ATTO PRIMO, SCENA PRIMA.

ACT the FIRST, SCENE the FIRST.

ARE you resolv'd then, Sylvia, to spend this Youth of yours a stran­ger to the Pleasures of Venus? will you never hear the sweet Name of Mother? and will you never see your little Boys play prettily around you? Ah! change, change, I pray thee, thy Reso­lution, fond trifler that thou art.

Let others follow the Delights of Love, if there's in Love any Delight: this State of Life pleases me, and all my Diversion is the Care of my Bow, and Arrows; to pursue the flying Beasts, and pin the Savage to the Ground in Combat; and if there fails not Arrows to my Quiver, or wild Beasts to the Wood;

I don't fear, that Sports will ever fail me.

Insipid Sports truly, and insipid Life, and if it pleases you, 'tis only, because you have not experienc'd any other. Thus the first Race of Mankind, who liv'd heretofore in the World, whilst it was yet in its Sim­plicity and Infancy, accounted Water and Acorns delicious Drink, and delicious Food; and now Water and Acorns are become the Food, and the Drink of Beasts, since Corn and the Grape are brought into Use. Per­haps, if you had tasted but once the Thou­sandth Part of the Joys, which an amorous Heart feels in the Return of mutual Love, you would say, repenting with a Sigh, Lost is all the Time that is not spent in Love: Alas, my Ill-spent Youth! How many lonely Nights, how many melancholly Days have I spent in vain; which might have been em­ploy'd in that Use, which the oft'ner 'tis re­peated, proves more delightful. Change, Change thy Resolution, fond Trifler that thou art; for it avails nothing to repent too late.

When I shall say, repenting with a Sigh, these Words which you invent and adorn as you please, the Rivers shall return back to their Fountains, the Wolves shall fly from Lambs, and Grey-Hounds from the tim'rous Hares, the Boar shall love the Sea, and the Dolphin the Alps.

Well I know the perversness of Youth. As thou art now, such once was I: such was my Carriage, and my Face, and such my beautiful Hair, my Mouth, like thine, was of Vermilion Die, and thus the Rose was mixt with pure White on my plump and delicate Cheeks, it was then my highest Plea­sure (now I perceive it, the Pleasure of an Idiot) to spread my Nets, to lay the Bird­lime Twiggs; to sharpen my Dart upon a Whet-stone, to spy out the Foot-steps, and the Cover of the Game; and if at that time I saw an ardent Lover looking on me, I cast down my Eyes, Rustick and Savage as I was, full of Disdain and of Shame; to me my own Beauty was disagreeable, and whatever I had that pleas'd others, was displeasing to my self: as if it had been my Fault, my Shame, and my Reproach, to be lookt at, lov'd and desir'd. But what can not Time do? and what can't a faithful, and impor­tunate Lover, by Service, Merit, and In­treaty? I was conquer'd, I confess; and the Arms of the Conqueror were Submission, Sufferings, Tears, Sighs, and Impor­tunity in requesting a Return to his Love. The Shade of one short Night shew'd me then that, which along Course of Time, and the Light of a Thousand Days had not shew'd me. Then I blam'd my self, and my blind Simplicity, and said with a Sigh: Here, Cynthia, take thy Horn, take thy Bow, for I renounce thy Arrows, and thy way of Life.

Thus I hope to see, that one Day your Aminta will tame your savage Nature, and will soften that Iron, rocky Heart of thine. Perhaps he is not handsome, or loves not you, or no one else loves him? or perhaps he changes either for the Love of another, or your Hatred? perhaps he yields to you in Birth, if you are the Daughter of Cidippus, to whom the God of this noble River was Father; he is the Son of Sylvanus, to whom Pan was Father, the great God of the Shep­herds. Bright Amarillis is no less Fair than you, if ever you did view your self in the Mirror of a clear Fountain; and yet he de­spises her inviting Charms, and follows your contemptuous Scorn. Now make a Fiction, (and Heaven grant it may be only a Fiction) that he, being disgusted at you, should bring himself at last to love the Maid, by whom he is lov'd so much; what will thy Mind be then; and with what Eyes will thou behold him another's? happy in another's Arms, and insulting thee with a Smile.

Let Aminta dispose of Himself, and his Love as he pleases, it matters not me; and so he be not mine, let him be whose he will; but he can't be mine, except I will, neither, were he mine, would I be his.

From whence does your Hatred takes its Birth?

From his Love.

Too gentle Father for so cruel a Son, but when were ever Tygers born of tame Lambs? or Crows of beautiful Swans? [Page 9] Either you deceive me, or your self.

I am an Enemy to his Love; because That is an Enemy to my Honour, and I lov'd him as long as he would have nothing of me but what I'd have.

You made the worse Choice: He only wishes to you what he wishes to him­self.

Daphne, Either be silent, or speak of some other Subject, if you will have an Answer.

Look ye there now, observe the coy Disdain of Youth. Answer me now however: should another love you, would you treat his love in this manner?

In this manner would I treat every Ensnarer of my Virginity, whom you call a Lover, and I an Enemy.

Do'st thou esteem then an Enemy, the Ram to the Ew? the Bull to the Hei­fer? do'st thou esteem then an Enemy, the Turtle to his faithful Mate? do'st thou imagine then the pleasant Spring to be the season of Enmity and Wrath? which now jocund and smiling, reconciles the whole World to Love, as well brute Beasts as Men and Women: and do'st thou not perceive, how all Things are now inspir'd with a joy­ous and salutary Love? See there that Dove, which flattering with sweet murmurs, Kisses his Companion: hear that Nightingale, which hops from Bough to Bough singing, [Page 11] I love, I love, Even the Adder (whether thou know'st it or no) lays aside his Poison, and runs desirous to his Lover; Tygers rush in­to Love, the haughty Lion loves, and you only, more Savage than all the wild Beasts, deny Love a Reception in your Breast? But why do I mention Lions, Tygers, and Ser­pents, which are indued with Sense? nay moreover, even the Trees Love. You may observe with how great Affection, and how many repeated Embraces, the Vine twines herself around her Husband, the Fir-Tree loves the Fir-Tree, the Pine the Pine, the Elm for the Elm, and for the Willow the Willow, and one Beech-Tree for another burns and sighs. That very Oak, that ap­pears so rugged, and savage, feels within itself the Power of an amorous Fire: and, if thou hadst any Spirit or Sense of Love, thou would'st hear his mute Sighs. Will you be then inferiour to the Plants, by not being a Lover? Change, Change thy Resolution fond Trifler that thou art.

Well then, when I hear the Sighs of the Plants, then I am content to be a Lover.

You turn into Ridicule my faithful Counsel, and Burlesque my Reasons. Oh! no less Deaf than Silly in Love: but go now, the Time will come that you shall repent that you did not follow them, and I don't mean [Page 13] when you shall fly from the Fountains, where now you often view your self, and perhaps admire; when you shall fly from the Fountains, only for fear of seeing yourself wrinkled and deform'd; this will happen to you. But I give you warning, not of this only, which though it is a great Misfortune, is a common one. Don't you remember that which Elpin related the other Day; the wise Elpin to the beautiful Lycoris, who had that Power over Elpin with her Eyes, which he ought to have had over her with his Songs, if what ought to be, could al­ways be found in Love; he related in the hearing of Battus and Thyrsis, great Masters of Love, and he related it in the Cave of Aurora, where over the Door is written, Far, Far hence go ye Profane. He said, and said, that That great Poet told it him, who Sung of Arms, and Love, and bequeath'd him his Pipe when he died; that there be­low in Hell is a black Den, where issues out a stinking Smoak from the dreadful Fur­nace of Acaron; and that there ungrateful and unrelenting Women are eternally punish­ed in Torments of Darkness and Tears. There expect that a Reception will be pre­par'd for thy Cruelty. And just it is that Smoak should some Time be ever drawing Tears from those Eyes, from whence Pity could never draw them. Follow, follow now thy own Course, [Page 15] obstinate that thou art.

But what did Licoris then, and what answer did she make?

You take no Care of your own Affairs, and are willing to know another's. She answer'd him with her Eyes.

How could she answer him with her Eyes only?

They being turn'd upon Elpin answer'd, with a Smile, the Heart and we are thine: more you ought not to desire: the Donor can bestow no more: and this only had been sufficient as a Reward to a chast Lover, if he had thought those Eyes as true as fair, and put an entire Confidence in them.

And why did he not believe them!

