FILLI DI SCIRO. OR Phillis of Scyros. An Excellent PASTORALL.

Written in Italian By C. Guidubaldo de' Bonarelli. AND Translated into English, BY I. S. Gent.

LONDON, Printed by I. M. for Andrew Crook, and are to be sold at his shop at the sign of the Green Dragon in S t Paul's Church yard. 1655.

GENTLE READER,

THe
Pastor Fi­do, Trans­lated by some Author be­fore this: And both of them neer twenty years agone.
Elder Sister of this Blushing Maid,
Long kept in darkness, and severely staid
From looking forth, by him who thought the dress
He cloth'd her in, too homly to express
That native Beauty, which by birth she drew,
From her first Parent, who exactly knew
How to attire her in so rich a Trim,
As might win honour both to her, and him:
Greeving perhaps to be so coursely us'd,
So long pent up, and as she thought abus'd:
Resolv'd to try if yet her ancient Fame,
Could raise her up to a more glorious Name:
And guided by the Star which rul'd her Fate,
At last she met with one more fortunate,
Then her old Foster Father was: And he
(Fraught with the store of rich ability.)
Bravely adorn'd her,
Translated by Mr. Rich. Fans [...]aw, and dedicat­ed to the Prince that then wa [...].
taught her how to speak
A Courtly Language, and thereby to break
Through all the Mists of dark obscurity,
As one now fitted for a Princes Eye.
This rare adventure, wrought a strange conceit
In this more lowly Minion, that my streit,
And rigid resolution held so long,
To Coop them up, had done them both some wrong
For whilest I gave her Sister leave to walk,
From hand to hand by stealth, she heard men talk
Of gracious Favours, and Aspects, cast on her
By Noble persons, and by men of Honour;
And thence concludes, 'twas onely want of scope
To fly abroad which thus destroid her hope.
And that her self (though meanly pris'd by me)
[Page]Might have attaind the same felicitie:
These fond ambitious Thoughts; and sad Laments
Grounded upon her groundless discontents,
Have forc't me yeild unto her mournful plaint
And loose the Fetters of her hard restraint.
Granting her leave to roam abroad at large,
Yet not without this strict, and serious charge
That she should not presume to think her Name
Could purchase her, or me, a lasting Fame;
Nor yet expect, that her best industrie
Could raise her up unto the least degree
Of Grace and Favour, with judicious men,
Who know the failings of my erring Pen;
But rather that she should conform her mind
To my mean fortune, as unlike to find
A way to better hopes, as I am free
From those aspiring thoughts, which use to be
In men of greater Parts, whose merits may,
Challenge a due respect, where worth bears sway:
And since she could not be content to dwell
In my poor quiet, though but homely Cell,
Where she might have been free from all the wrongs
Of envious hearts, and of malicious tongues,
That yet she would put on an humble guise
A modest garb, without desire to rise
Unto an higher pitch then well may sute
With the bare purchase of a fair Repute.

To my much Honoured Friend, Mr. I. S. upon his Transla­tion of Filli di Sciro.

HOw hath thy cruel modesty betray'd
To dark Imprisonment this beautious Maid:
And rob'd thy Country of so rich a piece.
As honoured Italy, and out did Greece,
While in obedience to thy strict command
She silent languisht,
This Come [...] was Trans­lated long [...] go by M. [...] S. and lay [...] by, as also [...] was Pasto [...] Fido, wh [...] was [...]n [...]e [...] Translate [...] and set fo [...] by Mr. R [...] Fanshaw [...]
yet could understand
And speak our Language perfect, as her own:
A virtue not oth' Sex, but hers alone.
Her Sister in Imprisonment got [...]ree
But ow'd to other hands her Liberty,
And had such taking Ayres, that she was grown
The Courted Beauty here as soon as known:
Nor needst thou fear, this meets unequal grac [...],
Being h [...]r equal bo [...]h in birth and Face:
She's no exposed Issue, but as we
When Pictures shewen, done by great [...]ands, do s [...]e
Without severe [...]xamining apart
The Colours, Postures▪ Symetrie and Art.
Crie a rare piece, so much to Fame we owe
Of th' Authors skil confirmed long ago;
So when her Fathers name as gre [...]t as theirs,
For Lim [...]ing souls, and paintin [...] loves and fears
Is read upon her Front the Noble piece
Hath doubl [...] estimate, that's Go [...]d, and His.
Break f [...]rth then Innocent swe [...]tness, and shine bright
As the fair Mo [...]n,
The N [...] supposed [...]mediately pr [...]cede t [...] opening o [...] Scene, [...] the Mor [...] immedia [...] succeedi [...] in which Pastoral [...]gins, b [...]i [...] one full [...] horror, [...] other of [...] light, b [...] describe [...] the first [...] Scene.
which a [...] succeed that Night
So dark and hideous, that men thought the Sun
[Page]And Nature at a stand, their last course run;
When taught by fear th' amazed world did say
There needed new Creation to make day,
Which yet sprang with such swe [...]tness and delight
They wisht there never would succeed a night
Shine forth so fair; and teach our wanton youth
To hate their perjuries, and honour truth.
That the soft Virgins may no more complain,
Mens falshood, and their wronged loves made vain;
But let thy great example strike an awe
Into their souls, as binding as the Law.
Which may into both Sexes still dispense
In Love, success; in Wisdome, innocence.
Taught by thy virtues thus, they both will pray
No Night may ere ore [...] take thy glorious day.
Which long and fair I as a Prophet could
Foretel should last, and as a Poet would
Create new Fate for thee, were thine not great.
But thou hast perfect temper, and thy heat
Drawn from the Sun and purer part oth' Sky
Predicts, and causes immortality.
And not to be by lines describ'd and shown
Less Artful and Immortal then thine own.

I. H.

The Actors Names.

  • NIGHT. Speaks the Prologue.
  • Melisso. A Sheapheard of Smyrna, and the supposed Father of Cloris.
  • Sireno. Father of Phillis, and Amyntas.
  • Cloris. Phillis, under the name of Cloris, es­poused to Thirsis.
  • Celia. The Daughter of Ormino, in love with Niso and Amintas.
  • Amintas. The Son of Sireno, and in love with Celia.
  • Niso. Thirsis, under the name of Niso, in love with Celia, but espoused to Phillis.
  • Ormino. Father of Thirsis, and Celia.
  • Oronte. A Captain of the Grand Signiors.
  • Perindo. One of Orontes Souldiers.
  • Serpilla. Aged Nymph.
  • Nerea. Aged Nymph.
  • Fillino. A Boy that keeps Ormino's Flocks.
  • Narete. An old Shepheard.

The Scene lies in the Isle of SCYROS.

The Prologue.

NIGHT.

STay now my quick wing'd Coursers, stay your flight
So long at least as till I may find out
What strange unusual wonder hath possest
This earthly Globe, and what rare virtue lives
Which hath the power, within so short a space,
Thus to transform the world.
And in the interim let th' Antipodes,
Th [...]se strange unknown inhabitants which dwel,
Below this Sphere, injoy the pleasing light
Of the daies burning Lamp, beyond their wont;
And you swift-wing'd Damsels that attend
Still on my person, for a time suspend
Your hasty flight (as once before you did,
When the renown'd Alcides was conceiv'd)
And let the restlesse Spokes, and whirling Nathes,
Of my Eternal Chariot on the proud
Aspiring back of towring A [...]las rest;
Nor let the shining God which by his beams,
Makes such a difference in your borr [...]wed lights,
Seem discontent that I usurp a while,
Vpon the time prescribed for my raign,
In our devided Empire; for hims [...]lf
Whil'st once he needs would stay, to be a kind
Spectator of anothers Victory,
[Page]Held in his hand his burning torch beyond
The limits of his hours, so to befriend
That brave Heroick Hebrew in the fight▪
He made against the opposers of his might:
But least perhaps the kn [...]wledge who I am,
Should seem as dark to any, as my looks,
And this my gloomy visage seems obscure,
Let them that do desire to know my name,
And what the truth of my condition is,
Behold this Sable Chariot and observe,
These golden trappings, and from thence collect,
Both who, and what I am: The heedlesse rout
Of the self-heady multitude, do call
Me impious Nurse of Error, mother of
Enchantments, and foul horror, and a friend
To Vice, and wickednesse: But I am she,
That do produce true Mirth and [...]ollity,
The quaint allayer of unquiet thoughts,
The sole dispencer of sweet pleasing dreams,
And Vniversal rest.
Great Queen of Shades, Eternal Warrior,
That lead under the Colours which I bear,
Adorn'd with silver spangles, Legions of
Bright shining Stars, which do incamp me round;
Whilst I arm'd all in darknesse do destroy,
The glorious day, and after crown'd with lights,
And carried through this spacious Hemisphere,
In this eternal Chariot do triumph,
Over the day so foild.
'Tis I, that to you Mortals shew the Mines
Of precious Saphires, and the treasure of
Immortal Carbuncles, and so divide
Into a world of sparks, one fire alone,
As shews a thousand shining Suns for one.
Night, night, the daughter of the earth I am,
Do you not know me you blest lovers? Can
You n [...]w forget her? whom you oft have call'd,
The faithful Secretary of your close,
[Page]And amorous thefts? how many times have I
Conceal'd you under my black gloomy shades,
Whilest you have s [...]cretly past free from sight,
To reap your stoln delights?
And you young Damsels, what sweet hidden joys,
What private pleasures have you of't injoy'd
Vnder the shadow of my dusky raies?
How often by the gentle virtue of
This my sweet gentle son, although he be
Deaths elder brother; have I chear'd your fain [...]
And wearied spirits, and r [...]stor'd you to
The powers of life again: and shutting up
Your dull dim eyes, have let your fancies see
Those pleasing Images of Loves best joys,
Which rapt your souls into a Paradice
O [...] amorou [...] delig [...]t [...].
To you at least, I cannot but be dear,
(If I b not deceiv'd) Magnanimous
Brave Heroes, since I alone am she
By whom your everlasting monuments,
Describ'd in glist ring characters of gold,
And w [...]itten in the spacious volume of
The vast celestial sphere, amongst my clear,
Bright shining signs, do live eternally:
Environ'd there, with troops of glorious Stars,
Amongst a thousand others clearly shines
He that so many cruel Monsters queld:
Nor can I doubt, but I shall be as dear
To you my amorous spectators, who
Within your sweet aspects, do sweetly bear
Beauty and Love, since all my care is how
To imitate in my bright shining Lamps,
The glorious beams which shine out of your eyes,
And since the Goddesse of rich beau [...]y, and
That lovely Star, which gently doth inspire
Into your gentle hearts the flames of Love,
Is not th [...] least of those bright Sisters, which
Attend up [...]n my train.
[Page]From you I therefore do desire to kn [...]w,
The cause of this so rare an accident:
What is it I behold here? is not this,
The Isle of Scyros, this the River where,
Led by the power of Fate, the Thracian ship,
All rent and torn, so lately furled up
Her weather-beaten sails? 't is not long since
I saw the brinish Waves, fall swoln with pride,
So raise their fierce aspiring rage, against
High Heaven it self, as that together with
Those other Fishes which instead of Scales,
Are all adorned with bright shining stars,
The swift Celestial Dolphin might have swum,
Within the neighbouring Sea.
'T is not long since I saw those flashing beams,
With blazing Ensigns of hot burning flames,
Run through the spacious Region of the Air,
And every minute threaten this whole Isle,
With endlesse Battels of confounding blasts,
And ever showring Rain.
Loud claps of Thunder, with their roaring noise,
As Trumpets of the universe were heard,
Now here, now there, in those confused wars,
Of all the troubled Elements to sound
The bold defiance of the winds.
Impetuous Whirl-winds, with most horrid flaws,
Those blustring Combatants might then be seen,
With fearful Shocks to Iust and Tourney both
In a fierce Duel 'twixt them two fought here,
Within the circuit of this Hemisphere:
Then tell me Mortals, tell me who is he,
To whom high Heaven hath vouchsaf't that Grace,
To reconcile the disagreeing jars,
Of such fierce enemies, and settle them
Thus in a friendly peace.
Who is it that clears up my duskie looks?
Dries my now humide Mantle? and thus gilds
My sable hair? that was so lately hung,
[Page]With dangling Pearls of cold congealed hail,
And moistned in the fogs of cloudy mysts?
What new created light thus forceth me
To change my innate quality? Behold
The late distemper'd Heavens seem to smile,
The waters smile, the earth adorn'd with flowers
Opens her fruitful bosome, and displaies
Her various store, in emulation of
My brighter April stars.
I see no more now of a Tempest here,
But flashing beams of Honour, blazing lights,
Of Love and Beauty: O rare Miracle,
What cannot the all powerfull virtue of
Divine Celestial beauty bring to passe?
Yours be the thanks blest eyes, in whose Serene
Triumphant Arches, still so clearly shines
A gentle Rainbow, which can pacifie,
Not winds and storms alon [...], but all the Gusts
Of a disturbed Soul.
But Oh! what glorious raies now dart their light
Vpon my gloomy visage? What bright Lamp,
With too much splendor blinds my feeble sight?
Though like an immense Peacock I do bear,
Within my train the sparkling glory of
A thousand glittering eyes, yet all come short
Of this so bright an object, and as one
That still d [...]sires to gaze upon so clear,
So rich a Paradice of beauty; now
I wish I had a thousand more.
But stay! for there me thinks I see the Sun,
Eternal Painter, now begin to rise,
And Limn the Heavens, in Vermilian Dye,
And having dipt his Pencil, aptly fram'd
Already in the colour of the Morn,
With various temper, he doth mix in one,
Darkn [...]sse and light: And drawing curiously,
Straight golden lines, quite thwart the duskie skie,
A rough draught of the day he seems to yeeld,
[Page]With Red and Tawny in an Azure Field.
Already by the clattring of their Bits,
Their gingling harnesse, and their neighing sound,
I hear Eous, and fierce Pirous,
Come panting at my back: and therefore I,
Must flie away, and yet I do not flie.
But follow on my regulated course,
And those eternal Ordors I receiv'd
Fr [...]m the first mover of the Vniverse,
I do n [...]t flie the dawning of the day,
For envy of the light, or those bright raies,
Which deck the beauty of the blushing morn;
I do not flie the Sun, because I think
It any shame to me, that he should thus
Follow, and drive me now away from hence;
No, no, I flie (white snowy foreheads) from
Your clearer morning light, I flie, I flie.
(Fair beauteous eyes) from your bright shining beams;
Not that I scorn to be o'recome by them,
By whom the Sun is proud to be out-shin'd,
And dazeled with their light: but I am loath
To break the laws of Love, and 'tis Loves law,
That all the turns of Nature should subject
Th [...]mselves to change; and I should not retard
My quick return too long, to them that live
Beyond this Sphere, and now expect me there.
Thou then kind sleep, free those dull eyes that lie,
Opprest with slumber; and thou silence tie,
Mens busie tongues, that this day all the world,
May with k [...]nd looks, and tacite thoughts behold,
The admirable fortune and rare fate,
Of Thirsis and fair Phillis those two blest,
Procurers of this Islands happy rest,
And you dear daughters of the humide air,
Begotten by the influence of the Moon,
You fruitfull nourishers of herbs and flowers,
Fresh morning Dews, now shut your silver Vrns;
For now the fields have satisfied their thirst,
And meads have drunk their fill: Flie you swift hours
[Page]And lightly hasten to the latest step,
Of that large scale, by which I use to passe,
Beyond the bounds of this Horizon, Flie.
And you bright followers of Cinthia, now
Pursue the dance which to the Harmony,
Of the Celestial Spheres, you use to tread
Vpon the Airs vast Theater, and whilst
Sweet pleasing Musick fills the courteous ears,
Of all these beautifull Spectators here.
Put out your Lights, for now the night is done,
And leave your places to th' approaching Sun.

Filli di Sciro, OR PHLLIS of SCYROS:

ACT. 1.

SCENA 1.

MELISSO, SIRENO.
Mel.
BEhold the dawning light, give ear unto
The gentle murmurings of the morning Air,
Which is high Heavens sacring Bell, that calls
The drowsie birds, to pay their homage to
The rising Sun.
And tell me then, if ever man yet saw,
So fair a morning, breath so sweet a gale,
Out of the gloomy bosome of so foul a night?
See with what dear delight it seems to steal
The Stars from Heaven, and store the earth with Flowers,
O blessed Banks! do not these Roses look,
Like stars sent from their sphere to adorn this Brook?
Sir.
It seems a dream Melisso, for of late
The world was out of course; the troubled Clouds
Labour'd, as over-whelmed with the Sea;
And the bright Heavens as darkned with her Waves,
Thunder-bolts shot themselves through furious Gusts,
Which threatned nothing but a boisterous storm,
And ever now, and then, a fearfull light,
Blaz'd from the skies; which by those flashing beams,
Seem'd in a triumph to shew forth their power.
The blustring winds strove by their whirling blasts,
To shake the deep foundations of the earth:
[Page 2]Instead of rain, the rivers swoln with pride,
And scorning to be kept within the Banks,
Of muddy clay, seem'd to out-face the Air;
And I amazed cried, shall then the earth,
Be by another Sea from Heaven o're-whelm'd?
To tell the truth, I durst not then presume,
To stir out of my Cell surpris'd with fear,
To look upon the Weather-beaten fields:
Or see these flowers all torn up by the roots,
And view the Corn lie shaken with the storm,
Here boughs torn from the trees, there trees rent up,
And every where th' unhappy Trophies then
Of Heaven warring against sinfull men.
And yet, behold I see these gentle Plants
Adorn'd, and deckt, with their green tresses still.
There's not a leaf, which faln from off a Bow,
Lies withered by the tree, from which it fell.
Each Valley, Meadow, and each fertile field,
More fruitful now then ever, do I see,
Enamel'd with fair flowers, mixt with green hearbs,
And braging as it were, of heavens high Grace.
O Wonderfull! shall then the injuries
Of heaven, become Earths greatest happiness?
And such foul stormes produce such fruitfulness?
Mel.
Sireno, heaven never varies from these Laws,
And these Eternall bounds, to which its ty'd;
But it foretels some fearful prodigie;
For 'tis the Master of all future chance.
And all the lights, and all the turns it brings,
Are tongues which talk in a celestial tone:
And if it Thunder, or send lightning forth,
Even that's a muttering language, which it speaks.
And haply, this vain terrour, which the night
Brought upon us fond men, to which succeeds,
Beyond all humane hope, so blith a morn,
Is sent from thence, to tell us that we may,
After a short tempestuous storm of sad annoy,
Hope for the chearfull beams of unexpected joy.
Sir.
[Page 3]
Alas, Melisso, can it be beleev'd?
If Heaven had care of us, the Sun would sure;
Rather then thus display his glorious beams,
Conceal himself under those watry clouds,
From looking on these certain miseries,
Which now attend us.
Know'st thou not then, that on this wofull shore,
Oronte is arriv'd, the Minister
Of the Great King, and of our endlesse Woe?
Mel.
I know it not, who came but yesternight,
Just at the setting of the evening Sun,
With Cloris my dear daughter from the holy Isle,
Whither we went, as you know very well,
At the beginning of the youthfull spring:
And since in Scyros I have made abode,
Where I already have beheld the fields,
Three times wax yellow with the Summers heat
And thrice grow hoary with the Winters Frost.
I cannot call to mind, that ere I saw,
Any such man come here.
Sir.
'Tis true he comes not, but each fifteen years,
Yet leaves a sad remembrance here behind
Of an eternal Woe.
O Melisso, Melisso, ere thou see'st
Th' unlucky Batt, flie through the dusky air,
Or hear'st the night Owl shriek, thou yet shalt hear,
The wofull plaints of silly Infants, sound
The deep laments of Scyros.
But I must go, for time calls me, to hast
Unto the Temple, to adore the Gods.
Mel.
The Temple is yet shut; and is not far
Distant from hence, here we may stay a while,
Under this bright and spacious Hemisphere,
Untill the Sun send out his golden raies,
To gild the silver skies, and so extract
The morning beams, out of this dawning light:
Then with the rising Sun, and not before,
The sacred Priest sets ope the Temple dore:
[Page 4]And in the interim, thou may'st here inform
Me, who this man is, what those ills he brings,
From whence and wherefore he arrived here.
For loves-sake, let me know, our common greeves,
That whilest all others mourn, I may not be
Carelesse alone to wail our misery.
Sir.
I'le tell thee then Meliss' and thou shalt hear,
In two short sighs, our long continued woes;
Thou canst not but already understand,
That when the Thracian bold, Grand Signior first
Mel.
O sad beginning from a Tyrants name!
Sir.
Subdu'd unto his barbarous Empire all,
The Towns and Cities seated round the Coasts
Of the Aegean Sea.
He a most cruel tribute then impos'd.
Not of fine Wool, nor of our woolly flocks,
Not of our horned Heards, of Gold or Gems,
The baser off-spring, of Dame Natures Womb;
But of our proper Children, which to us
Are the dear gifts of Heaven, of those sweet Imps,
And tender Infants, which from two years old
Had not yet breath'd out five years of their Age.
Mel.
I know it well.
Sir.
He then doth every fifteen years imploy
A Captain, from these Coasts, to bear away
Those pretty little slaves, who from each place,
Some ten, a hundred, or a thousand takes;
According as the place abounds in store.
And from this most unhappy Island here,
Great onely in the sorrows which it feels,
Twenty, and twenty, he exacts by course,
Such as amongst a thousand chosen first
By his own will, shall by a cursed lot,
Be destin'd to his power:
That cursed lot, which fifteen years agone
Made poor Ormino, and my self, become,
Above all forlorn Parents, most forlorn;
(Alas I cannot hold from sad laments,
[Page 5]Each minute that I think on't.)
Then, then, I say, this self same man, this same
Oronte, snatcht from him Thirsis his son,
From me my daughter Phillis, and from both
Our very hearts; O me most wretched man!
Mel.
Could not the children of Ormino then,
And of Siren, which are descended from
The great Achilles, those young Imps of love
Through whom all Scyros is so famous grown
Be spar'd in Scyros? Is there no regard
In Kings, to those that are deriv'd from Kings?
Sir.
O no Melisso, no; Kings Royal blood,
Without a Royal Scepter brings smal good:
And who dos't thou beleeve, would think to find
Under a lowly Hut, a Shepheards Weed
Amidst our simple manners, Royal Seed?
Mel.
If men cannot, Sireno, yet Heaven should,
Bright Heaven, which sees, what yet the Sun nere saw
And Heaven may one day yet some pitty take,
And some Compassion of our Misery:
But tell me then, is he that's here arriv'd,
A Thracian Captain, and a Thracian born?
Sir.
A Thracian of Bisantium, and the great
Servant, and Favorite of the Thracian King
(If all be true, which when his fatal foot
Last trode in Scyros, I was made beleeve)
And his great charge it is to take a care,
Of all these tributes upon which his thoughts
Are so intentive, as he hath not past
One day of his due time since fifteen yeers
Are this day just compleat, and he return'd
Hither again, to re [...]ovate our woes.
As if both Winds and Waters had conspir'd,
To bring him flying hither.
Mel.
No more, new cares even now suggest themselves
Unto my thoughts, and bid me hast away.
Sir.
Go, and be happy, as thy heart can wish,
And I will to the Temple bend my steps:
[Page 6]And thence unto the place, where under Tents
Oronte lies lodg'd by the Ocean shore,
To learn at least, if my poor Phillis came
Alive unto the Thracian strand.

Act. 1 Scen 2.

