The Tragedie of Phillis, complaining of the disloyall Loue of Amyntas.
To a pleasant new Court Tune.
AMyntas on a Summers day,
to shunne Apollo's beames,
Was driuing of his flockes away,
to taste some cooling streames,
And through a Forrest as he went,
vnto a riuer side,
A voice which from a groue was sent
inuited him to bide.
The voyce well seem'd for to bewray
some mal-contented minde:
For oft times did he heare it say,
Ten thousand times vnkind,
The remnant of that raged mone,
did all escape his eare:
For euery word brought forth a grone,
and euery grone a teare.
And neerer when he did repaire,
both face and voyce he knew:
He saw that Phillis was come there,
her plaints for to renew.
Thus leauing her vnto her plaints,
and sorrow-flaking grones:
He heard her deadly discontents,
thus all breake foorth at once.
Amyntas, is my loue to thee,
of such a light account,
That thou disdainest to looke on me,
or loue as thou wast wont?
Were those the oathes that thou didst make,
the vowes thou didst conceiue,
When I for thy contentments sake,
mine hearts delight did leaue?
How oft didst thou protest to me,
the heauens should turne to nought,
The Sunne should first obscured be,
er'e thou wouldst change thy though [...]?
Then Heauen, dissolue without delay,
Sunne shew thy face no more:
Amyntas loue is lost for aye,
and woe is me therefore.
Well might I, if I had beene wise,
foreseene what now I finde:
But two much loue did fill mine eyes,
and made my iudgement blind:
But ah, alas: th'effect doth proue,
thy drifts were but deceit,
For true and vndissembled loue,
will neuer turne to hate.
All thy behauiours were (God knowes)
too smooth and too discreet:
Like Sugar which impoysoned growes,
suspect because it's sweet:
Thine oathes & vowes did promise more,
their well thou couldst performe,
Much like a calme that comes before
an vnsuspected storme.
God knowes, it would not grieue me much,
for to be kill'd for thee:
But oh: too neere it doth me touch,
that thou shouldst murther me:
God knowes, I care not for the paine
can come for want of breath:
'Tis thy vnkindnesse cruell swaine,
that grieues me to the death.
Amyntas, tell me, if thou may,
if any fault of mine,
Hath giuen thee cause thus to betray
mine hearts delight and thine?
No, no, alas, it could not be,
my loue to thee was such,
Vnlesse if that I vrged thee,
in louing thee too much.
But ah, alas, what doe I gaine,
by these my fond complaints?
My dolour double thy disdaine,
my griefe thy ioy augments:
Although it yeeld no greater good,
if oft doth [...]ase my mind:
For to reproach the ingratitude
of him who is vnkind.
With that, her hand, cold, wan, and pale,
vpon her brest she laies:
And seeing that her breath did faile,
she sighes, and then she sayes,
Amyntas, and with that pooremaid,
shee sigh'd againe full sore:
That after that she neuer said,
nor sigh'd, nor breath'd no more.
FINIS.
Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke.