Hymen's Triumph

HYMENSTRIVMPH.A paſtorall tragicomædie. Preſented at the Queenes court in theStrand at her Maieſties magnificent entertainement of the Kings moſtexcellent Maieſtie, being at the nuptials of the LordRoxborough.

BySamvelDaniel.

LondonImprinted for FrancisConſtable,and are to bee ſold at his ſhop in Pauls Church-yard at the ſigneof the white Lyon. 1615.

TOTHE MOST EXCELLENT MAIESTIE OF THE HIGHEST borne-Princeſſe, Anneof Denmark, Queene of England, Scotland, France and Ireland

HEre,what your ſacred influence begat

(Moſtlou’d, and moſt reſpected Maieſtie)

Withhumble heart, and hand, I conſecrate

Vntothe glory of your memorie:

Asbeing a piece of that ſolemnitie,

Whichyour Magnificence did celebrate

Inhallowing of thoſe roofes (you rear’d of late)

Withfires and chearefull hoſpitalitie

Whereby,and by your ſplendent Worthines

Yourname ſhal longer liue then ſhal your walles,

For,that faire ſtructure goodneſſe finiſhes,

Bearesoff all change of times, and neuer falles.

Andthat is it hath let you in ſo farre

Intothe heart of England as you are.

Andworthily, for, neuer yet was Queene

Thatmore a peoples loue hath merited

Byall good graces, and by hauing been

Themeanes our State ſtands faſt eſtabliſhed

Andbleſt by your bleſt wombe, who are this day

Thehigheſt borne Queene of Europe, and alone

Hauebrought this land more bleſſings euery way,

Thenall the daughters of ſtrange Kings haue done.

For,we by you no claimes, no quarrels haue,

Nofactions, no betraying of affaires:

Youdoe not ſpend our blood, nor ſtates, but ſaue:

Youſtrength vs by alliance, and your haires.

Notlike thoſe fatall marriages of France,

Forwhom this kingdome hath ſo dearely paid,

Whichonely our afflictions did aduance:

Andbrought vs farre more miſeries, then aid.

RenownedDenmark, that haſt furniſhed

Theworld with Princes, how much doe we owe

Tothee for this great good thou diſt beſtow,

Wherebywe are both bleſt, and honoured?

Thoudidſt not ſo much hurt vs heretofore

Butnow thou haſt rewarded vs farre more.

Butwhat doe I on this high ſubiect fall

Here,in the front of this low Paſtorall?

Thisa more graue, and ſpacious roome requires

Toſhew your glorie, and my deepe deſires.

YourMaieſties moſt humble ſeruant

SamvelDaniel.

ThePrologue.

Hymenoppoſed by Auarice, Enuie, and Iealouſie the diſturbers of quietmarriage, firſt enters.

Hym.INthis diſguiſe and Paſtorall attire,

Withoutmy ſaffron robe, without my torch,

Orother enſignes of my duty:

IHymenam come hither ſecretly,

Tomake Arcadiaſee a worke of glorie,

Thatſhall deſerue an euerlaſting ſtorie.

  Here,ſhall I bring you two the moſt entire

Andconſtant louers that were euer ſeene,

Fromout the greateſt ſuffrings of anoy

Thatfortune could inflict, to their full ioy:

Whereinno wilde, no rude, no antique ſport,

Buttender paſſions, motions ſoft, and graue,

Theſtill ſpectators maſt expect to haue.

  For,theſe are onely Cynthiasrecreatiues

Madevnto Phoebus,and are feminine;

Andtherefore muſt be gentle like to her,

Whoſeſweet affections mildely mooue and ſtir.

  Andhere, with this white wand, will I effect

Asmuch, as with my flaming torch of Loue:

Andwith the power thereof, affections mooue

Intheſe faire nymphes, and ſhepheards round about.

Enuie.Stay Hymen,ſtay; you ſhall not haue the day

Ofthis great glorie, as you make account:

Wewill herein, as we were euer wont,

Oppoſeyou in the matches you addreſſe,

Andvndermine them with diſturbances.

Hym.Now, doe thy worſt, baſe Enuie,thou canſt doe,

Thouſhalt not diſappoint my purpoſes.

Auarice.Then will I, Hymen,in deſpite of thee,

Iwill make Parents croſſe deſires of loue,

Withthoſe reſpects of wealth, as ſhall diſſolue

Theſtrongeſt knots of kindeſt faithfulneſſe.

Hym.Hence, greedy Auarice;I know thou art

Ahagge, that do’ſt bewitch the mindes of men:

Yetſhalt thou haue no powre at all herein.

Iealouſie.Then will I, Hymen,doe thou what thou canſt;

Iwill ſteale cloſely into linked hearts;

Andſhake their veines with colde diſtruſtfulneſſe;

Andeuer keepe them waking in their feares,

Withſpirits, which their imagination reares.

Hym.Diſquiet Iealouſie,vile furie, thou

Thatart the ougly monſter of the minde,

Auant,be gone, thou ſhalt haue nought to doe

Inthis faire worke of ours, nor euermore

Canſtenter there, where honour keepes the doore.

  Andtherefore hideous furies, get you hence,

Thisplace is ſacred to integritie,

Andcleane deſires: your ſight moſt loathſome is

Vntoſowell diſpos’d a companie.

Thereforebe gone, I charge you by my powre,

Wemuſt haue nothing in Arcadia, ſowre.

Enuie.Hymen,thou canſt not chaſe vs ſo away,

For,looke how long as thou mak’ſt marriages,

ſolong will we produce incumbrances.

Andwe will in the ſame diſguiſe, as thou,

Mixevs among theſe ſhepheards, that we may

Effectour worke the better, being vnknowne;

For,ills ſhew other faces then their owne.

TheSpeakers.

Thyrſis.

Palaemon,friend to Thyrſis.

Clarindo,Siluiadiſguiſed, the beloued of Thyrſis,ſuppoſed to be ſlaine by wild beaſts.

Cloris,a Nymph whom Clarindoſerued, and in loue with Thyrſis.

Phillis,in loue with Clarindo.

Montanus,in loue with Phillis.

Lidia,Nurſe to Phillis.

Dorcas.        Forreſters.

Siluanns.

Medorus,father to Siluia.

Charinus,father to Thyrſis.

Chorusof Shepheards.

ACT.I. SCEN. I.

Thirſis.Palaemon.

SOto be reft of all the ioyes of life,

Howis it poſſible Palaemon,I

Shouldeuer more a thought retaine

Ofthe leaſt comfort vpon earth againe?

No,I would hate this heart, that hath receiu’d

Sodeepe a wound, if it ſhould euer come

Tobe recur’d, or would permit a roome

Tolet in any other thing then griefe.

Pal.But Thirſisyou muſt tel me what is the cauſe?

Thi.Think but what cauſe I haue; whē hauing paſs’d

Theheates, the colds, the trem bling agonieſ

Offeares, and hopes, and all the ſtrange aſſaultſ

Ofpaſſion, that a tender heart could feele

Inthe attempt, and purſuite of his loue.

Andthen to be vndone, when all was done,

Toperiſh in the hauen, after all

ThoſeOcean ſuffrings, and euen then to haue

Myhopefull Nuptiall bed, turn’d to a graue.

Pal.Good Thirſisby what meanes, I pray thee tell

Thi.Tell thee? alas Palaemon,how can I tell

Andliue? doeſt thou not ſee theſe fields haue loſt

Theirglory, ſince that time Siluia was loſt?

Siluia,that onely deckt, that onely made

Arcadiaſhine; Siluiawho was (ah woe the while)

Somiſerablierent from off the world.

Sorapt away, as that no ſigne of her,

Nopeece was left to tell vs by what meanes:

Safeonely this poore remnant of her vaile,

Alltorne,and this deere locke of her rent haire;

Whichholy reliques here I keepe with me,

Theſad memorials of her diſmall fate.

Whoſure deuoured was vpon the ſhore

Byravenous beaſts, as ſhe was walking there

Alone,it ſeemes; perhaps in ſeeking me

Orels retir’d to meditate apart

Theſtorie of our loues, and heauie ſmart.

Pal.This is no newes, you tell, of Siluiasdeath.

Thatwas long ſince: why ſhold you waile her now?

Thi.Long ſince Palaemon?thinke you any length

Oftime can euer haue a powre to make

Aheart of fleſh not mourne, not grieue, not pine?

Thatknows, that feels, that thinks as much as mine

Pal.But Thirſis,you know how her father meant

Tomatch her with Alexis,and a day

Tocelebrate the nuptials was prefixt.

Thi.True, he had ſuch a purpoſe, but in vaine,

Asoh it was beſt knowne vnto vs twaine.

Andhence it grew that gaue vs both our feares,

Thatmade our meeting ſtealth, our parting teares.

Hencewas it, that with many a ſecret wile,

Weerob’d our lookes th’onlookers to beguile

Thiswas the cauſe, oh miſerable cauſe,

Thatmade her by her ſelfe to ſtray alone,

Whichels God knowes, ſhe neuer ſhold haue done.

Forhad our libertie as open beene,

Aswas our loues, Siluiahad not beene ſeene

Withouther Thirſis,neuer had we gone

Buthand in hand, nor euer had miſchance

Tookevs aſunder; ſhee had alwaies had

Mybodie interpoſ’d betwixt all harmeſ

Andher. But ah we had our libertie

Laidfaſt in priſon when our loues were free.

Pa.But how knowſt thou her loue was ſuch to thee?

Thi.How do I know the ſun, the day from night?

Pal.Womens affections doe like flaſhes proue,

Theyoft ſhew paſſion when they feele ſmall loue.

Thir.Ah do not ſo prophane that precious ſexe,

WhichI muſt euer reuerence for her ſake,

Whowas the glorie of her kinde; whoſe heart

Inall her actions ſo tranſparant waſ

AsI might ſee it cleere and wholly myne,

Alwayesobſeruing truth in one right line.

Howoft hath ſhe bene vrg’d by fathers threats,

Byfriends perſwaſions, and Alexisſighs,

Andteares and prayers, to admit his loue,

Yetneuer could be wonne? how oft haue I

Beheldthe braueſt heardſmen of theſe plaines,

(Aswhat braue heardſman was there in the plaines

Ofall Arcadia, that had not his heart

Warm’dwith her beames) to ſeek to win her loue.

AhI remember well (and how can I

Buteuer more remember well) when firſt

Ourflame began, when ſcarce we knew what waſ

Theflame we felt, when as we ſate and ſigh’d

Andlookd’vpon each other, and conceiu’d

Notwhat we ayld, yet ſomething we did ayle.

Andyet were well, and yet we were not well,

Andwhat was our diſeaſe we could not tell.

Thenwould we kiſſe, then ſigh, then looke: & thuſ

Inthat firſt garden of our ſimpleneſſe

Weeſpent our childhood: but when yeeres began

Toreape the fruite of knowledge; ah how then

Woldſhe with grauer looks, with ſweet ſtern brow,

Checkmy preſumption and my forwardnes,

Yetſtill would giue me flowers, ſtillwould me ſhew

Whatſhe would haue me, yet not haue me know.

Pal.Alas with what poore Coyne are louers paid,

Andtaken with the ſmalleſt bayte is laid?

Thi.And when in ſports with other company,

OfNimphes and ſhepherds we haue met abroade

Howwould ſhe ſteale a looke: and watch mine eye

Whichway it went? and when at Barley breake

Itcame vnto my turne to reſcue her,

Withwhat an earneſt, ſwift, and nimble pace

Wouldher affection make her feet to run

Andfarther run then to my hand? her race

Hadno ſtop but my boſome where to end.

Andwhen we were to breake againe, how late

Andloath her trēbling hand wold part with mine,

Andwith how ſlow a pace would ſhee ſet forth

Tomeet the’ncountring party, who contends

T’attaineher, ſcarce affording him her fingers ends?

Pal.Fie Thirſis, with what fond remembrances

Doeſtthou theſe idle paſſions entertaine?

Forſhame leaue off to waſte your youth in vaine,

Andfeede on ſhadowes: make your choice anew.

Youother Nimphes ſhall find, no doubt will be

Aslouely, and as faire: and ſweete as ſhe.

Thi.As faire and ſweete as ſhe? Palaemonpeace:

Ahwhat can pictures be vnto the life,

Whatſweetnes can be found in Images?

Whichall Nimphes els beſides her ſeemes to me.

Sheonely was a reall creaturee, ſhee,

Whoſememory muſt take vp all of mee.