Cloris. Melisso.
CLo.
Celia, my Celia:
But shee's not here, nor answers to my call.
Mel.
Ah daughter Cloris!
Clo.
Alas my father! whither now so fast?
Why with so sad a look?
Mel.
To thee I come my child.
Clo.
To me so troubled? woes me what's the cause?
What is the sad misfortune that you bring?
Mel.
Thracians arriv'd in Scyros: to this shore,
Death comes conducted by thine enemies:
Thou know'st too well, how that great Tyrant seeks,
And thirsteth for thy bloud.
Clo.
Ah me Thirsis, ô Thirsis!
Ah my dearest Soul!
Mel.
But fear not daughter; and yet prithee fear,
Fear, yea and tremble too; a surer Guard,
Then fear is, cannot now preserve thee safe;
In thine own hands thy welfare then consists;
And to a tender maidens heart, and easier help
Cannot be well prescrib'd then fear.
Clo.
You are deceiv'd Sir: Heaven yet d [...]nies
To grant me such a favour, as to fear:
Whil'st I am unresolv'd, and cannot learn,
Whether my Thirsis be alive or dead.
I cannot well tell whether I should fear,
Or rather seek mine end,
O Thirsis, Thirsis!
If I a thousand times on thy loud name
[Page 7]Have cal'd in vain, at least in this so great,
So suddain danger, answer me, and say,
Art thou alive or dead?
Dead or alive my Thirsis, tell me, Dear
Where must I seek thee out, amongst the cold
And naked shadows of uncloathed souls,
Or amongst living Men?
Mel.
Poor silly fool; See how her fancy raves
Still upon love: Dost thou beleeve that death
Bears such an Amorous look, that thou darst play
Thus with thy love, whilest he sits on thy Brow?
Clo.
If my lov'd Thrisis be amongst the dead,
Death cannot but seem lovely then to me.
And if perhaps (dear Father) you have sought
Out of a needless pitty to my woe,
Still to conceal his death:
High Heaven then (I know not which to say)
Reward, or pardon, this your pious fraud,
For what is past already: But since Fate
By these rude Thracians hands, doth open now,
So large a Path unto my wished end;
Cease then at last that merciful deceit,
Which is to me so cruel: For if death
Have seiz'd upon my Thirsis, then I know
That Death and He expect me both below.
And since he fees me now so neer the Bark
That may transport me thither, loe me thinks
I see him come to meet me: and whilest he
Kinde loving soul, puts forth his hand to me,
Shall I turn back from him? Ay me!
Mel.
With those deep sighs, let all thy fancies end,
Thy Thirsis lives, I say, thy Thirsis lives;
But thou art too incredulous: I oft
Have sworn by Heaven and Earth tis true; yet thou
Wilt not beleeve it; see I swear again,
Again he lives, and to thy love he lives,
And to thy Spousal Rites, and to thy Life
His Life he still preserves.
Clo.
[Page 8]
Is it then true, and may it be beleev'd?
Lives yet my Thirsis? shall I ever see
That day, when I may see him once again?
Mel.
Thou shalt, if thou wilt but attend the time:
Clo.
But when, how long, how long shall that time be?
Mel.
Not long: Dost thou not see that Heaven which brings
And Marshals all our days, is restless still,
And in continual motion hastens on
With all the speed it can?
Suffer the Fates then to produce their Will
In their appointed time, and force them not
By an abortive Birth to bring thy Hopes,
To an untimely end.
Clo.
What shall I doe then, where, which way shall I
Defend my Life from cruel Thracians Hands,
Already I do fear and tremble.
Mel.
Even Hope it self, hath taught thee now to fear.
Clo.
Will you that in the Fields, the Woods, the Caves
I hide my self, or seek remoter parts?
Mel.
But what remoter Parts can be found out,
Where thou mayst follow either Beasts or Heards,
And not a Thracian trace thee by thy steps.
A Fair young Maid, if she remain alone
In secret places, cannot be secure
Where Thracians walk the Round.
Clo.
Will you that then I Sail unto the Rocks?
Thither 'tis certain neither Beasts nor Heards
Can draw the greedy Thracians to pursue me,
Ile go, and if I cannot finde a Barke
Ready to wast me from this luckless Shore,
Though yet the troubled Sea, be not at rest
Ile Swim to save my Life.
Mel.
Fear makes thee now too bold: shal a weak Maid
By swimming, dare to press the angry Waves
Of a tumultuous Sea? Swim to the Rocks?
No, no, my Child, not in a well Rigd Boat.
The Coast is full of People, on the Shore
The Thrasian Captain, keeps his Residence.
Clo.
[Page 9]
Is there no way left for me to escape?
Mel.
I with my Hooks and Nets, will towards the Sea,
Direct my steps pretending there to fish,
And so shall spie which way the Thracians tend,
And 'ert be long return to thee again
With a more sure advice.
Clo.
And wretched I, what shall I do the while?
Mel.
Wait here abouts, in open view of all,
Th' art yet secure, and till I shall return
Leave all the care to me: Let none perceive
That either flight or fear, sits on thy Brow:
If Nimphs come here for shade, doubt not to put
Thy self into their company, discourse,
And laugh, and play, and pass the time away.
If thus the Thracians finde thee with thy fears,
Thou mayst perhaps pass unregarded.
And yet I know not how those eyes of thine
Send forth a sparkling light, which cannot shine,
In any eyes besides; it shewes it self
But too too glorious, such resplendant beams
Cannot remain conceal'd.
Let fall thy hair in some quaint wanton guise
Over thy forehead, that in part it may
Cover those darting looks: The less thou shewst,
Fair as thou art the less thou shalt appear
Like to thy self.
Clo.
See not my hair alone dis-cheveld, but
My Vail let loose; Oh me I'm too too rude.
Mel.
And yet th'art not less fair, but thy best guard
Consists in the discretion of thy words.
Dost thou remember what was taught thee, when
Thou wert a little pratling Girle: Canst thou
Answer to him shall ask thee who thou art?
Clo.
Yes, very well.
Mel.
Answer me then. What is thy name?
Clo.
Cloris, Mel. Where wert thou born?
Clo.
In Smyrna. Mel. Who begot thee there?
Clo.
Melisso of Armilla.
Mel.
[Page 10]
Thirsis? Clo. I know not who you mean.
Mel.
Eillis? Clo. I understand you not.
Mel.
Thracia? Clo. I never yet was there.
Mel.
Right, right, 'tis right, such thy Answers be
Beware of faultring if thou love thy life.
Does no man here us? See there comes a Nymph
Down from the Wood.
Clo.
Oh, oh 'tis Celia, Shee that hath my heart,
Shee whom I wandred up and down to find.
Mel.
Stay then with her.

Act. 1 Scen. 3.

Cloris. Celia.
Clo.
O My sweet Celia, Scarce had I rob'd
The Fertile Earth of a few fragrant Flowers.
Before I lost the sight of the: But why
Turn'st thou away those eyes, and why those steps
In such a troubled guise? dost thou disdain
That I should look upon thee once again?
What suddain change is this? when first I came,
This morning to thy Lodg, scarce didst thou deign
To entertain me with a seeming smile:
Which yet discovered plainly that thy Heart
Answered not to thy looks: and when thou then
With thy neglecting Arms didst make a shew,
As if thou wouldst embrace me, thou didst not
Hug me close in thy bosom: but at last
From thy cold frozen Lips, thou didst let fall;
Not dart a kiss at me and with a soft
Dull fainting voice, I knew not if thou saidst
Th'art welcome Cloris, but 'tis sure enough,
I could not here thee say, as thou wert wont,
(Whilst I was dear to thee) my life, my heart,
My gentle Cloris welcome.
After all this thou gav'st thy self to stray,
And wander up and down, troubled and sad,
[Page 11]I follow thee, thou flyest,
I speak, thou wilt not answer me,
I look upon thy lovely Face, thou weepest,
And dost thou hate me then ingrateful Wench
What have I done, that could deserve thy hate?
Or rather, what 'ist that I have not done
To make thee love me? Are we still the same
That we were wont to be?
Am I still Cloris, art thou Celia?
Celia.
O grief that Wounds my Heart, Ah grant me but
So short a respit as may give me leave
To answer her, and yet conceal my grief.
Clo.
And wilt thou thou then discurtious as thou art,
Deny to me a part of these lost words
which thou so freely spendest in the Ayr?
Who must I speak to now, since thou deniest
To give me Answer? What 'ist I must doe?
Ayme, since thou, who only heretofore,'
Wert wont to lessen my tormenting pains,
Art now she that torments me? but allas,
This happily is some prodigious signe,
Of my more desperate ruine, and perhaps
High Heaven hath decreed, my tears shall be
Eternal, since it now denyes to stay
Her that was wont to wipe them all away.
Celia.
Ah Cloris, Ah my Life!
Clo.
That same, my Life, comes from thy mouth per force.
I know it well enough, 'twas not thy Heart
That sent it thither.
Celia.
Let them dissemble then that can, my Tongue
Cannot tell how to give my heart the lye;
Hear me then Cloris, and I do not say
Life, of my Life, because my Life to me,
Is now a burden; but thou art not so.
I am no more that Celia, that I was.
Tis true: but what so ere I am, I fly,
And hate my self, not thee:
Thus far thou mayst know of me, but no more;
[Page 12]Permit me then to wander still alone,
In secret horrors of the savage Woods,
Where through obscurity of darksome shades
I may not see my self.
Clo.
Ahyme, what new malignant Star
Hath Heaven produc't that can compel thy grief,
Thus to neglect it self? and shall I then
Forsake thee too? Not till I know thy ill.
Yet what but love, and his most intricate
Turmoyls, can trouble thus thy happy state?
I oft have heard the wisest lovers say
He knows no grief, that knows not loves delay.
For else what can it be? unless perhaps,
(And can that bring so great a misery?
Mongst other Nimphs upon some solemn day;
Thy Darts or Arrows, have not cleft the Mark;
Or by misfortune, happily thou hast lost
Thy goodly Ivory Bow: I see it not
Hang by thy side: Or is thy gentle Kid
Thy dearest dear delight (and this 'tis true
Is the most sad mishap ill luck can send)
Is he, I say, come to untimely end?
Celia.
He was at least the cause of all my woe
For by his means I did become the prey
Of Eurito the Centaur: whence arose
The spring and sourse of all my misery,
Clo.
Wert thou the Centaurs prey? and how? and when?
Do not conceal so strange an accident.
Colia.
Ile tell it thee, but ask me then no more.
Clo.
Be it as thou wilt have it.
Celia.
Hear then, and when I have declar'd,
The mournful story of my ravishment
Be thou content to leave me here alone.
Clo.
Go on I prethee.
Celia.
That very day when thou (about to take
Thy journey to those Solemn Festivals,
Which in the Holy Isle they celebrate
To the great Goddess) camest to take thy leave,
[Page 13]Of me at my poor Cell: I to restrain
Those Tears which thy departure forct me to,
(As if I had foreseen (woes me) that soon,
I should have have far more urgent cause to give
Full scope to their impetuous Torrent)
I gave my self the liberty to sport
And dally with that nimble frisking Kid:
Whose gentle Gamesomeness, was wont to chear
All my sad froward thoughts; whilest they were such,
As could admit of any gamesomeness.
That harmless Beast, or in his harmless shape
My perverse fortune, by a thousand trains [...]
Of wanton sports, entic't me to that Shore
Where the proud Sea hath wrought it self so near
Unto the Woods, that shaddows seem to swim,
And flouds repose themselves under the shade.
There whilst I spent some time to gather up
Such Cockle Shels, as Nature had adorn'd
With various pride, that I might weave them streight,
Into a collor for my pretty Kid,
Behinde me I could hear the rushing noise
Of a rude boisterous creature, and ere scarce
I well could turn mine eyes, I might perceive
Close at my back, I know not which to say
A man or beast: Whose fury came so fast,
As flung the smaller Sands into my face,
And forc't me shut mine eyes:
Thus neither seeing how, nor yet by whom,
I felt my self snatcht up and born away.
Fain would I have cryed out, but my weak voice,
Not daring to put sorth it self, retired
And fled in silence to my throbbing Heart.
Whilest I, as one half dead, could not recall
My straggling sences back, till I was brought
Into the inmost parts of those thick Woods.
And found my self become the wretched prey,
Of a most horrid Monster.
I found my self (and tremble yet to think
[Page 14]What then I found) close graspt within the Arms
Of that mishapen Cent aur, that foul fiend,
Whom thou mayst yet if thou hast so much heart,
Lodg'd in thine eyes, behold and wonder at
Thy self, within the Temple.
Clo.
Alas my hair stands upright on an end
To hear him but describ'd.
Celia.
There, to a sturdy Oak, he bound me fast
And re-enforct his base inhumane bonds
With the then danglinst Tresses of my hair,
Ingrateful bair, ill-nurtur'd wicked Locks!
The cruel wretch then took up from the foot
Both my loose tender garments, and at once
Rent them from end to end: Imagine then
Whether my crimson red, through shame was chang'd
Into a pale wan tincture, yea or no.
I that was looking towards Heaven then,
And with my cries imploring ayd from thence,
Upon a suddain to the Earth let fall
My shamefac't eyes, and shut them close, as if
Under mine eye-lids, I could cover all
My naked Members, but considering well
His fell intent, with a deep groaning sigh,
To him I said, behold me ready now
Fit for thy ravenous throat, come quickly, come,
And satiate thy beastly hunger.
Clo.
And why his hunger, say, poor silly wretch?
Celia.
That being once devour'd, I might at least
Within his paunch conceal my nakedness.
Clo.
And dost thou then beleeve, that Centaurs use
To feed upon young tender Maids?
Celia.
Nerea beleeves it not, but laught aloud
When first I told it her; but prithee say,
Why should he so desire to have me bound,
And naked as I was but that he might
Swallow me up alive, and with more ease
Conveigh me piece-meal gliding down his throat?
And even then he came with open Arms,
[Page 15]And snatcht to gripe me by the naked Brest,
When, lo, two Shepheads running fast for hast
Came in unto my rescue.
Clo.
Oh! how my heart's reviv'd! and who were those
Whom Heaven in pitty chose out for thine ayde?
Celia.
Amyntas, old Sirenos Son, whose joy
And whole delights in Hunting, with his friend
Niso, a stranger, whom thou dost not know.
Ay me poor soul!
Clo.
What! art thou sighing still?
Celia.
I have good cause.
Clo.
But how came it to pass that in a place
So far remote, two Shepherds should arrive
Both at one instance?
Celia.
Amyntas, was within the Valley where
He stood to Watch his Toyls, and Niso came
From the Sea shore, whither but then the Winds
Had brought him from a Country far away,
And both brought thither by my shrieking cries:
They both arriv'd together; where the one
Lets fly his Dart, the other shoots a Shaft,
And neither one nor other mist his aime.
The cruel Centaur thus but lightly hurt
In his left shoulder, and in his right arme
Lost some small blood, which was supply'd with rage:
And so betwixt them three, there soon begun
A fierce and bloody fight, till that proud beast
Scorning that two such Stripling should have power
So to withstand his fury, thought at once
To strike a deadly blow, by which he meant
To speed them both, and brandashing his Beam,
The Tree which happily some pitty felt
Of my sad state, did so involve it in
The knotty intricacies of his boughs,
As it fell from his hand:
And he that found his Arme thus without armes,
And without heart, his heart betook him streight
To a most shameful slight, and from the Woods
[Page 16]Whilest he up towards the Mountains took his way
It was his fortune to fall in those Toyls
Which to catch other beasts, Amyntas had
Before plac't in the Yale.
Clo.
And so the insolent proud villain was
Himself made now their prey.
Celia.
The Shepherds followed him; but yet not far
Ere they fell to the Earth, through loss of blood,
Which from their wounds did like a Torrent flow,
And ran even to my feet, sad Messenger
Of their approaching ends, to crave mine ayd.
I shall now tell thee Cloris, what will seem
A wonder to thee, yet it is most true:
Pitty to see their case, made me to strain
My self with so much force, as I got free
From all my bonds, even from those self same bonds
I freed my self, to give another aide,
Which I a thousand times had tried before
For mine own safety, and could not unloose.
When I was free, I had almost for hast
Run to them naked; but consider now
A strange affection.
Clo.
And what hast thou told yet, that is not strange?
Celia.
When I was got where those two Shepherds lay
Half dead, half living, and in reason should
Have stopt their bleeding wounds up with my Vail,
I first beheld the one, and then the other,
To this I went and afterwards to that,
Desiring still to help them both at once,
And yet gave help to neither, as not well
Resolv'd to whom I first should lend my help;
At last I did begin, but knew not where,
And whilst my hand, was busie about one
My heart ran to the other, so that I
Could not well know to which I wisht more ease.
Clo.
What didst thou do at last?
Celia.
All that I could, yet all was nothing worth:
Till those same fearful howlings, which 'gainst Heaven,
[Page 17]That horrid Monster sent up from the Toils
Made all the Valleys far and neer to Ring,
And drew both Nimphs and Sheapherds to those parts,
Where when they came, too soon to them appears
Two over-whelm'd in blood, and one in tears.
They speedily conveigh'd the wounded pair
To old Sirenos House, the Father of
Poor young Amyntas.
Clo.
And live they yet? yet their strength restor'd?
Celia.
I cannot tell.
Clo.
And canst thou take so little care for those
Who for thy safety thus ingaged their lives?
Sure thou art too ingrate.
Celia.
Cloris, no more, this is the Period, when
I must enjoyn thee silence, thou hast heard
All that thou didst demand, now let me part;
Ay me, what do I see?
Clo.
What hath she espyed out there? why did she turn
Her steps so suddainly another way?
Ho! Celia, it is a Shepherd, and I think,
It be Amyntas.

Act. 1. Scen. 4.

AMYNTAS.
THanks be to Heaven, I am now return'd
Once more to Sollace in these fertile Fields
To breath in open Ayr, and to behold
This glorious Sun again; Ye Sacred Gods,
If when to you I sent my humble prayers,
You did restore life to my liveless Limbs,
Give now a lively spirit to my soul
Whilest I with true devotion pay my vows,
And lowly thus adore this blessed Sun.
I do adore the Sun; but where alas,
Where is the Suns fair Idol, which above
This Sun I must adore? I pay my vows
[Page 18]Unto the Sun that hath restor'd my life?
But woes me, where is she that is my life?
I cannot see thee my sweet Celia, and yet
Thou art alone the life I must implore
And thou the Idol which I must adore.
Where art thou then, where dost thou hide thy self?
Celia that art the brightness of the Spheres,
Sent like a flash of lightening, first to smite
My tender heart, and then to vanish quite,
Thou fleddest from me then, when I could not
Remove my foot from deaths infernal snare:
But into what part canst thou wander now
Whither I will not follow thee, through Woods
Through lowly Valleys, and ore Mountains Tops:
I will pursue the still, though still in vain,
I hunt thy footsteps with Eternal pain.
It shall be my delight to lick the Earth,
Where thy fair foot hath trod; it may be known,
By the sweet Flowers, where they do thickest grow.
It shall be my delight to suck the Ayr,
Which once hath kist thy Face; it may be known
By the calm blasts where they do sweetest blow.
It shall be my delight still to admire,
And still admiring, seek thy beautious Rays
Amongst Vermillian Roses, and amongst
The whitest Lillies, and the fairest Flowers;
Amongst the glittering Stars, and in that Shpere,
Where the bright Sun most glorious doth appear.
But yet fond fool in vain mine eyes do gaze
First up to Heaven, and then down on Earth;
I see the Sun, Roses and Gilliflowers,
But cannot see my Celia, without whom
The Sun in all his glory gives no light,
Nor the best colour'd flowers can please my sight.
O you dead semblances of lively worth,
You are too dull displayers of her rich,
Of her diviner beauty; come my dear,
My dearest Celia come, for thou alone
Art to mine eyes, thine own true Paragon:
[Page 19]But hear I not one whistle here hard by,
Is it not Niso? sure it must be he:
And then he's in pursuit to find me out;
My dear beloved Niso, he cannot
Without me well stay long in any place:
For since he lately came to make abode
With us in Scyros here, the Sun by day,
Nor yet the Stars by night have never seen
Him far off from my side.
What then shall I doe now, or how can I
Conceal from him, what turns love hath produc't
Within my amorous Soul? I yet am but
Young in loves school; but he hath learn't to love
From his first infancy, and now he bears
Grave ancient love, in lusty youthful years;
I may do well then to disclose my self
To him, whose long experience is fit
To give me good advice, and so procure,
Some help to ease me in my misery.
But shall Amyntas then, Amyntas who
Hath ever been a hunter, and profest
Himself an open enemy to love,
Confess himself to be a lover now?
I am in love, but shame to say I am;
I therefore will take her advice that was
The Mistress of loves School, I will make known
The love, but not the lover, and so frame
Means to conceal my self, yet shew my flame.

Act. 1. Scen. 5.

AMYNTAS. NISO.
AMyntas.
Whether Oh Niso? Nis. To Amyntas, but
Whether without his Niso, doth Amyntas go?
Amyn.

Unto the Temple, I:

Niso.
And thither I will bear thee company.
[Page 20]But let me here Amyntas breath a while,
For I begin to faint; my hurt is cur'd,
But yet my feet tread not a steddy pace:
They tremble still, and still my dazling eyes
Deceive my sight, so that it seems my heart
Dare not rest confident on either part.
Amynt.
No marvel, since we scarcely yet have left
Those beds of sloth, wherein we both have lien
Wounded, and kept in dark obscurity
So long, that thrice the love-sick Moon hath woed
The Sun to re-inforce her borrowed light.
Niso.
Yet thou so lightly o'r these rugged fields
Do'st hast away, as I can scarce pursue
Thy foot-steeps with mine eyes.
Amynt.
O Niso! such a sweetness seems to breath
Of late, me-thinks, from earth and heaven both,
As 'tis no wonder if it do deceive
My trembling limbs, though faint with loss of blood,
Since it already hath deceiv'd my heart;
Which, as if I had never touch'd the ground,
Hath brought me flying hither.
Niso.
Some woody Deity perhaps hath caught
My gentle young Amyntas in his arms,
To waft him o'r the Plains.
Amynt.
Mock not, dear Nisis, no, it was a God,
Beleev't it was, but a celestial God;
No Godhead of the Woods, a God with wings,
That without wings can teach us men to fly.
But I disclose my self too far.
Niso.
Some jest or other now thou fain would'st put
Upon poor love, to laugh him stil to scorn:
But do not jest too far, Love is no Boy,
[...]leeve me, Friend, that will be jested with.
Amynt.
Niso, thou do'st me wrong, I'm no such man;
Or if I be, 'tis thou led'st me the way.
Niso.
Who I? no, no, whilst we lay wounded both,
Nor Nymph, nor Shepheard came to visit us,
In whose discourse I found not something still
[Page 21]That did not point at thy neglect of love,
They told me that thou never mention'dst him
Without contempt and scorn, that in disdain
Of his great power, as Trophies of thy pride;
When other Shepheards in the long liv'd Oak,
Or in the tender bark of some young sprout
Had grav'd the marks of their eternal flame,
Thou there wouldst carve thy name, inlaced with
Th' inhumane title which proclaims the still
To be Amyntas the young Hunter, and to Love
An Enemy profest. And wilt thou now
Profess thy self a Lover?
Amynt.
This did I never do; but say I did,
Am I the first of Loves professed foes
Whom he hath overcome?
Niso.
I would thou wert, so I might see thee once
By Love in triumph brought into the troops
Of his sworn servants; then perhaps I might
With confidence unfold the wound that now
Lyes hid within, and grates my bleeding heart,
Whereas I yet dare scarce let go a sigh,
Lest thou shouldst once take notice when it breaths.
Woes me, how many have I forced back,
Even from my lips into my heart again!
And if at unawares one hath stoln out,
How have I fear'd lest while thou shouldst deride
My feeling passion, Love should in his rage
Let sly his Dart at me, for having spent
His treasures so profusely before those
Who do despise his power.
Amynt.
Niso, thou art deceiv'd; for even I
Can pitty others sighs, O that I could
As soon give ease to him that sighs for love!
Perhaps I might a Shepheard then restore
To life again, who now lyes at deaths door.
But thou that long hast learn't to know Loves wiles,
Hear but his case, and tell me then if yet
In all Loves kingdom there may be found out
[Page 22]A means to cure his ill.
Niso.
I in loves Kingdom nothing know, but how
With art to drop Salt tears upon the flame
That burns within my heart.
To weep and burn is all I know of love:
But is that Shepherd one whom I have seen?
Amyn.
Yes, thou hast seen him, and dost love him too,
As dearly as thy life.
Niso.