Don't you know what Thyrsis wrote of them? when being in Love he wandred frantick through the Forests, so that he mov'd at the same Time the compassion, and the laughter of the Beautiful Nymphs and Shepherds; that which he wrote was not worthy of Laughter, tho' that was worthy of Laughter that he acted, he writ it on a thou­sand Plants, and with the Plants the Verses grew, and on one of them are thus read:

While I am passing the Time in talk­ing, I forget that this is the appointed Day for going to the Chase agreed on in the oaken Grove. Stay now, if you please, till I have first washt off, in my accustom'd Fountain, the Sweat and the Dust with which I was cover'd Yesterday, [Page 17] in chasing a swift Doe, which at length I overtook, and kill'd.

I'll wait, and perhaps will bath my self in the same Foun­tain: but I'll go first to my House, for it is not as yet late, as you may see; do you wait for me at Yours, till I come to you: and in the mean while think upon that which is of greater Importance than either the Chase, or the Fountain; and if you don't know this, believe that you are Ignorant, and believe the Experienc'd.

SCENA SECONDA.

SCENE the SECOND.

I have seen the Rocks and Waters compassionately reply to my Complaints, I have seen the Woods accom­pany my Complaints with sighs: but I have never seen, nor hope to see Compassion in the cruel Fair, whom I know not whether to call Woman, or Brute; but she denies herself to be a Woman, because she denies Compassion, where inanimate things have not denied it.

The Lamb feeds on the Grass, the Wolf on the Lambs; but cruel Love feeds on Tears, and never shews himself satisfied.

Alas! Love is long since satisfied with my Tears, and now only thirsts after my Blood; and soon I am resolv'd, that he, and that cruel Creature, shall drink my Blood with their Eyes.

Ah Aminta!

Aminta, what are you talking? or why do you rave thus? comfort your self now, for you will find another, if this cruel one dis­dains you.

Alas! how can I find ano­ther, if I cannot find my self? if I have lost my self, what Acquisition shall I ever make that can please me?

Poor Man, never despair of gaining her. Length of Time has taught Men to Rein the Lions, and the Tygers of Arcania.

But an unhappy Wretch can't a long Time sustain the De­lay of his Death.

The Delay will be short: Woman is soon angry, and soon ap­peas'd, a Creature moveable by Nature, more than the slender Twig, or the pliant Ear of Corn before the Wind: but prithee, let me know something farther of thy hard Condition, and thy Love: For though you have often confest to me that you were in Love, yet you never told me where you plac'd your Love: and our faithful Friend­ship, and our common study of the Muses, deserves that, what is conceal'd from others, should be discover'd to me.

I am con­tent, Thyrsis, to tell you that, which the Woods, the Mountains, and the Rivers know, though 'tis unknown to Men: for I am now so near my Death, that there is good Reason, that I shou'd leave one behind who may relate the Cause of my Death, and engrave it on the Bark of a Beech-tree, near the place where my dead Body shall be bu­ried: [Page 21] that the cruel Maid, when she passes by, may take delight to trample my unhappy Bones with her proud Foot, and say within herself, Here lies my Triumph; and may rejoice to see, that her Victory is known to all our coun­try Shepherds, and the Strangers, whom chance directs this way: and perhaps (alas my Hopes are too high) a Day may come, when she, being mov'd with too late a pity, may lament him dead, whom living she kill'd; and say; oh! were he here, and were he mine! Attend now.

Go on then, for I am attentive, and perhaps to better pur­pose, than you imagine.

While I was yet so young, that I could scarce reach with my little Hand to gather Fruit from the bending Boughs of the young Trees, I be­came acquainted with the most beautiful and dearest Maid, that e'er display'd her golden Hair to the Wind: know you the Daughter of Cidippa, and of Montanus, so wealthy in Cattle? Sylvia, the Honour of the Woods, the Passion of Souls; of her I speak, Alas! I liv'd with her so united for sometime, that between two Turtles there never will be, nor ever was a more faithful Alliance. Adjoining were our Habitations, but more adjoining our Hearts: alike were our Ages, but our Thoughts more alike: with her I us'd to spread the ensnaring Net for Fishes, and for Birds, and follow'd with her the Stags and swift Does; both our Diversion and our Prey was common.

But whilst I was making a Prey of Animals, I became, I know not how, a Prey my self. By little and little there grew within my Breast, I know not from what Root, like an Herb that shoots out of it self, a Passion I was unacquainted with before, which made me desire to be always in the Presence of my fair Sylvia, and I drank from her Eyes a strange Sweetness, which left behind it in the end I know not what kind of Bitter: I sigh'd often, and knew not the cause of my sighing. Thus I became a Lover, Before I understood what kind of thing Love was. Too well I found what it was at last: and in what manner, now hear me, and observe.

'Tis worth observing.

In the shade of a beautiful Beech, Sylvia, and Phyllis sate one Day, and I together with them; when an industrious Bee, which went to gather Honey in the flow'ry Meads, flying on the Cheeks of Phyllis, the Cheeks all Crimson like the Rose, stung them, and stung them again greedily; and perhaps, deceiv'd by the Resemblance, took them for a Flower: Then Phyllis began to make her Moan, impatient of the acute Sting. But my beautiful Sylvia said, peace Phyllis, cease complaining, for I with Enchanting words can relieve the Anguish of the little Wound;

Sage Artesia taught me this Secret some time ago, and had for her reward my Ivory Horn adorn'd with Gold. Thus saying, she ap­plied the Lips of her beautiful, and sweetest Mouth to the wounded Cheek, and with a soft Whisper murmur'd I know not what Verses. O admirable Effects! she presently perceiv'd the Pain to cease; whether it was the Virtue of those magical Words, or, as I believe, the Virtue of that Mouth, which cures all that it touches. I, who till that Time desir'd nothing, but the lovely Bright­ness of her beautiful Eyes, and her sweet Speech, much more sweet than the murmur­ing of a slow Rivulet, which breaks its way amongst the little Rocks, or the whispering of the Air amongst the Leaves; at that Time perceiv'd in my Heart a new desire to press my Mouth to hers. And becoming, I know not how, cunning and ingenious more than usual, (observe how Love sharpens the Invention) bethought my self of a pretty Deceit, by which I might accomplish my Desire: for pretending, that a Bee had stung my Under-lip, I begun to complain in such manner, that I ask'd for that Remedy with my Looks, which my Tongue did not ask for. Harmless Sylvia, pitying my Pain, [Page 27] offer'd to give Relief to my feign'd Wound; and made, alas, my true one more deep and mortal, when her Lips were join'd to mine, nor did ever the Bee gather from any Flower Honey so sweet, as I then gather'd from those fresh Roses; although my ardent Kisses, which Desire excited to sink deeper, Fear and Shame restrain'd, or made them more slow and less bold: but in the mean-while there glided to my Heart, a Sweetness mixt with a secret Poison: I felt such delight in it, that pretending the Pain of the Sting was not yet ceas'd, I caus'd her often to repeat the Inchantment. From that Time my Desire and my Grief grew impatient to such a degree, that not being able to contain it any longer within my Breast, I was forc'd to give it vent: and one Time, as we were sitting round toge­ther in a Circle, Nymphs and Shepherds, and were playing some of our Plays, where every one whispering in the Ear of his Neighbour, tells him some Secret, Sylvia, said I to her, for you I burn, and shall cer­tainly die unless you pity me. At those Words [Page 29] she cast down her lovely Face, and over it there came a sudden unusual Red­ness, which gave a sign of Modesty and An­ger; I had no other Answer, but Silence, a disturb'd Silence, full of severe Threats: she departed from thence, and ne'er would see, or hear me afterwards: and now thrice has the naked Reaper cut the Corn, as many Times has the Winter shaken the verdant Leaves from the Woods; and I have tried every thing to appease her, be­sides my Death. There remains only, now to appease her, that I should Die, and die I would willingly, were I but sure, that she would either be pleas'd, or griev'd at it; neither know I of these Two things which I should rather wish. Pity would be indeed a greater Reward to my Fidelity, and a greater Recompence for my Death: but I ought not to wish for any thing, that may disturb the serene Light of those dear Eyes, and grieve that beautiful Breast.

Is it possible then, that if she should one day hear such words, she should not Love you?

I know not, nor be­lieve it; but she flies my Words as the Ad­der flies from the Inchantment.

Be of good Courage, for my Heart inclines me to bring it about that she shall hear you.

Either you will never prevail, or if you should prevail that I should speak, I never should prevail by speaking.