ShouldI another loue, then muſt I haue,

Anotherheart, for this is full of her,

Andeuermore ſhall be: here is ſhee drawne

Atlength, and whole, and more, this table is

Aſtorie, and is all of her; and all

Wroughtin the liuelieſt colours of my bloud;

Andcan there be a roome for others heere?

ShouldI diſfigure ſuch a peece, and blot

Theperfectſt workmanſhip loue euer wrought.

Palaemonno, ah no, it coſt too deere,

Itmuſt remaine intire whilſt life remaines,

Themonument of her and of my paines.

Pal.Thou maieſt be ſuch a fond I dolater

Todie for loue; though that were very ſtrange.

Louehath few ſaints, but many confeſſors.

Andtime no doubt will raze out all theſe notes,

Andleaue a roome at length for other thoughts.

Thi.Yes when there is no ſpring, no tree, no groue

Inall Arcadiato record our loue:

Andtell me where we were (the time we were)

Howwe did meete together, what we ſaid;

Wherewe did ioy, and where we ſate diſmai’d.

Andthen I may forget her, not before.

Tillthen I muſt remember one ſo deere,

Wheneuery thing I ſee tells me of her.

Andyou deere Reliques of that martred Saint,

Myheart adores, you the perpetuall bookes

Whereonwhen teares permit, mine eye ſtill looks:

Ahyou were with her laſt, and till my laſt

Youmuſt remaine with me; you were reſeru’d

Totell me ſhee was loſt, but yet alas,

Youcannot tell me how: I wold you could.

Whiteſpotleſſe vaile, cleane, like her womanhood,

Whichwhilome covredſt the moſt louely face

Thateuer eye beheld. Was there no meſſage ſent

Fromher by thee? Ah yes, there ſeemes it was;

Hereis a Tmade with her blood, as if

ſheewould haue written, Thirſis,I am ſlaine

Inſeeking thee; ſure ſo it ſhould haue beene,

Andſo I reade it, and ſhall euer ſo.

Andthou ſweet remnant of the faireſt haire,

Thateuer wau’d with winde. Ah thee I found

Whenher I hop’d to finde, wrapt in a round,

Liketo an O, the character of woe;

Asif to ſay, O Thirſis,I die thine.

Thismuch you tell me yet, dumbe meſſengers,

Ofher laſt minde; and what you cannot tell

ThatI muſt thinke, which is the moſt extreame

Ofwofulneſſe, that any heart can thinke.

Pal.There is no dealing with this man, I ſee,

Thishumour muſt be let to ſpend it ſelfe

Vntoa leſſer ſubſtance, ere that we

Canany way apply a remedy.

ButI lament his caſe, and ſo I know

Doall that ſee him in this wofull plight:

Andtherefore will I leaue him to himſelfe,

Forſorrow that is full, hates others ſight.

Thir.Come boy, whilſt I contemplate theſe remaines

Ofmy loſt loue, vnder this myrtle tree,

Recordthe dolefull’ſt ſong, the ſighingſt notes,

Thatmuſicke hath to entertaine bad thoughts.

Letit be all at flats my boy, all graue,

Thetone that beſt befits the griefe I haue.

TheSong.

Hadſorrow euer fitter place

Toact his part,

Thenis my heart,

Whereit takes vp all the ſpace?

Whereis no veine

Toentertaine

 Athought that weares another face.

Norwill I ſorrow euer haue,

Thereinto be,

Butonely thee,

  Towhome I full poſſeſſion gaue:

Thouin thy name

Muſtholde the ſame,

Vntillthou bring it to the graue.

Soboy, now leaue me to my ſelfe, that I

Maybe alone to griefe, entire to miſery.

SCEN.II.

Cloris.Clarindo.

Nowgentle boy Clarindo,haſt thou brought

Myflockes into the field?

Cla.Miſtris I haue.

Clo.And haſt thou told them?

Cla.Yes.

Clo.And are there all?

Cla.All.

Clo.And haſt thou left them ſafe my boy?

Cla.Safe.

Clo.Then whilſt they feede, Clarindo,I muſt vſe

Thyſeruice in a ſerious buſineſſe.

Butthou muſt do it well my boy.

Cla.The beſt I can.

Clo.Do’ſt thou know Thirſis?

Cla.Yes.

Clo.But know’ſt him well?

Cla.I haue good reaſon to know Thirſiswell.

Clo.What reaſon boy?

Cla.I oft haue ſeene the man.

Clo.Why then he knowes thee too?

Cla.Yes I ſuppoſe, vnles he hath forgotten me of late.

Clo.But hath he heard thee ſing my boy?

Cla.He hath.

Clo.Then doubtles he doth well remember thee.

Well,vnto him thou muſt a meſſage do

Fromthy ſad miſtres Cloris;but thou muſt

Doeitexactly well, with thy beſt grace,

Beſtchoice of language, and beſt countenance.

Iknow thou canſt doe well, and haſt a ſpeech

Andfaſhion pleaſing to performe the ſame.

Norcan I haue a fitter meſſenger

Inthis imployment then thy ſelfe my boy.

Forſure me thinkes, noting thy forme and grace,

Thatthou haſt much of Siluiain thy face:

Whichif he ſhall perceiue as well as I,

ſure,he will giue thee audience willinglie.

Andfor her ſake, if not for mine, heare out

Thymeſſage; for he ſtill (though ſhe be dead)

Holdesſparkles of her vnextinguiſhed.

Andthat is death to me: for though ſometimes

Siluiaand I moſt deere companions were,

Yetwhen I ſaw he did ſo much preferre

Herbefore me, I deadly hated her;

Andwas not ſorie for her death, and yet

Wasſorie ſhee ſhould come to ſuch a death.

Butto the purpoſe, goe to Thirſis,boy:

Say,thou art Clorisſeruant, ſent to be

Themeſſenger of her diſtreſſed teares:

Wholanguiſhes for him and neuer ſhall

Hauecomfort more, vnleſſe he giue it her.

Cla.I will.

Clo.Nay but ſtay boy, ther’s ſomething elſe.

Tellhim, his cruelty makes me vndoe

Mymodeſty, and to put on that part

Whichappertaines to him, that is to wooe:

Andto diſgrace my Sexe, to ſhew my heart,

Whichno man elſe could haue had powre to doe.

Andthat vnleſſe he doe reſtore me backe

Vntomy ſelfe, by his like loue to me,

Icannot liue.

Cla.All this I’le tell him too.

Clo.Nay but ſtay boy, there is yet more:

Tellhim, it will no honour be to him,

Wheneuer it ſhall come to be made knowne,

Thathe hath beene her death that was his owne.

Andhow his loue hath fatall beene to two

Diſtreſſednymphes.

Cla.This will I tell him too.

Clo.Nay but ſtay boy, wilt thou ſay nothing elſe,

Asof thy ſelfe, to waken vp his loue?

Thoumayſt ſay ſomething which I may not ſay,

Andtell him how thou holdſt me full as faire,

Yeaand more faire, more louely, more compleate

Theneuer Siluiawas. More wiſe, more ſtai’d,

Howſhee was but a light and wauering maid.

Cla.Nay there I leaue you, that I cannot ſay.

Clo.What ſayſt thou boy?

Cla.Nothing, but that I will

Endeauourall I can to worke his loue.

Clo.Doe good my boy: but thou muſt yet adde more,

Asfrom thy ſelfe, & ſay, what an vnkinde

Andbarbarous part it is to ſuffer thus

Sobeauteous and ſo rare a nymph to pine

Andperiſh for his loue; and ſuch a one,

Asif ſhee would haue ſtoop’d to others flame,

Hathhad the gallantſt heardſmen of theſe fields

Fallat her feete: all which ſhe hath deſpis’d,

Hauingher heart before by thee ſurpriz’d.

Andnow doth nothing elſe, but ſit and mourne:

SpeakeThirſis,weepe Thirſis,ſigh Thirſis,and

SleepeThirſiswhen ſhe ſleepes, which is but rare

Beſides,good boy thou muſt not ſticke to ſweare,

Thouoft haſt ſeene me ſowne, & ſinke to ground

Intheſe deep paſſions, wherein I abound.

Forſomething thou maiſt ſay beyond the truth,

Byreaſon of my loue, and of thy youth.

Doe,good Clarindo ſweare, and vow thus much.

Butdo’ſt thou now remember all I ſay,

Do’ſtthou forget no parcell of my ſpeech,

ſhallI repeate the ſame againe to thee?

Orels wilt thou rehearſe it vnto mee?

ThatI may know thou haſt it perfect, boy.

Cla.It ſhall not need: be ſure I will report,

Whatyou enioyne me, in moſt earneſt ſort.

Clo.Ah doe good boy. Although I feare it will,

Auaileme little: for I doubt his heart

Isrepoſſeſſed with another loue.

Cla.Another loue? Who may that be, I pray?

Clo.With Amarillis,I haue heard: for they

Arethought, will in the end make vp a match.

Cla.With Amarillis?Well, yet will I goe,

Andtry his humour whether it be ſo?

Clo.Goe good Clarindo,but thou muſt not faile

Toworke effectually for my auaile.

Anddoe not ſtay, returne with ſpeed good boy,

Mypaſſions are to great t’indure delay.

ACT.I. SCEN. III.

Clarindoſol.

Thirſisin loue with Amarillis?then

Inwhat a caſe am I? what doth availe,

Thisaltred habite, that belies my Sexe?

Whatboots it t’haue eſcap’d from pirats hands

Andwith ſuch wiles to haue deceiu’d their wills,

IfI returne to fall on worſer ills?

Inloue with Amarillis?is that ſo?

IsSiluiathen forgot? that hath endur’d

Somuch for him? doe all theſe miſeries

(Caus’dby his meanes) deſerue no better hire?

Wasit the greateſt comfort of my life,

Tohaue return’d that I might comfort him?

Andam I welcom’d thus? ah did mine eies

Takeneuer reſt, after I was arriu’d

TillI had ſeene him, though vnknowne to him?

Beinghidden thus, and couer’d with diſguiſe

Andmaſculine attire, to temporize

VntillAlexis mariage day be paſt,

Whichſhortly as I heare will be: and which

Wouldfree me wholly from my fathers feare:

Whoif he knew I were return’d, would yet

VndoeI doubt that match, to match me there.

Whichwould be more then all my ſuffrings were.

Indeedme thought when I beheld the face

Ofmy deere Thirſis,I beheld a face

Confoundedall with paſſion, which did much

Afflictmy hart: but yet I litle thought

Itcould haue beene for any others loue.

Idid ſuppoſe the memorie of me,

Andof my rapture, had poſſeſt him ſo,

Asmade him ſhew that countenance of woe.

Andmuch adoe had I then to forbeare

Fromcaſting me into his armes, and yeild

Whatcomfort my poore ſelfe could yeild, but that

Ithought our ioyes would not haue bin complete,

Butmight haue yeilded vs anoyes as great,

VnleſſeI could come wholly his, and cleer’d

Fromall thoſe former dangers which we fear’d:

Whichnow a little ſtay (though any ſtay

Bedeath to me) would wholly take away.

Andtherefore I reſolu’d my ſelfe to beare

Thisburthen of our ſufferings yet a while,

Andto become a ſeruant in this guiſe,

Toher I would haue ſkorned otherwiſe:

Andbe at all commands, to goe, and come,

Totrudge into the fields, early, and late.

Whichthough I know, it miſbecomes my ſtate:

Yetit becomes my fortune, which is that,

NotPhilliswhom I ſerue: but ſince I ſerue,

Iwill doe what I doe moſt faithfully.

ButThirſis,is it poſſible that thou

ſhouldſtſo forget me, and forgo thy vowe;

Oris it but a flying vaine report,

Thatſlanders thine affection in this ſort?

Itmay be ſo, and God grant it may be ſo:

Iſhall ſoone finde if thou be falſe or no:

Butah here comes my Fury, I muſt flie.

ACT.I. SCEN. IIII.

Phillis.Clarindo.

Ahcruell youth, whither away ſo faſt?

Cla.Good Phillisdo not ſtay me, I haue haſte.

Phi.What haſte ſhouldſt thou haue but to comfort me,

Whohath no other comfort but in thee?

Cla.Alas thou do’ſt but trouble mein vaine,

Icannot helpe thee: t’is not in my powre.

Phi.Not in thy powre Clarindo?ah ifthou

Hadſtany thing of manlines, thou would’ſt.