What's she for whom he mourns?

Amyn.
The fairest Nimph that ere these fruitful fields
Of Scyros here, have yet beheld display
The dangling Tresses of her golden Hair,
That every gentle blast might therein weave
A net to catch poor loving souls withal:
But more of her anone. Thou first shalt hear
The mournful story of her dying love:
Mournful indeed it is, and yet but short,
Since one short hour, brought him to misery:
Yet even he did once profess himself
Loves open enemy, till at the last,
His fate would have it so that by mis-chance
He too was wounded in his Nimphs defence:
Niso.

But for what cause?

Amyn.
That thou shalt know hereafter; now observe
The Nimph thus far took pitty of his hurt
That many a time and oft, she bath'd his wounds
In the distilled flouds of lukewarm tears,
And sweetly breathing on them with her sighs
She seem'd to murmur out some powerful charme,
With which she hop't to mitigate his pain,
But whilst his tender hearted Surgeon thus
Applyed her salves of pitty to his wounds
She struck him to the heart, when he poor soul,
Finding he had receiv'd a mortal blow,
Su'd for relief, but in an instance she
Turn'd all her pitty into cruelty,
And flying thence, as from a Basilisque,
Could never since be drawn to see him more.
Niso.
[Page 23]
Oh my belov'd Amyntas, I must needs
Hug thee within these Armes, and kiss thee for
This pretty quaint disguise.
Amynt.

Canst thou imagine then who 'tis I mean?

Niso.
And canst thou think, I can be ignorant
Of him thou wouldst decipher, though his name
Be lock't up still in silence?
Amyn.
Do thou pronounce it then, for I confess
I blush so for him, that I dare not do't.
Niso.
I will, and (if thou do'st desire it) in a voyce
That's audible to all the world.
'Tis Niso, Niso, do not blush for me,
For I shall bless my fates that it is so.
Go thou that livest free from loves command,
And from his amorous bonds, lift up thy proud
Untamed Crest, to me this yoke is sweet,
And Niso doth profess himself to be
The Shepheard thus subdu'd to loves behest.
She that with pitty wounded him at fi [...]st,
And kills him now with cruelty, is cal'd,
The fairest C [...]lia, for Celia, alas
For Celia I burn, for her I sigh
It cannot be deny'd.
Amyn.
Though sigh for Celia? sure it cannot be,
Nor can I yet beleeve it can be so;
It is another fuel feeds thy flame,
And all thy sighs sound out another name.
Niso.
Wilt thou not then beleeve me? or is this
A gentle Artifice for my new love
To tax my fault, blame mine inconstancie?
If I have other fuel to my fire,
Or other heat to warme my fainting soul
That fuel is to Ashes burnt by this.
And all that heat extinguisht by this flame.
If any other name sound in my sighes,
'Tis barely then a name, a shaddow void
Of any subject, or a beauty spent
And long agone extinct,
[Page 24]But now for Celia in lively flames
I burn indeed, and so shall burning die,
Unless Amyntas help me speedily:
Amyn.
See, see, alas, he seeks to me for help
That gives me my deaths wound:
But I cannot beleeve thee yet; say how,
And when did Love possess thee thus?
Niso.
Whilst wounded there I lay, almost extinct,
Within the arms of death, the gentle gale
Of her sweet breathing sighs, under th' aspect
Of two heart-killing Stars (O fatal birth!)
My love at first took life,
And Love becoming thus the Son of Death,
In imitation of his Mothers power,
Kils me, and yet remains himself alive.
And thus I dye, yet even after death
My love must live, and love eternally.
Amynt.
Thus Love hath in one strait, and by one toyl
Within in one instant gain'd a double spoyl.
Niso.
As well then as thou feignest, thou do'st know
That under other shaddows thou hast now
From point to point declar'd my malady:
Nor can I tell how long my silence should
Thus blazon forth my wo.
Unless perhaps I told it in a dream,
Or talking idly at the point of death,
The Soul which then doth commonly reflect
More truly on her self, and so becomes
Far wiser than she was, hath publisht it
Of purpose, so to free her self from pain.
Or else, perhaps, to glory in the pride
Of that fierce cruelty that vanquisht me,
Fair Celia her self hath made it known.
Wilt thou not answer me, Amyntas, is't not so?
[...]myntas, whither art thou gone out of thy self?
Thou seemest stupify'd, do'st thou not hear?
What strong imagination thus transports
Thy sences from their sence?
Amynt.
[Page 25]
Doth Niso burn in love for Celia?
And is it true that he dissembles not?
But tell me then, what if another should
For love of Celia burn as well as he?
What saith thy heart, could it then leave to love?
Niso.
No, rather leave to live; ah me!
Thou strick'st my through, and through, if this be so
There is no way but death.
Amynt.
No, I'll dye first my self; clear up thy brow,
I spoke it but in jest.
Niso.
I prithee good Amyntas leave to use
Such bitter jests as these, they come too near:
I'll pardon thee this once, because thou hast
So little sense of Love.
Amynt.
What now is in my power shall be employ'd
To work thee some relief; but time goes on,
The Sun already from our Zenith bends
His course, to view the lowly Vales again,
And near the Temple old Narete staies
Attending, there to celebrate the pomp,
And solemn ceremonies of our Vow.
Come let's away, perhaps already he
Blames us for this delay.
Niso.
Go on, I'll follow thee: But if thou do'st
Desire indeed here to prolong my daies,
Defer not then a speedy remedy.
He that already hath shakt hands with death,
Hath little time to draw an idle breath.

Act. 2.

Scen. 1.

Oronte, Perindo, Sireno, Ormino.
Oront.
LEt all the rest stay there:
And thou Perindo follow me, and see
Those two old Shepheards come along with thee.
Siren.
Quickly Ormino come, do'st thou not hear?
Orm.
[Page 26]
Where fear of danger wounds a trembling soul
The foot goes slowly on.
Perin.
Great Sir, we all are ready, but will you
Without attendance, or without your Guard
Thus wander here alone?
Cronte.
In such sweet fields, amidst a sort of men
So harmless as these are, we have no need
With armed Squadrons to secure our Guard.
I left my Tents that here I might enjoy
The fresh delightful air, which in these fields
Breaths with a gentle gale, and so allayes
The horrour of the rough tempestuous blasts
Which did infest the Sea
And he that will enjoy the pleasure of
Such pleasant fields must not be troubled with
The State and Pomp with which we use to grace
Our City: Train.
O blessed Meddow! O delightful Grove!
See with what pleasing shadows it doth shield
The flowers from withering in the scorching heat
Of the Suns burning beams. Behold a true,
A perfect Pastoral Scene, wherein we see
The Sea on this hand, and the Hills on that;
And round about us, Flowers, and springing Plants,
Fresh Rivers, Shades, and the bright Heavens above
Have fram'd a glorious Theater.
Come forward friends, and whil'st the gentle Ayr
Thus sweetly breaths, I will pursue at length
The sad relation of your Childrens Fate.
Orm.
For pitties sake, great Sir, tell me, doth yet
My Thirsis live? tell me but that, and then
T [...]e rest tell at your leisure.
Oron.
Give ear I say;
When I within the spacious Hall had plac't
Those Troops of little Infants, so to be
Presented there to the grand Signiors view,
As if the World had then grown young again:
Whilst he beheld them all attentively,
[Page 27]And view'd them severally one by one;
Amongst the rest who seem'd more rudely bred,
Saucie and bold: Your children gave themselves
With such a comely wantonness to play
The little momes, and with such activeness,
To beautifie their harmless innocence;
That his great spirit mollifide therewith,
Seem'd with a smile somwhat to qualifie
The terrour of his more severe aspect;
And reaching forth his hand (that hand which us'd
Onely to manage Scepters, and rude Arms)
Gently he stroakt them underneath the chin:
And though he kist them not, yet men might see
Upon his lips th' affection of his heart,
And that to me he said, Mark me Oronte,
Me-thinks I see in these two little Imps
The signs of two such admirable souls,
As that it seems (if in the outward shape
Of humane visage, heaven use to write
The marks of Fate, or I ought understand)
(And more than he doth no man understand)
That these two children are by destiny
Design'd to more than ordinary ends,
And to some great atchivements; therefore see
They be not with the rest conducted to
The Grand Serraglo; but be it thy care
To see them Educated by themselves;
And here in Court, instructed in more free,
And generous Arts, and taught to spend their time
In studies, fitter for their Genius.
I undertook the charge, and they became
So dear to me, as though I never saw,
Child of mine own, nor had the joy to know
A fathers happiness, yet did I feel,
My heart possessed with a fathers care.
And fraught with as much love to your young babes
As they had been mine own.
And whilst your children thus encreast in years,
[Page 28]Above their years in them did still increase
Beauty and judgement: but beyond all this,
Ile tell you now a wonder: That quaint boy
The little God of love, as it should seem,
And as I verily beleeve it true,
Playing with them as children use to play:
By chance did hurt them both, and with his darts.
Made large wide wounds, in their small tender hearts,
Oh what a dear delight it was to see,
Two little pretty loving souls express,
Their pretty childish loves, with tongues which yet
Could hardly mutter either Pap or Mam,
For scarcely could they draw their vital breath,
Before they both had learned to breath out
Deep sighes of love: and scarcely were their eyes,
Open to see the Suns bright shining beams,
Before they knew with sweet delight to gaze
And dart forth amorous looks.
Sometimes you might behold those tender hands,
Which scarcely yet knew how to smooth the Tears
Of their beloved Nurse, already grown,
So pompt and nimble in loves gentle art;
As they had Learnt to strooke each others cheekes
And frame unto themselves Rings quaintly wreath'd
Within their curled Locks.
And if at any time that native grace
Which deck't their lovely faces did appear,
More beautiful then other, they would then
As if it were by stealth run to embrace,
And hug each other with delightful kisses:
So that whilst they thus wantonly did woe,
Love seem'd himself to play the wanton too.
And hence the King enamoured with their wiles,
One day cal'd to me, and bespake me thus:
So ripe a love as this cannot be held
The meer effect of such young tender years.
It must proceed from Heaven, and Heavens power
Doth never work in vain: It is decreed.
[Page 29]These two must one day be made man and wife
And I am pleas'd with what the Heavens will.
But ah the Heavens are too far esloign'd,
Above our reach, nor can our humane sence.
Attain to see what is decreed above:
For long it was not, ere a sickness seas'd
The bold grand Signor, and possest him so,
As he already thought his fatal hour
Approaching neer, already he dispos'd
Himself to take his last farewel on Earth.
And yet among his greater cares, and when
His heart was thus encumbred with thoughts:
He could not then forget to think upon
His two beloved lovers, whom he caus'd,
To be conducted to his Royal view,
And placed there, where he thus unto them spake.
My little children, I must shortly pay
The debt I owe to nature, nor shall I,
Live here to see you both enjoyn'd in one.
I am too old, and you of too young years,
Yet I will see you both betroth'd; this knot
Doth neither pass your judgement, nor your age.
Reach each your hand to other, and let Heaven
Prosper the plighting of so pure a faith,
Confirm'd with hands of so much innocence:
[...]hus they t'wixt joy and grief, joyn'd both their hands
And weeping seal'd their promise with a kiss.
Whilst that great King drew forth a Hoop of Gold.
Which underneath his Pillow, he had plac't.
In whose round Circle were engrav'd by art
Certain Egyptian Characters, and to confirm
What there was writ, with more authority:
His Sacred Image, was cut out thereon:
The Hoop was double, so that either part
When it divided was, made one entire
And perfect circle, but the Charracters
Were then defac't, and cut off in the midst.
Whose half on this part was, and half on that.
[Page 30]The King devided them, and then begirt
With either parts the naked tender necks
Of his two spoused Imps: And to them said
This one day shall be witnesse of your Love
And of the favour which I bear you both.
Which said he turn'd his face as it appeares
Or to restrain, or to conceal his tears,
And I remov'd your children streight from thence
And with such goods as then most precious were
Conveigh'd them to my Castle, as afraid,
(Oh fond and foolish humane providence!)
Of those foul broyls and rapines, which are wont
Most commonly to wait upon our funerals,
At such great Princes falls.
In this mean space a false alarum spread
As false a rumour that the King was dead:
And those that wish't it did beleeve it true.
'Mongst whom the King of Smyrna past for one,
Who thus emboldened on a suddain flew,
Upon the Thracian confines, and advanc't
His armes so far, till at the last he came
Unto that Castle and begirt it round
By night, took, sackt, and burnt it to the ground.
Orm.
And were our children there, (Ay-me consum'd)
In that so fatal flame?
Oron.
One of my servants whom the darksome shade
Of gloomy night befriended to escape
The enemies fierce hand, assur'd me that
One of the Smy [...]na souldiers snatch't them both
Alive out of the flames.
Orm.
And live they prisoners then in Smyrna still?
Oron.
I fear it much. For mark,
The news of all this barbarous excess
Arrived soon at Court, when yet the King
Had onely so much sence and livelyhood
As serv'd to hear it told: He heard the wrong
And injuries he suffer'd, and his heart
Inflam'd therewith. Just anger did so warm
[Page 31]His frozen blood, as that it soon recal'd
His flitting soul, that it might once more prove,
A trusty Minister to execute,
His just revenging wrath:
But his faint enemy when once he heard
That he yet lived, the rumour of whose death
Had onely given courage to his fears.
Betook him quickly to a shameful flight,
And to appease the Kings just anger first,
And next, that with more ease he might escape.
Unto Bisantium, he sent the spoyls;
And all the prisoners he had.
Orm.
And our poor children too?
Oront.
Those onely wanted, those were onely they
Were missing whom alone the King desired,
And for this cause, a far more mortal war,
And a more deadly hatred he proclaim'd
Against the King of Smyrna, if ere long
Untouch't uncharm'd; he did not send him back
Those pretty slaves, whom he alone did lack.
The one denies to have them in his power,
The other will by no means give belief
To such a lean excuse: but needs will have
His children or a most severe revenge:
Thus both sides vow themselves to Armes again.
And by the fierceness of a cruel War,
The fruitful fields of Smyrna are layd wast
And buryed in destruction, so that now,
Smal hope remains that ever we shall see
Your children more whom we have thus in vain
Laboured to finde under the ruines of
That poor decaying Kingdom.
Orm.

O most unhappy children!

Sir.

But parents more unhappy far then they.

Oront.
Unhappy children, and unhappy Sires.
But yet in this more happy then the rest,
That their unhappiness hath been bewail'd
With floods of tears sent from his sacred eyes,
[Page 32]And blood of thousand shed in their revenge.
Orm.
Unhappy tears, unhappy blood so shed,
Unable to restore life to the dead.
Per.
These poor old Shepherds weep, and at their plaint,
Oronte seems a little troubled.
'Twere not amiss then to divert them: Sir,
The Sun already mounts the highest track,
Of his most glorious Sphere, that to the West
He may descend with a more swift carreer,
And yet (as you know well) no choise is made
Of such young Infants as we come to finde.
No Trumpet yet accustomed to proclaim
Your safe arrival here, hath summon'd them
To meet you in the Temple.
Oront.
Let us return then to our Tents, and you
Sad Shepherds [...] ā [...] us to some shady path,
Towards the Sea, and let this comfort you.
Dead or alive, where ere your children be,
In Heaven or Earth, they needs must win the love
Of men below, or of the gods above.
Sir.
Kind, gentle, Sir, The gods above vouchsafe
To you that comfort which cannot be found,
For us on this uncomfortable ground.

Act. 2. Scen. 2.

Serpilla. Celia.
Serp.

WHat ho! Celia.

Celia.

Woes me, speak softly.

Serp.

Why what i'st that thou fear'st?

Celia.

Do'st thou not see my Father there?

Serp.
Hee's going hence, and cannot hear us speak,
But thou in vain do'st hide thy self from me:
Those very sighs which now thou breathest sorth.
Into the ayre, (whilst yet thou do'st beleeve
That nothing in these Woods can hear thy plaints,
[Page 33]But Heaven it self) have told me thy distress.
And courage Wench, 'tis a disease of love,
Which is not mortal, 'tis a pleasing ill,
Which generates encrease, but doth not kill.
But whereon do'st thou look, turn, turn again,
Thy face this way, alas poor silly soul
Thy blushing cheeks speak what thy tongue for shame
Dares not profess; and in that language which
Nature permits them, tells me that their part,
Lies in the flame which doth consume thy heart.
If thou do'st love, then why do'st thou for shame
Conceal thy love? Why do'st thou keep it clos'd
Within thy brest? and bear a rugged brow:
A fair smooth cheek, is a rich Theatre
On which true love ascending from the heart.
Glories to such his power.
Even I my self once lov'd Ergasto well,
And thy fair Mother lov'd Ormino too:
Yet neither of us both are now asham'd
That still the valleys eccho out our loves.
Aegeria, burns in young Armillo's flame.
Vrinda loves Licandor, and thy dear
Beloved Cloris: that fair lovely Maid.
Cloris that once profest her self to love
So great a stranger; if thou know'st it not,
Lives onely now, and onely sucks in ayre,
To breath it out in sighs of sad despare.
And though from thee she doth conceal her flame,
Because she thinks thee so insensible,
Of loves kinde heat, yet unto me she tells
Her amorous thoughts: And whilst I with disdain,
Reproov'd her once for too much cruelty
In living without love, she sadly said,
Oh no, Serpilla no, poor Cloris lives
Without a lover, but not without love.
I love a Shepherd in another world.
And such an one as though for ought I know,
He now lies buryed in an earthen Urn.
[Page 34]Yet I resolve the ashes of his bones,
Shall be the onely fuel to my flame,
Oh happy maid whom fate hath so far blest
To burn in one love, and no more:
Celia.

Oh me most wretched then!

Serp.
What doth afflict thee, is the falshood of
Thy faithless lover cause of this despair?
Celia.
Oh peace Serpilla, peace, press me no more
To tell the horror of my deadly sore.
Serp.
Wilt thou not apprehend me then?
The world goes so (dear Daughter) that thou see'st,
Young tender loves breeding in youthful hearts,
Like to young harmless Doves, whilst one hath wings
And dares to fly; anothers downy plain:
But even then buds forth:
Whilst one swoln up with pride, bears out his Brest,
And in a murmuring tone, breaths out his love
Expressing by the circles which he makes,
The endless Labyrinths of loves great maze.
Another with his belly on the ground
Goes creeping on, and by his whining noyse
Sets out the passions of a childish love;
One peeps but even now out of the shell,
Whilst others sit to hatch their tender Chicks.
Do not then, do not cruel maid conceal
Thy passion still, though late, yet at the last
Heaven showrs down vengeance on a faithless love:
Knowst thou not what Pelorus, that Pelore,
Then whom yet never Nimph in Scyros knew
A faithfuller true lover; us'd to say?
Faith is a Deity by which true love
At first possest a place in Heaven above.
Love voyd of faith (quoth he) is neither love
Nor yet a God, but an infernal spirit
Which having in the foul sulphureous Lake
Of burning Phlegeton, kindled black flames,
Doth counterfeit therewith loves glorious light,
And so goes breathing forth his feigned fries:
[Page 35]For whose most horrible and wicked sin,
(Oh just and most deserved punishment!)
Which in the bottomless infernal Pit,
Disloyal lovers are tormented still
By those infernal Monsters in the shape,
Of their betrayed loves.
Do not then still delay to tell thy woe,
And if from grief I cannot set thee free,
Pitty at least shall bear thee company.
Celia.
What's that to me, that neither hope for help
Nor wish for pitty in my misery.
Serp.
At least, yet let me know thine enemie,
And I will never leave thee till he leave,
Either his life, or else that faithless love
Wherewith he thus torments thee.
Celia.

Life if thou wilt, but love must ne'r be left.

Serp.

Would'st thou then have him dye.

Celia.
By all means possible, and if I find,
No other hand to execute my just
And lawful vengeance, reason then perswades,
That mine own hand should take the due revenge
Of mine oppressed soul.
Serp.
Oh cruel jealousie, can then thy fierce
And poysonous bait possess a Maidens heart:
(But if I mean to mollifie her rage,
I then must sooth her in her own desires.)
Take courage Celia, for if there be need
Even I my self will with these hands pull out
That faithless heart of his: But tell me then,
Who is that false disloyal man, and how
Hath he disturbed thus thy quiet thoughts?
Celia.
Now that I finde thee bent to my desires,
Ile tell thee all, but see thou doe not change.
Serp.
Thou sooner shalt observe me change my soul,
Then any thing that I have now profest.
Celia.
And whosoe'r it be, see that thou take
No pitty to thy heart.
Serp.
I would be cruel to my very self,
[Page 36]Were I my selfe unfaithfull to my Love.
Celia.
Heare then, and I will tel thee now,
What rests conceal'd from all the world besides
How shall I find a tongue to utter it
But yet it bootes not to refrain my tongue
When I want power still to restrain my heart:
Look here Serpilla, look, here is that foul
That impious wretch, even here within me rests
My horrid enemy, Loe, I am she
Even I am she that carry in my brest
A faithless love, a foul infernal spirit.
Burnt in a two-fold flame.
Ser.
As sure as can be, this unhappy Nimph
Carries two youthful loves within her brest
'T was long ere she conceiv'd, and now brings Twins.
Oh just revenge of love, and could he not
Make one shaft serve as able to subdue
Unto his Laws thy stiff rebllious heart?
But tell me then who are those fatal loves?
Celia.
To what end should I now conceal their names?
Know'st thou not Niso, and Amyntas yet.
Serp.
Who they that lay for thy delivery,
Wounded almost to death?
Celia.

Those very men.

Serp.
But how could love inflict a double wound,
Just in an instant, in thy stubborn heart?
Celia.
Ile tell thee now a wounder.
Love that before had ever found me arm'd,
Against his shafts and all his subtile trains.
By others wounds; and through anothers heart,
Found passage into mine. And whilst that they,
Wounded to death lay breathing forth their souls,
Love all besmeared with their goary blood,
Usurpt the shape of pitty, and then arm'd
Under this quaint disguise, the traiterous boy
Found means to wound my heart: and after that
Neglecting both mine Arrows, and my Bow,
Despising, Earth, the Sea, and Heaven it self,
[Page 37]I found no rest to my tormented soul,
Longer then I stood languishing, besides
Those wounded Shepherds, and with weeping eyes
Mixing my plaints with theirs.
There from their fainting foreheads, I did wipe,
The cold distilled sweat, there with these hands
Did I still dress their wounds, Oh cruel wounds
That whilst I drest them, could thus wound my soul,
Yet had I then some Truce with sorrow, when
I said within my self unhappy Maid,
What new found sighs are these, whence can proceed
This unaccustomed heat which boyleth thus
In thine inflamed heart? Ah silly fool
(Said then my heart to me) this is nought elese
But pitty; well deserved pitty: canst thou be
So ignorant, as not to know it then?
Or dost thou grudg them pitty, who to save
Thee from a fearful death, lye dying now?
Thus whilst I thought it pitty, and not love
Flatring my passion, I still nourisht it,
And still encreased my unknown desire,
But when I after came to know it well,
(Oh too too late discovery) when once,
I found them lovers, then too late I found
I was my self a woful lover too:
And by the light of their bright burning flame.
I saw mine own heart burning in the same.
Serp.
And art thou then with equal love belov'd?
By both of them again, this may abate
The wounding sorrows of thy troubled soul,
But how did'st thou discover their desires?
Celia.
By many, many, tokens, for me thought
I heard within my self a murmuring sound
Which eccho'd out their love, and then my heart
Answer'd that sound again, and yet deceipt
I know not how, did so obscure my sence
As I could not at first beleeve it true,
Till one day it fell out, that whilst the poor
[Page 38] Amy [...]tas lying in tormenting pain,
Which day and night afflicted him so sore,
That he could hardly finde an hour to rest,
Pitty so wrought, as I obtained Truce,
Sometime with sorrow, that I might invite
With the soft accents of my slender voice
His heavy eyes to sleep.
When he with a sad sigh sent from his heart,
Darted a look at me, and to me said,
Ah my dear Celia, when I see thee not
I am, but as one dead, and canst thou think?
That when I see thee then, 'tis possible
For me to sleep, before those glorious beams
Which shine out of thine eyes? I thus surpris'd,
Straight fled feom him, and ran unto the place
Where wounded Niso lay, opprest with pain,
And calling for mine ayd.
Where whilst I gently did unbinde his wound,
A stream of blood, I know not how gusht forth.
And stain'd my naked breast; which seen he said
Oh Celia, do not disdain the blood
Which by instinct of Nature flies to thee,
Thou art my heart, and when man dies 'tis known
That to his heart his blood descendeth down:
Thus in an instant both their loving souls
Lay open to my view, and I who then
Scarce knew that I did live, felt in my heart
(Which yet could not be angry at their love)
Those Maiden thoughts, which labour'd to awake
That usual disdain, which Maidens use
Against loves first assault: but then, alas,
I could not use it, but instead thereof,
Found that in spite of me those amorous plaints
Made in my soul an amorous eccho sound:
Yet did I fly with speed, but all too late,
For all the speed that I could seem to make,
I then fled from them, and will never see
Again my hearts desir'd felicity:
[Page 39]But though I fly them, 'tis impossible
To fly from love, who traces still my steps
By the cold drops of my distilling tears,
Even through most darksome shades, whereof I hide
My self from all besides, and sure I think
He knows me by my voice, and groaning sighs:
But to shun love, I yet can fly to death,
Why then Serpilla dost thou still delay
To ease me of this sad tormenting grief?
As ever thou didst pitty one distrest,
Pluck thou this faithless heart out of my brest.
Serp.
Poor miserable Maid, ah Celia!
My dearest Celia, dry up those tears.
Take comfort my sweet heart. although thy wound
Put thee to pain, it may be cur'd again:
Art thou asham'd that double love infests
Thy wounded soul? Love thou but one alone,
And let thy future faith take vengeance so
Of all thy former infidellity.
Celia.
Thy counsels vain Serpilla, for my wound
Is every way incureable, shall I,
Love onely one, and which, Ahme! and which
Shall I then leave to love?
Serp.
Love him of both, who best deserv's thy love.
Desert in love, hath an attractive power.
Celia.
But I cannot descern a difference:
For in mine eyes their merits which exceed
All othes mens, saem equal in themselves.
Serp.
Love him then whom thou first didst love thy self:
Time gives the priviledge to elder love.
Celia.
Both at a time, and in one instant both
My twin-like loves were born, and gathered strength.
Serp.
Love him alone then, who best loveth thee,
For love must ever give the Law to love.
Celia.
With equal freedom I have seen them both
For me shed tears, and breath heart wounding sighs
Yea both for me have spent their dearest blood.
Serp.
And yet it cannot be but that sometimes
[Page 40]Thy amorous thoughts like waves tost to and fro,
Must needs bend this way, rather than to that,
Pursue then him that conquers, love him best
To whom thy heart seems oftest to encline.
Celia.
In vain, I tell thee, still in vain thou tryest
To alter what the heavens have decreed.
'Tis true indeed that whilst I seem to stray
Out of my self, amidst my troubled thoughts
Me-thinks by stealth, Amyntas, or perhaps
Niso perswades me wholly to himself:
But scarce then can I say, Love I am thine,
When suddenly the other shews himself
All torn and wounded in my just defence,
And forceth me to pitty his distresse.
Thus in perpetual Wars the victory
Still flies from one to other, and remains
So small a while with either, as I doubt,
And know not unto whom to give the Crown,
But leave them both far short of their desart,
A poor reward, the conquest of my heart.
Serp.
I am convinc'd, and therefore must give way.
What can be urged more? If needs thou must
Be still unfaithfull, yet high heaven hath
For thy discharge made infidelity
It self seem innocent; nor can I find
Another refuge, thou canst fly unto,
Since thou mayst not love one still love them both.
And let this be thy comfort, thou mayst find
Within these fertile fields, others that feed
More than one sucking Infant at their breasts:
And see where Nerea comes just in the nick:
She that whilst any would beleeve her vows
Had both her hands full, and her lap of loves:
And with her comes Amyntas.
Celia.
Or stay, or follow me, for I must go
Like to the Bird of night, which still doth shun
The gladsom rayes of the bright shining Sun.
Serp.
Turn, turn again my Celia, hark a word.
[Page 41]But she nor turns, nor hearkens what I say,
And therefore I will follow her.

Act. 2. Scen. 3.

NEREA. AMINTAS.
Ner.
ANd wouldst thou then that I should speak of love
To Celia, and that for Niso too?
A hard employment to perswade a heart
Estrang'd from love, to love a stranger streight.
Amynt
O gentle Nerea, full well I know
No enterprize in Love can seem too hard
For thee to undertake, who canst dispose
Of Loves great Empire as it pleaseth thee.
Ner.
Courteous Amyntas, time once was, 'tis true,
I could doe much, when in these lips I bore
Vermilian Roses, and in these curl'd locks
A golden treasure; but when beauty fades
All force of love decaies.
Amynt.
What then thy beauty for thy self could do
Thy wit can now procure for others too,
Amongst those locks where gold then glittering shon,
Love hath sowen judgements now, and on those lips
Where formerly Vermilan Roses grew
He hath plac'd honey, and the pleasing sound
Of sweet perswasive words, for where thou goest,
The most ingenuous Bee brings to the hive
The honey sweets of love.
Ner.
O true, but yet unpleasing Simile,
I am the Bee, which now to others bring
That honey which my self must never tast.
Such is the will of love, great love, who frees
No age from love, but hath decreed that those
Who in their younger yeares themselves did love
Shall in their age be others instruments,
To win their loves, that so all Ages may,
[Page 42]And all men living serve his powerfull will,
Either as tinder to endure his fire,
Or steeles which send out sparkles to raise that fire,
Either as burning flames of love to all,
Or bellows to encrease those flames withall.
O what soft, delicate, and tender things
In things of love, did Nature shoure on me!
In fine, I never brook'd, nor ever shall
To be entreated in a case of love,
And to deny my help.
Behold me then Amyntas ready prest
To do whatever thou canst ask of me.
But yet (my Son) how much more willingly
Should I receive those prayers which now thou mak'st
To me for others, were they for thy self.
Fond youth (I needs must call thee so,
Though I am sure I speak but to the air)
How canst thou without shame, without disdain
And just displeasure 'gainst thy self behold
A new come stranger, one who scarce arriv'd
E'r yesterday within our native soyl,
And one that never looked since he came
But with his eyes still rowling in the dark
And gloomy shades of his approaching death?
Who yet could know how with delight to gaze
Upon that beauty, and desire it too.
Which thou, who first were born here, and bred up
Still in her sight, wouldst never look upon.
Amynt.

O Nerea I am not blind.

Ner.
But at the least thou'rt purblind, so is he,
And lookes on all a squint that can behold
So rich a beauty, and yet knows not how
Or which way to conveigh it to his heart.
For thee, Amyntas, O against thy will,
Happy Amyntas, yea for thee alone,
And yet thou know'st it not, do'st not care for't,
For thee the heavens sent fair Celia,
Do'st not beleeve me? Look on her fair eyes,
[Page 43]Look on thine own, love gave them to you both,
That both of you might still admire and gaze
Upon your native beauties.
Those her fair curled locks, these crisped hairs.
Seem onely fram'd that each of you might tye
Each others soul in them eternally.
Her fair plump rising cheecks, thy downy chin,
Were made that each on other might repose,
After the stormy blasts of loves sad woes,
Her rosie mouth, and thy Vermillion lips,
Invite you both with mouth to mouth to taste
Those purple Strawberries which there are plac't:
Seest thou not how in her white bosom rests,
Those tender swelling, and well raised brests,
Which challenge thee into the lists of love.
And thou like a Coward dost refuse
To answer to their call? discurteous youth
Canst thou invited thus, refuse to try
Their loving force? and so in love withstand,
Eternal Fate which all things can command.
Amyn.

Ah me most miserable!

Nerea.

What's that thou saiest?

Amyn.

Nothing: Ah me! I scarce can breath a sigh.

Nerea.
And dost thou sigh? alas wherefore?
Thy heart devoyd of love, deceiv'd perhaps,
Borrows those sighs, that sighing thou maist seem
To be in love, why do I call them sighs?
Thine are no sighs: he that sighs not for love,
Sighs not but Yawns, such sighs no love can move.
Amyn.
But if those sighs be too too truly sighs,
Which issue from the bottom of my heart,
And such as I need seek no other where,
They then perhaps break out onely to shew
The secret grief enclos'd within my breast;
O Nerea, Nerea!
Perhaps the very rocks perceive ere this
That heart which thou deceived thus dost call.
A heart devided? of Love, so set on fire
[Page 44]And burning in the lively flames it feels,
As without other help, it may find out
Cause in it self to spend these sighs about.
Nerea.
Behold a new Amyntas lately come
Out of the bosom of his Silvia,
And from beyond th' Arcadian Hills ariv'd
Newly in Scyros here,
How feelingly he can discourse of love.
A breast, a heart, love, flames, and burning fire:
Sighs and Ah me's, all these are proper words
Taken from loves best language, and thus all
True lovers speak which are Inhabitants
Of loves great Empire: But when wer't thou there?
Or where Amyntas didst thou learn so well
To speak their mother Tongue?
Amyn.
Even in the very Center of that blest
And happy Kingdom, where loves Septer rules,
There have I been, and so that country ayre.
Pleaseth my sense, as though it seems to me,
Still turbulent and cloudy, yet no other skye
Can ever be more welcome to my eye.
Nerea.
Thou speak'st in such a tone Amyntas, and so well
Dost mix thy sighs together with thy words,
A [...]d make sad looks accompany thy sighs,
As I could almost swear thou wert in love.
Amyn.
True love cannot be feign'd: 'tis true that once
I fled from love, but since he overtook
Me in my flight, I follow him as fast.
Nerea.
Oh admirable power against whose will
Nor flight nor pollicy can ought avail.
Now blest be lov'd, great love that thus can give
Unto thy stony heart a lively sence:
But wilt thou not then tell me who she is
Whom love hath chosen for a worthy means
To do so great a work?
Amyn.
No I have told too much already, but
The tears which spring out of my heart, do cause
My tongue to glide so fast: and now 'tis time
[Page 45]To teach it silence.
Nerea.
Silence to me? well then be silent still.
But yet if I be she, which can dispose
Of loves great Empire, as it pleaseth me;
Perhaps one day thou wilt entreat me hear
The story of thy love, and lend thee help,
When I will be as deaf unto thy prayers,
As thou art silent to me now.
Amyn.
Good Nerea, let us talk of somewhat else,
Let us discourse of Niso, and for him
Employ thy care, for as for me, I yet,
Nor seek, nor hope, nor can desire thy help.
Nerea.
What a rude rustick lover have we here?
If love be lodg'd in a rough savage heart,
Poor love himself becomes a savage too,
And so hath neither hope nor yet desire:
But be it as thou wilt, for Niso then
I will employ my cure, and if or will,
Or Art, have any power to win a love
In his content thou shalt learn first to see,
And then repent thine error, when thou shalt
See that cold Celia, that Mass of stone,
By my endeavours, and but easie cure,
All burning in loves flame, and in these fields.
In these same very fields wherein she now,
Like a unwearyed huntress beats the ground
With her still erring foot, when thou shalt see
Her in the Arms of lovely Niso. Print
Upon these flowry banks more tender steps,
And gentler signes, of a more pleasing choice:
What then alas, what will become of thee?
I know too well that then I shall thee see,
Crying Oh help me Nerea, Oh help:
But all in vain, for then I will not help,
But laughing scorn thee for thy foolery.
Amyn.
And dost thou then Ah-me, with Celia hope:
Dost thou with Celia hope to do so much.
And that for Niso too?
Nerea.
[Page 46]
Hope? Yes with Celia, or with any else,
More out of love, with love then she can be,
And that for Niso, or for any else,
Unhappier in love then he can be.
This I can do, and this I will doe too,
Make Niso to enjoy his Celia.
Amyn.

Ah me! I'me dead.

Nerea.
And I will make her thine, who ere she be
Whom thou desirest so, if thou wilt but
Disclose thy love to me.
Amyn.
That Niso my enjoy his Celia,
That's all I ask.
Nerea.
But wherefore dost thou then lament? in time
Demand my help, and thou shalt have it.
Nerea.
Hee's much perplext, and certainly this man
Deceives me yet, and wisheth somewhat else,
Then he seems to desire: He found his thought
Which very hardly can conceal it self;
Thou troubled soul, what i'st that greeves thee now?
Celia shall be for Niso, as thou dost desire.
Though it be true, that with less pains I could
Procure her for Amyntas, if Amyntas would
As Niso doth, burn for fair Celias love.
I know well what I say, but 'tis not fit
I should so easily discover yet,
The secret thoughts of a young virgin maid,
To him that cannot apprehend them.
Amyn.
Dost hear me Nerea? tempt me no more,
For Niso 'tis I speak, and 'tis for him
That I would have thee speak.
Nerea.
He shakes already, and will quickly fall;
Well I will do't, but if she shall be found
To him inexorable, milt thou then
Permit me try what I can do for thee?
All women are not cruel to all men?
Amyn.
She moves my very soul, nor can I tell
How to withstand it: But poor Niso then,
[Page 47]What will poor Niso say?
Nerea.
Amyntas did for me more then he would
Do for himself, and therefore I rejoyce,
His bliss can rise out of my misery,
This will he say: But whereon dost thou think?
Why dost thou scratch thy head, when all the itch
Thou feel'st is in thy heart?
Amyn.
Mercy, Oh Mercy, I am overcome,
And hear me Nerea: Yet peace,
Peace tender lover, but unfaithful friend:
But I were best be gone: Nerea adieu,
Thou knowst what I desire:
I speak for Niso, dost thou conceive me?

Act. 2. Scen. 4.

NEREA.
EIther I nothing understand in love,
Or else Amyntas loves fair Celia:
But wherefore speaks he then for Niso thus?
It is perhaps a lovers folly that
Under a feigned affection seeks to prove
The faithful heart of his beloved love:
Oh ill advised youth, how darst thou tempt
A womans faith by forging new loves still?
Darst thou trust fuel in a burning flame?
Or feathers to the winde? full ill thou knowst,
How many I have seen these tryals cause
Soon to repent them of their former love;
But it may be the pitty of a friend,
Perhaps it may be so, and Niso doth,
Himself too burn for love of Celia.
And yet the simple soul Amyntas speaks
Onely for him, and doth not know that love,
Values no friend when once his force doth move:
But be it as it will, I'me glad to see
[Page 48]Them both sad frequent lovers yet, that so
I may be double arm'd and with more force
Give on a brave assault to that hard heart
Of pittiless, but lovely Celia.
For I will kindle in her Virgine brest,
Both these hot flames, that one at legst may take:
And pittifully paint before her eyes
Them both for love of her, brought to deaths dore,
And both from love, and from her father too.
I mean to tell her that in her own hands
The power of choice doth lye.
Th'art but a fool my Celia, if thou starve
For want of love, when to such lovers bring
Such dishes to the feast: Oh that I could,
But change, change fortunes with thee cruel Nimph.
Change and take thou my hot inflamed brest,
Or send one thy soft golden glittering hair,
White snowy locks, with an heart all on fire.
Soft golden hairs, with an heard Iron heart,
Are Monsters too too cruel, but Ile go
And seek her out, sure I shall conquer her,
For I ner'e knew a fair young maid deny,
To love at last, if su'd to constantly.

Act. 3.

Scen. 1.

Celia.
OH Nerea, thou hast kil'd my woeful heart,
And from thy lips death shot his fatal dart.
Woes me, 'twas long ere I did burn, but now
I am all fire, nor can there be Ah-me!
A way to quench the fury of my flame,
Love be my guide Amyntas!
To thee my dear Amyntas, unto thee
I do submit my self, I will be thine,
And thou shalt be my love, my life, my all;
[Page 49]Ah-me: what did I say?
And can I then without my Niso live?
No, No, but for Amyntas, I can dye
And dow behold me given over quite
Unto my wonted fury,
Oh Celia!
Unhappy Celia, still dost thou rave
What dost thou think, and whether dost thou tend,
In this estate, depriv'd of all my bliss.
It cannot be I should continue long.
Enjoy but one? Love will not give me leave
To enjoy both, both Heaven and Earth forbid.
Then I must dye, for other remedy
Then death this death cannot invent.
Must I then dye?
But lately born and must I dye so soon?
Sad mourning eyes, the time is short which fate,
Allotted to you, to behold this Sun,
And yet alas I have but seen too much.
Fool that I am, what i'st I greeve for for thus?
Loss of my life? and what can I expect
To gain by living here? nought else but woe
Nothing but grief: and doth it greeve thee then
To part with grief? Oh no, let death, kinde death
Come then, and with his hand close up mine eyes,
And dry up all my tears: And yet alas,
Those tears, nor all my sad despairs cannot
Call out so loud for death in my poor foul,
As others torments do,
Oh Nerea, Nerea.
For love of me then doth Amyntas burn?
And Niso too? for me doth Niso dye?
Yea and Amyntas too? and I who love you both.
Unhappy lovers, is it I whom love
Too cruel love hath set against you both?
And is it I that kill you? then 'tis I,
'Tis I must dye, and fear not, I will dye,
That so my death may either give you ease,
[Page 50]Or else revenge your cruel suff'rings.
Oh direful voice! And yet base Coward heart,
Fear'st thou one death, that dost not fear two loves?
No, no, vain pitty! pitty pittyless
Base trembling fear, and you cold frozen thoughts,
You can no longer lodge within this breast.
Behold my hand full armed for the deed,
Oh vile and cowardly hand! what trembling thus
Dost thou discharge thy darts? Woes me, I want
Force that will second this my just revenge:
Let then my feet do what my hands deny,
Oh my sad furies! Oh despairing grief!
Be you my faithful guide, lead on, lead on,
Shew me another way to finde out death.
Conduct me to a Precipice where I
Shall need no force to press me to my fall:
But if a bush, or any stub should stop
My fatal fall? for so Amyntas was
Sav'd when he would have dyed for Silvia:
That would be my misfortune then, that was to him
A happy blessing: What then shall I do?
Oh you Celestial Gods! and you sad powers,
That govern in the deep infernal Lake.
You that inspir'd me with desire to dye,
Shew one the way to do it speedily.

Act. 3. Scen. 2.

Filino. Celia.
FElino.
Oh me most miserable.
Oh my dear pretious, and my lovely joy!
Oh my lost treasure!
Celia.
What mournful voice thus sounds within mine ears?
Is not this Filino?
Filino.
Oh Celia weep, weep gentle Celia,
Do not so much as stay, till I have told
What cause thou hast to weep.
Celia.
[Page 51]
And to what new misfortune can the Gods,
Preserve me yet in this smale hour of life.
What can there be that can disturb me more?
Speak quickly Filino, for well I know
The grief which hath already seiz'd my heart
Can leave no place for any new supply.
Fil.
Distressed Filino, unhappy Celia!
Thy joy, and all my wonted bliss,
The beauty of the Meades, flower of the fields,
The love of all thy flock, thy gentle kid
(O me! my heart will break to tell it out)
Thy gentle Kid is dead.
Cel.
O happy boy, since all thy sorrows are
Compriz'd within so poor a loss as this.
But say who was't that kild him?
Fil.
Beleeve 'twas neither Shepheard nor wild beast:
For I would then have dyed in his defence.
Cel.

What was it then?

Fil.
The noysom feeding of a poysonous hearb.
Ah me, was the cause of all.
Cel.
What of a poysonous hearb? then this way sure
The heavens have shew'd me now a means to dye.
O all ye gracious Gods can it be true
That any pitty to my lasting woes
Should then ascend to heaven?
Fil.
The Kid ascend to heaven? what butting then
Will there be seen 'twixt him and Capricorn?
Cel.
But let me yet beware lest the mistake
Of a poor siily boy should bring my thoughts
Of death into a by-word and a scorn.
Tell me, my boy, how do'st thou know the Kid
Dyed by a poysonous hearb?
Fil.
Ile tell thee. When the Suns hot burning beams
About the mid time of the day gan rage,
I led thy flocks unto those shady Meades
Not far from hence, do'st thou not know them? those
Which 'twixt the Rivers and the Woods are fraught
With such fresh springing grass, and ever green,
[Page 52]Where being once arriv'd, observe me Celia,
And whilst the bellowing of the heards apply'd
Unto the sound of my small Oaten-pipe,
Seem'd to salute the fresh green pasture there,
Thy pretty Kid, Ah my dear pretious joy!
Thy pretty little Kid, all full of play,
Running and Skipping, with such wanton frisks.
Playd with the grass; in such a pleasing way
As that, I do not say my self, no, no,
But to say true, even all thy gentle flock
Left off their feeding, and stood gazing on
The pretty sport he made.
Celia.
Be brief, be brief, my Filino, I have no time
To tattle now, tell quickly what I ask,
Filino.
Softly! give ear,
Within the twinkling of an eye, he ran
Quite cross the Meadow, till at the last he came
Unto that little streaming Brook which runs,
Next to the Hill, and there began to feed
Upon an Hearb, which yet I never saw,
Grow any other where, and there did graze,
With such an Appetite, and eat so fast,
As it did fatten me to see him taste,
And relish it so well.
But on a suddain, Oh sad heavy chance,
I saw him trembling fall, and think you not,
That in an Instant, I flew to him straight?
I look't upon him, cal'd him, prest his Limbs:
He look't on me again, and seem'd to moan
His sad estate, and trembling seem'd to say,
Ah Filino I dye.
Thus did I see his eyes grow dark and dim,
Those pretty eyes of his, I saw retire,
Into his head, his eye-lids closed up.
And thus alas I saw him dye:
Celia.
But yet I am not satisfied perhaps,
He did but saint, and onely seem'd to dye:
Perhaps it came too by some other means,
[Page 53]Then by the hearb he fed on: Th'art a child,
Poor Filino as yet, and little knowst
What doth belong to cattle or their food.
Filino.
Well! but Nerete, that grave hoary Beard,
That reverend peece of age, is he a child?
And knows he nothing too, what doth belong
To hearbs and beasts?
Celia.