Why do you despair thus?

I have just Cause of Despair, because the sage Mopsus foretold my hard Fortune; Mop­sus who understands the Language of Birds, and the Virtue of Herbs, and Fountains.

Of what Mopsus are you speak­ing? of that Mopsus who has words of Honey on his Tongue, and a friendly Smile upon his Lips, but conceals Fraud within his Breast, and a Poignard un­derneath his Garment? be of good hope, for those unhappy inauspicious Prognosticks, that he sells to Fools, with that grave Look, will never take effect, this I know by Ex­perience what I tell you; on the contrary, for this only Reason, because he has foretold you, I take delight in hoping a happy end to thy Love.

If you know any by Ex­perience that comforts my Hope, don't con­ceal it.

I'll tell it willingly at the Time, when first my Fortune brought me into these Woods, I knew that Man, and esteem'd him such a one as you now esteem him; Insomuch that it fell out one Day that I had some Business, and likewise a Mind to go where the Grand City stands on the Bank of the River; and I acquainted him with my design, and he thus told me, You are going into that great Town, where the crafty and deceitful Citizens, and the evil­minded Courtiers often Scoff at, and make rude Sports with us simple Country Men. Therefore my Son [Page 33] be well advis'd, and don't intrude there where there are Colour'd and Gold Cloaths, Plumes, Devices, and new Fashions: but above all take Care, lest evil Destiny or the Jollity of Youth, should lead thee into the Magazine of idle Chat. Fly, ah! fly that inchanted Place. What place is that said I? and he answer'd: there live those Magicians who by their Inchantments make every Body see and hear one thing for another: that which appears to be Dia­monds, and fine Gold, is only Glass and Copper; and those Silver Chests, which you would think to be full of Treasure, are on­ly Baskets full of empty Bladders. There the Walls are built with such an Art, that they Speak and answer those that speak; they not only answer half a word, as Echo uses to do in our Woods, but they reply it all intire, join'd with something else that was not said. The Tripods, Tables, Benches, Stools, Beds and Curtains, and the Furni­ture of the Chamber, and Hall, have all a Tongue, and a Voice, and are always Pratling. There false Lies leap sporting about in the shape of Babes; and if a dumb Man should enter, that dumb Man would Prate in spite of himself. But this is the least Misfortune that can befall you, perhaps you may stay there Transform'd into a Willow-Tree, into Water, or Fire; the Water of Tears, or the Fire of Sighs. All this he told me, and I went with this false Forewarning to the City; [Page 35] and as kind Heaven and Fortune would have it, pass'd by the place where stands that happy Dwelling. From whence issu'd out the sweet and harmonious Musick, of Swans, of Nymphs, and Syrens, celestial Syrens! from thence proceeded Sounds so sweet and clear, and so many other Delights, that I stood still a good while Astonish'd with Pleasure and Admiration. There stood at the Door (as it were to Guard all those fine Things) a Man of a stout and noble Aspect, concerning whom, for what seem'd to me, I stood in doubt whether he would make a better General or a Soldier: This Man with Looks at the same Time kind and grave, and with Royal Courtesie invited me within, he a Man in great Office and Dig­nity, me a poor and homely Shepherd. Oh! what did I perceive, what saw I then! I saw celestial Goddesses, gay and beautiful Nymphs; new Stars, new Orpheus's, and others besides, without a Veil or Cloud, such and so great as the Virgin-Morn ap­pears to the Immortals scattering her Silver Dews, and her Rays of Gold; I saw Phoe­bus shining all round with fruitful Light, and the Muses, and Elpin sitting among them; and in that Instant I perceiv'd my self grown Greater than usual, full of new Virtue, full of a new Deity: and I sung of Wars, and Heroes, disdaining the rude Pasto­ral Verse. And although for the Pleasure of others I return'd to these Woods again, I still retain'd [Page 37] Part of that Spirit: nor does my Pipe sound as humble as before; but with a more loud and sonorous Tone rivals the Trumpet, and fills the Woods. Afterward Mopsus heard me, and admiring with a ma­licious Look fascinated me; from whence I became hoarse and silent for a long Time: thence the Shepherds thought that I had been seen by a Wolf, and that Wolf was he. This I have told you, that you may know how much his words are worthy of Belief: And you ought to hope well, only because he perswades you not to hope at all.

I am pleas'd to hear what you relate to me: to you then I entrust the Care of my Life.

I'll take the Care upon me: do you attend me here Half an Hour hence.

ATTO SECONDO. SCENA PRIMA.

ACT the SECOND. SCENE the FIRST.

SMALL is the Bee, and makes with his small Sting the most grievous and painful Wounds. But what Thing is smaller than Love? in every little Space he enters, and hides himself in every little Space. Sometimes under the Shade of an Eye-lid, sometimes amongst the little Curls of beautiful Hair, sometimes within the Dimples, which a sweet Smile forms in a lovely Cheek, and yet he makes so deep, so mortal and incu­rable Wounds. Alas! my Breast is all one bleeding Wound, and cruel Love hath a thousand Darts in the Eyes of Sylvia. Cruel Love, Sylvia Cruel, and more Savage than the Woods. Oh! how does that Name a­gree with thee, how well did He foresee, that gave it thee.

The Woods conceal Serpents, Lions, and Bears within their verdant Shades, and Thou within thy Lovely Breast con­cealest Hatred, Disdain, and Cruelty; worse Savages than Serpents, Lions, and Bears: These may be tam'd, but Those never can, either by Intreaties or Gifts. Alas! when I bring new-blown Flowers, thou refusest them perverse, per­haps, because thou hast Flowers more fair in thy lovely Face; Alas! when I present thee with beautiful Apples, thou refusest them disdainful, perhaps, because thou hast Apples more beautiful in thy lovely Bosom. Alas! when I offer thee delicious Honey, thou rejectest it scornful, perhaps, because thou hast Honey more delicious in thy Lips: But if my Poverty cannot give thee any thing, which is not lovelier and sweeter in thy self; myself I give thee, why do'st thou unjustly despise and abhor the Gift? I am not to be despis'd, if I saw myself a­right in the liquid Mirror of the Sea, when the other Day the Winds were silent, and the Sea lay still without Waves. This Face of mine of a sanguine Colour, These my large Shoulders, These my brawny nervous Arms, This hairy Breast, and These my shaggy Thighs, are Marks of Strength and Manhood; and if thou art incredulous, make Trial of it. What wilt thou do with those tender Boys, who have the soft Down scarce springing on their Cheeks, and who with Art [Page 47] dispose their Hair in Order? these are Women in Shew and in their Strength; tell me, would any of these follow thee through the Woods and the Mountains, and fight by your side against Bears and Wild Boars. I am not Ugly, no, thou can'st never despise me, because I am thus made, but only, be­cause I am Poor; Alas! that Country-Villages should follow the Example of great Cities: and truly this is the Age of Gold, since Gold alone prevails, Gold only reigns. Oh! whoever thou wert, that taught us first to make a Sale of Love, accurs'd be thy buried Ashes, and cold Bones, and may never be found a Shepherd or Nymph, who passing by, may say, Rest ye in Peace: But may the Rain wash them, and may the Wind toss them, and may the Flocks and the Traveller trample them with un­clean Feet. Thou first didst shame the the Nobility of Love; Thou didst imbit­ter all its pleasant Sweets: Venal Love, Love, the Servant of Gold, is the greatest, the most abominable and hideous Monster, that e'er the Earth produc'd, or the Sea beneath its Waters. But why do I tor­ment myself in vain? all Creatures make Use of those Arms which Nature has given them for their Safety; the Stagg exercises his Speed, the Lion his Claws, and the foam­ing Boar his Tusks; and Beauty and Grace are the Power, and the Arms of a Woman. Why don't I, for my own Assistance, make Use of Violence, since Nature [Page 49] has made me fit to commit Violence, and to Ra­vish; I'll force and ravish that, which she un­gratefully denies me, as the Reward of my Love. For as a Goat-herd has inform'd me, who has been Eye-Witness, and ob­ferv'd her Steps, she's accustom'd to go often to refresh herself at a Fountain, and he has shewn me the Place; There I de­sign to hide myself amongst the Bushes and the Shrubs, and wait, till she comes, and as I see an opportunity, rush out upon her; what Opposition, either by her Flight, or with her Arms, can a tender Maid make against me, so Swift and so Strong? let her then Weep and Sigh, and use all the Power of Intreaty and Beauty: if I can once wreath my Hand in her Hair, She shall not part from thence till I have bath'd, for my Revenge, my Arms in her Blood.

SCENA SECONDA.

SCENE the SECOND.

THYRSIS, as I have told you before, I have discover'd that Aminta loves Sylvia; and Heaven knows how many good Offices I have done for him, and will still continue so to do, so much the more willingly, since You join in your In­treaties: But I would sooner undertake to tame a Bull, a Bear, or a Tyger, [Page 51] than to tame a simple Girl, a Girl as silly, as she is fair, who is not yet sensible, how burn­ing and how sharp are the Arms of her Beauty; but kills whether she smiles, or weeps, and kills without knowing that she has wounded.

But where is there e'er so simple a Girl, who being out of her swadling Cloaths, understands not the Art to appear handsome, and to please? To kill by pleasing, and to know what Arms wound and give Death, and what cure and restore to Life.

Who is the Master of this Mighty Art?

You dissemble only to try me. The same, that teaches Birds their Songs and Flight, that teaches Fishes to Swim, and Rams to Butt, the Bull to use his Horns, and the Peacock to spread abroad the Pomp of his many-Eyed Plumes.

What is the Name of that great Master?

His name is Daphne.

trifling Pratler!

And why? are not you fit to keep a Thousand Girls at School, tho' to say the Truth, they have no Need of a Master; Nature is their Teacher, tho' the Mother and Nurse have a Part in it.

Truly I think you are Merry in the midst of your Sadness. Now to tell you the Truth, I am not certain that Sylvia is that simple Girl, that she appears to be by her Words and her Actions. Yesterday I saw an Instance, which put me in doubt of it: I found her [Page 53] near the Town in those large Meadows, where amidst the standing Waters lies a little Island, upon which there is a calm and clear Lake, hanging over in such a Posture, that she seem'd to admire herself, and at the same Time to advise with the Water, in what Manner she ought to dispose her Hair upon her Fore-Head, and over her Hair her Veil, and over her Veil the Flowers, which she held in her Lap; and often she took, now a Blossom, then a Rose, applied them to her beautiful white Neck, and Vermilion Cheeks, and made Compa­rison of their Colours; and then, as if re­joycing at the Victory, she burst out into a Laughter, as if she seem'd to say, I sur­pass you, neither do I wear you for my Ornament, but I wear you only for your own Shame, since it appears how much you yield to me. But while she was adorning and admiring herself, by chance she turn'd her Eyes, and perceiv'd, that she was per­ceiv'd by me; she soon blush'd for Shame, and drop'd her Flowers, the more I laugh'd at her Blushes, the more she blush'd at my Laughing; but because one Part of her Hair was bound up, and the other hanging loose, she once or twice turn'd her Eyes to consult the Fountain and gaz'd, as it were by stealth, fearing lest I should look on her, whilst she look'd on herself; she saw herself in her undress, and was pleas'd because she saw herself handsome e'en in her Undress: I perceiv'd it, and held my Tongue.

You tell me exactly what I thought, now did not I guess right?

You guess'd right, but I dare say, that Shepherdesses and Nymphs were not so cunning heretofore, neither was I such in my Youth; the World grows old, and as it grows old it grows worse.

Perhaps then the Citizens did not so much frequent the Woods and Fields, nor so often were our Country People ac­custom'd to go to the City. Now our Fami­lies and our Customs are mingled. But let us leave these Discourses: Could not you bring it about, that one Day Sylvia should permit Aminta to speak to her, either alone, or at least in your Presence?

I can't tell, Sylvia is Coy out of Measure.

And he out of Measure respectful.

A respectful Lover is undone; since he is such, advise him to some other Employment. Whoe'er would learn to Love, let him un­learn Respect, let him Dare, Demand, Solli­cite, Importune; in short let him Steal, and if that is not sufficient, let him Ravish. Do not you know what is the Nature of a Wo­man? She flies, and flying wishes to be overtaken; she denies and wishes, that what she denies may be snatch'd from her; she fights, and fighting wishes to be conquer'd. Thyrsis, I speak this to you in Confidence, don't tell again what I have told you. But above all don't put it in Rhime, you know that I can recompence you for your Verse with something else beside Verse.

You have no Reason to suspect me of ever saying any Thing contrary to your Plea­sure. But I conjure you, dear Daphne, by the sweet Memory of your blooming Youth, that you would assist me in helping Aminta, Poor Wretch, that is a dying!

Ah! what a gallant way of conjuring has the Fool de­vised, in reminding me of my Youth, my past Happiness, and my present Trouble: But what would you have me do?

You want neither Parts nor Contrivance, 'tis sufficient, if you are but disposed to be willing.

Well then I'll tell you, Sylvia and I shall shortly go to the Fountain of Diana, where the pleasant Waters are over­shaded by that Plane-Tree, which invites the Nymphs, return'd from Hunting, to its sweet Retreat, there I know certainly, she will bath her naked lovely Limbs.

But what of that?

What of that? Senseless, dull Fellow, if thou hast any Wit, that's enough.

I understand you, but I can't tell, if he will be so bold.

If he will not, let him stay, and wait, till she comes to court him.

E'en that is no more, than what he deserves.

Mayn't we now dis­course a little concerning your self? What, Thyrsis, will you never become a Lover? You are yet young, and have not yet past your Nine and Twentieth Year, if I re­member well your Infancy; will you thus continue to live in Indolence, and without Pleasure? [Page 59] For 'tis only by Loving, that Man knows what Pleasure is.

That Man that avoids Love, does not leave the Delights of Venus, but culls, and tastes the Sweets of Love, without the Bitter.

Insipid is that Sweet, and soon Cloys, which is not season'd with some Bitter.

'Tis better to be Cloy'd, than to be Famish'd, both in Feeding, and after too.

Not if the Food be pleasing and possest; and once tasted always invites to taste.

But who possesses that, which pleases him, so as to have it always ready, when Hunger craves?

But who can find that Good he never seeks?

'Tis dangerous to seek that, which once found, pleases a little; but not found, torments much more. Thyrsis shall be no more a Lover, till Love shall have no more Tears and Sighs in his Empire; I have wept and sigh'd sufficiently already, let others take their Turn.

But you have not been pleas'd sufficiently.

Neither do I desire to be pleas'd, if Pleasure costs so dear.

Love will be forc'd upon you, whether you will or no.

He never can be forc'd, that keeps far off.

Who keeps far off from Love?

He that fears and flies.

To what pur­pose is it to fly from him, that has Wings?

Love, when new born, has but short Wings, 'tis as much as he can do to bear them, and he can't spread them to fly.

A Man does not perceive when he is born, and when a Man perceives him, he is grown big and able to fly.

True, if he never felt him grow before.

We shall see, Thyrsis, if your Eyes can avoid him, as you say. But I protest, since you pretend to be so swift a flyer, that when I shall see you asking for Help, I won't move one Step to assist you, one Finger, one Word, no not so much as one Eye-brow.

Cruel! would your Heart give you to see me die? if you would have me love, do you love me, let us make love by Consent.

You jeer me, perhaps you don't deserve such a Mistress, as I am; Alas! how many has a painted artificial Face deceiv'd.

I don't jest, no, but by such Protestations as you have made, you don't accept of my Love, as the Manner is of all you Women, but if you won't have me, I'll live without Love.

Live more content, than ever you have done, Thyrsis, Live in Ease, for Ease always engenders Love.

O Daphne, a God has given me this Ease, he, who may be esteem'd a God here, whose ample Herds and numerous Flocks feed from the one to the other Sea, upon the fair Pa­stures of the most fruitful Fields, and the craggy Backs of the Apennines. He said to me then, when he made me his: Thyrsis, let others chace the Wolf and Thieves, and watch [Page 63] my walled Sheep-Folds, let others dis­pense Punishments or Rewards to my Ser­vants, and let others feed, and tend my Flocks, let others keep the Wool and Milk, and others dispose of them: do you sing in the Enjoyment of your Fase; hence 'tis but just, that my Muse should sing, not the loose Strain of Earthly Love, but the Ancestors of my living and true God, whom I know not whether to call Apollo or Jove, for in his Actions and his Looks he resembles them both, Ancestors more worthy than Saturn or Coelus, too mean a Muse to sing a Prince's Worth, yet whether clear or hoarse she sounds, he does not despise her. I do not sing him, because I am not able to do him worthy Honours, but by Silence and Ado­ration: But may his Altars never be with­out my Flowers, and without the sweet Smoke of Odoriferous Incense, and then only shall this simple and devout Religion leave my Heart, when in the Air the Stags shall feed on the Wind, when Rivers shall change their Bed and Course, the Persian shall drink the Sone, and the Gaul the Tigris.