Cla.But if I haue not, what doth it auaile

Inthis ſort to torment thy ſelfe and me?

Andtherefore pre thee Phillislet me goe.

Phi.Ah whither canſt thou go, where thou ſhalt be

Moredeerely lou’d and cheriſht then with me?

Cla.But that my purpoſe cannot ſatiſfie,

Imuſt be gone, there is no remedie.

Phi.O cruell youth, will thy hart nothing moue?

Shewme yet pitie, if thou ſhew not loue.

Cla.Beleeue me PhillisI do pitie thee;

Andmore, lament thy error, ſo farewell.

Phi.And art thou gone hard-hearted youth? haſt thou

Thusdiſappointed my deſires, and Ieft

Myſhame t’afflict me worſer then my loue?

Nowin what caſe am I, that neither can

Recallmy modeſtie, nor thee againe?

Ahwere it now to do againe, my paſſions ſhould

Haueſmothred me to death, before I would

Haueſhew’d the ſmalleſt ſparkle of my flame.

Butit is done, and I am now vndone.

Ahhadſt thou bene a man, and had that part

Ofvnderſtanding of a womans hart,

Mywords had bene vnborne, onely mine eieſ

Hadbene a tongue ynough to one were wiſe.

Butthis it is, to loue a boy, whoſe yeareſ

Conceiuesnot his owne good, nor weighes my teares:

Butthis diſgrace I iuſtly haue deſeru’d

SCEN.V.

Lidia.Phillis.

SoPhillishaue you, and y’are rightly ſeru’d.

Haueyou diſdain’d the gallanſt Forreſters,

Andbraueſt heardſmen all Arcadiahath,

Andnow in loue with one is not a man?

Aſſureyour ſelfe this is a iuſt reuenge

Louetakes, for your miſpriſion of his powre.

Itold you often there would come a time,

Whenyou would ſure be plagu’d for ſuch a crime:

Butyou would laugh at me, as one you thought

Conceiu’dnot of what mettall you were wrought.

Isthis you, who would wonder any nympheſ

Couldeuer be ſo fooliſh as to loue?

Whois ſo fooliſh now?  Phil.Peace Lidia,peace,

Addenot more griefe t’a hart that hath too much,

Donot inſult vpon her miſery,

Whoſeflame, God wot, needs water, and not oyle.

Thouſeeſt I am vndone, caught in the Toyle

Ofan intangling miſchiefe: tell me how

Imay recouer, and vnwinde me now.

Lid.That doth require more time, we will apart

Conſultthereof, be you but rul’d by me,

Andyou ſhall finde, I, yet, will ſet you free.

Exeunt.

Theſong of the firſt Chorus.

Loueis a ſickneſſe full of woes,

Allremedies refuſing:

Aplant that with moſt cutting growes,

Moſtbarren with beſt vſing.

Whyſo?

Morewe enioy it, more it dyes,

Ifnot enioy’d, it ſighing cries,

Heyho.

Loueis a torment of the minde,

Atempeſt euerlaſting;

AndIoue hath made it of a kinde,

Notwell, nor full nor faſting.

Whyſo?

Morewe enioy it, more it dies,

Ifnot enioyd, it ſighing cries,

Heyho.

ACT.II. SCEN. I.

Siluanus.Dorcas. Montanus.

Inwhat a meane regard are we now held,

Weactiue and laborious forreſters?

Whothough our liuing rurall be and rough,

Yetheretofore were we for valour priz’d,

Andwell eſteem’d in all good companies:

Norwould the daintieſt nymphes that valleyes haunt

Orfields inhabite, euer haue deſpis’d

Ourſiluane ſongs, nor yet our plaine diſcourſe;

Butgracefully accepted of our ſkill,

Andoften of our loues, when they haue ſeene

Howfaithfull and how conſtant we haue beene.

Dor.It’s true Siluanus,but you ſee the timeſ

Arealtred now, and they ſo dainty growne,

Bybeing ador’d, and woo’d, and followed ſo

Ofthoſe vnſinowed amorous heardſmen, who

Byreaſon of their rich and mighty flockes,

Supplytheir pleaſures with that plenteouſneſſe,

Asthey diſdaine our plainneſſe, and do ſcorne

Ourcompany, as men rude and ill borne.

Sil.Well, ſo they doe; but Dorcasif you marke

Howoft they doe miſcarie in their loue,

Audhow diſloyall theſe fine heardſmen prooue;

Youſhall perceiue how their aboundaut ſtore

Payesnot their expectation, nor deſires.

Witneſſetheſe groues wherein they oft deplore

Themiſerable paſſions they ſuſtaine:

Andhow perfidious, wayward, and vnkinde,

Theyfinde their loues to be; which we, who are

Theeyes, and eares of woods, oft ſee and heare.

Forhither to theſe groues they much reſort,

Andhere one wayles apart the vſage hard

Ofher diſordred, wilde, and wilfull mate:

Theremournes another her vnhappy ſtate,

Heldeuer in reſtraint, and in ſuſpect:

Anotherto her truſty confident,

Lamentshow ſhee is matcht to ſuch a one

Ascannot giue a woman her content.

Anothergrieues how ſhee hath got a foole,

Whoſebed although ſhee loath, ſhee muſt endure.

Andthus they all vnhappy by that meaneſ

Whichthey accompt would bring all happineſſe;

Moſtwealthely are plagu’d, with rich diſtreſſe.

Dor.And ſo they are, but yet this was not wont

Tobe the faſhion here; there was a time

BeforeArcadiacame to be diſeas’d

Withtheſ corrupted humors reigning now,

Thatchoiſe was made of vertue and deſert,

Withoutreſpect of any other endes:

Whenloue was onely maſter of their hearts,

Andrul’d alone: when ſimple thoughts produc’d

Plainehoneſt deedes, and euery one contendſ

Tohaue his fame to follow his deſerts,

Andnot his ſhewes; to be the ſame he was,

Notſeem’d to be: and then were no ſuch partſ

Offalſe deceiuings plaid, as now weſee.

Butafter that accurſed greedineſſe

Ofwealth began to enter and poſſeſſe

Thehearts of men, integrity was loſt,

Andwith it they themſelues, for neuer more;

Camethey to be in their owne powre againe.

ThatTyrant vanquiſht them, made them all ſlaues,

Thatbrought baſe ſeruitude into the world,

Whichelſe had neuer bin; that only made

Themto endure all whatſoeuer weightſ

Powrecould deuiſe to lay vpon their necke.

Forrather thē they would not haue, they would not be

Butmiſerable. So that no deuice

Needeselſe to keepe them vnder, they themſelueſ

Willbeare farre more then they are made, thēſelueſ

Willadde vnto their fetters, rather then

Theywould not be, or held to be great men.

Sil.Then Dorcas,how much more are we to prize

Ourmeane eſtate, which they ſo much deſpiſe?

Conſideringthat we doe enioy thereby,

Thedeareſt thing in nature, Liberty.

Andare not tortur’d with thoſe hopes and feares,

Th’afflctionlaid on ſuperfluities,

Whichmake them to obſcure, and ſerue the times:

Butare content with what the earth, the woodſ

Andriuers neere doe readily afforde

Andtherewithall furniſh our homly borde.

Thoſevnbought cates pleaſe our vnlearned throatſ

Thatvnderſtand not dainties, euen as well

Asall their delicates, which doe but ſtuffe

Andnot ſuſtaine the ſtomacke: and indeede

Awell obſeruing belly doth make much

Forlibertie; for he that can but liue,

Althoughwith rootes, and haue no hopes, is free

Withoutthe verge of any ſou’raintie.

Andis a Lord at home, commands the day

Ashis till night, and then repoſes him

Athis owne houres. thinkes on no ſtratagem

Buthow to take his game, hath no deſeigne

Tocroſſe next day: no plots to vndermine.

Dor.But why Montanusdoe you looke ſo ſad?

Whatis the cauſe your minde is not as free

Asyour eſtate? what, haue you had of late

Somecoy repulſe of your diſdainfull nymph,

Towhome loue hath ſubdu’d you? who indeede

Ouronly maſter is, and no Lord elſe

Buthe, hath any power to vexe vs here;

Whichhad he not, we too too happy were.

Mon.In troth I muſt confeſſe, when now you two

Foundme in yonder thicket, I had loſt

Myſelfe, by hauing ſeene that which I would

Ihad not had theſe eyes to ſee; and iudge

IfI great reaſon haue not to complaine:

Youſee I am a man, though not ſo gay

Anddelicately clad, as are your fine

Andamorous dainty heardſmen; yet a man,

Andthat not baſe, not vn-allyde to Pan;

Andof a ſpirit doth not degenerate

Frommy robuſtious manly anceſtours,

Beingneuer foild in any wraſtling game,

Butſtill haue borne away the chiefeſt prize

Ineuery braue and actiue exerciſe.

Yetnotwithſtanding that diſdainfull maid,

ProwdPhillis, doth deſpiſe me and my loue,

Andwill not daigne ſo much as here me ſpeake,

Butdoth abiure, forſooth, the thought of loue.

Yetſhall I tell you (yet aſham’d to tell;)

Thiscoy vnlouing ſoule, I ſaw ere while

ſolicitinga youth, a ſmooth fac’d boy,

Whomin her armes ſhee held (as ſeem’d to me,

Beingcloſely buſht a prety diſtance off,)

Againſthis will; and with ſtrange paſſion vrg’d

Hisſtay, who ſeem’d, ſtruggled to get away,

Andyet ſhee ſtaid him, yet intreats his ſtay.

Atwhich ſtrange ſight, imagine I that ſtood

ſpectatour,how confoundedly I ſtood,

Andhardly could forbeare from running in

Toclaime for mine, if euer loue had right,

Thoſeher imbraces caſt away in ſight:

Butſtaying to behold the end, I ſtaid

Toolong; the boy gets looſe, her ſelfe retyres,

Andyou came in; but if I liue, that boy

ſhalldearely pay for his miſfortune, that

Hewas beloued of her, of whom I would

Hauenone on earth beloued, but my ſelfe.

Dor.That were to bite the ſtone, a thing vniuſt,

Topuniſh him for her conceiued luſt.

Mon.Tuſh, many in this world we ſee are caught,

Andſuffer for miſforrnne, not their fault.

Sil.But that would not become your manlines,

Montanus,it were ſhame for valiant men

Todoe vnworthily.

Mon.Speake not of that, Siluanus,if my rage

Irregularbe made, it muſt worke like effects.

Dor.Theſe are but billowes, tumbling after ſtorms,

Theylaſt not long, come let ſome exerciſe

Diuertthat humour, and conuert your thoughtſ

Toknow your ſelfe; ſcorne her who ſcorneth you;

Idolatrizenot ſo that ſexe, but hold

Aman of ſtrawe, more then a wife of gold.

Exeunt.

ACT.II. SCEN. II.

Lidia.Phillis.

Youmuſt not, Phillis,be ſo ſenſible

Oftheſe ſmall touches which your paſſion makes.

Phi.ſmall touches Lidia, do you count the ſmall?

Canthere vnto a woman worſe befall

Thenhath to mee? what? haue not I loſt all

Thatis moſt deare to vs, loue and my fame?

Isthere a third thing Lidiayou can name

Thatis ſo precious as to match with theſe?

Lid.Now fily girle, how fondly doe you talke?

Howhaue you loſt your fame; what for a few

Ill-fauour’dlouing words, vttred in ieaſt

Vntoa fooliſh youth? Cannot you ſay

Youdid but to make triall how you could,

Ifſuch a peeuiſh qualme of paſſion ſhould

(Asneuer ſhall) oppreſſe your tender heart,

Frameyour conceit to ſpeake, to looke, to ſigh

Liketo a heart-ſtrooke louer; and that you

Perceiuinghim to be a baſhfull youth,

Thoughtto put ſpirit in him, and make you ſport.

Phi.Ah Lidia,but he ſaw I did not ſport,

Heſaw my teares, and more, what ſhall I ſay?

Heſaw too much, and that which neuer man

ſhalleuer ſee againe whil’ſt I haue breath.

Lid.Are you ſo ſimple as you make your ſelfe?

Whatdid he ſee? a counterfeited ſhew

Ofpaſſion, which you may, if you were wiſe,

Makehim as eaſily to vnbeleeue,

Aswhat he neuer ſaw; and thinke his eyes

Conſpir’dhis vnderſtanding to deceiue.

Howmany women, thinke you, being eſpide

Inneerer-touching caſes by miſchance,

Haueyet not onely fac’d their louers downe

Forwhat they ſaw, but brought them to beleeue

Theyhad not ſeene the thing which they had ſeen,

Yeaand to ſweare it too; and to condemne

Themſelues?ſuch meanes can wit deuiſe

Tomake mens mindes vncredit their owne eyes.

Andtherefore let not ſuch a toy as this

Diſeaſeyour thoughts: and for your loſſe of loue,

Itis as much as nothing. I would turne

Apaſſion vpon that ſhould ouerturne

Itcleane, and that is wrath; one heate

Expelsanother. I would make my thoughts of skorne

Tobe in height ſo much aboue my loue,

Asthey ſhould eaſe and pleaſe me more by farre.

Iwould diſdaine to caſt a looke that way

Wherehe ſhould ſtand, vnleſſe it were in ſkorne,

Orthinke a thought of him, but how to worke

Himall diſgrace that poſſibly I could.

Phi.That Lidiacan I neuer doe, let him

Dowhat he will to me: report my ſhame,

Andvaunt his fortune, and my weakneſſe blame.

Lid.Nay as for that he ſhall be ſo well charmd

EreI haue done, as you ſhall feare no tales.

Phi.Ah Lidia,could that be without his harme,

Howbleſſed ſhould I be? But ſee where comeſ

Mygreat tormentour, hat rude Forreſter.

GoodLidialet vs flie, I hate his ſight

Nextto the ill I ſuffer: let vs flie,

Weſhall be troubled with him wofully.

Lid.Content you Phillis,ſtay & heare him ſpeake:

Wemay make vſe of him more then you thinke.

Phil.What vſe can of ſo groſſe a peece be made?

Lid.The better vſe be ſure, for beeing groſſe,

Yourſubtler ſpirits full of their fineſſes,

ſeruetheir owne turnes in others buſineſſes.

ACT.II. SCEN. III.

Montanus.Lidia. Phillis.

Whatpleaſure can I take to chaſe wild beaſts,

WhenI my ſelfe am chac’d more egarly

Bymine owne paſſions, and can finde no reſt?

Letthem who haue their heart at libertie,

Attendthoſe ſports. I cannot be from hence,

WhereI receiu’d my hurt, here muſt I tread

Themaze of my perplexed miſerie.

Andhere ſee where ſhee is the cauſe of all?

Andnow, what ſhall I doe? what ſhall I ſay?

Howſhall I looke? how ſtand? which vtter firſt?

Myloue or wrath? Alas I know not which.

Nowwere it not as good haue beene away,

Asthus to come, and not tell what to ſay?

Phil.See Lidiaſee, how ſauagely hee lookes,

Goodlet vs goe, I neuer ſhall endure

Toheare him bellow.  Lid.Prethee Phillis ſtay

Andgiue him yet the hearing, in reſpect

Heeloues you, otherwiſe you ſhew your ſelfe

Aſauage more then hee.  Phil.Well, it I heare,

Iwill not anſwere him a word, you ſhall reply,

Andprethee Lidiadoe, reply for mee.

Lid.For that wee ſhall, Phillis,doe well enough

Whenhe begins, who ſeemes is very long

Togiue the onſet, ſure the man is much

Perplexed,or he ſtudies what to ſay.

Phil.Good Lidiaſee how he hath trickt himſelfe,

Nowſure this gay freſh ſuite as ſeemes to mee

Hangslike green Iuy on a rotten tree.

Lid.ſome beaſts doe weare gray beards beſide your goates:

Andbear with him, this ſuit bewraies yong thoghts

Mon.Ah was it not enough to be oppreſt

Withthat confounding paſſion of my loue

Andher diſdaine, but that I muſt be torne

Withwrath and enuie too, and haue no veine

Freefrom the racke of ſuffrings, that I can

Norſpeake nor thinke but moſt diſtractedly?

Howſhall I now begin, that haue no way

Tolet out any paſſion by it ſelfe,

Butthat they all will thruſt together ſo

Asnone will be expreſſed as they ought?

Butſomething I muſt ſay now I am here.

Andbe it what it will, loue, enuie wrath,

Orall together in a comberment,

Mywords muſt be like me, perplext and rent,

Andſo I’le to her.  Phi.Lidia,ſee he comes.

Lid.He comes indeed, and as me thinkes doth

Moretrouble in his face by farre, then loue.

Mon.Faire Phillis,and too faire for ſuch a one, ſhew

Vnleſſeyou kinder were, or better then

Iknow you are: how much I haue endur’d

Foryou, although you skorne to know, I feele,

Anddid imagine, that in being a man

Whomight deſerue regard, I ſhould haue bin

Prefer’dbefore a boy. But well, I ſee

Yourſeeming and your being diſagree.

Phi.What Lidia,doth he brawle? what meanes he thus

Toſpeake and looke in this ſtrange ſort on me?

Mon.Well modeſt Phillis,neuer looke ſo coy,

Theſeeyes beheld you dallying with a boy.

Phi.Me with a boy, Montanus?when? where? how?

Mon.To day, here, in moſt laſciuious ſort.

Lid.Ah, ha, belike he ſawe you Phillis,when

Thismorning you did ſtriue with Clorisboy

Tohaue your garland, which he ſnatcht away,

Andkept it from you by ſtrong force and might:

Andyou againe laid hold vpon the ſame,

Andheld it faſt vntill with much adoe

Hewrung it from your hands, and got away.

Andthis is that great matter which he ſaw.

Nowfye Montanusfye, are you ſo groſſe,

T’imagineſuch a worthy nymph as ſhee

Wouldbe inloue with ſuch a youth as he?

Whynow you hauc vndone your credit quite,

Youneuer can make her amends for this

Soimpious a ſurmiſe, nor euer can

Shee,as ſhee reaſon hath, but muſt deſpiſe

yourgroſſeneſſe; who ſhould rather haue come in

Andrighted her, then ſuffer ſuch a one

Tooffer an indignity ſo vile,

Andyou ſtand prying in a buſh the while.

Mon.What do I heare? what, am I not my ſelfe?

How?haue mine eyes double vndone me then?

Firſtſeeing Phillisface, and now her fact,

Orelſe the fact I ſaw, I did not ſee?

Andſince thou haſt my vnderſtanding wrong’d,

Andtraytour-like giuen falſe intelligence,

Wherebymy iudgement comes to paſſe amiſſe.

Andyet I thinke my ſence was in the right:

Andyet in this amaze I cannot tell,

Buthowſoere, I in an errour am,

Inlouing, or beleeuing, or in both.

Andtherefore Phillis,at thy feet I fall,

Andpardon craue for this my groſſe ſurmiſe.

Lid.But this, Montanus,will not now ſuffiſe.

Youquite haue loſt her, and your hopes and all.

Mon.Good Lidiayet intreate her to relent,

Andlet her but command me any thing

Thatis within the power of man to do,

Andyou ſhall finde Montanuswill performe

Morethen a Gyant, and will ſtead her more

Thenall the heardſmen in Arcadiacan.

Lia.Shee will command you nothing; but I wiſh

Youwould a little terrifie that boy

Ashe may neuer dare to vſe her name

Butin all reuerence as is fit for her.

Butdoe not you examine him a word;

Forthat were neither for your dignity,

Norhers, that ſuch a boy as he ſhould ſtand

Andiuſtifie himſelfe in ſuch a caſe,

Whowould but faine vntruths vnto your face.

Andherein you ſome ſeruice ſhall performe,

Asmay perhaps make her to thinke on you.

Mon.Alas, this is a worke ſo farre, ſo low

Beneathmy worth, as I account it none,

Wereit t’incounter ſome fierce mountaine beaſt

Ormonſter, it were ſomething fitting mee.

Butyet this will I doe, and doe it home,

Aſſureyou Lidia:as I liue I will.

Phi.But yet I would not haue you hurt the youth,

Forthat were neither grace for you nor mee.

Mon.That as my rage will tollerate muſt be.

ACT.II. SCEN. IV.

Cloris.Clarindo.

Heerecomes my long expected meſſenger,

Godgrant the newes hee brings may make amends

Forhis long ſtay; and ſure, I hope it will.

Methinkes his face bewraies more iollytie

Inhis returning then in going hence.

Cla.Well, all is wel; no Amarillishath

SupplantedSiluias louein Thirſisheart,

Norany ſhall: but ſee where Clorislookes

Forwhat I ſhall not bring her at this time.

Clo.Clarindothough my longing would be faine

Diſpatch’dat once, & heare my doome pronounc’d

Allin a word of either life or death,

Yetdoe not tell it but by circumſtance.

Tellme the manner where, and how thou foundſt

MyThirſis,what he ſaid, how look’d, how far’d,

Howhe receau’d my meſſage, vſed thee;

Andall in briefe, but yet be ſure tell all.

Cla.All will I tell as neere as I can tell.

Firſtafter teadious ſearching vp and downe,

Ifound him all alone, like a hurt Deare,

Gotvnder couer in a ſhadie groue,

Hardby a little chriſtall purling ſpring,

Whichbut one ſullen note of murmur held;

Andwhere no ſunne could ſee him, where no eye

Mightouerlooke his louely primacy.

Therein a path of his owne making, trode

Bareas a common way, yet led no way

Beyondthe turnes he made (which were but ſhort)

Witharmes acroſſe, his hat downe on his eyeſ

(Asif thoſe ſhades yeelded not ſhade ynough,

Todarken them) he walkes with often ſtops,

Vneuenpace, like motions to his thoughts.

Andwhen he heard me comming, for his eares

Werequicker watches then his eyes, it ſeem’d;

Heſuddenly lookes vp, ſtaies ſuddenly,

Andwith a brow that told how much the ſight

Ofany interrupter troubled him,

Beheldme, without ſpeaking any word,

Asif expecting what I had to ſay.

Ifinding him in this confus’d diſmay,

(Whoheretofore had ſeene him otherwiſe:

Imuſt confeſſe, (for tell you all I muſt,)

Atrembling paſſion ouerwhelmd my breaſt,

ſothat I likewiſe ſtood confus’d and dumbe,

Andonely lookt on him, as he on me.

Inthis ſtrange poſture like two ſtatues we

Remainda while; but with this difference ſet:

Hebluſht, and I look’d pale; my face did ſhew

Ioyto ſee him, his trouble to be ſeene.

Atlength bethinking me for what I came,

Whatpart I had to act, I rowzd my ſpirits,

Andſet my ſelfe to ſpeake; although I wiſht

Hewould haue firſt begun; and yet before

Aword would iſſue, twice I bowd my knee,

Twicekiſt my hand; my action ſo much waſ

Moreready then my tongue: at laſt I told

Whoſemeſſenger I was, and how I came

Tointimate the ſadde diſtreſſed caſe

Ofan afflicted nymph, whoſe onely helpe

Remaindin him: he when he heard the name

ofCloris,turnes away his head, and ſhrinkes,

Asif he grieued that you ſhould grieue for him.

Clo.No, no, it troubled him to heare my name,

Whichhe deſpiſes, is he ſo pervers

Andway ward ſtill? ah then I ſee no hope.

Clarindo,would to God thou hadſt not gone,

Icould be, but as now, I am vndone.

Cla.Haue patience Miſtres, & but heare the reſt.

WhenI perceiu’d his ſuffring, with the touch

Andſodaine ſtop it gauc him, preſently

Ilayd on all the waights that motion might

Procure,and him beſought, adiur’d, invok’d,

Byall the rights of Nature, pietie,

Andmanlines, to heare my meſſage out.

Toldhim how much the matter did import

Yourſafetie and his fame. How hee was bound

Inall humanity to right the ſame.

Clo.That was well done my boy, what ſaid he then?

Cla.Hee turnes about, and fixt his eyes on mee,

Contentto giue his eares a quiet leaue,

Toheare me. when I faild not to relate

Allwhat I had in charge, and all he heares,

Andlookes directly on me all the while.

Clo.I doubt he noted thee more then thy words,

Butnow Clarindo,what was his reply?

Cla.Thus. Tel faire Cloris,my good boy, how that

Iam not ſo diſnatured a man,

Orſo ill borne, to diſeſteeme her loue,

Ornot to grieue, (as I proteſt I doe)

Thatſhee ſhould ſo afflict her ſelfe for mee.

But. Clo.Ah now comes that bitter word of But

Whichmakes all nothing, that was ſaid before.

Thatſmoothes & wounds, that ſtroakes and daſhes more

Thenflat denyals, or a plaine diſgrace.