What did Nerete say?

Filino.
He at my cryes came running in, and found
Me standing by the Kid with weeping eyes,
To whom when I related had the cause,
Of all my moan, Oh wicked hearb, quoth he:
Drive Felino, go drive thy flock from hence,
Unto some other place: which said he straight
Ran to the Kid, and drew him from the place
Where then he lay, unto the Rivers side:
But I had not the heart to see him thrown
Into the water so: But wailing ran
To find thee out.
Celia.
Nerete doth deserve to be beleev'd,
The death then of my Kid is certain now,
And so's the cause thereof, come Filino,
Come lets away.
Filino.

And whether?

Celia.

To find out that same Hearb.

Filino.

And what to do?

Celia.

Let not that trouble thee.

Filino.
Ah! with what eyes shall ever I behold
That Meade again?
Celia.

Come quickly Felino, what i'st thou dost?

Filino.
I look at Nerea, that's coming here?
Ah let me stay a while, for she is wont,
For every kiss I give her to bestow
An Apple on me.
Celia.
Nerea? follow me quickly and take heed,
Thou dost not anger me.
Filino.
I come, I come, see if she fly not hence,
Like to an arrow from a Bow.

Act. 3. Scen. 3.

NISO. NEREA.
Niso.
AH were but now Amyntas here
That he might know the story of my death,
And of her cruelty.
Ner.
He hath already heard, and griev'd to hear it.
I met with him when Celia went from me,
And told him all the sute that I had made
To her, and how unkindly she refus'd
To give an ear thereto, and him I left
Close by the River, mourning like a friend
For thy misfortune.
Niso.

Go on then, tell me, what didst thou reply?

Ner.
Ah cruel Nymph, said I then to her straight,
And wilt thou not admit a loving soul
Unhappy in his love, at least to tell
The nature of his grief?
Niso.

And she?

Ner.
There's not a Shepheard, she made answer then,
Whether a strange or a native born,
There's not a Shepheard that dares be so bold
As to importune Celia for her love,
Each man flies from me, every man thats wise
Locks up his words in silence, and if yet
There be a man that suffers for my sake
Let him relate his sorrows to the trees,
And be assur'd that trees and plants will prove
Less deaf than Celia, and more apt to love.
Niso.

O cruel and most savage heart!

Ner.
Tush this was nothing, her fierce angry looks
Spake more than did her tongue; for all her speech
Was full of such obscurity, as I
Could hardly understand her what she meant;
But then I saw her cheeks grow pale as death,
Her ruby lips too lost their colour quite,
I did not see her weep, but yet I saw
[Page 55]Her eyes full fraught with grief, though free from tears.
And then as if she had disdain'd her self,
And such fond looks as those, she shakt her head,
And suddainly her eyes grew red with rage,
And shot out flames of anger, till at last
I could perceive her in a threatning wise
Brandish her dart; I know not well at whom.
Niso.
At me without all doubt, and I my self,
Even I my self will straight present her with
This naked breast, and with this hand tear up
This wound again, which is but newly clos'd,
That so her Shaft may find a shorter way,
Yea and a wider passage to my heart:
And since that cruel she denies to hear
The story of my woes, she yet shall hear
The sad relation of my fatal death:
And so perhaps in that same point of time
When her fair hand shall fling her dart at me,
In that same happy point of time I may,
At least before I dye, say that I dye.
Ner.
Unhappy Shepheard! ah! alass, those eyes,
Those lovely eyes of thine must not alone
Drop brimsh tears, but even I must needs
My self weep with thee too for company.
But Niso, my sweet youth ('tis fit I should
Give him some comfort) I will not deny
But it is true that Celia shew'd her self
Beyond all measure cruel, yet who knows
But that she may for all this counterfeit?
For my part Ile not swear she doth not so.
The art of feigning is by nature taught
To women, so said one, and she said true:
For from their very birth they can conceal
Their inward thoughts, and though but children, yet
Under a frowning brow they have the art
In secret to conceal a loving heart.
But be she as she will, who yet can say
She may not change her mind? For women are
[Page 56]Like to the Moon, and vary both their looks
And shapes as well as she, if then they love,
Yet trust them not, despair not though they hate,
But give them time at least to change their thoughts.
Do'st thou not see the heavens in a trice
Both burn and freeze? It was but yesterday
When thou beganst to love, and scarce hast yet
Learnt to breath forth a sigh, 'tis not then time
Already to despair; a short breath'd sigh
Cannot through Loves vast ocean drive a soul
Into the port of rest, and full content:
Thou didst but now begin, and canst thou then
Despair already to attain thy wish?
Niso.
'Tis true, alass, my love but now begins,
But yet my life's already at an end:
For this confounding flame scarce kindled yet
Already hath consum'd my heart.
Ner.
But yet take heart again, and live by hope:
For be assur'd, no art that can be found
To rouse up love where most he lyes asleep,
Shall be left unattempted for thy sake.
Let's search out all Loves engins then, and try
The utmost of their forces one by one.
Tell me then, didst thou never yet make known
Thy love to her by any other means?
Didst thou not yet so much as in thy looks,
Or in thy sighs send to her frozen heart
The first embassages of love?
Niso.
Yes! but what profit have I gain'd?
When all my sighs breath'd through the empty air,
Were by the wind disperst ere they could come
Unto the breast to which I sent them forth?
And Looks, the messengers which lovers send
To them they love, are ever strucken dumb,
When onely he that sends them looks in vain,
And she to whom th'are sent looks not again.
Ner.
Didst thou say nothing to her when thou lay'st
Wounded, and hadst her ever by the side?
Niso.
[Page 57]
Ah me! would death had shackled up my tongue,
Which love unhappily did then let loose:
For then it was she fled away so fast
As I could never see her since.
Ner.
And didst thou never since present her with
Some amorous token, pretty loving gift?
Niso.
Gift? heaven defend, tempt Celia with gifts?
To use a gentle Nymph as one would use
A covetous base croan? I should beleeve
With gifts to make a well bred heart become
Sooner an enemy than yeeld to love.
Ner.
If thou beleeve so, thou beleev'st amiss.
The heavens themselves are pleased with our gifts,
And hell is pacify'd, nor canst thou think
Women less covetous than heaven, nor yet
Less cruel than the deep infernal pit,
A gift, beleeve me, Niso, a rich gift
Is the great instrument of love, or tyrant rather,
Which doth command and rule love as it please.
Knowst thou not what Elpino, wise Elpino said?
That in the worlds first infancy when truth,
And pure simplicity made heart and tongue
Speak both one language: Nymphs that were in love
Could sing no other song but dona, dona,
Which in our later language sounds give, give;
And therefore since, with double N (because
One gift will not suffice) a Woman is
In the Italian tongue, call'd Donna now.
And if there be such wandring beggars stil,
As think it no disgrace unto their kind
To beg Love as an Alms: Then say not thou
That none but covetous base women will
Beg or receive a gift.
Niso.

Thou telst me wondrous things.

Ner.
But yet as clear as is the Sun, and know
That man is covetous that in his love
Spends, though by thousands, nothing else but sighs,
And looks, and words, and prayers, and trickling tears.
[Page 58]Yea though he joyn some little lyes to boot,
And make no conscience to be perjur'd too,
Let him but give a poor lean sucking lamb,
And he shall give therewith a greater proof
Of this true love then all the rest can bring:
For women now adaies can onely trust
A giving love, all else are but deceit,
And 'tis but reason that his love who gives
Should conquer all, their greatest cruelty,
Since it hath conquer'd his base covetise,
A monster far more cruel.
Niso.
Alass, if it be true then that a gift
Contains that power in it to overcome
Her yet untam'd, unconquer'd cruelty,
This heart, this soul, this all, what e'r I am,
Even all my self, I give unto her will.
Ner.
Alass, poor man, this is the gift which all
Poor Lovers give their loves with open hands,
A heart, a soul, are of too great a price,
I would not for a world (my Son) no, no,
I would not have thee be so prodigal;
Keep them (love) for thy self, and let thy gift
Be of less value, but yet more desir'd.
Niso.
I, a poor stranger in these parts, devoyd
Of lands and flocks, from whence shall I obtain
A gift that's worth the sending? here,
Give her this dart, 'tis not to be despis'd;
Mark both the pile and shaft.
Ner.
The pile is sharp and piercing, and the shaft
Pithie and straight, fitted as they should be,
To dart at savage beasts in the wild woods,
But for fair Celia's hand (to speak the truth)
For her soft tender hand it seems too big,
And sure she cannot weild it.
Niso.

What thinkst thou of this horn?

Ner
Oh! I of horns am a great Mistress too,
And did present her one the other day;
And with your patience be it spoke, perhaps
[Page 59]Farier than that.
Niso.
Then now I have bethought me of a gift,
May happily seem not unworthy of
Fair Celia her self.
Ner.

Is it about thy neck?

Niso.

Is't not a fair one Nirea? see.

Ner.
What's this that shines so? take it off, that so
I may the better view it.
Niso.

Have patience; so, 'tis now undone.

Ner.
Ah, what a pure white neck he hath! I scarce
Could hold from kissing it.
Niso.
O sad remembrance of my former love,
And of my by-past happiness: Go now,
For heaven ordains thee to a better fate:
Behold it Nere [...].
Ner.
Ah! who did ever see a braver thing?
It looks, as 'twere all gold.
Niso.
And 'tis all gold: But go and see if thou
With it canst purchase me my life again:
Defer no time, what do'st thou muse upon?
Ner.
Niso, to tell thee true, she went from me
So troubled, and so full of high disdain
As I have cause to fear she never will
Give ear to me again; or if she doe
That, yet I'shall not have the power to win
A favour from her, therefore it were fit
Some other should present this gift to her.
Niso.

If Nerea thou forsake me, I am lost.

Ner.
Have patience, heaven it self is on our side:
Seest thou that Nympy that yonder comes that way?
If the bright glistering of her scattered hair
With too much beauty dazle not mine eyes
'Tis Cl [...]ris, or 'tis rather she, because
Mine eyes do dazle, and from thence I know
'Tis she indeed; for there is none that can
Display such golden locks before the Sun.
It must be Cloris, who alone is she
That hath fair Celia's heart: Cloris it is,
[Page 60]Than whom in Scyros Celia never knew
A true friend: Oh happy thou if she
Will but conveigh thy gift.
Niso.
But I am no way known to her, do thou
Do thou speak for me, and entreat her help.

Act. 3. Scen. 4.

CLORIS, NISO, NEREA.
HE comes not yet, and I must here attend
The old mans leisure.
Niso.

Why do'st thou stay?

Ner.

For loves sake peace.

Clor.
But what shall I do here alone the while?
Sigh out my love? then let us turn again
Unhappy love unto our wonted pains,
And sighing still breath out my luckless wo
Into this amourous air.
Niso.

Go yet at last, what do'st thou fear?

Ner.
She plaies the wilie wench, I know her well
By many proofs: be stil a while.
Clo.
But where, alass, O where are you lost sighs?
And whether do you wander through the air?
If yet you know not where to find the heart
To which love sends you erring messengers
Of most unhappy news?
Niso.
Woes me! go on, and try her though my case
Be ne'r so desperate; for whatsoe'r befall,
I can but dye.
Clo.
Ah! shall I never live to see the day
When once before I dye I may behold
My beauteous Sun again?
'Tis but a look I beg, and then Ile dye,
And dye concent; for one look and no more
I would give up my life, and its worth that.
Niso.

Ah Nerea!

Ner.

Have patience, now I go.

Clo.
[Page 61]

O heavens!

Ner.

The gracious heavens satisfie. Clo. Ah me!

Ner.

Thy just desires, my gentle Cloris?

Clo.

Thy unexpected voice made me afraid.

Ner.
But pitty then anothers just desires,
Use thou that pitty which thou do'st implore
Thy self from heaven.
Clo.
What should I say? I doubt she hath heard all:
Thou seest me, Nerea, here all alone,
Sighing for that blest day, when I shall once
Behold again in heaven above that Sun
Which I in Smyrna saw.
But what do'st thou desire of me? what is't?
Ner.

The life of a poor Shepheard.

Clo.
Farewel, I'm gon:
Thou knowst I never lend an ear to those
That speak to me of Love.
Ner.
O spightful soul! do'st hear? fly not away.
The thing whereof I speak, 'tis true, is love,
But such as thou wilt not denie to hear,
Beleev't it is, and by this hand I swear,
This fair, th is tender hand which now I grasp.
Clo.

Whats that? for loves sake give it me.

Ner.
Sh'hath snatcht it from my hand. Cloris look on't,
Is't not a fair one? but thou shalt have time
Hereafter to look on it long enough.
Now hear what I would say.
Clo.
'Tis none of mine, for thats about my neck.
It must be that of Thirsis: O ye Gods!
Whats this I see?
Ner.
Bear up my Niso, and resume again
Thy late lost courage, see shee's pleas'd beyond
All measure with thy gift, and she will bring
Fair Celia to like it too
If she but take in hand to give it her.
See how she looks upon't.
Niso.
Follow it then, Nerea, O follow it.
Thou onely canst revive my hope again.
[Page 62]If yet my hope can ere revive again.
Clo.
But if my Thirsis should be dead and so
The Ring be faln into some others hands:
Who gave thee, Nerea, this golden ring?
Ner.

A gentle Shepheard gave it me.

Clo.

A Shepheard here of Scyros?

Ner.

No, but a stranger born.

Clo.

And to what end then did he give it thee?

Ner.
He gave it as a token of his love,
And his eternal faith.
Clo.

Of love to thee?

Ner.
To me?
Look I like one' whose love is to be bought
With others gifts? O no I am too old:
'Tis not for me to sell my Merchandise,
She that is rich in years must buy, not sell,
If she intend to please her self in love.
But thou dost know this, and dissemble it:
His love is of a higher nature fram'd,
Unhappy he loves a despairing hope,
Saving that fortune in this hooped ring
(But mark in what a narrow space) still moves
And turns his fainting hopes to her he loves.
Clo
I prithee ease my pain, and let me know
What name that Shepheard bears, where he abides,
Or let me see, or let me speak with him.
Ner.
'Tis that which he desires, Niso stand forth:
Behold the Shepheard here for whom I plead,
It cannot be but he is known to thee,
As one of those (whom if thou didst attend
The solemn pomp which was this morning held
In payment of his vow) thou needs must see
Triumphing in the Temple.
Niso.
Yes I am he fair Nymph, who did triumph
This morning, and this very night must dye,
If love be not my help.
Clo.
Both name, and voice, and look all different,
But yet what doth not time and fortune change?
[Page 63]And still me-thinks he doth resemble him:
But yet my heart goes faster than mine eyes,
And therefore I am fearfull least desire,
Too much desire should mock my fawning hopes.
Say gentle Shepheard is this ring thine own?
Niso.
It is mine own, save onely in as much
As I am vow'd unto anothers will.
Clo.
When, where, or how didst thou come by it? or
Who gave it to thee? excuse my bold demand.
The thing it self deserves it, as a rare
And unseen jewel in this Isle before.
Niso.
For loves sake doe not press me to rela [...]e
So long a story now, when I have left
So short a time to live.
I had it when I was a child, and when
My better fates made me live happily,
I had it from a hand that swaies the rule
Of somthing else than beasts, or horned heards,
I had it (nor will I deny it to be true)
I had it as a pledge of love,
Of faithfull love, which I long since have lost,
And now within these fields (Ah me! fond hope)
Go still pursuing the recovery.
Of my old wonted pains.
Clo.
'Tis Thirsis, it is he,
'Tis Thirsis without doubt, and to this hour
Lamenting still my loss, he rangeth thus
These fields to find me out:
O faithfull heart! O me above all else
Most happy lover! This is that blest day
Which I have sigh'd for long, and this the bliss
The want whereof I have lamented so,
Now sighs and tears adieu, here ends my wo.
Niso.
Seest thou not Nerea, how she (woes me)
At every pause still turns her self about,
And reasons all alone?
And now if I mistake her not, she seems
Strangly confounded, and I know not why.
Cl [...]ris.
[Page 64]
As yet he knows me not, is not assur'd,
And therefore takes advice of Nerea.
Nerea.
Perhaps she yet suspects, and is in fear,
The gift is meant to her, thou never law'st
A more reserved Wench.
Clor.
How can it be that love doth not ere this,
At least in secret tell it to his heart?
Nerea.
Or else perhaps delighted with the fair:
Rich beanty of the gold (as who can tell)
Perhaps she may desire it for her self;
For old in those that are the nicest, can
Both blear their eyes, and dazle too their hearts.
Niso.
What ere it be, 'tis more then time my soul,
Should be resolv'd at last.
Clo.
But foolish I, why do I thus retard
My happiness? too long, too long, alas!
My torments have endur'd:
Nerea.

Stand off, a while, Ile put her out of doubt.

Clo.

I will disclose my self.

Nerea. Cloris.
Clo.
Do not disturb me Nerea, for my heart
Cals me another way.
Nerea.
Yet stay a while, thou art too squeamish now.
What i'st thou fear'st?
That in this ring some train of love is layd
Against thy self? be confident there's none:
This gentle Shepherd here for Celia.
And not for thee, for Celia, I say.
And not for thee; do'st thou conceive me?
For Celia he sighs, and burns, and dyes:
To Celia to whom he gives his heart,
To her this gift is sent, but yet thou mayst
In pitty be a means to give it her.
This is a smal request, and more then this
Is not desir'd of thee; do thou but grant,
To be the Messenger, and then let love
Himself work out the rest.
Cloris.

Thersis, Thersis for Celia?

Nerea.
[Page 65]

Niso, not Thersis:

Cloris.
Ah-me.
For Celia doth he sigh, and burn, and dye?
To Celia doth he send the Ring? and I,
Must I conveigh his sacriligious gift?
Niso.
Cloris is troubled, and undoubtedly
Will nocon sent.
Nerea.
Ah! though thou still be cruel to thy self,
At least to others, yet be pittiful.
One gentle word to do another good,
Cannot, it cannot sure impeach the height
And Majesty of thy just rigor.
Niso.
I hear Amyntas voice, but see him not,
Amyntas.
Cloris.
Oh false perfidious love! Oh faith betrayed,
Oh perjur'd Heaven! Oh most wretched I!
Nerea.
Ah me! and why so troubled? wherefore thus
Distracted do'st thou look? and Cloris whether,
Whether away so fast? at least restore
The Ring again, hark, stay awhile:

Act. 3. Scen. 5.

Niso. Amyntas. Celia.
Niso.
THou com'st in time, in time, Amyntas, sure
The Heavens did conduct thee to this place,
My lifes in question here, Amyntas, see,
But whether, (woes me) whether are they gone?
Vanisht so soon? What Cloris, Nerea?
Cloris I say! they have abus'd me both.
Follow, Amyntas, follow.
Amyn.
Which way shall I follow? Niso, That,
And I will follow them about this Hill.
Celia.
Oh most delicious drink sweet to this taste
Which thirsted after death.
Am [...]n.
They do not keep the path, and if they chance,
To take into the Wood, I gaze in vain.
Celia.
[Page 66]
I am here all alone, now in the hands
Of death, why do not I then dye?
Niso.
T [...]is way they are not gone, is there left yet
Another way to find?
Celia.

Ah me! what do I see?

Niso.

Amyntas look! look there's my Sun.

Amyn.
Ah peace, if she perceive us, she will straight
Vanish out of our sight, and then those rays
Will rather seem a flash of lightening, then
The chearful beams of this bright shining Sun.
Niso.
Already she hath spyed us, and it seems
That even very now, she looks this way,
But yet with high disdain: And see'st thou not!
Me thinks she looks as she were full of woe:
I see in that fair face, the Gilliflowers,
And Roses withered, and look wonderous pale.
Celia.
They go not hence, nor I cannot remove
Nor yet doth death come to deliver.
Amyn.
She reasons with her self, and happily,
Shee's angry that she findes us here.
Niso.
But yet amidst those woes, there may be seen,
A smiling beauty and a flour [...]shing
Amidst those withered flowers: Oh heavenly!
Oh thou diviner beauty! can it be
That other fair ones, have the fairness of
The richest coulours, and the fairest flowers?
But she not as from them, but from her self is fair.
Celia.
Unhappy eyes, what ere the world hath fair
May there be seen but not by you, and then
What more then death, can you desire to see?
Niso.
Ah me! before so fair a fire I burn,
And fry in scorching heat, and canst thou then
Look on it and be mute? and look again,
And yet not burn? Ah! I cannot contain
My self within this heat
Amyn.

Stay, whether wilt thou go?

Niso.
I must perforce, I will speak to her straight,
And at the least, Ile tell her that I dye.
Amynt.
[Page 67]
Speak to her man? and do'st thou not then fear
The force of her reproach? hast thou forgot
The cruel prohibition which she sent,
Did Nereas not tell it thee? if then thou lov'st
Beware thou do not move her to disdan.
Cel.
But from a sight so pleasing (wo is me)
Mine eyes doe drink new po yson, and perhaps
That may retard the operation of
The drink I drunk before.
Niso.
Shall I then dye in silence? shall I dye
Without a breathing fit? no't shall not be,
The Plants at least shall hear, the Plants shall hear
The mournsull accents of my sad laments,
For they will be less deaf unto my moan
Than Celia is, to them hard hearted she
Forbids me not to speak.
Celia.
What do'st thou death, what darst thou not close up
These eyes of mine, which love keeps open thus:
Yet I must dye, and though mine eyes delay,
My heart makes hast to goe that dismal way.
Shepheards doe you remove unto some other place,
Or I of force must flie from this.
Niso.

Ah! thou most cruel Nymph!

Amynt.
Peace Niso, peace, do'st thou not see
That with her foot already in the air
She threatens to be gone? lets leave her then,
Lets leave her here in peace, and go our way,
The Woods doe not want trees to which thou mayst
As well as to these Beeches here complain,
And in thy depth of sorrow sigh in vain.
Niso.

Lets goe, O cruel Nymph!

Amynt.

Ah me! most miserable!

Act. 3. Scen. 6.

CELIA.
Cel.
SOuls of my soul, away from me you fly,
And 'tis but reason, since I needs must dye:
[Page 72]And now I dye, but you dear lovely sights
Which even now gave light unto mine eyes,
If ever you by chance on earth behold
These most unhappy limbs here lye extinct,
Depriv'd of heat and motion, not so much
As one poor sigh, no nor a tear I crave.
This only I entreat, that your proud feet
As just revengers of your injur'd hearts,
Would kick these bones unto the savage beasts,
And fling the dust thereof into the air,
But with that dust let then the air conveigh
Into the den of deep forgetfulness
All memory of my black sin. O happy death,
If with my life my faults may vanish too!
But I still live, and 'tis perhaps because
A few small hearbs cannot prevail with death,
He must have more, and therefore I have here
My lap full of them, and I will renew
Their poyson once again. Ah me! I dye,
Amyntas! Niso! Ah I dye, O love,
Betrayed love! O falsified faith!
Come now behold, and see the just revenge,
See and triumph, behold the vengeance due
Unto my fatal error, see the end
Of all my torturing pain. Come gentle plant
And stay the ruins of this falling bulk,
And since under thy shaddow I must dye,
Ah! with those leaves, those withered leaves at least
Which with the wind are tossed too and fro,
For pitty cover these unburied limbs:
But thou do'st fly me, and so doth the earth,
The heavens hide themselves, and wretched I
Since neither earth nor heaven will receive
This wofull soul, where shall I then remain?
See, see, behold th' infernal deep there plac't;
You borrid furies whereon doe you gaze?
And thou black Cerberus why bark'st thou so?
Make room, I come to bear a share in all
[Page 73]The torments you endure, or rather leave,
Leave all your pains to me, begon and tell
That I alone will here alone make hell.
Ah me! ah me!