Oh! you are upon the high Strain; prithee descend a little to our Purpose.

Here lies the Point, that as you are going to the Fountain with her, you endeavour to soften her; I, in the mean while, will take Care, that Aminta shall repair thither, and perhaps my Task will be no less difficult, [Page 65] than yours; go then:

I am going, but I meant our other Purpose.

If I well discern that Face at a Distance, that's Aminta, that's coming yonder, 'tis the same.

SCENA TERZA.

SCENE the THIRD.

NOW I shall see what Thyrsis has done for me, and if he has done nothing, before I pine away into nothing, I'll kill myself before the Eyes of the Cruel Maid. She, who is so well pleas'd at the Wound of my Heart, struck by her beauti­ful Eyes, will certainly be pleas'd no less at the Wound of my Breast, struck by my own Hand.

Aminta, I bring you News of Com­fort, cease henceforth your heavy Complaints.

Ah! what do you say? do you bring me Life or Death?

I bring you Health and Life, if you dare meet them: But you must be a Man, Aminta, a Man of Courage.

What Courage have I need of, and whom must I encounter?

Sup­pose your Mistress was in the midst of a Wood, which, begirt around with lofty Rocks, was the Receptacle of Tygers and Lions: would you go thither?

I would go more secure and cheerful, than a Country Lass to a Dancing on a Holy-day.

Were she among a Troop of arm'd Thieves, would you go thither?

I would go more willing, and ready, than the thirsty Stag to the Fountain.

A harder Task requires a greater Courage.

I would go through the Midst of rapid Torrents, when the Snow dissolves, and sends them swelling to the Sea, I would go through the Midst of Fire, and into Hell itself, were she but there, if that can be an Hell, which contains so beautiful a Creature. But pri­thee tell me all.

Hear then.

Tell me quickly.

Sylvia waits your coming at a Fountain naked and alone, dare you go thither?

Ah! what do you tell me? Sylvia waits for me naked and alone?

Yes alone, only perhaps Daphne is with her, who is in our Interest.

She waits for me naked!

Naked: But,

Alas! but what? you kill me with your silence.

But she does not know, that you are to come There.

Ah bitter Conclusion! which poisons all the sweets, that went be­fore. With how much Art do you torment me, cruel Man? is it not enough for you that I am unhappy, that you come thus to increase my Misery?

If you will be ruled by me, you shall be happy.

What do you advise me?

To embrace the Opportunity, which kind Fortune pre­sents.

Heaven forbid, that ever I should do any thing to displease her: I have never done any thing yet to displease her, besides loving her, and that was not my Fault, but was forc'd from me by her Beauty; it shall never be said, but that I seek to please her to the utmost of my Power.

Answer me now, if it were in your Power not to love her, would you cease to love her, in order to please her?

My Love will never allow me to say or ever Imagine, that I should cease to love her, though it were in my Power.

You then would love her in spight of her, when it was in your Power to help loving her?

In spight of her! no, but I would love her.

Whether she would or no?

Yes, cer­tainly.

Why then dare you not take, against her Will, that, which though it grieves her at first, will delight and please her in the End, because 'twas taken?

Alas! Thyrsis, let Love answer for me, for I cannot repeat, what he speaks in my Breast, you are too subtle for me by your long Use in reasoning of Love; he who bound my Heart, also ties my Tongue.

Must not we go then?

I'll go, but not where you think.

Where then?

To Death, if you have done no more for me than what you tell me now.

Do you reckon this so little then? do you imagine, you Simpleton, that Daphne would ever have advis'd you to go, if she had not partly dis­cover'd Sylvia's Heart, and perhaps she knows of your coming, and yet is unwilling that any one else should know, that she knows it: now if you desire an express Con­sent from her, don't you perceive, that you desire a Thing that would displease her most? What then is become of your Endea­vour to please her? and if she has a mind that your Delight should be your own Theft or Robbery, and not her Gift or Reward, what signifies it to you, Fool, more one way than the other.

But how shall I be sure that this is her Desire.

Look ye now, you Fool, you are requiring that Certainty, which directly displeases her, and ought to displease her; but what Certainty can you have, that this is not her Desire? now if it was, and you did not go, the Doubt and the Danger are equal. Yet it is better to die like a Brave Man, than a Coward. You are mute, you are overcome, confess now your Defeat, which may prove the Occasion of a greater Victory: come let us go.

Stay.

Stay for what? don't you consider, that Time runs away?

Pray let us think first, what and how to do.

We'll think of the Rest by the Way: He does no Business that thinks too much.

ATTO TERZO. SCENA PRIMA.

ACT the THIRD. SCENE the FIRST.

O Extreme Cruelty! O un­grateful Heart! O un­grateful Maid! O Thrice and more ungrateful Sex; and you, Nature, negli­gent Mistress! wherefore have you plac'd in the Face, and the Out-side of Wo­men, all that is gentle, kind, and courteous in them, and have quite for­got the other Part? Alas! the miserable Wretch has perhaps kill'd himself: he is not to be found; I have been seeking him a­gain and again, for these three Hours, in the Place where I left him, and all there­abouts, I can neither find him, nor the Trace of his Footsteps; alas! he has cer­tainly killed himself. I'll go and ask Tidings of him of those Shepherds that I see yonder. [Page 79] Friends! Have ye seen Aminta, or heard by chance any Tidings of him?

You appear to me somewhat disturb'd: what is the Oc­casion of your Uneasiness? whence proceed that Sweat and Haste of yours? has any Misfortune befallen you? let us know it.

I fear some Misfortune has befallen Aminta, have you seen him?

We have not seen him, since he went away with you a good while ago; but what is your Fear for him?

That he has kill'd himself with his own Hand.

Kill'd himself, for what? what do you guess to be the Reason of it?

Hatred and Love.

What can't Two such powerful Enemies do, when join'd together? But speak more clearly.

Loving a Nymph too well, and being too much Hated by her.

Pray tell us the whole: this Place is a common Path, per­haps in the mean while you'll see somebody, who may tell you some News of him, or perhaps he may come hither himself.

I will tell you willingly, for 'tis not Just that so great and so strange Ingratitude should go without its deserv'd Infamy. Aminta was inform'd (and I, alas! was the Person that told him and conducted him, which now I repent of) that Sylvia was to go with Daphne to Bath herself at a Fountain: Thither he went doubtful and uncertain, not from the Motion of his own Mind, but only through my importunate Encouragment, and was [Page 81] often in suspence, whether he should turn back, and I still urged his going forward: Now when we approach'd the Fountain, we heard the Lamentation of a Woman; and as it were at the same Time we saw Daphne, striking her Hands one against another, who seeing us, rais'd her Voice, and cried, Ah! Run, Sylvia is Ravish'd. The inamour'd Aminta hearing this, flew like a Leopard, and I follow'd him: behold, we saw the Maid fasten'd to a Tree, Naked as she was born, her own Hair serv'd for a Cord to bind her, her own Hair in a Thousand Knots was wreath'd about the Tree; and her beautiful Girdle, which was before the Guardian of her Virgin Breast, became an Instrument in her Ravishment, and bound both her Hands to the hard Trunk: The Tree itself afforded Fetters to bind her, for the Twigs of a pliant Bough were twisted round both her tender Legs. Before her stood a villanous Satyr, we saw him, who had just then bound her. She made as great Resistance as she could, but in length of Time what could she have done? Aminta, with a Dart, which he held in his Right-Hand, rush'd upon the Satyr like a Lion, and I, in the mean while, fill'd my Lap with Stones; whereat he fled: As the other's Flight gave him Time to look, he turn'd his greedy Eyes on those beautiful Limbs, [Page 83] which trembl'd like the unpress'd Curds, and appear'd as delicate and white: and I saw him all inflam'd at the Sight: after that he softly accosted her with modest Looks, and said: O, lovely Sylvia! pardon these Hands for daring to approach thy beautiful Limbs, since hard Necessity obliges them; Necessity to unloose those Bands of yours; neither let this Favour, which Fortune is willing to grant them, cause your Displea­sure.

Words that might soften a Heart of Stone, but what did she answer then?