Buttell me yet what followed on that But?

Cla.Tell her (ſaid hee) that I deſire ſhee would

Redeemeher ſelfe at any price ſhee could,

Andneuer let her thinke on mee, who am

Buteuen the barke, and outſide of a man,

Thattrades not with the liuing, neither can

Noreuer will keepe other company.

Thenwith the dead. My Siluiasmemory

Isall that I muſt euer liue withall.

Withthat his teares, which likewiſe forced mine,

ſetme againe vpon another racke

Ofpaſſion ſo, that of my ſelfe I ſought

Tocomfort him the beſt I could deuiſe.

AndI beſought him that he would not be

Tranſportedthus. But know that with the dead

Heſhould no more conuerſe: and how his loue

Wasliuing, that would giue him all content,

Andwas all his intire, and pure, and wiſht

Toliue no longer then ſhee ſhould be ſo.

Whenmore I would haue ſaid, he ſhooke his head

Andwild me ſpeake no further at that time,

Butleaue him to himſelfe, and to returne

Againeanone, and he would tell me more;

Commendingme for hauing done the part

Bothof a true and mouing meſſenger.

Andſo I tooke my leaue, and came my way.

Clo.Returne againe? no, to what end,

Ifhee be ſo conceited, and ſo fond

Tointertaine a ſhadow; I haue done,

Andwiſh, that I had neuer done ſo much.

ShallI deſcend below my ſelfe, to ſend

Toone is not himſelfe? Let him alone

Withhis dead image: you ſhall goe no more

HaueI here fram’d with all the art I could

Thisgarland deckt with all the various flowres,

Arcadiayeelds, in hope he would ſend backe

ſomecofort, that I might therwith haue crown’d

Hisloue, and witneſs’d mine, in thendles round

Ofthis faire ring, the Character of faith?

Butnow he ſhall haue none of it, I rather will

Rendit in peeces, and diſhatter all

Intoa Chaos, like his formeles thoughts.

Butyet thou faiſt he wild thee to returne,

Andhe would tell thee more.

Cla.Yes ſo he ſaide.

Clo.Perhaps thy words might yet ſo worke with him

Asthat hee takes this time to thinke on them,

Andthen I ſhould doe wrong to keepe thee backe.

Wellthou ſhalt goe, and carry him from mee

Thisgarland, worke it what effect it will.

Butyet I know it will doe nothing. Stay

Thouſhalt not goe, for ſure hee ſaid but that

Toput thee off, that he might be alone

Athis idolatrie, in worſhipping

Anothing, but his ſelfe made images.

Butyet he may be wearied with thoſe thoughtſ

Ashauing worne them long, and end they muſt:

Andthis my meſſage comming in fit time,

Andmoouingly deliuered, may take hold:

Heſaid thou wert a moouing meſſenger

Clarindo,did he not?

Cla.Yes ſo he ſaid.

Clo.Well, thou ſhalt goe; and yet if any thought

Ofme ſhould mooue him, he knowes wel my mind

(ifnot too well) and where he may me finde.

Thouſhalt not goe Clarindo,nor will I

Diſgraceme more with importunity:

Andyet if ſuch a motion ſhould take fire,

Andfinde no matter ready, it would out,

Andopportunities muſt not be ſlackt

Clarindo,thou ſhalt goe, and as thou goeſt,

Looketo my flocke, and ſo God ſpeed thee well.

SCEN.V.

Clarindo,alias Siluiaſol.

Well,this imployment makes for my auaile,

Forhereby haue I meanes to ſee my loue;

Wholikewiſe ſees me, though he ſees me not;

Nordoe I ſee him as I would I did.

ButI muſt by ſome meanes or other make

Himknow I liue; and yet not ſo as he

Mayknow that I am I, for feare we might

Miſcaryin our ioyes by ouer haſte.

Butit is more then time his ſuffrings were

Releeu’din ſome cloſe ſort; and that can I deuiſe

Noway to doe, but by relating how

Iheard of an eſcape a nymph did make

Frompirats lately, and was ſafe return’d.

Andſo to tell ſome ſtorie that containes

Ourfortunes and our loues, in other names;

Andwiſh him to expect the like euent;

ForI perceiue him very well content

Toheare me ſpeake; and ſure he hath ſome note,

Althoughſo darkly drawne, as that his eyes

Cannotexpreſly reade it; yet it ſhowes

Himſomthing, which he rather feels, then knowes.

Theſong of the ſecond Chorus.

Deſirethat is of things vngot,

Seewhat trauaile it procureth,

Andhow much the minde endureth,

Togaine what yet it gaineth not:

Forneuer was it paid,

Thecharge defraide,

Accordingto the price of thought.

ACT.III. SCEN. I.

Charinus,the father of Thirſis.Palaemon.

Palaemon,you me thinkes might ſomething work

WithThirſismy aggreeued ſonne, and ſound

Hishumour what it is: and why he thus

Afflictshimſelfe in ſolitarineſſe.

Youtwo were wont to be moſt inward friends,

Andglad I was to ſee it; knowing you

Tobe a man well tempred, fit to ſort

Withhis raw youth; can you doe nothing now,

Towin him from this vile captiuity

Ofpaſſion, that withholdes him from the world?

Pal.In troth, Charinus,I haue oftentimes,

Asone that ſuffred for his grieuances,

Aſſaydto finde a way into the cauſe

Ofhis ſo ſtrange diſmay; and by all meaneſ

Aduis’dhim make redemption of himſelfe,

Andcome to life againe, and be a man

Withmen: but all ſerues not, I finde him lockt

Faſtto his will, alleadge I what I can.

Char.But will he not impart to you the cauſe?

Pal.The cauſe is loue; but it is ſuch a loue,

Asis not to be had.  Cha.Not to be had?

Palaemon,if his loue beregular,

Isthere in all Arcadiaany ſhee,

Whomhis ability, his ſhape, and worth

Maynot attaine, he being my onely ſonne?

Pal.Shee is not in Arcadiawhom he loues,

Norin the world, and yet he deerely loues.

Cha.How may that be, Palaemon?tell me plaine.

Pal.Thus plainly; he’s in loue with a dead woman,

Andthat ſo farre, as with the thought of her

Whichhath ſhut out all other, he alone

Liues,and abhorres to be, or ſeene, or knowne.

Cha.What was this creature could poſſeſſe him ſo?

Pal.Faire Siluia,old Medorusdaughter, who

Wastwo yeares paſt reported to be ſlaine

Byſauage beaſts vpon our countrey ſhore.

Cha.Is that his griefe? alas, I rather thought

Itappertain’d vnto anothers part

Towayle her death: Alexisſhould doe that

Towhom her father had diſpoſed her,

Andſhee eſteemed onely to be his.

Whyſhould my ſonne afflict him more for her,

Thendoth Alexis,who this day doth wed

FaireGalatea,and forgets the dead?

Andhere the ſhepheards come to celebrate

Hisioyfull nuptials with all merriment,

Whichdoth increaſe my cares, conſidering

Thecomforts other parents doe receiue:

Andtherefore good Palaemonworke all meanes

Youcan to win him from his peeuiſh will,

Anddraw him to theſe ſhewes, to companies,

Thatothers pleaſures may inkindle his.

Andtell him what a ſinne he doeth commit,

Towaſte his youth in ſolitarineſſe,

Andtake a courſe to end vs all in him.

Pal.Aſſure your ſelfe Charinus, as I haue

Sowill I ſtill imploy my vtmoſt powre,

Toſaue him; for me thinks it pittie were,

Sorare a peece of worth ſhould ſo be loſt,

Thatought to be preſerued at any coſt.

ACT.III. SCEN. II.

Charinus.Medorus.

Medoruscome, we two muſt ſit, and mourne

Whilſtothers reuell. We are not for ſports,

Ornuptiall ſhewes, which will but ſhew vs more

Ourmiſeries, in beeing both depriu’d,

Thecomforts of our iſſue, which might haue

(Andwas as like to haue) made our hearts

Asioyfull now, as others are in theirs.

Med.In deed Charinus,I for my part haue

Iuſtcauſe to grieue amidſt theſe feſtiuals,

Forthey ſhould haue been mine. This day I ſhould

Haueſeene my daughter Siluiahow ſhe would

Hauewomand it; theſe rites had bene her grace,

Andſhee had ſat in Galateasplace.

Andnow had warm’d my heart to ſee my bloud

Preſeru’din her; had ſhee not beene ſo rapt

Andrent from off the liuing as ſhee was.

Butyour caſe is not pararell with mine,

Youhaue a ſonne, Charinus,that doth liue,

Andmay one day to you like comforts giue.

Cha.Indeed I haue a ſonne; but yet to ſay he liues,

Icannot; for who liues not to the world,

Norto himſelfe, cannot be ſaid to liue:

Foreuer ſince that you your daughter loſt,

Iloſt my ſonne: for from that day he hath

Imbrakdin ſhades and ſolitarineſſe,

ſhuthimſelfe vp from ſight or company

Ofany liuing: and as now I heard,

Bygood Palaemon,vowes ſtill ſo to doe.

Med.And did your ſonne, my daughter loue ſo deare?

Nowgood Charinus,I muſt grieue the more,

Ifmore my heart could ſuffer then it doth;

Fornow I feele the horrour of my deede,

Inhauing croſt the worthieſt match on earth.

NowI perceiue why Siluiadid refuſe

Tomarrie with Alexis,hauing made

Aworthier choice; which oh had I had grace

Tohaue foreſeene, perhaps this diſmall chance

Neuerhad bene, and now they both had had

Ioyof their loues, and we the like of them.

Butah my greedy eye, viewing the large

Andſpacious ſheep-walkes ioyning vnto mine,

WhereofAlexiswas poſſeſt, made me,

Asworldlings doe, deſire to marry grounds,

Andnot affections, which haue other bounds.

Howoft haue I with threats, with promiſes,

Withall perſwaſions, ſought to win her minde

Tofancie him, yet all would not preuaile?

Howoft hath ſhee againe vpon her knees

Withteares beſought me; Oh deare father mine

Doenot inforce me to accept a man

Icannot fancie: rather take from mee,

Thelife you gaue me, then afflict it ſo.

Yetall this would not alter mine intent,

Thiswas the man ſhee muſt affect or none.

Butah what ſinne was this to torture ſo

Ahart forevow’d vnto a better choice,

Wheregoodneſſe met in one the ſelfe ſame point,

Andvertues anſwer’d in an equall ioynt?

ſure,ſure, Charinus,for this ſinne of mine

Thegods bereaſt me of my childe, and would

Nothaue her be, to be without her heart,

Norme take ioy where I did none impart.

Cha.Medorus,thus wee ſee mans wretchedneſſe

Thatlearnes his errours but by their ſucceſſe,

Andwhen there is no remedie; and now

Weecan but wiſh it had beene otherwiſe.

Med.And in that wiſh Charinuswe are rackt;

ButI remember now I often haue

Hadſhadoweſin my ſleepe that figures bare

Ofſome ſuch liking twixt your childe and mine.

Andthis laſt night a pleaſing dreame I had

(Thoughdreams of ioy makes wakers minds more ſad)

Methought my daughter Siluiawas return’d

Inmoſt ſtrange faſhion, and vpon her kneeſ

Crauesmy good will for Thirſis,otherwiſe

Shewould be gone againe and ſeene no more.

Iat the ſight of my deare childe, was rapt

Withthat exceſſe of ioy, as gaue no time

Eitherfor me to anſwer her requeſt,

Orleaue for ſleepe to figure out the reſt.

Cha.Alas Medorus,dreames are vapours, which

Ingendredwith day thoughts, fall in the night

Andvaniſh with the morning; are but made

Afflictionsvnto man, to th’ end he might

Notreſt in reſt, but toyle both day and night.

Butſee here comes my ſolitarie ſonne:

Letvs ſtand cloſe Medorusout of ſight,

Andnote how he behaues hlmſelfe in thiſ

Affliction,and diſtreſſed caſe of his.

SCEN.III.

Thirſisſolus.

Thisis the day, the day, the lamentable day

Ofmy deſtruction, which the ſun hath twice

Returndvnto my griefe, which keepe one courſe

Continuallywith it in motion like.

Butthat they neuer ſet: this day doth claime

Th’eſpecialltribute of my ſighes and teares,

Thougheuery day I duely pay my teareſ

Vntothat ſoule which this day left the world.

