lusty bridegroome say,
I have chac'd her feares away,
And insteed
Of virgin head,
Given her a greater good,
Perfection, and womanhood.

Thy.

Thanks good Mirtillus, this indeed was proper

Unto your subject.

Mi.

[Page]

Your thrice happy match,

[...]eing but now come to my knowledge, made me

[...]ontract my selfe into a straiter roome,

[...]hen the large subject might afford.

Cle.

The King.

To these, Euarchus, Eubulus.

Eu.

Although I wonder, yet I doe beleeve thee,

[...]y faithfull Councellor.

Eub.

Your Majesty

[...]as found me alwaies reall, but this truth

[...]he Oracles accomplishment will prove,

[...]hat did foretell their match.

Eu.

Reade it, Eubulus,

[...]nce more; and then call in my sonne and daughter.

[...]ub.

If ere thy Issue Male thou liv'st to see,

The childe thou thinkst is thine, thine shall not bee.

Eu.

Calligone is not my childe, proceed.

[...]ub.

His life shall be obscure, twice shall thy hate

Doome him to death, yet shall he scape that Fate.

Eu.

'Tis true, that twice I did command his death,

[...]irst thinking him a bastard, then a shepheard,

[...]or his offence; the Gods are just: Goe on.

[...]ub.

And thou shalt live to see that not long after

Thy onely sonne shall wed thy onely daughter.

Eu.

[Page]

This was a riddle ever till this day,

Their marriage has made it plaine. Eubulus,

Call in Archigenes, and call thy daughter

The faire Calligone, that I may powre

My blessings on them: And I long to see

Those characters, thou writst about his necke,

That I may call him mine.

Eub.

See where they are.

Eu.

Archigenes come neerer, for thou art

A stranger yet, although thou be my sonne:

The Character is plaine, it is the same

Eubulus writ to me: you heavenly powers

Give me a heart that may be large enough

T'expresse my joy for these, and thanks to you.

Thy.

My royall father, (for I am instructed

To call you so) If I have don amisse

In hasting to this match, I aske your pardon.

Syl.

And I for daring to aspire so high

Without your leave.

Eu.

Rise both, you have my blessing.

But who are these?

Thy.

This is the shepheard Sir,

Who tooke me up first, whom till now I call'd

Father, and he deserv'd it for his care.

Eu.

Eubulus, this is he, Montanus, ist not?

Eub.

He is deliverd to me for the shepheard,

Of whom your Majesty may if you please

Be well inform'd of all those passages,

[Page]I left untold.

Eu.

Some other time we'le heare them.

Let him be well rewarded.

Thy.

Sir, these shepheards

Are come to entertaine your Majestie,

With their devices, as their custome is,

In which sometimes, untill my fortune chang'd,

I bore apart.

Eu.

Let them be feasted all,

And studdy something new to celebrate

These Nuptials, which I will have proclaim'd

Throughout my kingdome: and Eubulus, see

That every thing be fitted for their honor.

Come let us to the Temple, that we may

With holy sacrifice appease the Gods,

Whose great decrees, though we did strive to hinder,

Yet are they now fulfill'd. It is in vaine,

T'oppose the Fates, whose lawes do all constraine.

Exeunt

FINIS.

[Page]

The Epilogue to the KING and QVEENE.

TO you most royall paire, whose lives have brought

Vertue in fashion, and the world have taught,

That chast innocuous sports become the stage

No lesse then civill manners do the age:

We dedicate this Piece, but yet with feares,

To have displeas'd so chast, so tender eares;

Which, if you free us from, we'le call this play

No more the Shepheards, but our Holy-day.

[Page]

THYRSIS. A Pastorall Elegie in the person of Sir Kenelme Digby, on the Death of his Noble Lady, the Lady Venetia Digby.

THe gentlest Swaine that Arcady ere bred,
Who Thyrsis hight, the saddest of that name,
Close by a Rivers side his heavy head
Laid downe, as he with teares would fill the same,
Regarding nought that might him pleasance give,
Since what was his delight, had left to live.

And whilst that other Shepheards of his ranke,
(If any Shepheard of his ranke might be)
Plaid on their merry Pipes upon some banke,
Making the hills resound their jollity,
Hee in sad plight his woefull daies did spend,
Their joyous sports caring not to attend.