She answer'd nothing, but disdainful and blushing, she inclin'd her Face towards the Earth, and conceal'd her delicate Bo­som, as much as she could, by bending. He standing before her began to disintangle her beautiful Hair, and said the while: This rugged Trunk was not worthy of such lovely Knots; now what Advantage have the Votaries of Love; if those precious Chains are common to them and the Plants? Cruel Tree, could'st thou injure that lovely Hair, which did thee so much Honour? Then with his Hands he untied her Hands in such a Manner, that he seem'd afraid to touch them, and yet at the same Time de­sir'd it; after that he stoop'd down to un­tie her Feet. But, as Sylvia saw that her own Hands were at Liberty, she said, with a disdainful Air, Shepherd, touch me not: I am Diana's: I can unbind my Feet my [Page 85] self.

Could such Pride be harbour'd in the Breast of a Maid? alas! ungrateful Return to a gracious Action.

He withdrew with Reverence; not so much as daring to raise his Eyes to look on her; de­nying himself his own Pleasure, that he might rid her of the Trouble of denying it. I, who was hid hard by, and saw and heard the whole, was ready to upbraid her, but that I curb'd my self. Hear now a strange Thing. When, with much trouble, she had loos'd herself, she was scarce free, before, without saying so much as Adieu, she be­gan to fly like a Deer; tho' she had no Reason to be afraid, after such a Trial of Aminta's Respect.

Why then did she fly?

Because she would be oblig'd to her own Flight; and not to the modest Love of another.

And in this she is still more Ungrateful. But what did the wretched Aminta do then, or what did he say?

I can't tell, for full of Anger I ran to overtake her, and detain her, but in vain, for I soon lost her: then returning to the Fountain, where I left Aminta, I found him not: But my Heart presages some Evil. I know that he was disposed to Die before this happen'd.

It is the Custom and the Art of every one that is in Love, to threaten his own Death, but the Effect very seldom follows.

Heavens grant that he mayn't be one of those rare Ones.

He won't [Page 87] be, no.

I'll go to the Cave of Sage Elpin, there, if he is alive, perhaps he is re­treated; where he is often wont to solace his most bitter Pains with the sweet sound of his melodious Pipe, which draws the listning Rocks from the steep Mountains, causeth Rivers to flow with pure Milk; and distills Honey from our hard Trees.

SCENA SECONDA.

SCENE the SECOND.

TRULY uncompassionate was your Compassion, Daphne, when you held back the Dart; because my Death will be the more bitter, the more it is delay'd. And now, why do you perplex me in vain with such different Designs, and va­rious Discourses? What are you afraid of? lest I should Kill myself? You are afraid of my Happiness.

Don't despair, A­minta, for if I know her well, 'twas only Modesty, and not Cruelty, that mov'd Syl­via to fly from thee.

Alas! that De­spair should be my only Refuge, since Hope alone has proved my Ruin: and yet, alas! Hope still struggles to revive within my Breast, only to bid me live; and what can be a greater Evil than Life to such a Wretch, as I am?

Live, unhappy Aminta! [Page 89] live in your Misery; and support this Con­dition to be made one Day happy; and when that Time comes, may those Charms which you saw in the fair Naked one, if you maintain yourself in Life and Hope, be the Reward of your Hope.

Love and my hard Fate thought not my Misery com­pleat enough; but that they must shew me, to encrease it still, that, which was denied me.

Must I be then the Raven, sini­ster Messenger of most bitter Tidings? O! for ever unfortunate Montanus! How great will your Grief be, when you shall hear of the hard Mischance of your only Sylvia? Poor, old, unhappy, childless Father; a Father now no more.

I hear a sad lamenting Voice.

I hear the Name of Sylvia, which strikes through my Ears and Heart: but who is that, that names Her?

'Tis Nerina, that gentle Nymph, who is so Dear to Diana; who has such lovely Eyes and fair Hands, and so becoming and graceful a Behaviour.

And yet he must know it, that he may endeavour to find the unhappy Relicks, if any remain: Alas! poor Sylvia, alas! your hard unhappy Fate.

Ah me! what is the Matter, what does She say?

Oh! Daphne.

Why do you speak to yourself, and name Sylvia thus Sighing?

Alas! It is with Reason that I sigh for her hard Misfortune.

Ah! what Misfortune [Page 91] can she be speaking of? I seel, I feel, that my Heart is all frozen, and my Breath stopp'd. Does she Live?

Speak, what is this unhappy Accident you talk of?

O Heavens! must I be then the Mes­senger? and yet I must relate it. Sylvia came to my Cottage Naked; and what was the occasion of it, you perhaps may best know; When she was dress'd again, she desir'd me to go to the Chace with her, which was appointed in the Grove, that's called the Grove of Oaks. I comply'd with her: we went, and there we found a great many Nymphs assembled together; and within a little while, behold, I know not from whence, there rush'd out a Wolf, of a pro­digious size; from his Jaws distill'd a bloody Foam. Sylvia fitted an Arrow to the string of her Bow, which I gave her; let fly at him, and hit him on the Top of the Head: He made into the Wood again, and Sylvia brandish­ing her Dart, pursu'd him thither.

Oh! sorrowful Beginning; what Conclusion does it promise?

I, with another Dart, follow'd the same Track, but far behind; because I set out later. When they came into the Wood, I lost Sight of them; but I follow'd their Foot-steps so far, till I came into the thickest, and most soli­tary Part of the Wood: There I saw the Dart of Sylvia on the Ground, and not far from thence a white Veil, which I myself [Page 93] had bound about her Hair: the mean while, looking about me, I saw Seven Wolves, which were licking some Blood from the Earth, which was sprinkl'd about some naked Bones; 'twas my good Fortune, that I was not perceiv'd by them, they were so intent upon their Feeding: so that I return'd back, full of Fear and Compassion; and this is all I can tell you of Sylvia: See, here is the Veil.

Think you, you have said but little? O Veil! O Blood! O Sylvia! thou art Dead.

Poor Youth, he Dies with Grief; alas! He's Dead.

No, he breathes a little still; it may only be a short Trance: See, he recovers.

Oh Grief! why dost thou thus Torment me? and wilt not end me; slow thou art, likely because thou leavest the Work to my own Hand: I am, I am content that my own Hand shall take that Office; since either thou refusest, or can'st not perform it: Alas! if nothing is now wanting to the Certainty, and nothing wanting to the Extremity of my Misery, why do I linger? what can I more expect! O Daphne! Daphne! to what End, to what bitter End have you reserv'd me? Pleasant and Sweet had been my Death then, when I would have kill'd myself; but you denied me that, and Heaven too, which knew that I should by my Death have pre­vented that Misery, it had prepared for me. [Page 95] But now it has inflicted upon me, the Ex­tremity of its Cruelty, it will suffer me to Die, and you ought also to give me leave.

Wait, before your Death, till the Truth be better known.

Alas! what would you have me wait? Alas! I have waited too long, and heard too much.

Ah! would I had been Dumb.

I be­seech you Nymph give me that Veil, the sad and only Remainder of her; that it may accompany me in this short Space of Way and Life which is yet remaining to me; and by its Presence encrease that Martyrdom, which indeed would be no Mar­tyrdom, if I wanted any thing more to help me to Die.

Ought I to give it, or deny it; the Reason why he asks makes it my Duty to deny it.

Cruel Nymph! do you deny me so small a Gift in my last Extremity? and in this my Fate shews it self still more Malicious. I yield, I yield, may it remain with you, and stay ye also, I go never to return again.

Stay, A­minta, hear me; Alas! with what Fury he parts from us.

He runs so swiftly, that 'twould be in vain to follow him; my best way is to go on my Journey; and per­haps it would be better for me to hold my Peace, and say nothing to the unhappy Montanus.

ATTO QUARTO. SCENA PRIMA.

ACT the FOURTH. SCENE the FIRST.

MAY the Wind bear a­way all your Evils, both present and future; to­gether with the ill News, that was lately spread concerning you: you are Alive, and in Health, Heaven be prais'd: and e'en just now I thought you Dead; in such Manner had Nerina represented your Mischance: Alas! would she had been Dumb, or some one that heard her Deaf.

Truly my Danger was great, and She had just Reason to suspect that I was Dead.

But She had not just Reason to say so: tell me now, What was your Danger, and how did you escape it?