Andyet I know not why? me thoughts the Sun

Aroſethis day with farre more cheerefull rayes

Withbrighter beames, then vſually it did

Asif it would bring ſomething of releaſe

Vntomy cares, or elſe my ſpirit hath had

ſomemanner of intelligence with hope

Wherewithmy heart is vnacquainted yet:

Andthat might cauſe mine eie with quicker ſence,

Tonote th’appearing of the eye of heauen;

Butſomething ſure I feele which doth beare vp

Theweight of ſorrow eaſier then before.

SCEN.IV.

Palaemon.Thirſis.

WhatThirſisſtill in paſſion? ſtill one man?

Forſhame ſhew not your ſelfe ſo weakely ſet,

ſofeebly ioynted that you cannot beare

Thefortunes of the world like other men.

Beleeueme Thirſisyou much wrong your worth:

Thisis to be no man, to haue no powers.

Paſſionsare womens parts, actions ours.

Iwas in hope t’ haue found you otherwiſe.

Thir.How? otherwiſe Palaemon?doe not you

Holdit to be a moſt heroicke thing

Toact one man, and doe that part exact?

Canthere be in the world more worthineſſe change?

Thento be conſtant? is there any thing

Shewesmore a man? What, would you haue me

Thatwere to haue me baſe, that were indeed

Toſhew a feeble heart, and weakely ſet.

Nono Palaemon,I ſhould thinke my ſelfe

Themoſt vnworthy man of men, ſhould I

Butlet a thought into this heart of mine

Thatmight diſturbe or ſhake my conſtancie.

Andthinke PalaemonI haue combates too,

Tobe the man I am, being built of fleſh,

Andhauing round about me traytors too

Thatſeeke to vndermine my powres, and ſteale

Intomy weakeneſſes, but that I keepe

Continualwatch and ward vpon my ſelfe,

LeaſtI ſhould be ſurpriz’d at vnawareſ

Andtaken from my vowes with other ſnares.

Andeuen now at this inſtant I confeſſe,

Palaemon,I doe feele a certaine touch

Ofcomfort, which I feare to entertaine,

Leaſtit ſhould be ſome ſpie, ſent as a traine

Tomake diſcouery of what ſtrength I am.

Pal.Ah worthie Thirſis,entertaine that ſpirit

Whateuer elſe thou doe: ſet all the dooreſ

Ofthine affections open thereunto.

Thir.Palaemonno. Comfort and I haue beene

ſolong time ſtrangers, as that now I feare

Tolet it in. I know not how t’acquaint

Myſelfe therewith, being vſed to conuerſe

Withother humours, that affect me beſt.

Nordoe I loue to haue mixt company

WheretoI muſt of force my ſelfe apply.

Pal.But Thirſis thinke that this muſt haue an end,

Andmore it would approoue your worth to make

Theſame your work, then time ſhould make it his.

Thir.End ſure it muſt Palaemon,but with me:

Forſo I by the Oracle was told

Thatvery day wherein I loſt the day

Andlight of comfort that can neuer riſe

Againeto mee: when I the faddeſt man

Thateuer breath’d before thoſe Altars fell,

Andthere beſought to know what was become

Ofmy deare Siluia,whether dead, or how

Reaſtfrom the world: but that I could not learne.

Yetthus much did that voice diuine returne:

Goeyouth, reſerue thy ſelfe, the day will come

Thouſhalt be happy, and returne againe.

Butwhen ſhall be that day demanded I,

Theday thou dyeſt, replide the Oracle.

Sothat you ſee, it will not be in theſe

Butin th’Elizian fields, where I ſhall ioy,

Theday of death muſt bring me happineſſe.

Pal.You may miſtake the meaning of thoſe words

Whichis not knowne before it be fulfill’d.

Yeeldyou to what the gods command, if not

Vntoyour friends deſires: reſerue your ſelfe

Forbetter daies, and thinke the Oracle

Isnot vntrue, although not vnderſtood.

Buthowſoeuer, let it not be ſaid

ThatThirſis being a man of ſo rare parts,

Sovnderſtanding and diſcreete, ſhould pine in loue

Andlanguiſh for a ſilly woman thus:

Tobe the fable of the vulgar, made

Aſcorne,and laught at, by inferiour wits.

Thir.In loue Palaemon?know you what you ſay?

Doeyou eſteeme it light to be in loue?

Howhaue I beene miſtaken in the choice

Ofſuch a friend, as I held you to be,

Thatſeemes not, or elſe doth not vnderſtand

Thenobleſt portion of humanity,

Theworthieſt peece of nature ſet in man?

Ahknow that when you mention loue, you name

Aſacred miſtery, a Deity,

Notvnderſtood of creatures built of mudde,

Butof the pureſt and refined clay

Wheretoth’eternall fires their ſpirits conuey.

Andfor a woman, which you prize ſo low,

Likemen that doe forget whence they are men;

Knowher to be th’eſpeciall creature, made

Bythe Creator of the complement

Ofthis great Architect the world; to hold

Theſame together, which would otherwiſe

Fallall aſunder: and is natures chiefe

Vicegerentvpon earth, ſupplies her ſtate.

Anddoe you hold it weakeneſſe then to loue?

Andloue ſo excellent a miracle

Asis a worthy woman, ah then let mee

ſtillbe ſo weake, ſtill let me loue and pine

Incontemplation of that cleane, cleare ſoule,

Thatmade mine ſee that nothing in the world

Isſo ſupreamely beautifull as it.

Thinkenot it was thoſe colours white and red

Laidbut on fleſh, that could affect me ſo.

Butſomething elſe, which thought holds vnder locke

Andhath no key of words to open it.

Theyare the ſmalleſt peeces of the minde

Thatpaſſe this narrow organ of the voice.

Thegreat remaine behinde in that vaſt orbe

Ofthapprehenſion, and are neuer borne.

Andtherefore if your iudge cannot reach

Vntothe vnderſtanding of my Caſe,

Youdoe not well to put your ſelfe into

MyIury, to condemne me as you doe.

Letth’ignorant out of their dulneſſe laugh

Attheſe my ſufferings, I will pitty them

Tohaue beene ſo ill borne, ſo miſcompos’d

Asnot to know what thing it is to loue.

AndI to great Apollohere appeale

Theſoueraigne of the Muſes, and of all

Weltun’d affections, and to Cinthiabright,

Andglorious Lady of cleere faithfulneſſe;

Whofrom aboue looke down with bliſfull beameſ

Vponour humble groues, and ioy the hearts

Ofall the world, to ſee their mutuall loues;

Theycan iudge what worthineſſe there is

Inworthy loue. Therefore Palaemonpeace,

Vnleſſeyou did know better what it were.

Andthis be ſure, when as that fire goes out

Inman, he is the miſerableſt thing

Onearth, his day-light ſets, and is all darke

Anddull within; no motions of delight,

Butall oppreſt, lies ſtruggling with the weight

Ofworldly cares: and this olde Damonſaies,

Whowell had felt what loue was in his daies.

Pal.Well Thirſis,well, how euer you doe guilde

Yourpaſſions, to indeere them to your ſelfe,

Youneuer ſhall induce me to beleeue,

Thatſickneſſes can be of ſuch effect.

Andſo farewell, vntill you ſhall be well.

SCEN.V

Medorus.Charinus.

OGods, Charinus,what a man is this?

Whoeuer heard of ſuch a conſtancie?

HadI but knowne him in enioying him,

Asnow I doe, too late, in loſing him,

Howbleſt had bene mine age? but ah I was

Vnworthieof ſo great a bleſſedneſſe.

Cha.You ſee, Medorus,how no counſell can

Preuaileto turne the current of his will,

Tomake it run in any other courſe

Thenwhat it doth; ſo that I ſee I muſt

Eſteemehim irreuocably loſt.

Butharke, the ſhepheards feſtiuals begin,

Letvs from hence, where ſadneſſe were a ſinne.

Herewas preſented a rurall marriage, conducted with this Song.

Fromthe Temple to the Boord,

Fromthe Boord vnto the Bed,

Weconduct your maidenhead:

WiſhingHymen to affoord

Allthe pleaſures that he can,

Twixta woman and a man.

ACT.IIII. SCEN. I.

Thirſisſolus

Ithought theſe ſimple woods, theſe gentle trees

Would,in regard I am their daily gueſt,

Andharbour vnderneath their ſhadie roofes,

Nothaue conſented to delude my griefes;

Andmock my miſeries with falſe reports:

Butnow I ſee they will afflict me too.

Foras I came by yonder ſpreading Beech

Whichoften hath the ſecretarie beene

Tomy ſad thoughts, while I haue reſted me

(ifloue had euer reſt) vnder his gentle ſhade,

Ifound incaru’d, and faire incaru’d, theſe words:

ThySiluia, Thirſis, liues; and is return’d.

Ahme, that any hand would thus adde ſcorne

Vntoaffliction; and a hand ſo faire

Asthis may ſeeme to be; which were more fit,

Methinkes, for good, then to doe iniurie;

Forſure no vertue ſhould be ill imployd.

Andwhich is more; the name of Siluiawas

Caru’din the ſelfe ſame kinde of character

Whichſhee aliue did vſe, and where with all

Subſcrib’dher vowes to me, who knowes it beſt;

Whichſhews the fraud the more, & more the wrōg.

Thereforeyou ſtars of that high court of heauen,

Whichdo reueale deceits, and puniſh them,

Letnot this crime, to counterfeit a hand

Tocouzin my deſires, eſcape your doome.

Norlet theſe riots of intruſion, made

Vponmy loueneſſe, by ſtrange company

Afflictme thus, but let me haue ſome reſt.

Comethen, refreſher of all liuing things,

Softſleepe, come gently, and take truce with theſe

Oppreſſours,but come ſimple and alone,

Withouttheſe images of fantaſie,

Whichhurt me more then thou canſt do me good:

Letme not ſleepe, vnleſſe I could ſleepe all.

SCEN.II.

Palaemon.Thirſis.

Alas,he here hath laid him downe to reſt,

Itwere now ſinne his quiet to moleſt;

AndGod forbid I ſhould; I will retire

Andleaue him, for I know his griefes require

Thispoore releeuement of a little ſleepe.

Thi.What ſpirit here haunts me? what no time free?

Ah,is it you Palaemon?would to God

Youwould forbeare me but a little while:

Youſhew your care of me too much in this:

Vnſeaſonableloue, ſkarce kindneſſe is.

Pal.Good Thirſis,I am ſorie I ſhould giue

Theleaſt occaſion of diſeaſe to you;

Iwill be gone and leaue you to your reſt.

Thi.Doe good Palaemon,goe your way, farewell;

Andyet Palaemonſtay, perhaps you may

Bycharmes you haue, cauſe ſleep to cloſe mine eies;

Foryou were wont, I doe remember well,

Toſing me ſonnets, which in paſſion I

Compoſedin my happier daies, when aſ

Herbeames inflam’d my ſpirits, which now are ſet.

Andif you can remember it, I pray

Singme the ſong, which thus begins: Eyes hide my loue,

WhichI did write vpon the earneſt charge

Sheegaue vnto me, to conceale our loue.

TheSong.

Eyeshide my loue, and doe not ſhew

Toany but to her my notes,

Whoonely doth that cipher know,

Wherewithwe paſſe our ſecret thoughts:

Belieyour lookes in others ſight;

Andwrong your ſelues to doe her right.

Pal.So now he ſleeps, or elſe doth ſeeme to ſleep;

Buthowſoeuer, I will not trouble him.

SCEN.III.

Clarindo.Thirſis

Seewhere he lies, whom I ſo long to ſee;

Ahmy deere Thirſis,take thy quiet reſt,

Iknow thou needſt it, ſleepe thy fill, ſweete loue

Letnothing trouble thee: be calme oh windes,

Beſtill you heards, chirp not ſo loud ſweet birds,

Leſtyou ſhould wake my loue: thou gentle banke

Thatthus art bleſt to beare ſo deare a weight,

Beſoft vnto thoſe dainty lymmes of his,

Plietender graſſe, and render ſweet refreſh

Vntohis wearie ſenſes, whilſt he reſts.

Ohcould I now but put off this diſguiſe,

Withthoſe reſpects that fetter my deſ||||¹:

Howcloſely could I neighbour that ſweet ſide?

Butſtay, he ſtirres; I feare my heart hath brought

Myfeete too neere, and I haue wakened him.

Thi.It will not be, ſleepe is no friend of mine,

Orſuch a friend, as leaues a man, when moſt

Heneedes him. ſee a new aſſault: who now?