Act. 4.

Scen. 1.

SERPILLA. CLORIS.
Serp.
I Can no more, stay here a while, and give
If not unto my legs, yet to my heart
A poor short breathing fit.
Clo.
Stay where it like thee best, for all vain
Hither and thither I remove my steps,
But cannot find nor hill, nor lowly plain,
Nor open air, nor darksom shade that can
Bring the least comfort to my wounding pain;
No place can give me ease, but all alike
Seems fitted to torment my wearied soul.
In this same very place my woes begun,
There first I view'd again my cruel foe,
And here I first discover'd it was he,
Here was I glad, and here as suddainly,
With the short sound of one sad killing word,
Even in this very place, unhappy I
Slipt back again into my former pain,
And fell so swiftly down that precipice,
As death to me cannot but now appear
Tardy and slow.
Serp.
Phillis! ah my dear daughter, mitigate
This fierce tormenting grief which thus infests
Thy soul with fury: for in fine, if thou
Consider well, Thirsis is still thine own,
Nor lives she can deprive thee of thy hopes:
True faith betwixt your gentle hearts hath knit
A lasting and indissoluble knot;
And love sometimes perhaps may be forgot,
But never a true faith, that faith which once
[Page 70] Iove with his thundring hand hath firmly writ,
And deep engrav'd in heaven.
Clo.
But yet alass what can I gain thereby?
For faith depriv'd of love ties up our hands,
But fetters not our hearts, and thus fast bound
The bonds are too too hard: For my part then
Let them be loosed quite, and let me live
Free from that hand that lives without a heart.
No, no, Serpilla, no if he deny
His love to me, his faith I do defie.
Serp.
But thou dispairest yet before 'tis time,
Thirsis beleeves thee dead, and justly may
Within his youthfull breast then entertain
New flames of love, and yet therein be free
From the least shew of doing injury
To that rich beauty which he thinks extinct,
And happily hath mourn'd for long ago.
But when he shall perceive thee here alive
His old lost love will then with the revive.
Clo.
That love Serpilla which can be remov'd
With the light breath of an imagin'd death,
Is but a faint weak love, nor care I much
Whether it live again, or still lye dead.
Even I my self beleev'd him long ago
Dead, and enclosed within an earthen Urn,
And yet abhorring any other love,
I only lov'd that pale-fac'd beauty still,
And those dry bones dissolved into dust,
And underneath their ashes kept alive,
The lively flames of my still burning fire.
Thou knowst it well, who oftentimes hast seen,
And griev'dst to see my miserable state,
My misbeleeved death then cannot make
His fault, or yet my sorrows seem the less:
Ah me! it cannot; no but he is false,
Alass hees false, and I most wretched am,
Nor can his faithless error be excus'd,
Or my sad grief admit the least relief.
[Page 71]What shall I do then? who shall counsel me?
Shall love? alass it cannot; when love meets
With infidelity, it rests depriv'd
Of all advice; then I must now repair
For counsel to my fury and despair.
Serp.
Come with me daughter, or at least consent
That I may go and seek thy Thirsis out;
Ile have him know thee once again, I must
Once see you both confronted face to face,
And thou shalt hear then what himself can say,
And thence wee'l take advice.
Clo.
That ever he shall look on me again?
No, I have not the heart, I know too well,
That whilst I look upon his once lov'd eyes,
Their beams will mitigate my just disdain,
That just disdain, which I must keep entire
For mine own safety, therefore peace no more,
No more of that Serpilla.
Serp.
Yes but I must, and he must once again
See thee (my heart) I will not be denied,
He shall come see thee, I will have it so,
If not to ease thy sad perplexed thoughts,
At least to aggravate his biting wo,
And now I go, but Thirsis sojourns yet
At young Amyntat house, and this the path
That leadeth thither by the shortest way.
Stay then at home, or for me there leave word,
Where I may come to thee.
Clo.

Yes, yes, go on, go on.

Serp.
O! if I could now be so blest to free
Phillis and Celia both from misery.
Clo.
I will leave word where thou mayst come to me.
But thou must come then to deaths darksom Cell:
For thither I perceive my sorrows will
Bring me e'r long: Thirsis, thou nere must see
This face again; for there remains no more
Comfort for me; nor do I wish thy pain,
For false and cruel though thou be to me,
[Page 68]Yet I must love thee still: Ah me! I love,
And if my love can for no other cause
Be dear to thee, yet cruel! let it be
Dear, as it will be cause of death to me:
Oh my ingrateful Thirsis, Ah false man.
Phillis for thee was born, liv'd by thine eyes,
And now for thee forsaken Phillis dyes.

Act. 4. Scen. 2.

NISO.
I Here the name of Phillis, and but now,
Me thinks it eccho'd through the empty ayre,
Unto my lovesick soul: but whence then comes
This faigned voice, which thus recals again,
The cold dead ashes of my dying heart,
Unto there wonted flames? can it be thou?
Or i'st not rather the fair gentle shade,
Of my lost Phillis? is it that which strays,
Depriv'd of rest about these fields to draw
My erring heart unto her love again?
Alas what wouldst thou have of me? thou know'st
That since thy death, no part of me remains,
But tears and sighs, and if thou take delight
To see me greeve, thou mai'st when ere thou please.
Whilest I live here, renew the funeral pomp,
Of my sad tears, and heart consuming sighs;
Take then these brinish drops, rest satisfied
With these deep groans, which here I consecrate,
Unto our love, and to thy sweet repose,
And re [...], Ah me! poor soul, now rest in peace.

Act. 4. Scen. 3.

Amyntas. Niso.
Amyn.

HEe's all alone: Niso, whom speak'st thou to?

Niso.
To empty shadows my Amyntas, Ah!
I know not how the mournful memory,
Of my first, earnest, but unhappy love
Is even now, in mid'st of my new flames.
When it should least have troubled my sad thoughts
Renew'd within my soul? and whilst now this,
Now that, and each within an instant prefs
Sighs from my heart, and tears out from mine eyes
Tears overflow, and sighs confound me so,
As my poor heart doth faint.
Amyn.
And so thy heart amid'st such ardent flames
Such fervent heats, serves onely now to be,
The hot consuming furnace of true love:
Oh miserable soul! when Celia darts
One flashing beam, hath it not power enough
To burn one silly heart? Unless love force
New flames out of a beauty now extinct?
Is she not dead (if I remember well
What thou hast said) who now revives thy heart.
Niso.
O yes she died a child, and in the East
My rising Sun, declined to the West,
She died a child, and if a beauty since,
And such a beauty as perhaps did not
Seem coy to me (such as thou seest me here)
Offer'd me love, I in an instant turn'd
Mine eyes another way, or dull'd their sight
With the full flowing streams of showring tears;
Onely the unkind beauty of my Celia,
Had force to work that strange effect in me,
Which the most loving beauty else could not:
Nor can I tell how it was brought to pass.
That I could neither flye, nor yet withstand
Her all commanding power: and thus new flames
[Page 74]Without confounding of my former heat,
Incense my heart afresh, whence I am forc'd
St [...]ll to bewail my Phillis, still to sigh.
For Celia's love she is already lost,
And her I cannot hope ere to enjoy.
This then is all I can expect to gain,
To lose my sighs, and spend my tears in vain,
Amynt.
Whilst thou do'st thus bemoan thy sad mishaps,
Grief grows into excess: Let us discourse
Upon some other subject: I can learn
No news of Cloris, nor of Nerea,
From that young Goatheard, with whom for that end
I stayd behind thee talking in the wood.
Niso.
Which way shall we pursue them then, depriv'd
Of all the helps that may direct our course.
Amynt.
Why should we follow thus their steps in vain?
I am already weary, and 'twere best
To rest us here in this large open plain.
From whence we may discover round about
What passeth too and fro, and underneath
These spreading Beech es here we may attend
In hope to meet them, and refresh our selves
In this cool breathing shade, where we may dry
The trickling sweat from off our me ting brows,
And take a sweet repose.
Niso.

Agreed.

Amynt.
But what is't I behold there in the skirts
And entrance of the wood, betwixt those twigs
And the round body of that tree?
Niso.

It seems a Nymph sure by her cloaths.

Amynt.
Oh! 'Tis fair Celia, see her Azure gown,
Those silver buskins, and that golden Bow
Shew it is Celia, which lyes here retir'd
Under this gentle shade: 'Tis she.
Niso.
Lies Celia in the shade? behold then yon
That wish to see the Sun conceal his beams
Under a shadow, here enjoy your wish.
Amynt.

Speak softly, for I think she sleeps.

Niso.
[Page 75]
Sleeps she?
O if some pittifull (I will not say
Or God or man) but some kind gentle dream,
Some wandring spirit would but whilst she sleep
Securely thus present before that soul,
That cruel soul, the lively image of
The poor tormented Niso, with his cheeks
Bedew'd with tears; his grisly pale-fac'd looks,
Brought to the very point of death, and beg
Some spark of pitty for me: Who can tell
What hope it might produce? for sure I am
That whilst I sleep I feel love waking still
Even in the very shaddow of my dreams:
But wretched man! to what pass am I brought
When dreams and fancies must sustain my hopes?
Yet now at least I may for once behold
That lovely visage, unsurpris'd with fear,
To see her flye me straight.
Amynt.
And I alass, must every moment hear
Anothers woes, and yet conceal mine own,
But I am silent still, because I dye
Each minute that I breath, and no man cries
At that same very instant when he dies.
Niso.
I look on every side, yet cannot come
To view her beauteous face. Amyntas, see,
Me thinks that Bramble-bush still craving seems
With too much love to stretch his thorny twigs
Too near, as if he meant to kiss
The sweet vermilion Roses of her lips;
O impudent bold rival, thy base briers
Though arm'd with spiny prickles, shall not thus
Prevent me in my happiness.
Amynt.

Softly, dear Niso, that thou wake her not.

Niso.
Ah me! so near to my beloved fire,
I am all Ice, and in a shaking fit:
Wonder of men! Yet thus we ought to fear
The beauty we adore: I dare not move,
Me [...]thinks great love from thence darts forth at me
[Page 76]Invisible, strong, powerful shafts, do thou,
Do thou Amyntas, who art out of fear
Of all his Darts, with freer boldness try
To let me see her face.
Amyn.
I will:
But yet alas to me 'tis not a task,
So easie as he deems.
Niso.
Amyntas, Ah! Amyntas, do'st not feel
Thy trembling foot, march an uncertain pace?
Stay, stay awhile, me thinks thy pale-fac't looks
Tell me thy fears: yet thou art not in love:
From whence then come these frights?
Amyn.
I cannot tell, perhaps some god-head sent
From Heaven to gard these sleeping members, may
Strike terror to my soul.
Niso.
No, no, the beauty of that face can work
Awe in the boldest heart.

Act. 4. Scen. 4.

Narete. Amyntas. Niso.
BUt go, Silvanus, go, and take a care
The Kid escape not from thee, if thou meanst
To keep poor Filino alive.
Amyn.

It is Narete.

Narete.
See then from him thou fly to Celia,
And tell the happy tidings of her love.
Niso.

Ah me! do'st thou not hear Amyntas? Ha!

Amyn.
Narete welcome, but what happy news
Hast thou for Celia, that concerns her love?
Narete.

That her beloved Kid is yet alive.

Niso.

Thanks be to Heaven, I am restor'd again

Amyn.
What that young Kid, which Filino, ere while
Went all about Lamenting with such tears.
Narete.
The simple boy, beleev'd him surely dead,
And he had surely dyed, had I not come,
Led thither by his cryes; for he had fed
[Page 77]Upon a poysonous herb, whose mortal juyce,
First casts into a sleep, then sleeping kills,
If ere the venome seize upon the heart,
The visage be not bath'd, or sprinkled with
Some moystening drops, which may recall again
From depth of sleep, the cold benummed soul,
And therefore I to whom the hearb is known
Straight ran unto the Brook, and therein bath'd
The dying Kid, and drew him forth alive.
But what (my sons) were you beholding there
Some beast within his den?
Niso.
O my Narete, 'tis a savage beast,
I dare tell thee, no will I keep it hid;
For thou art old, yet with those snow white locks
Know'st how to pitty simple youthful love:
Here lyes a savage beast, more savage far
Then is the Basilisk, more deadly too,
For he doth onely poyson with his looks:
But she doth kill whether she looks or no:
For see Narete, see, she sleeps secure,
Yet I stand dying here:
Narete.
I see.
And now both know the beast, and understand
The poyson that she brings: and my kinde son,
Would I were as well able to give help
To thy disease, as I can pitty thee,
'Tis true, I'me old, but I remember yet
Mine own young wanton joys, and envy not
Anothers youthful love.
Niso.
If thou canst do nought else, yet prove at least
If with thy hand though trembling thus for age:
Thou hast the courage to remove those twigs,
And let the beauty of her face appear:
We both have tryed in vain, so sweet a task,
For thence I know not how, there still breaths forth,
A secret vertue; which when once the foot,
But tends that way, doth stupifie the hand,
And nums with cold the vigour of the suol,
[Page 78]Even in the very Center of the heart.
Narete.
Hear a bewitching beauty, and a work,
Done by enchantments: Womens beauty is
(If yet you know it not) the Magick power
Of Heaven above, by which it works on Earth,
Those stranger wonders which weak men admire:
And that same heat and cold that courage, and
That trembling fear, with which when Heaven is pleas'd
To bridle and restrain a lovesick soul,
Are bare effects of her great Magick art;
'Gainst which, nor charm, nor hearb, nor pretious stone,
Hath power to help, for scarce can it avail,
To bear a rugged visage cover'd with,
A wrinkled skin, which many years agon
Was partch't with heat of the Suns burning beams:
Yet I that am thus armed, may perhaps,
More boldly venture on this enterprise
Then you can do, and bring to happy end
What you see unsuccesfully begun.
Niso.

Go on and prosper then.

Narete.

And stay you there.

Niso.
But hark Narete, hark, take heed thy noise
Do not awake her, for thou then shalt see
Her like a flash of lightning vanish straight,
And after her my silly heart will run
So hastily, as I shall not have time
To say, poor heart adieu.
Narete.
Stand you concealed then, for if she wake
And see not you, she will not fly for me.
Amyn.

Do'st hear, do'st hear.

Narete.

Good Heavens guard me.

Amyn.
Take heed least whilst thou do'st remove those thornes,
No prick do race her gentle tender skin.
Narete.
Thou seem'st more tender far then she:
Go back, and look, but yet be silent still.
Niso.
Now he is there, and now he goes to work:
But ah! me thinks that hand whilst thus it moves,
Afflicts my jealous heart.
Narete.
[Page 79]
Alas dear Shepherds, Oh! dear Shepherds run
Run quick, Ah me! for Celias either dead,
Or will be by and by.
Amyn.

Ah me!

Niso.

O fates! fair Celia dead?

Narete.
Here is no shadow, which can darken thus
Her clearer colour'd face.
Niso.

Oh Celia! life of my life:

Amyn.
But I have not the courage to behold
Her dying looks.
Niso.

Wilt thou not answer us? Ah me! sweet Celia.

Nar.
Niso, break thou those boughs, from off that bramble Bush,
And I will draw her forth upon the grass,
Amyn.

Say good Narete, doth she live or no?

Narete.
For all this motion, I cannot perceive
That yet she breaths again:
But let us lay her here.

Act. 4. Scen. 5.

Niso. Narete, Amyntas. Celia.

OH my sweet Celia, Oh my dearest soul!

Nar.
Give way, that I may let her Bodice loose.
And give ease to her breast.
Amyn.

Lives she Narete? say?

Narete.
Now I may feel her heart,
What leaves are these which in her bosome thus
Lye here conceal'd, as if they had of late
Been gather'd by her hand?
Amyn.

Comes she not yet unto her self?

Niso.
Oh sad discouler'd Roses, mixed with
This perfect snowy white: loe here the shape,
Which death should take, if death could then be made
Subject to love.
Narete.
O miserable, strange unheard of case!
O most unhappy Maid, unusual death!
O most cruel homicide!
Amyn.
[Page 80]

Ah me! then is she dead?

Niso.
And who was he that was the Homicide?
Where is the wretch?
Amyn.
[...]n what foul den, or in what horrid Cave
May the most hateful Tigre be found out?
Niso.

Let us pursue him straight.

Amyn.
Lets go,
Already I have kil'd him in my thoughts,
And now me thinks I tear him with my teeth
Down to the very heart,
Narete.
Fond frantick men, what fury thus transports
Your erring minds? or whither will you go?
Niso.

To seek revenge.

Narete.
Ah turn again blinde men, the murderer,
The Homicide is here.
Niso.

Come back Amyntas, her's our enemy.

Amyn.

And where?

Niso.

Where good Narete, where?

Narete.
See here at once, both she that did the deed,
And she that suffers under it, extinct:
Observe what here with her own proper hands
The unhappy maid hath written in these leaves:
For Niso and Amyntas, I did burn,
But I was cruel, and a faithless love;
And that I might not still be false to them,
And cruel to my self: Lo thus I dye.
O thousand, thousand times, most wofull chance!
Amyn.

Ah me!

Niso.
Ah me! so loud that Heaven it self may hear
Amyntas! ah Amyntas, was this fair?
Amyn.
Niso, for loves-sake peace, by all the Gods
Thou do'st me wrong thus to complain of me:
I lov'd by force, yet never made it known.
Niso.

And this thy silence now brings death to me.

Amyn.

Ah me! no more.

Niso.
But since fair Celia's dead, 'tis fit I dye,
And yet alas my death's not worthy hers.
Amyn.

Ah me!

Narete,
[Page 81]

Yet I would see at least, how 'twas she dy'd.

Niso.
Amyntas ah! since thou did'st help to make
Me thus unhappy, help me now to mourn,
Narete.
Her fair white neck carries no guilty signe,
Of any strangling cord.
Amyn.
Ah me, poor soul, my grief is all shut up
Within my broken heart, and there it feeds
Onely on tears, and will not suffer one
To spring out of mine eyes.
Narete.

Nor is this place neer any precipice.

Amyn.
But cruel Wo, insatiable griefe,
Do thou devour my heart, and let my tears,
Distil out of mine eyes, give way at last
To pitty, that it may break up
The deep abyssus of my sad laments.
Narete.

Her dart is innocent of this offence.

Niso.
Sweet Celia, wilt thou not hear me yet?
Poor naked soul, to what place art thou fled?
Could'st thou endure to leave this comely frame
Here all alone, benum'd, and frozen thus?
Narete.

Her garments are untouch't:

Niso.
Come back, return, and look but once again
Upon this lovely feature, and then fly
From it, the second time, if thou hast power.
Narete.
What hearb is this wherewith her lap is fild?
Niso, Amyntas, run, run, quickly run,
Unto the nearest fountain:
Niso.
What neerer Fountain can there be found out
Then the fresh springing current of mine eyes?
Let us lament, our office is to mourn,
Let bathes, and funeral piles, be others care:
Narete.
Alas 'tis now no time to weep in vain,
Go, go, I say, fetch me some water straight
To bath her face withal, leave off, begon.
Amyn.
What other water needs there here to bath
Her face withal, which thou seest all bedew'd.
With our distilling tears?
Narete.

Then I must go my self.

Amynt.
[Page 82]

Come, come, Narete, come, me-thinks she stirs.

Niso.
Quickly, Nar [...]te, come, fair Celia lives,
And 'gins to breath again.
Nar.
O blest eternal providence!
O happy tears! strange, powerful Antidote!
Which trickling down upon her face, prevails
Against this poysonous hearb, and so recals
Her wandring soul into her breast again.
Niso.

Ah Celia!

Amynt.

Celia!

Nar.
Disturb her not, see, she makes shew to rise;
Lend her your help.
Cel.
How hard and wearisom's the way to death?
I am quite tir'd; all my visage melts
Into faint drops of sweat.
Nar.
Amazed yet she raves, and thinks your tears
Are drops of sweat upon her fainting face.
Cel.
I am arriv'd at last within the skirts
Of the vast shady empire, and these are
The baleful Stygian fields.
Nar.

Go both of you and hold her up.

Cel.
Who presseth on me thus? now out, alass,
Behold th' infernal Monsters which are wont
In form of their abused Lovers to torment
False faithless souls,
Niso.

Ah Celia!

C [...]l.

Ah me!

Nar.
Go from her shepheards, go, and silent stand
Conceal'd apart, till I can undeceive
Her poor distracted fancie thus abus'd.
Cel.
And yet their looks renew within my soul
The wonted fire of love. Ah me, can then
Th' infernal Monsters breath out loving flames?
O hell is too too cruel, if it burn
With the hot flames of love.
Nar.

O daughter!

Cel.
But who is he with that white hoary beard?
Perhaps 'tis aged Charon, am I not
Yet past then to the other side?
Nar.
[Page 83]
Celia, thou talk'st idlely, call again
Thy wandring sences, thou art yet alive;
And if thou wilt not credit what I say,
Look up and see the heavens turning round,
The Sun descending down into the West,
Which not long since thou sawst rise in the East:
Observe that with the motion of the air,
These fading leaves doe fall:
In the infernal region of the deep
The Sun doth never rise, nor never set,
Nor doth a falling leaf there ere adorn
Those black eternal plants:
Thou still art on the earth 'mongst mortal men,
And still thou liv'st: I am Narete, these
Are the sweet fields of Scyros, know'st thou not
The meddow where the Fountain springs? this wood?
Euro's great mountain, and Ormino's hill?
The hill where thou wert born? why do'st thou look
So wistly round about? thou know'st them all;
Speak then, leave musing, art not yet awake?
Cel.
I am alive then, it is too too true,
Narete saith it, yet my fence of grief
Makes me beleeve it rather true then he,
But I was dead, and once I was below
Within deaths empire, and there one by one
Saw all the hellish furies, horrid hags,
And fearful torments which doe there abide,
Who then had power to draw me thus by force
Out of th' infernal deep?
Nar.
Thy wofull lovers mourning for thy death,
Were able by their tears to give thee life.
Cel.
'Twas ill for me, their tears had power to make
Even hell it self seem pittifull; but sure
'Twas not their tears; for I am well assur'd
Where Hydra's hiss, and bawling Cerberus
Sends out his howling noise, no other voice
Can there be heard.
It was the horror of this faithless soul
[Page 84]Which horrid hell it self could not endure
But sent it back: And woes me do I live?
Doe I live still? and is my hatefull life
The vomit of th' infernal pit?
Niso.
Mark good Narete how she is involv'd
In the chymeraes still of hell and death.
Cel.
Unhappy life, when even death it self
Proves false to thy desires.
Nar.
Do you without disturbing her take heed
She doe not come again to her despair,
And act a second death.
C [...]l.
But thou eternal justice of the heavens,
Thou happily art pleased to decree
That being doubly false, I should return
Into this life again, that once again
I might submit to death, and double death,
Might, so revenge my double hearted sin.
Niso.
But thou, Narete, whither do'st thou go?
Ah leave us not here all alone to act
So hard a part as this.
Nar.
I goe into the valley of Alcander, and
Will straight return with hearbs to purge the brain,
And free her from this extasie.
Cel.