In following a Wolf, I entred so far into the profound Thicket of a Wood, that I lost his Track; and as I was seeking to return, whence I came, I [Page 101] saw him, and knew him again by the Ar­row, with which I had wounded him with my own Hand, near the Ear; I saw him, with many others, round the Body of a Beast, which he had newly slain: but I could not distinguish by the Shape, what Beast it was. The wounded Wolf, I suppose, knew me, and came towards me with his bloody Mouth. I waited for him Courageously, and in my Right-Hand brandish'd a Dart; you well know, that I am expert at Hitting the Mark, and that I am not us'd to aim a Blow in vain: now when I saw him near me, and the Distance seem'd proper for the Blow, I lanc'd a Dart, but in vain: for, either through Fortune's Fault, or Mine, instead of him, I hit a Tree; and then he came towards me fiercer, than before; and I, who saw him so near me, that I thought it in vain to use my Bow, having no other Arms, betook myself to Flight; away I ran, and he delay'd not to follow me. Hear now, what happen'd: A Veil, which I had bound about my Hair, was half undone, and flew loose in the Wind, till at length it had wound itself about a Bough: I felt that something detain'd, and retarded me: but, through the Fear of Death, I redoubl'd my Strength in running, and on the other Hand the Bough would not yield, and let me go: at length I disengag'd myself from my Veil, and left behind me some of my [Page 103] Hair that was pluck'd off with it, and Fear so furnish'd my running Feet with Wings, that he did not overtake me, and I came safe out of the Wood. Returning home, I found you quite Amaz'd, and was Surprised myself, to see you surprised at my Appearance.

Alas! You live; another does not.

What do you say? are you sorry then, that I am Alive? Do you hate me so much?

I am glad that you are Alive, but grieve at another's Death.

Whose Death do you mean?

The Death of Aminta.

Alas! Is he then Dead? How can that be!

How, I cannot tell, nor yet can tell, whether the Fact be true, but I believe it firmly.

What's this, you tell me? To what do you ascribe the occasion of his Death?

To your Death.

I don't understand you.

The sad News of your Death, which he credited, brought him to the Noose, the Sword, or something else, which has prov'd his Death.

Your Suspicion of his Death will be as vain, as that of mine: for every one, to the utmost of his Power, en­deavours to save his Life.

O Sylvia! Syl­via! you neither can conceive, nor believe, how much the Fire of Love can do within a Breast, a Breast of Flesh, and not of Stone, as thine is: for, if you had believ'd it, you would have lov'd him, who lov'd you, more than the Apples of his Eyes, or the Breath of his Life: for my Part, I believe [Page 105] it, nay, I have seen it and know it; I saw him, when you ran away, (O more Savage than the cruel Tyger) and at that time, when you ought rather to have embrac'd him, I saw him point a Dart towards himself, and press it to his Breast, despairing and unre­penting of the Action; through his Gar­ments and his Skin it pass'd, and was dy'd in his Blood, and the Steel would have en­ter'd within, and pierc'd that Heart, which you had pierc'd more cruelly, had not I held his Arm, and hinder'd it from going farther: Alas! that slight Wound was per­haps only a Proof of his Fury, and his de­sparing Constancy, and shew'd the Way to the Daring Steel, which afterward it was to follow more freely.

Alas! What do you tell me!

I saw him afterwards, when he heard the most bitter News of your Death, faint away with Grief, and then furiously depart in hast, to kill himself, and he has kill'd himself most certainly.

And do you really believe it?

I don't at all doubt it.

Alas! Why did you not follow him, and prevent him! Ah! let us go and seek him; for since he dies, because of my Death, because I am alive, he ought to Live.

I follow'd him, but he ran so swiftly, that soon he got out of sight, and in vain afterwards I sought his Steps: Now where will you seek him out, without any Track to follow him?

Alas! he'll Die if we don't find him out, and will be his own De­stroyer.

Cruel! perhaps you grieve, that he should take from you the Honour of that Action; would you then have been his Murtheress? and think you, that his Cruel Death ought not to be the Work of any other Hand, but your own? Comfort yourself, for in what Manner soever he dies, he dies for you, and you are the Person, that kills him.

Ah! how you afflict me, and that Grief, which I feel for his Misfortune, is embitter'd by the Memory of my Cruelty, which I call'd Honour; and so indeed it was, but it was too severe, and rigorous. Now I perceive it, and repent.

What do I hear? Are you Compassionate, and do you feel within your Heart any Breath of Pity? Oh! What do I see! Do you Weep, proud Maid? Oh! Wonder! What Tears are these? Tears of Love?

Not Tears of Love, but of Pity.

Pity is the Forerunner of Love, as Lightning is of Thunder.

Nay oftentimes, when Love has a Mind to steal into a Virgin's Breast, whence he was before excluded by severe Honour, he takes the Habit and the Shape of his Servant and Messenger, Pity, and with such disguise de­ceiving the Simple, he gets Possession with­in their Breast.

These are the Tears of Love, they flow so fast: What! Are you silent? Do you love, Sylvia? You love, but in vain. Oh! the Power of Love, which inflicts on her a just Chastise­ment. [Page 109] Unhappy Aminta! you, like a Bee, which Dies, as he strikes, and leaves his Life in another's Wound; have at length pierc'd that hard Heart, which you never could do, when you was alive. Now if thou, wandring Spirit, free'd from thy Body, wanderest here-about (as I believe) look on her Tears and rejoice. Loving in Life, belov'd in Death! and, if it was thy De­stiny, to be belov'd in Death, and if this Cruel Maid was resolv'd to sell thee her Love at so dear a Price, thou hast given that Price, which she requir'd, and thou hast bought her Love with thy Death.

A dear Price to him that pays it; but to the Receiver useless and infamous.

Oh! Could I with my Love purchase his Life; nay, with my own Life purchase his, if he is Dead.

O! Wise and Com­passionate too late, when nothing will avail.

SCENA SECONDA.

SCENE the SECOND.

MY Breast is so full of Compassion and Horror, that, where-ever I turn, all I look on, and all I hear, affrights and afflicts me.

What News does this Man bring, who appears so troubl'd in his [Page 109] [...] [Page 111] Looks, and in his Speech?

I bring the sad News of Aminta's Death.

Alas! what says he?

The noblest Shepherd of these Woods, who was so gen­teel, and comely, so dear to the Nymphs, and to the Muses, is Dead in the Prime of his Youth; Alas! by what sort of Death!

I beseech you tell us the Whole, that we may lament, and condole with you, his Misfortune, and our own.

Alas! I dare not approach to hear that, which yet I am forc'd to hear; cruel Heart! hard Heart of Stone! what art thou afraid of now? Go boldly on, against those killing Weapons, which that Man carries on his Tongue, and there display thy Fierceness. Shepherd, I come to share the Grief, you bring to all of us; for it concerns me, more than you are aware of; I receive it as my Due, don't then withhold it from me.

Nymph, I believe you, for just upon his Death, I heard the Wretch, with his last Breath, still calling on your Name.

Come on, begin the lamentable Sto­ry.

I was upon the Middle of you Hill, where I had spread abroad some Nets of mine, when I saw Aminta pass by me, in Face and Action much chang'd from [Page 113] what he us'd to be, confus'd and cloudy in his Looks. I ran so fast, that I over­took and stay'd him; he said to me, Ergast­us, I desire a Favour of you, which is, that you would come with me, to bear Witness of a certain Deed of mine: but I would have you first bind your Faith to me, with a strict Oath, that you will keep at a distance, and not stretch your Hand, to hinder me in that, which I am about to do. I (for who would have thought of so strange an Accident, and so desperate a Madness!) as he desired me, made horrible Protestations, invoking Pan, and Pales, Priapus, Pomona, and nightly Hecate. Then he went on, and conducted me, not by any Path, for there was no Path there, but through the wild Rocky Passages of the craggy Mountain, where a Precipice falls into a Valley. There we stood, I, looking down, found my self struck with Horror, and soon shrunk back: and he seem'd to smile a little, and look serenely, which Action made me less mistrust him, and spoke to me thus: See that you tell the Nymphs, and Shepherds, what you shall be­hold, then looking down, he said, could I have here, as ready to my Will, the Throats and Teeths of greedy Wolves as I have these Precipices, I would not die of any other Death, than she did who was my Life: I would that these my miserable [Page 115] Limbs, should be torn. [...]as! as her deli­cate Ones were. Since I can't have this, and Heaven denies to my Wishes those voracious Animals, who would come very opportunely now, I am content to Die some other Way: I'll choose that Way, which, though it ben't the proper one, yet how­ever is the shortest: Sylvia, I follow you, I come to bear you Company if you don't disdain me: and I should die content, were I but sure, that my following you, would not disquiet you, and that your Hate was ended with your Life: Sylvia, I follow you; I come. This said, he threw himself Head­long from the Precipice, and I turn'd all to Ice at the Sight.