Ahtis the boy that was with me erewhiles,

Thatgentle boy; I am content to ſpeake

Withhim, he ſpeakes ſo pretily, ſo ſweet,

Andwith ſo good reſpectiue modeſty:

Andmuch reſembles one I knew once well:

Comehither gentle boy, what haſt thou there?

Cla.A token ſent you from the nymph I ſerue.

Thi.Keepe it my boy, and weare it on thy head.

Cla.The gods forbid, rhat I, a ſeruant, ſhould

Weareon my head, that which my miſtreſſe hath

Prepar’dfor yours: ſir, I beſeech you vrge

Nomore a thing ſo ill becomming me.

Thi.Nay ſure I thinke, it better will become

Thyhead then mine; and therefore boy, thou muſt

Needesput it on.

Cla.I truſt you lo|eneſſe²hath not ſo

Vnciuil’dyou, to force a meſſenger

Todoe againſt good manners, and his will.

Thi.No, good my boy, but I intreate thee now

Letme but put it on, hold ſtill thy head,

Itſhall not be thy act, but onely mine:

Letit alone good boy, for if thou ſaw’ſt

Howwell it did become thee, ſure thou wouldſt.

Now,canſt thou ſing my boy ſome gentle ſong?

Cla.I cannot ſing, but I could weepe.

Thi.Weepe, why?

Cla.Becauſe I am not as I wiſh to be.

Thi.Why ſo are none; be not dipleas’d for this;

Andif you cannot ſing, tell me ſome tale

Topaſſe the time.

Cla.That can I doe, did I but know what kinde

Oftale you lik’d.

Thi.No merry tale my boy, nor yet too ſad,

Butmixed, like the tragicke Comedies.

Cla.Then ſuch a tale I haue, and a true tale,

Beleeueme ſir, although not written yet

Inany booke, but ſure it will, I know

ſomegentle ſhepheard, moou’d with paſſion, muſt

Recordit to the world, and well it will

Becomethe world to vnderſtand the ſame.

Andthis it is: There was ſometimes a nymph,

Iſulianam’d, and an Arcadianborne;

Fairecan I not avouch ſhee was, but chaſte,

Andhoneſt ſure, as the euent will prooue;

Whoſemother dying, left her very young

Vntoher fathers charge, who carefully

Didbreed her vp, vntill ſhee came to yeares

Ofwomanhood, and then prouides a match

Bothrich, and young, and fit ynough for her.

Butſhee, who to another ſhepheard had

Call’dſirthis, vow’d her loue, as vnto one

Herheart eſteem’d more worthy of her loue,

Couldnot by all her fathers meanes be wrought

Toleaue her choice; and to forgoe her vow.

Thi.No more could my deere Siluiabe from me.

Cla.Which cauſed much affliction to the both,

Thi.And ſo the ſelfe ſame cauſe did vnto vs.

Cla.This nymph one day, ſurcharg’d with loue & griefe,

Whichcomonly (the more the pittie) dwel

AsInmates both together, walking forth

Withother maydes, to fiſh vpon the ſhore;

Eſtrayesapart, and leaues her companie,

Toentertaine her ſelfe with her owne thoughts:

Andwanders on ſo far, and out of ſight,

Asſhee at length was ſudainely ſurpriz’d

ByPyrats, who lay lurking vnderneath

Thoſehollow rocks, expecting there ſome prize.

Andnotwithſtanding all her pittious cryes,

Intreaty,teares, and prayes, thoſe feirce men

Renthaire, and vaile, and caried her by force

Intotheir ſhip, which in a little Creeke

Hardby, at Anckor lay, and preſently hoys’d ſaile,

Andſo away. Thi.Rent haire and vaile? and ſo

Bothhaire and vaile of Siluia,I found rent,

Whichheere I keepe with mee. But now alaſ

Whatdid ſhee? what became of her my boy?

Cla.When ſhe was thus in ſhipp’d, and woefully

Hadcaſt her eyes about to view that hell

Ofhorrour, whereinto ſhe was ſo ſudainely

Implung’d,ſhee ſpies a women ſitting with a child

ſuckingher breaſt, which was the captaines wife.

Toher ſhe creepes, downe at her feet ſhe lyes;

Owoman, if that name of woman may

Moueyou to pittie, pittie a poore maid,

Themoſt diſtreſſed ſoule that euer breath’d.

Andſaue me from the hands of theſe feirce men,

Letme not be defil’d, and made vncleane,

Dearewoman now: and I will be to you

Thefaithfull’ſt ſlaue that euer miſtres ſeru’d;

Neuerpoore ſoule ſhall be more dutifull,

Todoe what euer you command, then I.

Notoile will I refuſe; ſo that I may

Keepethis poore body cleane and vndeflowr’d,

Whichis all I will euer ſeeke. For know

Itis not feare of death laies me thus low,

Butof that ſtain wil make my death to bluſh.

Thi.What, would not all this mooue the womans hart?

Cla.Al this would nothing moue the womans hart,

Whomyet ſhe would not leaue, but ſtill beſought;

Ohwoman, by that infant at your breaſt,

Andby the paines it coſt you in the birth,

Saueme, as euer you deſire to haue

Yourbabe to ioy and proſper in the world.

Whichwill the better proſper ſure, if you

Shallmercy ſhew, which is with mercy paid.

Thenkiſſes ſhee her feet, then kiſſes too

Theinfants feete, and oh ſweet babe (ſaid ſhee)

Could’ſtthou but to thy mother ſpeake for me,

Andcraue her to haue pittie on my caſe;

Thoumightſt perhaps prevaile with her ſo much

AlthoughI cannot; child, ah could’ſt thou ſpeake.

Theinfant, whether by her touching it

Orby inſtinct of nature, ſeeing her weepe,

Lookesearneſtly vpon her, and then lookeſ

Vponthe mother, then on her againe,

Andthen it cryes, and then on either lookes:

Whichſhee perceauing, bleſſed childe, ſaid ſhee,

Althoughthou canſt not ſpeake, yet do’ſt thou cry

Vntothy mother for me. Heare thy childe

Dearemother, it’s for mee it cryes,

It’sall the ſpeech it hath: accept thoſe cryes,

ſaueme at his requeſt from being defilde;

Lettpittie moue thee, that thus mooues thy childe.

Thewoman, though by birth and cuſtome rude.

Yethauing veynes of nature, could not bee

Butpeircible, did feele at length the point

Ofpittie, enter ſo, as out guſht teares

(Notvſuall to ſterne eyes) and ſhee beſought

Herhuſband, to beſtow on her that prize.

Withſafegard of her body, at her will.

Thecaptaine ſeeing his wife, the childe, the nymph,

Allcrying to him in this pittious ſort;

Felthis rough nature ſhaken too, and grants

Hiswiues requeſt, and ſeales his graunt with teares;

Andſo they wept all foure for company,

Andſome beholders ſtood not with dry eies;

Suchpaſſion wrought the paſſion of their prize.

Thi.In troth my boy, and euen thy telling it

Mouesme likewiſe, thou dooſt ſo feelingly

Reportthe ſame, as if thou hadſt bene by.

ButI imagine now how this poore nymph

Whenſhe receiu’d that doome, was comforted?

Cla.ſir, neuer was there pardon, that did take

Condemnedfrom the blocke, more ioyfull then

Thisgraunt to her. For all her miſery

Seem’dnothing to the comfort ſhe receiu’d.

Bybeing thus ſaued from impurity:

Andfrom the womans feet ſhe would not part,

Nortruſt her hand to be without ſome hold

Ofher, or of the childe, ſo long as ſhee remaind

Withinthe ſhip, which in few daies arriues

AtAlexandria,whence theſe pirats were;

Andthere this woefull maide for two yeares ſpace

Didſerue, and truly ſerue this captains wife,

Whowould not loſe the benefit of her

Attendancefor all her profit otherwiſe.

Butdaring not in ſuch a place as that

Totruſt her ſelfe in womans habite, crau’d

Thatſhe might be appareld like a boy,

Andſo ſhe was, and as a boy ſhe ſeru’d.

Thi.And two yeares tis, ſince I my Siluia loſt.

Cla.At two yeares end, her miſtres ſends her forth

Vntothe Port for ſome commodities,

Whichwhilſt ſhee ſought for, going vp and downe

ſheeheard ſome merchant men of Corinthtalke,

Whoſpake that language the Arcadians did,

Andwere next neighbours of one continent.

Tothem all rapt with paſſion, down ſhe kneeles,

Telsthem ſhee was a poore diſtreſſed boy,

Bornein Arcadia,and by Pirats tooke

Andmade a ſlaue in Egypt,and beſought

Them,as they fathers were of children, or

Didhold their natiue countrey deare, they would

Takepity on her, and releeue her youth

Fromthat ſad ſeruitude wherein ſhee liu’d:

Forwhich ſhee hop’d that ſhee had friends aliue

Wouldthanke them one day, & reward them too;

Ifnot, yet that, ſhee knew the heauens would doe.

Themerchants mou’d with pity of her caſe,

Beingready to depart, tooke her with them,

Andlanded her vpon her countrey coaſt,

Wherewhen ſhee found her ſelfe, ſhee proſtrate fals,

Kiſſesthe ground, thankes giues vnto the Gods,

Thankesthem who had beene her deliuerers.

Andon ſhee trudges through the deſart woods,

Climesouer craggie rockes, and mountaines ſteep,

Wadesthorough riuers, ſtruggles thorough bogs,

ſuſtainedonely by the force of loue;

Vntillſhee came vnto the natiue plaines,

Vntothe fields, where firſt ſhee drew her breath.

Therelifts ſhee vp her eyes, ſalutes the ayre,

Salutesthe trees, the buſhes, flowres, and all:

Andoh deare ſirthis, here I am, ſaid ſhee,

Here,notwithſtanding all my miſeries.

Iam the ſame I was to thee; a pure,

Achaſte, and ſpotleſſe maide: oh that I may

Findethee the man, thou didſt profeſſe to be.

Thi.Or elſe no man; for boy who truly loues,

Muſteuer ſo; that dye will neuer out:

Andwho but would loue truly ſuch a ſoule?

Cla.But now, the better to haue notice how

Theſtate of things then ſtood, and not in haſte

Tocaſt her ſelfe on new incumbrances,

ſheekept her habite ſtill, and put her ſelfe

Toſerue a nymph, of whom ſhee had made choice

Tilltime were fitting to reueale her ſelfe.

Thi.This may be Siluiascaſe; this may be ſhee;

Butit is not: let me conſider well:

Theteller, and the circumſtance agree.

SCEN.III.

Montanus.Thirſis. Chorus.

Ahſirrha, haue I found you? are you here

Youprincock boy? and with your garland on?

Doththis attire become your peeuiſh head?

Come,I muſt teach you better manners, boy.

HeſtabsClarindo, andraſhes off his garland.

SoPhillis,I haue done my taſke, and here

Ibring the Trophey to confirme the ſame.

Thi.Ah monſter man, vile wretch, what haſt thou done?

Alas,in what a ſtrait am I ingaged here?

IfI purſue reuenge, l leaue to ſaue.

Help,help, you gentle ſwaines, if any now be neere,

Help,help: ah harke cuē Eccho helps me crie

Cho.What meanes this outcrie? ſure ſome ſauage beaſt

Diſturbsour heards, or elſe ſome wolfe hath ſeaz’d

Vpona Lambe. Thi.A worſe thing then a wolfe,

Morebloudy then a beaſt, hath murthered here

Agentler creature then a lambe: therefore

Goodſwaines purſue, purſue the homicide.

Thatougly wretch, Montanus, who hath ſtabd

Thisſily creature here, at vnawares.

Cho.Montanus?why, we met him but euen now,

Decktwith a garland, grumbling to himſelfe;

Wewill attach that villaine preſently:

Comeſirs, make haſte, and let vs after him.

SCEN.IIII.

Palaemon.Thirſis.

Alas,what accident is here falne out?

Mydeere friend Thirſis,how comes this to paſſe?

Thi.That monſter man Montanus,here hath ſtab’d

Aharmleſſe youth, in meſſage ſent to me.

Nowgood Palaemonhelp me hold him vp,

Andſee if that we can recouer him.

Pal.It may be Thirſis,more his feare then hurt:

Stayhim a while, and I will haſte and ſend

ForLamia,who with oyntments, oyle and herbeſ

Ifany help remayne, will help him ſure.

Thi.Do good Palaemon,make what haſte you may

Seekeout for help, and be not long away.