To death then let us go, to death.

Act. 4. Scen. 6.

Amyntas, Celia, Niso.
Amynt.
TO death my Celia? to death again?
If thou wilt needs be dying, take this soul,
This grieved soul of mine, and dye with it,
For thou canst never dye unless it flit
Out of this wounded breast.
Niso.

He speaks to her, yet she flies not away.

Celia.
Why art thou so unwilling I should dye?
Wilt thou deny me then a remedy
Against my wo? wilt thou contend against
[Page 85]The just decree of heaven?
Niso.

Nay more, she hears him, and doth answer him.

Amynt.
The heavens prescribe another remedy
Now to thy woes, then by a second death.
Cel.
What other remedy canst thou beleeve
My woes can find, since even death it self,
Which is the end of all mans ill, cannot
Yet put an end unto my miseries?
Niso.
But I will soon break off this their so sweet
And amorous discourse.
Amynt.
My death, not thine, and with my death the lo [...]
Of Niso, now the heavens have decreed
To be the remedy for all thy ills.
Niso.
But I will not disturb them, I will first
With silence hear them speak.
Cel.

Ah! ah!

Amy [...]t.
Do not disdain me, first with favour hear
The reasons I can bring. Dear Celia,
If thou do'st love thy Niso —
Niso.

He pleads against me now.

Amynt.
With reason thou do'st love thy Niso the,
Niso deserves thy love, Ni [...]o that knew
How to take fire so quickly from thy flame,
Even then when dying he did open first
His dazled eyes to gaze upon thy light:
And happy he, though late he saw the sun,
Yet late it was not ere his fire begun.
So that in Scyros he may rightly be
Esteem'd a new come guest, but cannot yet
Be tax'd for tardy love.
Niso.

Where will he pitch? what is it he intends?

Amynt.
In me, alass, what canst thou well discern?
Which may deserve thy love? who every way
Voyd of desert, do love and burn 'tis true;
But like a sensless block that's good for nought,
Such sensless blocks are long ere they take fire,
But burn to ashes straight; and such am I,
That could for many years behold those eyes,
[Page 86]And never yet take fire: So late a love
Cannot deserve such speedy pitty then,
I am not worth thy love, nor doe I crave
Thy smallest pitty, such a blessedness
Great love denies me, I do onely beg
That thou wouldst let me dye▪ and that my death,
Thrice happy death may so restore thee to
Thy perfect health again: then mayst thou love
Amyn: as and thy Niso too, and yet
Be neither cruel, nor a faithless love;
For loving one alive, the other dead,
Him thou mayst love, enjoying love again.
Me thou mayst love in mourning for my pain,
Nor shalt thou mourn too long, one gentle tear
Shed for my death, shall pay for all my sighs,
And thou thy self shalt then with endless joy
Enjoy thy Niso's love.
Niso.
O unaccustomed piety both of a friend
And of a faithfull love, I did him wrong
To doubt his truth, but now I do repent.
Amynt.
Then live still both, and may you happy live
Whilst I dye for you both, and here I make
A solemn vow to sacrifice my life
To thee great love, and in thy Temple there
Let this poor carkass rest.
Niso.
There is no longer time for silence now,
'Twere baseness to continue still reserv'd,
I have a heart can die Amyntas, too
Yea and a soul that can desire to dye,
Nay life it self is onely dear to me,
That I may live to dye, and by my death
Make both my love, and friend live happily.
Cel.
Shepheards, forbear, be silent both, and both
Content your selves, 'tis I, 'tis only I
That have transgrest, and only I must dye,
Live both, still live, and take no pitty on
A cruel, pittiless, and savage beast,
Let not the love of a most faithless love
[Page 87]Warm either of your hearts: Can you beleeve
This face, these eyes, these hapless dangling locks
Oregrown with grief, refus'd by palefac'd death,
Can ever now be worthy of your lov [...]?
Or love still if you will, Ile not gain say't:
But yet love so, that love may breath disdain,
No pitty in your hearts:
I love Amyntas, doth not Niso then
Hate me therefore?
And I love Niso, can Amyntas then
Be free from jealous hate? Ah me! if both,
If both of you hate not my falshood now
'Tis too too sure you doe not love me then;
Love is not there where when just cause doth move
He breaths not fury' gainst a faithless love:
Woes me you injur'd lovers do not strive
Betwixt your selves, which of you dying now
Should giue me life; rather contend for this,
Which of you both should be the first to strike
Me dying to the heart; for 'tis high time
That I my self should now conspire with you
Against my self, and each of us should bring
His talent to the work: you hands of wrath,
And I my naked breast; you your just darts,
And I my guilty soul; and when you first
Have pierc'st my heart I will breath out my life.
Thus you by wounding, I by dying shall
Revenge your wrongs, and crown my funeral.

Act. 4. Scen. 4.

Filino, Celia, Amyn [...]s, Niso.
Fil.
ANd art thou here? whom I had almost past
Without perceiving thee, I ran so fast:
Ah Celia! dost thou not know thy Cloris? ah!
What heavy news of Cloris dost thou bring,
Which may deserve these sighs?
[Page 88]Say, doth she live or dye?
Filino.

Ah me, she dyes.

Amyn.

Unhappy fate.

Niso.

What's that he saith?

Celia.

Woes me! and where? and how?

Filino.

Within the Vale.

Celia.

Quickly dispatch.

Filino.
Gently, for I can scarce recover breath.
Within the Valley of Alcander, there
I left her even now, and there she lyes,
Not in the shade, or on the new sprung grass,
But in the parching heat, of the Suns beams,
Amongst rude rugged stones: there with sad sighs,
She took her leave of Heaven, and this fair light,
And with a mournful voice, bad death make hast:
But he was too too near, I saw him there,
Where he already with his wings abroad,
Had cast a gloomy shaddow ore her face.
Niso.

O most unhappy day!

Celia.
Ah me! what sad occasion wrought,
This sad effect in her?
Amyn.
Perhaps the rumour which is spread abroad
Of thy late death, Oh Celia! was the cause:
For if thou dye, who would remain alive?
Niso.
Amyntas! is this Cloris, unto whom,
I gave the Ring.
Amyn.

The very same.

Celia.

O sad misfortune! most unhappy chance!

Niso.
Let us go thither Celia, and perhaps
We may find some relief.
Celia.

Filino, lets go.

Amyn.

Where is it that thou say'st she lies?

Filino.
Within the Valley of Alcandor, close
Within the wood, and yet not far away,
From the fresh springing fountain, there
You cannot miss: but I will now return
Unto my flocks, to play with my young Kid.
Celia.
Ah! Cloris, my sweet soul, the Heavens grant,
That I may find thee but alive, and then,
I cannot doubt, but when thou hear'st what cause
I have to dye, thou wilt approve of all,
Give thy consent, and parting kindly say:
Rest my dear heart in peace.
Filino.
[Page 89]

Ho! Niso, hark, a word with thee.

Niso.

What i'st?

Fil.

'Twas almost quite forgot.

Niso.

Speak quickly then for Celio flies away.

Folino.
Stay, take it away thy self,
She put it on, but I cannot undo't.
Niso.
Yes, yes, this is my Ring, thanks to the Gods:
But yet what's this I see? here is the part
Which Phillis had to boot: 'tis certain true,
For round about it plainly do appear,
The figures now entire, which in mine own,
Were but by halves before.
My Filino where hadst thou this?
Filino.

Cloris did give it me.

Niso.

And where had she it then?

Filino.
I know not that; but when I softly came
Unto the place where she did mourning sit:
I saw it lye before her on the ground,
And with her weeping eyes still fixt thereon,
She bath'd it with her tears, and often cryed,
O false ungrateful Thirsis! O unhappy Phillis!
Amyn.

Ah me, what can this be? go on, go on.

Filino.

And whether wouldst thou have me go?

Niso.

How did she give it thee? what did she say?

Filino,
She saw me and cal'd to me, I obey'd,
And with her hand, but a faint trembling hand,
Cold as a stone about my neck she clasp'd
This hoop of gold, and weeping to me said,
But in a tone that I could scarcely hear,
So weak her voice was: gentle boy, quoth she,
Go, and the Heavens guide thee, go with speed:
Carry this Ring, that none my see it else,
Unto the Shepherd whom men here do call
Niso, and say to him,—
Niso.

What should'st thou say to him?

Filino.
Disturb me not: Yes, yes 'twas even so,
Say that in this entire round hoop of gold:
He in Egyptian Charracters may read
The falsified faith of Thirsis: say I wish
[Page 90]That he may still live happy in his love,
As I unhappy dye.
Niso.
Ah me, 'tis Phillis, out of doubt,
What need I fear? yet see me now become
In my best fortune, most unfortunate:
O my sweet Phillis, is it then decreed,
That I should finde thee once again alive:
Onely to be th' occasion of thy death?
Was not thy death sufficient in it self,
To make me miserable every way,
Unless my self became thy murderer?
Filino.

If thou wilt nothing more with me, I'me gon▪

Niso.
But thou unhappy Ring that all at once,
Art both th'accuser, and the guilty cause,
Of my foul fault, go thou into the depth
Of dark oblivion.
Filino.

Alas 'tis thrown into the stream.

Niso.
There, there, accuse my fault, prepare my pains
And thither er't be long ile follow thee.
Filino.
He's grown so furious, and so without sence,
As [...] begin to be amaz'd with fear,
And therefore Ile be gon.
Niso.
Fool that I am, what have I done? I err'd
For happily my Phillis, is not dead,
But say she be not yet, 'tis too too sure
That I have given her a mortal wound,
And what i'st, I can hope for, can I think
To hide the foul injustice of my Crime?
Under a faint dismal? No: See then
The just revenge of love that made me thus,
With mine own tongue, and that before her face
With thousand wicked sighs, and faithless tears,
Accuse my self of infidelity:
But be it as it will, alive or dead
I wil go seek her out, and so will dye
Just at her foot, that for my death at least
If for nought else, I may seem dear to her.
O Celia, Celia, love Amyntas now,
[Page 91]Faithful Amyntas, live with him, and leave
Me to dye for my Phillis, if I can
Do nothing else, yet I can dye for her,
I will dye for my Phillis: lead the way,
Where art thou Fillino? but he is gone,
Who now shall be my guide? Ile take my chance.
To him in whose vext heart despair resides
Fury and rage are the most certain guides.

Act. 5.

Scen. 1.

PERINDO.
O Sacriledge! the royal image of
Our mighty Lord, the King of mighty Kings,
Before whose throne so many knees doe bow
His Image on the ground? See thou divine,
Thou sacred Idol, low to thee I bend,
And prostrate at thy foot thus lay my head;
But thou uuhappy wretch who ere thou art,
Out of whose hand the sacred image fell:
Who ere thou art, thou dyest, nor can he live
'Gainst whom high heaven is so far incens'd
As to permit him cast his life away
With his own proper hands. But who was he
Who was that impious wretch? how shall we learn
A way to find him out? This Task must be
Orontes care, within whose power doth rest
The law it self, much more the punishment;
To him I flye, and 'tis enough for me
If I make him acquainted with the fact.
But I may wander well out of my way.
Yet I was here (if I mistake it not)
This very morning with Oronte, yes,
This is the very place, and this the path
By which we came, by this we did return,
And tis the shorter way. Shepheard, O ho!
The ready way unto the tents?

Act. 5. Scen. 2.

Narete, Cloris.
Nar.
DIrectly forward Sir: Though to such beasts
Such barbarous beasts as thou, the better way
Were that which leads unto the horrid den,
Of an accursed death. I did beleeve
I should come short of finding Celia here,
But it imports not much, since she was left
In so good hands, and now my care must be
Imployed here. Come on good daughter, come.
Clo.
Courteous Narete let me now return
Alone unto my wonted solitude.
Nar.
No, no, thy grief is such I will not trust
Thy life in thine own hands: Ile see to that,
High heaven for thy safety more then hers,
Guided my steps to seek for wholsom hearbs,
There where I found thee dying in despair.
Clo.
What a strange pitty's this, Narete, know
I am already dead, nor have I left
Or heart, or soul, and whilst thou dost deny
Me leave to dye, thou onely dost restrain
This body from a tomb, not me from death,
And canst thou take delight then thus to drag
About the fields unburied carkasses?
Nar.
Thou shalt not have thy will, unless at least
Thou tell me first the cause of thy despair.
Clo.

See where he comes, ah me!

Nar.

Who comes? why dost thou hide thy self?

Act: 5. Scen: 3.

Narete, Niso, Cloris.
LOok daughter it is Niso; Niso, ho!
Where hast thou left thy Celia? whats become
Of young Amyntas that I see him not?
Niso.
O my Narete, in how short a space
How great a change is wrought in me, 'tis strange
That thou shouldst know me now, I am no more
[Page 93]That Niso that I was, nor can I say
That now I live: fair Celia's no more mine,
Amyntas is with her, and they are gone
To seek out Cloris; and 'tis Cloris I
Am seeking too, canst thou then tell me where
Alive or dead fair Cloris may be found?
Nar.
She is alive, and is not far from hence;
But what is this thou sayst? and whats the cause
That thus doth trouble and perplex thy thoughts?
Niso.
That thou shalt hear anon, but tell me first
Where Cloris is; and is she then alive?
Is she not far from hence?
Clo.
And yet I cannot but behold his face:
O with what sweetness under those fair locks
Lyes maskt so false a heart?
Nar.
See where she is:
Cloris come forth, 'tis Niso, child, come forth.
Niso.

Ah me, Ime dead!

Nar.
Thou heardst but even now, that Celia, he,
And young Amyntas ran from place to place
To seek thee out, and thou from thence mayst see
How Nymphs and Shepheards are perplexed with
The rumour of thy death.
Niso.
And could I see the light of those fair eyes,
Blind that I am, and yet not know them straight?
Clo.
Thou dost not know this man, Narete, if
The rumour of my death have troubled him,
It is delight, not pitty doth disturb
His fancy then: 'Twas he that caus'd my death,
And he but comes to glory in it now.
Nar.
Caus'd he thy death? Niso dost thou not hear
What 'tis she saith?
Niso.
Alass, what shall become of me? can I
Yet have the heart to speak to her? can she
With patience hearken unto what I say?
Nar.
He answers not, nor can I understand
What 'tis he mutters to himself apart.
Niso.
Love at so great a need inspire my heart,
Grant me those looks are worthy of my grief,
[Page 94]Do thou direct my words:
Phillis! ah my dear Phillis! Ah me!
Nar.

Phillis, art thou, or Cloris?

Niso.

Ah me I cannot, sighs will stop my words.

Narete.
Shee's so besides her self, she takes no care
What 'tis I say: But tell me Niso, then.
Niso.

Phillis, my dearest soul:

Narete.
My dearest soul? this phrase too sounds of love,
But sure my voice decays, and that's the cause,
I am not understoop.
Niso.

I was deceiv'd, poor soul, I was deceiv'd.

Narete.
I may be yet a silent looker on,
And see a wonder here.
Niso.
O do not turn thy face another way,
Perhaps thou thinkest by denying thus
That lovely visage to these eyes of mine
To punish my misdeeds, but think not so,
Look on me still, and mark me what I say,
For, if thou knowst it not, Ile tell thee then
A more severe revenger of thy wrongs,
Thou canst not have then those fair eyes of thine,
Which by those shining beams that wound my heart,
Punish me more then all the world can do.
What greater pain can'st thou inflict on me,
Then still to keep as fire before my face
That lovely beauty, which I have betrayd?
That beauty I have lost? I have done ill,
Wretch that I am, I have done very ill:
And though I do complain, beleeve not yet
I hope to purchase pardon by my plaints:
I know too well, that from this breast of mine,
And from these eyes, which could both sigh and weep
For others love, No sigh, no tear can fall,
Which can have power to purchase ought of thee
And since that nothing but my death can please,
Let then my death beg pardon for my fault,
Such powerful Sutors should not be deny'd.
Deny not then the thing it onely craves,
[Page 95]For I will dye, and do thou pardon me,
That's all I beg, both for my wandring soul
And for this frame when it is turn'd to dust.
Cloris.
Shepherd the Heavens know, and love can tell
Whether thou hast done ill, or no, he can
Punish thy fault, and let him pardon thee,
I a mean Silly Shepherdess, a poor
Abused maid, forsaken, and forlorn.
Have no [...]disdain, which he need to regard,
Who did so slenderly regard my love.
Niso.

Ah me!

Clo.

Ah Thirsis! Thirsis!

Narete.

Phillis was she before, now Thirsis he.

Clo.
Thou falsifier of those amorous sighs,
Can it be thou that mournest? can it be?
And thou that hast already kill'd me thus;
Can it be thou that with such fervent zeal,
Desirest now to dye, and dye for me?
Cannot thy stony heart rest satisfied
With my tormenting pain, unless thou strive
Even in thy pitty to be cruel too?
'Tis faigned pitty, and those sighs are faign'd:
I know them too too well, faign'd are thy tears,
Thy grief is feign'd, and feigned thy desire;
Yet can I not endure to see thee greeve,
Thou I am sure thou dost but feign to greeve,
The very naming of thy death affrights
My poor afflicted soul: be quiet then
And live, since thou hast one will dye for thee:
Live and in peace enjoy thy new lov'd love,
In which if thou hadst freedom by the bruit,
Of my supposed (and perhaps, by thee
Long wisht for death) I do not now desire
My life should be the accuser of thy faults,
Or interrupt thy joys: No I will dye,
Take courage then, Ile dye, and pray the Heavens
They may not arm their fierce revengeful wrath,
Against thy faults, for if thou didst offend
This heart endures for thee such horrid pains
[Page 96]That heaven may well accept my sufferings
For all thy foul offence: Why say I mine?
No they are thine I had them all from thee,
And I endure them all to set thee free.

Act 5. Scen. 4.

Melisso, Niso, Cloris, Narete.
Mel.
O Cloris! how I tremble yet!)
Dost thou not know (my child) nor do not you
Kind Shepheards, know who is that wofull wight
That most unhappy wight that on the ground
Did cast the proud insulting image of
The Thracian Emperour?
Niso.
And why with so much fear dost thou desire
To know the man?
Mel.
Ah if thou know him, go and bid him fly,
Fly swift away, or he's but a dead man;
And shall we not be gone too daughter? for
Here come the Thracians hard at hand: And now
In greater rage than ever.
Clo.
Why should I fly away from Thracians now
When Thracians are to me my best beloved?
Ni [...]o.

But why should that man dye? and for what cause?

Mel.
Their barbarous Law condemns him, thats enough.
Clori [...] lets go; dost thou not know too well?
Hast thou forgot? lets go.
Nar.
I prethee stay and tell me what new wo
Their barbarous fury brings us, which is still
Fruitfull in bringing forth our miseries.
Mel.
Ile tel you then, but yet do you mean while
Look well about lest any of them come.
The Thracians have a Law, that wheresoere
The royal image of their tyrant Lord
Shall be by any seen, it shall be there
By him ador'd.
And 'tis no less than forfeit of his life,
Who shall by chance on set purpose shew
The least contempt to it whoere he be.
Nar.
[Page 97]
Inhumane Law, see if proud man cannot
Exhalt his horns so high, till towring up
At last he doth confront even heaven it self.
Niso.

Shepheard proceed.

Mel.
The Captain with his troops was going up
Unto the Temple there to see brought in
The tribute of our children which we pay,
And I conceal'd within the bushes sate
To view them as they past, when one of them,
Who sure did come this way, addrest himself
Unto their Captain, and thus humbly said,
Behold, great Sir (and gave him in his hand
I know not what, but sure it was of Gold,
For in those bushes I could see no more,
And scarcely could perceive the gold to shine)
Behold (quoth) he the sacred image here
Which even now I found upon the bank
Of a swift running stream, O sacriledg?
I found it there cast down upon the ground
Without respect to him whose shape it bears.
At which the rest foaming with rage and ire,
I know not whether out of custom, or
As an effect of fury, rent their clothes:
And then the Captain taking by the hand
Him that had brought the news of that misdeed
Withdrew aside, and talking with him there,
I by a secret path thence stole away:
And sure they cannot be far off; but see,
See where they come: ah daughter lets away.
Nar.
No, for by going thus, they may conceive
Thee guilty of the fact.

Act. 5. Scen. 5.

Oronte, Niso, Cloris, Melisso, Narete, Perindo.
Oront.
FOr ceatain this is it, this is the Ring,
I know't exceeding well: but yet the Law,
The Law is plain against the faulty man,
And he without all hope must lose his head
[Page 98]Who cast the royal image on the ground.
Niso.
Now Phillis thou shalt see whether my grief
And my desire be feigned yea or no.
Oront.
If I can find the wretch, if I can find
But who it was that did possess this Ring.
Niso.
He's found already, Sir, and comes to take
At thy great hands deserved punishment.
The Ring is mine, and I am he that threw
The royal image here upon the ground:
This is the faulty hand, and this the head
Condemned for the fact to be cut off.
Send for the sword then that it may revenge
So capital a crime.
Mel.
O desperate attempt! come let us flie,
Lets fly, my dearest Cloris, hence from death.
Clo.
Fly thou unto the place that likes thee best;
For I must seek my life by meeting death.
Sir, this man labours but to find the means
To dye for me.
The Ring is mine, and this the neck which now
It hath encompast many years; for see
It bears the fresh impressions of it still.
The Ring is mine, and I —
Niso.

Ah Cloris!

Nar.

Ah me!

Perind.
Shepheards forbear, keep silence, and take he [...]d
That no man dare to move his foot or tongue.
Oront.

Thou Nymph goe on.

Clo.
The Ring is mine, and I was she that threw
The royal image here upon the ground:
And if by dying I may satisfie
For such a foul offence, let no man else
Pay for the forfeit I have made; for I,
Even I too have a head, which once cut off,
And separated from this liveless trunk
Can find a way to fall, and drench in blood
The fatal sword which shall revenge the wrong
Offer'd unto this sacred image here.
Niso.
O peace a while! great Sir she raves for love,
[Page 99]And it will not become you to give ear
Unto the dreams and fancies of a Soul
Grown frantick in her Passion; it is true
And I will not deny but that she hath
Her part in that same fatal ring, but yet
No share at all in the offence; for when,
Or where was it she threw it, or who can
Bear witnesse of the fact? I threw it there,
Just there before you, on that craggy cliffe
Which to the River lends a rugged Path,
I know the place full well.
Per.
'Tis true, and there close by the River side
I took it up.
Niso.
Fillino saw me when I threw it there,
Poor simple Fillino, who wants the wit
To frame a Lie, and he will witnesse it.
Clo.
Cruel! though thou hast rob'd me of
Both life and soul, permit me yet at least
The liberty to die.
Oro.
What do'st thou say Perindo! me thinks now
In these their riper looks, I do perceive
The lively semblance of that sweet aspect
Their younger age did bear.
Niso.
Do'st thou my Phillis haply grieve to see
That I that am thus guilty of thy death,
Should die for any other cause but thine?
Per.
See what a strife love works, sure these are they.
These are those pretty little Lovers, mark
How love himself is grown up with their age,
And he that like a Child in Thracia, seem'd
To play the little wanton in affection, now
Shews forth a perfect love, which draws them thus
(Do you observe it) to contend and strive
How death in one may th' other keep alive.
Oron.
Tel me young maid thy name, where wer't thou born [...]
Who was thy father? tell me that.
Mel.
Her name is Cloris, and Melisso mine,
She is my daughter, and we both were born
Within the fruitful fields of Smyrna.
Cloris.
[Page 100]
Cloris of Smyrna, and the daughter of
Melisso, I was cal'd, whilst I desir'd,
Under these feigned names, to fly from death,
But now I am no more that Cloris, no
I now am Phillis, and in Thracia
Some time I liv'd, that Phillis I am now,
Whose death thy cruel Lord so much desires.
More of my self I know not, this may serve
If onely now thou aymest at my death.
Oron.
Cheating old dotard, darst thou then to me
With such an impudent, and shameless face
Vent thy pernitious lies?
Mel.
Mercy great Sir, mercy I crave, my life,
Lies now within your power.
Arban of Smyr [...]a, tursted to my care
The charge of this young maid, and to avoyd
Both hers, and his, and mine own danger, thus
I labour'd to conceal the truth.
Oron.
Thou speak'st confusedly still, nor am I yet
Well satisfied in what I did demand.
Tell me in plainer terms, how first she came
To live within thy power.
Mel.
Sir, I will tell you, but restrain a while,
Your just incensed rage: Ah me!
Oron.