There as hee by that silent water lay,

Regardlesse of his youth, and lusty head,

[Page]

His swelling griefe in vaine he did assay

To vent in grievous plaints, which more it fed,

Whilst to the ruthlesse waves he did relate

The story of his losse, and heavy Fate.

You Nymphs (if any doe inhabite here)
(And I have heard that Nymphs in waters dwell,)
Lend to my carefull Verse a gentle eare,
Whilst I, the saddest wight that ere did tell
His owne mishaps, unfold to you my case
In this your balefull place.
If to the Sea, of which you branches are,
I ever honour did, when list me change
My Shepheards staffe, to seeke adventures farre
In the wide Ocean, where I long did range,
And brought renowne home to my native soyle,
The glory of my toyle.
Doe not mistake, nor offer to compare
Those dayes with these, wherein my griefe exceeds
The joy, which once I had, to see my faire
Welcome me home, and gratulate my deeds,
Which to atchieve, her grace as well did move,
As did my countries love.
But now with her those graces all are gone,
Weepe with me waters to make up my moane.
[Page]Gone is my Love: and why then doe I see
Nature the same, as ere shee was before,
Since to her making all her forces shee
Wisely imploy'd, and she could give no more?
Though shee should frame the most caelestiall mould
That ere the Earth did hold,
To draw from all the heads of noble blood
The best, and to infuse it into one,
To make a mixture of all faire and good.
Rare Symmetry, and sweete proportion,
Was it to shew that such a thing might be
Without eternitie?
It was, and wee are taught how fraile the trust
Is, that wee give unto mortality,
How soone shee is resolved into dust,
Whom erst the world so beautifull did see.
But you were just that tooke her, though unkinde
In leaving me behinde:
Alas! why was I left thus all alone?
Weepe with mee waters to make up my moane.

Shee's gone, and I am here; yet doe I finde
With some small joy the languishing decay
Of th'other halfe, which she has left behind▪
For halfe of me with her shee bore away
[Page] Ʋnto those fields, where shee immortall is,
Heaped with heavenly blisse.
I see her faire soule in that blessed place,
Where joy for ever dwells: and now I know,
How in a dreame she saw an Angells face,
And it admiring, wisht she might be so:
Which the celestiall powers would not deny,
So did shee sleeping dye.
So did shee breake the bonds of heavy night,
And when shee wak't, wak't to eternall day:
Where shee in formes Angelicke now is dight,
And sees her maker, and shall see for aye.
O happy soule, I will not thee envy,
O let me rather flye
Ʋnto that blessed place, where thou art gone,
Then waters, weepe no more, but end your moane

I come; yet something does retard me here,
The pledges of our love thou left'st with me:
Those whom thou living didst account so deare,
Who still with mee preserve thy memory;
For their lov'd sakes yet must I longer stay,
Then will I poste away.
Then to thy lasting name I have uprear'd
A Monument, which time shall ne're deface,
[Page]And made the world, which as yet have not heard
Of thy rare vertues, and thy honour'd race,
Know who thou wert, and that thou wentst from hence
At Natures great expence.
Then world farewell, you I have seene enough,
And know how to despise your vanity:
Your painted glories are of baser stuffe,
Made to delude those that with halfe eyes see:
He that's abstracted from you, stands much higher,
And greater things admire.
'Tis you I leave, to goe where shee is gone,
Then waters weepe no more, here end your moane.

This to the empty winds and waters, hee
Alas, in vaine, (they car'd not for his teares)
Did thus unfold to ease his misery:
When loe, the Messenger of night appeares;
For the falne Sun (which warn'd him to be gone)
Chang'd to the light uncertaine of the Moone.

[Page]

DE TVMVLO PER ILLVStrissimum Dominum Kenelmum Digby lectissimae conjugisuae structo, ejusque memoriae dicato EPIGRAMMA.

HAc tua chara jacet Digbeie, Venetia terrâ,

Quae pietate tuâ nobile marmor habet:

En Parios lapides, atque hac in mole repertum

Quod Phidiae potuit, Praxitelisve manus.

Aspicis ut vivunt statuae, caelataque doctâ

Aera manu, quin ut vertice & ipsa micat:

Gloria defunctos si tangit, posse videtur

Credibile hoc illam velle cubare modo,

Quaerenti cineres respondent, corde jacebo

Conjugis, & tumulo nobiliore tegar.

Obijt 1. Maij, 1633.

[Page]

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