Alasſweet boy, that thou ſhould’ſt euer haue

Sohard miſfortune, comming vnto me,

Andend thy tale with this ſad tragedie;

Thattale which well reſembled Siluiascaſe,

Whichthou reſembleſt; for ſuch browes had ſhe.

Sucha proportion’d face, and ſuch a necke.

Whathaue we here, the mole of Siluiatoo?

Whatand her breaſts? what? and her haire? what all?

AllSiluia? yes, all Siluia,and all dead.

Andart thou thus return’d againe to me?

Artthou thy ſelfe, that ſtrange deliuered nymphe?

Anddidſt thou come to tell me thine eſcape

Fromdeath to die before me? had I not

Ynoughto doe, to wayle reported harmes

Butthou muſt come to bleed within my armes?

Wasnot one death ſufficient for my greifes

Butthat thou muſt die twice? why thou wert dead

Tome before. Why? muſt thou dye againe?

Ah,better had it bene ſtill to be loſt

Thenthus to haue bene found; yet better found

Thoughthus, then ſo loſt as was thought before.

Forhowſoeuer, now I haue thee yet

Thoughin the ſaddeſt faſhion that may be.

YetSiluia now I haue thee, and will I

Nomore for euer part with thee againe:

Andwe this benefit ſhall haue thereby

Thoughfate would not permit vs both to haue

Onebed, yet Siluiawe ſhall haue one graue.

Andthat is ſomething, and much more then I

Expectedeuer could haue come to paſſe.

Andſure the gods but only ſent thee thus

Tofetch me; and to take me hence with thee;

AndSiluiaſo thou ſhalt. I ready am

T’accompanythy ſoule, and that with ſpeed.

Theſtrings I feele, are all diſſolu’d, that hold

Thiswofull heart, reſeru’d it ſeemes for this:

Andwell reſeru’d, for this ſo deare an end.

SCEN.V.

Chorus.Palaemon.

So,we haue tooke the villaine, and him bound

Faſtto an Oake, as rugged as himſelfe.

Andthere he ſtares and gapes in th’ayre, and raues

Likea wilde beaſt, that’s taken in the toyle:

Andſo he ſhall remaine, till time we ſee

Whatwill become of this his ſauage act.

Pa:Cheere Thirſis,Lamiawill come preſently

Andbring the beſt preſeruatiues ſhe hath.

Whatnow? Who lyes diſcouered here? Ay me,

Awoman dead? Is this that boy tranſform’d?

Why,this is Siluia,O good Thirſishow

Comesthis to paſſe? Friend Thirſis,Thirſisſpeake.

GoodThirſistell me. Out alas he ſownes,

Aswell as ſhe, and both ſeeme gone alike.

Comegentle heardſ-men, come and carry them

Toyonder ſheep-cote quickly, that we may

(Ifpoſſible) recouer them againe.

Ifnot performe thoſe rites that appertaine

Vntoſo rare a couple. Come my friends, make haſt.

Thefourth Song of the Chorus.

Qu.Wereeuer chaſt and honeſt hearts

Expos’dvnto ſo great diſtreſſes?

Ans.Yes: they that act the worthieſt parts,

Moſtcommonly haue worſt ſucceſſes.

Greatfortunes follow not the beſt,

It’svertue that is moſt diſtreſt.

Thenfortune why doe we admire

Theglory of thy great exceſſes?

ſinceby thee what men acquire

Thyworke and not their worths expreſſes.

Nordoſt thou raiſe them for their good:

Butt’haue their illes more vnderſtood.

ACT.V. SCAEN. I.

Chorus.Palaemon.

Dideuer yet Arcadia heare before

Oftwo ſo worthie louers, as we find

Thirſisand Siluiawere? or euer had

Clearetruth, and ſimple conſtant honeſty,

Solamentable an euent as thiſ?

Buthere comes forth Palaemon,we ſhall now

Learneall of him, what hath been done within.

Pal.Goe Pollio,ſummon all th’ Arcadiayouth

Here,round about, and will them to prepare

Tocelebrate with all delights they can

Thisioyfull houre, that hath reſtord to vs

Theworthieſt paire of hearts that euer were,

Willthem to ſhew the height of muſiques art,

Andall the ſtraines of cunning they can ſhew:

Thatwe may make theſe rockes and hilles about,

Ringwith the Eccho of redoubled notes.

Andwill Charinusand Medorustoo,

Theaged parents of this worthie paire,

Tocome with ſpeed, whoſe ioy, good ſoules, wil be

Morethen their ſpeed; and yet their ſpeed I know,

Willbe beyond th’allowance of their yeeres,

Whenthey ſhall vnderſtand this happie newes.

Andſummon likewiſe all the traine of nymphes

Thatglorifie our plaines, and all that can

Giuehonour to this day.

GoePolliohaſt away, and as you goe

VnbindMontanusthat rude ſauage ſwaine:

Andthough he be vnworthie to be here,

Yetlet him come. He hath bene in his daieſ

Helda good fellow, howſoeuer now

Hisrage and loue tranſported him in this.

Cho.Palaemon,we are glad to ſee you thuſ

Delightfull,now we hope there is good newes.

Pal.Good newes my friends, and I wil tell it you,

Siluiaand Thirſisbeing to my cottage brought,

Theſkilfull Lamiacomes and ſearcht the wound

WhichSiluiahad receiu’d of this rude ſwaine,

Andfinding it not deadly ſhe applyde

Thoſeremedies ſhe knew of beſt effect.

Andbindes it vp, and powres into her mouth

Suchcordiall waters as reuiue the ſpirits:

Andſo much wrought, as ſhe at length perceiu’d

Lifewas not quite gone out, but lay oppreſt.

Withlike indeuours we on Thirſisworke,

Andminiſtred like Cordials vnto him:

Atlength we might heare Siluiafetch a groane,

Andthere withal Thirſisperceiu’d to moue,

ThenThirſisſet a groane, and Siluiamou’d

Asif their liues were made both of one peece.

Whereatwe ioyd, and then remoud’ and ſet

Eachbefore other, & held vp their heads,

Andchaf’d their temples, rub’d and ſtroak’d their cheekes:

Wherewithfirſt Siluiacaſts vp her dimme eyes,

Andpreſently did Thirſislift vp his.

Andthen againe they both together ſigh’d,

Andeach on other fixt an vnſeeing eye:

Foryet t’was ſcarſe the twylight of their new

Returningday, out of the night of death.

Andthough they ſaw, they did not yet perceiue

Eachother, and yet both turn’d to one point

Astoucht alike, and held their lookes direct.

Atlength we might perceiue, as life began

T’appeare;and make the morning in their eyes,

Theirbeames were cleerer, & their opener lookes

Didſhew as if they tooke ſome little note

Ofeach the other: yet not ſo as they

Couldthorowly diſcerne who themſelues were.

Andthen we tooke and ioynd their hands in one,

Andheld them ſo a while, vntill we fealt

Howeuen each others touch, the motion gaue

Vntotheir feeling, and they trembling wrung

Theirhands together, and ſo held them lockt,

Looktſtill vpon each other, but no words at all.

Thenwe call’d out to ThirſisThirſislooke,

Itis thy Siluiathou here holdſt, ſhe is

Return’dreuiu’d, and ſafe. Siluia,behold thou haſt

ThyThirſis,and ſhalt euer haue him thine.

Thendid we ſet them both vpon their feet

Andthere they ſtood in act, euen as before

Lookingvpon each other hand in hand:

Atlaſt we ſaw a bluſhing red appeare

Inboth their cheekes, which ſenſe ſent as a lampe

Tolight their vnderſtanding. And forthwith

Theteares guſht forth their eies, which hindred thē

Awhile from ſeeing each other, till they had

Clearedthem againe. And then as if new wak’d

Fromout a fearefull dreame, they ſtand and doubt

Whetherthey were awake indeed, or elſe

Stillin a dreame, diſtruſting their owne eyes.

Theirlong indured miſeries, would not

Letthem belieue their ſudden happineſſe,

Althoughthey ſaw it: till with much adoe

Theyhad confirm’d their credit, and had kiſt

Eachother and imbrac’d, and kiſt againe,

Andyet ſtill dumbe: their ioy now ſeem’d to be

Toobuſie with their thoughts, t’allow them words.

Andthen they walkt a little, then ſtood ſtill,

Thenwalkt againe, and ſtill held other faſt

Asif they fear’d, they ſhould be loſt againe.

Andwhen at laſt they ſpake, it was but thus,

OSiluia,and O Thirſis,and there ſtopt.

We,leſt our ſight and preſence being there

Somany) hinder might the paſſage of

Theirmodeſt, ſimple, and vnpractis’d loue,

Cameall our way, and onely Lamialeft

Whoſeſpirit, and that ſufficient ſkill ſhe hath

Willſerue no doubt, to ſee they ſhall doe well.

Cho.Well may they do deere couple, who haue thuſ

Grac’dour Arcadiawith their faithfulnes.

SCAEN.II.

Phillis.Lidia. Cloris.

Whatſhall we now do Lidia?now am I

Vtterlyſham’d: this youth turn’d woman is,

Clarindo,Siluia is become; how now?

CanI for euer looke on her againe?

Orcome in any company for ſhame?

Nowmuſt I needs be made a common ieaſt

Andlaughing ſtocke to euery one that ſhall

Butheare how groſſely I behau’d my ſelfe.

Lid.Faith Phillisaſ it is falne out, your caſe

Isvery crazie, and to make it whole

Thereis no way but euen to laugh it out,

Andſet as good a face, as you can doe

Vponthe matter, and ſay thus: How you

Knewwell inough it was no man whom you

Affectedſo, who neuer could loue man,

Noreuer would, and that by meere inſtinct

Andſimpathie of ſexe, you fancied him.

Soput it off, and turne it to a ieaſt,

Phi.That ſhall I neuer doe but euer bluſh

Ather, to thinke what ſhe will thinke of me,

Whodid bewray my ſelfe ſo fooliſhly.

Lid.Are you here Cloris,you are bleſt to day

Forbeing miſtres vnto ſuch a boy:

Youmay reioyce that euer this fell out.

Clo.Reioyce? ah Lidia,neuer was there nymphe

Hadmore occaſion to be ſad then I,

ForI am quite vndone and ſham’d hereby.

ForI imploy’d this my ſuppoſed boy

Inmeſſage vnto Thirſis,whom I lou’d

Imuſt confeſſe, more dearely then my life:

Andtold him all the ſecrets of my heart.

Andtherefore with what face can euer I

Lookevpon them that know thus much by me?

NoLidia,I will now take Thirſiscourſe:

Hideme for euer in theſe deſert woods,

Andneuer come in companie againe;

Theyſhall not laugh at me in their great ioyes.

Lid.But Cloris,I would laugh with them, were I as you,

Andhow ſoeuer felt my ſelfe within,

Yetwould I ſeeme be otherwiſe without.

Cannotyou ſay, that you knew well enough

Howit was Siluiathat you intertain’d,

Althoughyou would not ſeeme to take ſuch note;

Andthereupon imploy’d her in that ſort

ToThirſis,knowing who it was would giue

Tohim the greateſt comfort vpon earth.

Andthus faire Nimphes you fitly may excuſe

Theſeſimple ſlips, and know that they ſhall ſtill

Hauecroſſes with their piles, who thus doe play

Theirfortunes with their loues, as you two did:

Butyou muſt frame your countenance thereto

Andlooke with other faces then their owne.

Asmany elſe doe here, who in their partſ

ſetſhining lookes vpon their clowdy hearts,

Andlet vs mixe vs with this company

Thathere appeares with mirth and iollitie.

TheSong of the fifth Chorus.

Whoeuer ſaw ſo faire a ſight,

Loueand vertue met aright:

Andthat wonder Conſtancie,

Likea Comet to the eye

ſeldomeeuer ſeene ſo bright?

ſoundout aloud ſo rare a thing,

Thatall the Hilles and Vales may ring.

Looke,Louers looke, with paſſion ſee,

Ifthat any ſuch there bee:

Asthere cannot but be ſuch

Whodoe feele that noble touch

Inthis glorious companie,

ſoundout aloud, &c.

FINIS.

Pag51. line 24 & page 54. line 28. for loueneſſe,reade loneneſſe.Ib. p. 54. l. 6. for deſcire r. deſire p. 59. l. 23 put out, all.p. 62. l 7. at the verſes end, adde, help.p. 63. l. 6. r. oyles.