Unhappy Aminta.

Ah me.

Why didn't you prevent him? perhaps the Oath you had made, hindered you from detaining him.

My Oath, no; for not regarding Oaths (which perhaps are invalid in such a Case) when I perceiv'd his desperate and cruel Design, I ran thither with my Hand; and, [Page 117] as his hard Fate would have it, seiz'd him by that Girdle of Taffety which was round him; which (being too weak to sustain the Force, and the Weight of his Body, which rested all upon it,) remain torn in my Hand.

And what became of the un­happy Corpse?

I know not, for I was so full of Horror and Pity, that my Heart would not suffer me to look again, to behold him dasht to Pieces.

O strange Accident!

Alas! sure I am made of Stones, because this News does not dispatch me: Ah! if the false reported Death, of one who hated him so much, has taken away his Life! good Reason were it that the real Death of him, who lov'd me so much, should take away my Life: And I am resolv'd it shall do so; and if it can't with Grief, yet it shall by the Sword, or with this Girdle; which, not without Reason, did not follow the Ruins of its sweet Master; but remains only to revenge on me my cruel Rigour, and his bitter End. O Girdle, unhappy Girdle, of a more un­happy Master, don't disdain, to remain in so odious a Place, since you remain only to be an Instrument of Revenge and of Punish­ment. [Page 119] I ought certainly, I ought to have been in this World, the Companion of un­happy Aminta. But since I would not be so, I will be, by thy Assistance, his Com­panion in the World below.

Be com­forted unhappy Maid, for 'tis Fortune's Fault, not Yours.

Shepherds, where­fore do you Weep? if you are sorry at my Grief, I don't deserve Compassion, who knew not how to use it myself; if you la­ment the Death of the miserable Innocent, this is too small an Expression of Grief for so great an Occasion: And you, Daphne, for Heaven's sake, dry up your Tears, if I am the Cause of them; but I must request you, not out of Compassion to me, but to him who was worthy of your Compassion, to assist me in seeking, and burying the unhap­py Body. 'Tis that alone which keeps me from killing myself this very Moment: I will do this last Office for him, since there remains no other for me to do in Recom­pence of the Love which he bore me; and though this Cruel Hand, might blemish the Piety of the Deed; yet I know, that what [Page 121] ever is done by this Hand, will be grateful to him: for I know certainly he loves me still, as he has shewn, by Dying for me.

I am content to assist you in this Office; but think no more of Dying after you have done it.

Till now I have liv'd only to myself, and my own Cruelty: for what Time I have left I'll live to Aminta: and if I can't to him, I'll live to his cold unhap­py Body. So long and no longer will I stay in the World, and then end at the same Time his Obsequies, and my Life. Shepherd, what way leads to that Valley, that lies at the Foot of the Precipice.

That Way leads thither, and 'tis not very far from hence.

Let us go, I'll go with you and shew you the Way, for I well re­member the Place.

Adieu Shepherds, Mountains adieu, adieu ye Woods and Ri­vers, adieu.

She speaks in such Man­ner, as shews that she is dispos'd to take her last Farewel.

ATTO QUINTO. SCENA PRIMA.

ACT the FIFTH. SCENE the FIRST.

DOUBTLESS the Law, whereby Love eternally governs his Empire, is neither hard nor unjust; and Men wrongfully con­demn those Works of his, which are full of Providence, and Mystery. O! with what Art, and by what unknown Paths, he con­ducts a Man to Happiness, and places him amidst the Joys of his amorous Paradise, when he thinks himself at the lowest Pitch of Misery. Behold, Aminta by his fall ascends to the Top, and Summit of all De­light. O Fortunate Aminta! by so much the more Happy now, as you was Miserable before. Now your Example gives me also Hopes, that some time or other, the Cruel Fair one, who, under a friendly Smile, [Page 127] conceals the fatal Dagger of her Cruelty, will with real Pity heal the Wounds, which she has made in my Heart, by a pretended one.

He, who comes yonder, is the wise Elpin, and he speaks of Aminta, as if he was Alive, calling him Happy and Fortu­nate. O hard Condition of Lovers! Per­haps he thinks him a fortunate Lover, who Dies, and at length finds Pity in the Heart of his Nymph after he is dead; and this he calls the Paradise of Love, and hopes the same to himself. With what slender Re­ward does the Winged-God content his Ser­vants? Are you then, Elpin, in such mise­rable State your self, as to call the un­happy Death of wretched Aminta, fortunate? Would you be content with the same Fate?

Cheer up, my Friends, the Report, which came to you of his Death, is false.

How comfortable to us is that News which you relate, is it not true then that he leapt from the Precipice?

That's very true indeed, but the Precipice was Propitious to him, and under the sad Image of Death reach'd out to him Life and Joy. He is at this Time lying close on the Bo­som of his beloved Nymph, who is by so much the more Compassionate now, as she was Cruel before; and she's wiping the Tears off his Eyes with her Mouth: and I am going to find out Montanus her Father, to conduct him where they are; for 'tis on­ly [Page 129] his Consent, which is wanting, and which prolongs the Accomplishment of their mu­tual Wishes.

Their Age, their Birth, and their Desire agree; and good Montanus is desirous of having Posterity, and arming his old Age with so sweet a Guard; so that he'll make their Consent his own. But pray tell us, Elpin, what God, what For­tune preserv'd Aminta in his dangerous Fall from the Precipice?

I am content, hear me, hear what I saw with my own Eyes; I stood before my Cave which lies near the Valley, and at the Foot of the Hill, where the lowest Declivity makes a shelving Lap. There I was discoursing with Thyrsis, about her, who in the same Snare, first took and Captivated him, and afterwards me: and preferring my sweet Servitude to his Escape, and State of Free­dom, when a Shreek drew our Eyes up­wards, and all in an instant we saw a Man fall from the Summit, and light upon a Thicket: There grows on the side of the Hill, a little above us, a large Tuft of Plants and Thorns, and other Boughs, closely Join'd together, and Interwoven with each other; thereon he fell, before he struck on any other Place, and though he made Way through them with his Weight, and fell down to the Ground before our Feet, yet that Stop so abated the Force of the Fall, that it prov'd not Mortal; how­ever [Page 131] it was so dangerous, that he lay an Hour or more quite Stunn'd and out of his Senses. We knowing him, were struck Dumb with Pity at the unexpected sight; but perceiving that he was not Dead, and perhaps not like to Die, we moderated our Grief. Then Thyrsis gave me a full Ac­count of his Secret and Tormenting Love: But while we endeavour'd to revive him by different Means, having at the same Time sent for Alfesibeus, whom Phoebus taught the Art of Physick, when he gave me the Lute and the Lyre, Daphne and Sylvia came up together to us; who (as I heard since) were coming to search for the Body, which they suppos'd Dead. But when Sylvia knew and saw the beautiful tender Cheeks of Aminta discolour'd, like the Violet, which looks so sweetly Pale, and saw him languishing in such a Manner, that his Soul seem'd to be breathing out in his last Sighs; She, like a Bacchanal, crying and beating her Breast, let herself fall upon his Body, and Join'd Face to Face, and Mouth to Mouth.

Did not Modesty then retain her, who is so Severe and Coy?

Modesty may re­strain a feeble Passion, but 'tis too weak a Curb for Powerful Love: She, as if she had a Fountain in her Eyes, began to bath his [Page 133] cold Face with her Tears, and that Water was of so great Vertue that he reviv'd, and opening his Eyes, sigh'd forth a dolo­rous Alas! from the Bottom of his Breast. But that Alas! which parted bitter from the Heart, met the Breath of his Dear Sylvia; and being caught by her sweet Mouth, was all of sudden Sweeten'd there. Who can express the Condition of both the Lovers at that Time? When one was as­sur'd of the others Life, and Aminta assur'd of the Love of his Nymph, and found him­self close within her Arms. He that is a Servant of Love may from himself imagin it, but none else can conceive it, much less ex­press it.

Is Aminta so well then, that he is in no Danger of his Life?

Amin­ta is safe and sound, he has only Scratch'd his Face a little, and somewhat Bruis'd himself, but it will be nothing; and he does not value it: Happy is he who has given so great Proof of his Love, and now tastes its Sweets; to which extreme Grief and Danger give a sweet and delightful Relish. But, Adieu, I'll go on my way, to find out Montanus.