Leave off those sighs, and answer me with speed.

Mel.
Then when the King of Smyrna did assault
The Thracians confines with his armed Troops,
One of his men (that Arban, whom but now
I named to you) took as prisoners.
This Nimph then but a child, and with her too,
A Boy about her age.
Niso.

And lo.

Oron.

Peace; not a word, but thou go on.

Mel.
Their looks, their cloaths, and their behaviour
Seem'd to declare their fortune was not mean:
And therefore Arban much delighted with
So rare a booty, fearing least the King
Might afterwards deprive him of his joy,
Keeps them conceal'd: Nor cares he to obey
A strict decree that every souldier should
[Page 101]Deposite in his Royal hands such spoyls,
And all such prisoners, as he had got.
Mean while the King of Thracia, full of rage,
With threatening terms, demands his children back▪
Nor can I tell whether that strict demand
Proceeded from desire to see them dead.
Clo.
Oh? did not Arban, tell thee that it did?
Hast thou not told me so a thousand times?
From whence then on a suddain rise these doubts?
Mel.
Arban 'tis true, did tell me so, but yet
Perhaps with art he feign'd it purposely,
You Sir, are like to know.
Oro.

I know full well, proceed

Mel.
The King of Thracia, urgeth his demand.
The King of Smyrna, hears no news of them,
And yet desires to send them back to Thrace,
So to appease the high displeasure of
His now incensed enemy, and to obtain
A speedy wisht for peace.
And therefore straight proclames just punishment
To him that should conceal, and large reward
To him that should discove [...] what he sought.
Arban that fear'd his yet conceal'd theft,
At last might come to light, conveighs them both
By night unto the neighbouring mountains, where
He oft times us'd to hunt, and there [...]e chang'd
Their habit, and their names, fully resolv'd
They should unknown lead a rude ru [...]ick life,
In country base attire, and that the [...]ne
Might not be by the other sooner known:
To me he gave this maiden and the boy,
Unto Dametas, an inhabitant
Of a remoter tract:
Besides as one that knew 'twas ill to tr [...]st
Two loving souls in two such tender breasts,
He made the two young lovers each beleeve,
The other surely dead.
Oron.
And how from Smyrna then, art thou become
A dweller here in Scyros?
Mel.
[Page 102]
The fury of the War increased still,
And as if it intended to assault
High heaven it self, it first ascended up
Into those towring hills, and I,
Poor I alas, when I beheld with grief,
An inundation of fierce armed men,
To break in round about, when I beheld
Troops of proud furious horsemen swarm below,
And fill the neighbouring Vales, when I did hear
The shril mouth'd Trumpets eccho from the hills,
With fearfull Birds, and harmlesse heards of Beasts,
I took me to my flight, and hither came,
Where my Progenitors at first did live,
I flying came to Scyros, but Ay me!
Where can we flie from that which Heaven wills,
Since the great power of Heaven all places fills?
Oro.

And of the youth?

Mel.

I can tell nothing more of him.

Niso.
If for his death thou askest after him,
Great sir, he is not far, behold me here,
I am that Thirsis whom Arbano gave
Unto Dametas, and with him I liv'd
Untill last April, when the warmer Sun,
Return'd again to melt the Icy snow,
Then I alone within a steerlesse Bark,
By an impetuous torrent far from help,
Was driven off to sea, where onely fate
Provided me of Sails, and in short space
I know not how, but I was safe convey'd,
And cast upon this Shore.
Clo.
Sir I begin to faint, grief breaks my heart,
And if thou make not hast, it will deprive
Thee of the honour of my death.
Niso.
Give ear to me, Sir, and let her alone
At least till I be dead.
Oro.
I do both hear, and understand enough,
I see that both of you desire to die,
And I will give you both content.
Per.

Alas, what wil you do Sir?

Oro.

Perindo peace.

Mel.
[Page 103]
Ay me, I go, for 'tis not possible
That living I should here behold my death.
Oro.
But let us go unto the Temple straight
That in a place of greater eminence,
And with more solemn pomp, th' Imperial will
Of the Grand Signor may be there fullfil'd,
And see you follow me▪ come on.
Niso.

O Phillis!

Clo.

O Thirsis, ay me!

Niso.
Sir, if it be resolv'd that by your hand
I shall receive my death, you must resolve
To kill me then, before she dying, force
My soul out of this breast.
Clo.
No, no, if you kill him before I die,
Your Pomp will be but short, for at one blow,
We both shal fall to ground.
Nar.
O cruel strife of love! where cursed death
Leads him in triumph that proves Conqueror.

Act. 5. Scen. 6.

Narete.
ANd is it true? and am I not trans-form'd
With cold amazement yet unto a Stone?
Have I a voice still, and yet do not send
Loud exclamation up to Heaven above?
O wretched off-spring! Oh unfortunate
Unhappy Lovers! you are carried now
Unto the Temple, harmlesse innocent,
There to be made a horrid sacrifice,
And love that sees this, who would ere beleev't?
Even love himself doth put the fatal knife
Into the Tyrants hand.
Could not our own sad miseries suffice,
Woes me! but strangers too must come
From forreign parts, to adde the mournfull Pomp
Of their sad ruine to our endlesse Woes?
Why do the Heavens lend their glorious light
Still to these Fields? And why about this shore
Doth still the sea, contain his angry Waves?
And neither heaven yet doth hide his light
Nor yet the Sea ore-flow this wretched Isle
[Page 104]Alass for pitty let these sinful fields
Now made the horrid stage of wrath and ire
Be overwhelm'd by inundation,
And so conceal'd under the raging waves
Of a tumultuous Sea.

Act. 5. Scen. 7.

Ormino, Sireno, Narete.
Orm.

WHence dost thou come Sireno?

Sir.
From the Temple straight.
But from that Temple dear Ormino which
Is now become to us the Theater
Of wo and misery, I fly from thence,
From whence and from the sorrows which it brings.
Pitty it self, for pitty flies away.
Nar.
Do'st thou Sireno from the Temple fly?
And from the horrid spectacle it shews?
But how couldst thou have notice with such speed
Of that sad sight? have they then wings to fly
So soon unto their death? It cannot be
That when thou camst from thence, Oronte should
Be with th' unhappy couple there arriv'd.
Sir.
Or [...]nte, no; but with their ill born babes
The mournfull mothers are already brought
To pay their tribute in the temple,
O sad sight!
They there are drawn together in a troop,
Like to feerful heard that stands amaz'd,
Encompast round with cruel forragers
Ready to seize the spoyl;
They clasp their little children in their arms,
And with sad weeping eyes behold them so,
As whilst their sorrows sends distilling drops
Down to their bosoms, the poor infants suck
More tears then milk from their unhappy breasts:
And that same troop of cruel hellish curs
Encircle them about, and view their prey
With devillish delight, impatient yet
Of any small delay, since now the wind
[Page 105]Sends prosperous bla [...]s to fill their wicked sails.
Orm.
O most inhumane tribute! endless wo,
And infinite misfortune, that men should
Thus generate their children to become
Slaves to their foes, and fathers be constrain'd
To mourn more at the birth then at the death
Of their unhappy ofspring.
Nar.
But I speak of another misery,
The tribute is inhumane, 'tis most true,
But yet a more inhumane cruelty
Is like to make the temple now become
A bloody Theater, whereto the fierce,
The hellish Idol of a pittiless
Inexorable Godhead, to th' incens'd
And raging fury of those snarling dogs,
For having here despis'd the image of
That proud insulting tyrant, even now
Oronte is gone up to sacrifice
Two young unhappy lovers.
Or.
O you celestial powers shall then mans blood
Thus guiltless shed, defile those altars which
Are dedicated to your deities?
Sir.
Alass, me thinks I see the Temple shake,
And totter under their revengefull hand,
As too too weak to undergo their rage,
It needs must fall to ruin, and the walls
Must of necessity by tumbling down
As from a precipice, upon their foul,
Their wicked heads, revenge the lasting shame
Of such a horrid fact.
Orm.
But what occasion, or what wicked rite
Doth move their impious sword to offer up
So infamous a sacrifice?
Nar.
'Twere too too long to tel, I scarcely have
Breath left enough to sigh.
Orm.

Yet tell me who those woful wretches are.

Nar.

Niso and Cloris, poor unhappy souls.

Orm.

O cruel destiny!

Sir.

Cloris the fair young daughter of Melisso here?

Nar.
The very same, but Niso is no more
[Page 106]That Niso that he was, nor Cloris now
Is Cloris or Melisso's daughter but
They both have other names, and both were born
To other fortunes, other strange events.
Orm.

What names? what fortunes? or what strange events?

Nar.

The name of Niso now is Thirsis.

Orm.

Ay me!

Nar.
Of Cloris if I well remember it,
Is Phill [...]s.
Orm.

Ay me! Sir [...]no.

Sir [...]n.
Or [...]ino!
Thirsis and Phillis were our children call'd,
Whom in their infancy they took for Slaves
And carried into Thrace.
Who knows but they are they, for if they live
Still to this hour, they must be of their age
And like to them youthfull and fair.
Nar.
Your children these, fie fie, restrain your fears,
Leave off so fond a thought, I blush for shame,
Your children (mark me) those young Imps whom once
They carried into Thracia for Slaves,
Must now with in the grand Seraglio,
If now they live, amongst those Troops of Slaves
With shaved heads, lead a most slavish life,
Dis-figured so as they can scarce be known
By those that gave them suck: where these
Richly adorn'd, within the Thracian fields
Were in the Wars there by a Souldier
Of Smyrna taken Prisoners; and are not then
Poor Shepheards children, but of that discent,
As that their fortunes have had power to move
Cares, and disdains, desires, and fears, and wars
And that in mighty Kings.
Sir.

Ay me! no more Narete.

Orm.

Ay me! they are the same.

Nar.

Ay me! how can that be?

Act. 5. Scen. 8.

Serpilla, Ormino, Sireno, Narete.
Serp.
WHat mournful Ay me's, what indiscreet
Importunate laments, does thus per turb [...],
Our comon joys, in which both earth & heaven
[Page 107]Do seem to smile upon this happy Isle?
Narete, Siren, and Ormino too.
You happy Shepheards of these happy fields,
You blessed fathers of an issue blest,
Cease from your sad laments, and chear again
Those mournful voices now grown hoarse with cryes,
Dry up those eyes, and let them weep no more,
Or if they weep let them weep tears of joy,
And not of grief, for lo behold I come
The cheerfull messenger of happy news.
Orm.

Siren' what can this be?

Sir.
Alass I cannot see which way to hope
For the least shew of comfort.
Nar.
O soul abased by excessive grief,
Canst thou repose so little confidence
In heaven which can do wonders?
Serp.
Go presently unto the temple, go
And there see Thirsis and his Phillis too,
See both your children there, whom long ago
You gave for lost, and mourn for now as dead.
Go to the temple, and you there shall see
Amyntas and his Celia, both of them
Your children too, and enemies before,
Profest to love, who yet were even now
For love both hasting to a wilful death:
Why do I hold you thus, and one by one
Declare your joyes? go to the temple straight,
And there behold this Isle, this little Isle,
Fill'd with as great a joy, as much content
As such a little Isle can comprehend.
The sad despairing lovers are espous'd,
This Island from an horrid tribute freed.
The day is come, O thousand thousand times
Most happy day, the day is come when once
This little Isle is set at liberty.
Sir.

O you supernal powers!

Orm.

Serpilla!

Ser.
But
Why doe you still delay the time, the hours,
The flitting hours of mans quick fading life
[Page 108]Are too too short, and too too long the woes
That doe attend it still, doe not retard your bliss,
Go to the temple straight, go you your selves
And their behold your joyes.
Sir.
Lets go Ormino, lets go, that once
Yet ere we dye these eyes of ours may be
Blest with this unexpected happiness.
Orm.
Lets go but whither? thou Sireno guide
My fainting steps, for I know not which way
To move my trembling foot.

Act: 5: Scen: 9.

Narete, S [...]rpi [...]la.
Nar.
HEre me Serpilla, stay, I held my peace
With pain 'tis true, but yet I held my peace,
Nor would I let my doubts disturb the joyes
O [...] t [...]ese two good old Shepheards here, but yet
I understand them not, thou do'st let loose
With too too large a stream, the torrent of
So many comforts on a narrow heart,
Infuse it gently therefore drop by drop,
And tel me first, that Thirsis, and that Phillis which
Before were Niso, and fair Cloris call'd,
Those whom but now the Thr [...]cian Captain led
To a most certain death, shall they now live?
Serp.
They both shall live, and are become withall
The most contented happy lovers that
Ere yet did sigh for love.
Nar.
And was it not then true, that for desire,
Cruel desire of their long wisht for death,
The Thra [...]ian Emperour did with such rage
Demand them of the King of S [...]irna?
Serp.
That I cannot tell, but sure I am that Thrace
Is th' onely authour of their happiness.
Nar.
Yet Cloris did affirm it here, but she
Was certainly deceiv'd by the fraud
Of him in Smirna that conceal'd them both,
And with good cause Melisso did suspect
That he did but dissemble what he said,
[Page 109]That so they both of them for fear of death
Might labour with the greater art to keep
Themselves from being known.
Serp.

'Tis true Oronte saith it too.

Nar.
O then how vain is humane providence?
He sought to cover that by fear of death
Which now desire of death hath brought to light.
But for the fault about the hoop of gold
Which here was carelesly thrown on the ground
For the contempt against the image shewn,
How could Oronte find a means to save
The guilty person thus against the Law?
Serp.
Their case was dangerous and for my part
I gave them both for dead, and mourned for
Their hard mishap; but see how it fell out,
Wearied with following Niso whom I fought,
I sate me down close by the temple side,
Where straight a rumour was disperst abroad,
I know not well from whence, that all in hast
Oronte then was coming, and did bring
Unto the temple two unhappy wights,
Before condemn'd to dye for their contempt
Unto the royal image of his Lord:
At whose sad coming the proud Thracians seem'd
To laugh for joy, and so from thousand tongues
Sent forth one cry that reacht to heaven it self,
Exclaming let him dye, O let him dye:
But presently Oronte darts about
A fierce imperious look, at which they all
Amaz'd in silence mutter'd not a word
When he reply'd, Hear O you Thracians, hear
The supream Laws of Thrace have onely force
Within the Thracian Empire, and against
Those that do serve the Thracian Emperour,
But Scyros is not as you now beleeve
Subject unto that Empire, hear your selves
Th' Imperial decree which in this Ring,
This very Ring it self, in which engrav'd
The royal Image stands, is written here
[Page 110]In fair Egyptian Charracters, and then
Ile read it with a voyce so audible,
And I with that attention heard it read,
And have it fixed so within my heart,
As I dare confidently swear I can
Repeat it word for word.
Nar.

O then repeat it as thou hop'st for bliss.

Serp.
" Phillis, and Thirsis, two descended from
" Sireno, and Ormino, when they come,
" Where ever Heaven shines, there let men know
" Love made them lovers, faith combin'd them so
" That they were both contracted: Destiny
" Had made them slaves; the King hath set them free
" And for their sakes, Scyros is from this day
" Free'd from the tribute which it us'd to pay,
Thus he: (and casting then a look that way)
These (he replied) these are those happy two
Whom their more gracious stars could make so dear
To Heaven, and to their King, these same are they
I know them very well, let that suffice
To you O Thracians: And do you two live
(Quoth he) then turning with a gentle smile
To those two happy lovers) live you still
And live still to enjoy your constant love,
By free possession of your spousal rites.
Let these sad Mothers take into their Arms
Again their little children, and let all
With chearful acclamations sound aloud,
The liberty of Scyros.
Nar.
O amongst all whom the blest sun doth warm
With his reviving heat, and when the Sea
Bathes with his quiet waves, dearly belov'd,
And by Celestial providence now made
Most happy Isle! the winds shall now no more
Conveigh thy mournful sighs, above the waves,
After thy dear lost children: but the babes
Whom thou do'st generate, shall bless their birth,
And be by thee sustained whilest they live,
And when they dye rest in thy graves in peace,
That so thou mayst to thy dear issue be
[Page 111]A fruitful Mother, and a careful Nurse,
And left a Tombe to free them from the curse,
Of wandring souls, that find no sepulchres,
But Phillis, then and Thirsis, what said they,
Or how did they behave themselves?
Serp.
Their first encounter was, (like such as seem'd
Retir'd for fear, and much perplexed with
The suddain tremblings of a doubtful heart)
Bashful and nice, and being thereto drawn
Even by Orontes self, who joyn'd their hands
They seemed to embrace unwillingly,
And kiss as 'twere by force;
But having fuel thus put to their fire,
It quickly then encreased to a flame,
And each hug'd other so, as you may see,
The twining Ivy when it seeks to clasp,
A full grown Elme, as if it seem'd to say
It could not well subsist without that stay.
Then might you see from one to others mouth
A thousand kisses in an instant sent,
And whilst their amorous lips as overcharg'd
Stood sucking here, and there loves Nectar thus,
That sweetness, followed, and that Rubie Die,
So grac't those lips as that they seem'd to me
Flowers that did bear both honey, and the Bee,
So that at last you might perceive the cleer,
And lively beams of their quick piercing eyes,
Grow faint and dul, as overcome with sence
Of too much pleasure, and extream delight,
And I that saw it, sayd within my self
Ah me! 'twere to be fear'd these two would dye,
But that ther's hope that in a skirmish of
So many kisses, neithers soul can find
A way to vanish, and leave them behinde.
Narete.
And could poor Phillis then so soon put off
The thought of her disdain? could she so soon
Forget the injury of that new flame
Wherein her Thirsis burnt for Celia?
Serp.
It seems that yet thou do'st not understan
The laws of loves kind duels, thou must know
[Page 112]A venie of sweet kisses one to one is able to give satisfaction
For any injury love can sustain:
But if thou dost consider all things well
Tirsis did her no wrong, he was deceiv'd,
And did beleeve her dead; and tis well known
That loves great empire though't be vast and larg,
Doth not extend beyond the bounds of life,
Love hath no jurisdiction ore the dead,
Nor can his fire raise any kindly heat
Amongst those frozen reliques, those cold bones:
Besides all this, if any mark can rest
Of fault in Thirsis, he hath shed those tears
That may suffice to wash away the stain,
And what can she have more? poor soul in deep
Repentance for his errour, he did here
Submit himself to death, and happy was
That Errour that could find a way to make
So generous amends.
Or rather happy was that errour which
By erring thus could find a way to make
So many blest, whom it did not offend.
His love to Celia was the happy cause
Of all our happiness, for thence it came
That Thirsis was first known to Phillis, then
Phillis to him, and last of all, that both
Were to the Thracians known.
Nar.
Thou saist exceeding true, and now behold
How full of windings and obscurity
Those secret wayes are, which the Gods do use.
Who would have thought them so? in sum 'tis true
That heaven is a labyrinth, in which
Who seeks to spy out what th' eternal fates
Have there decreed may easily lose himself.
But then I fear least Celia's fervent love
Which yet is fuming hot, should still disturb
If not young Thirsis with his late quencht heat,
Yet Phillis with a jealous freezing cold,
'Tis not a task of easie labour thus
Within an instant to extinguish quite
[Page 113]Both love and jealousie.
Serp.
What is it thou do'st dream? if Thirsis be
Son to Ormino, must he not then be Brother to Celia too?
Nar.
Forgetfull that I am! these many strange
And unexpected changes, have almost
Depriv'd me of my sence: Thirsis it is true
A brother unto Celia, and their love
Must now be at an end. But what becomes
Of C [...]lia and of A [...]yntas the [...]?
I cannot yet conceive a way to find
A wisht for end to their de [...]pairing greef.
Serp.
In that same very point of time (behold
A fatal point of time) they came unto
The Temple: Where fair Celia sees fast tied
Within the arms of Phi [...]is her belov'd,
And yet beleeved Niso, guess you then
What posture she was in: She straight grew pale
With jealous rage, and cold as any stone
And that she died not then, I think the cause
Was onely that her grief pend up her soul
Within her froze [...] heart.
Thirsis that saw it▪ quickly freed himself
From those imbraces wherewithall he held
His Phillis in his Arms: And running straight
Unto her said, O my dear C [...]lia.
My dearest Sister, but no more my love,
I am Ormino's son, Thirsi [...], and so
Become thy brother, our affections er'd
For nature should have guided them, not love,
Let us submit then to a lawfull love,
And spend our erring flames, where they may find
Fit objects for their heat.
She whom I did beleeve dead long ago
Is sister to Amyntas, and my spou [...]e,
Espoused to me in her infancy,
Thou that art now my Sister shalt enjoy
Amyn [...]as for thy husband, both your loves
Deserve it well, and I am well content
All that did hear him, smil'd, and she that yet
Amaz'd perhaps at such a sudden change
[Page 114]Well understood it not, when more at large
And more distinctly she had been inform'd,
Her fancy freed her heart inlightened with
The sence of truth, made her clear up her looks
And give a cheerfull smile.
Nar.

But then what said she?

Serp.
Nothing but half asham'd she did cast down
Her eyes unto the ground, when yet her heart
Sent through her eyes, two gentle tears that fell
Like tears of joy and gladnesse, to declare
The sweet content she found.
Nar.
O thou most blest Amyntas who hath kept
The laws of love, and friendship so intire
As that 'mongst friends and lovers thou may'st raise
Statues of joy, and of eternal praise.
O thou most blessed Celia! see the Hervens
Have hitherto been pious lookers on,
And pittifull beholders of thy woes
O heaven! O earth! O sea! O we most happy all!
But you dear lovers above all the rest,
Phillis and Thirsis, O for ever blest!
Serp.
Since thou art satisfied, I now will go
And tell these joyfull news in other parts.
Nar.
See how the heavens in an instant have
Dissolv'd the most intricate hard knots,
That ever turning fortune yet did knit,
And that when unto humane reason they
Appear'd indissolable: such the strange
Eternal power is of high providence,
And now may future ages fill their Scenes
With stories of our unexpected joy
Such is the Will of heaven, in disport,
And in th' Abissus of his secret power,
Thus to confound poor silly mortal men,
You therefore that with high presumption think
By humane wisdom to discover all
The secret workings of eternal fate.
Learn from this wonderfull successe, to know
That he alone can see these sacred things
Who shuts his eyes, and trusts what heaven brings.
FINIS

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