ACTUS IV., SCENA I.
Thyrsis, Delia.
Here I am come unto a place where grief,
They say, has no abode. In princes' courts,
I've heard there is no room for love's laments:
For either they enjoy or else forget.
Thrice-happy men, to whom love gives such leave!
It may be that this place or people may
Work so with me, and melt this frozen heart:
Ah fool! that can'st believe the change of place
Or air can change thy mind; the love thou bear'st
Is woven so within thy thoughts, that as
Out of this piece thy Sylvia wrought for thee,
Thou can'st not take her name forth, but withal
Thou must deface the whole: so, Thyrsis, think
The wind that here may rise, or heat or rain,
Thou may'st avoid, thy love will still remain;
And when thou diest, then may it die with thee;
Till then resolve to endure thy misery.
Enter Delia.
Del. This is the garden which I saw him go to,
And that is he; for all the marks she gave me
To know him by he bears.
Thyr. A heaviness
Weighs down my head, and would invite me to
Repose myself; I'll take the offer; here
I'll rest awhile, for I have need of it.
Del. How if I be deceived, and this should prove
Another man! What then? I can excuse it.
He's laid already, and (I fear) asleep;
I'll stay until he wake; but then suppose
That anybody come, and take me here,
What will they think of me? Best wake him. Shepherd!
It is a handsome youth: see what a grace
Shows itself in his feature—such a face
Might take the heart of any lady living,
Ay, though she were a princess. Shepherd! what,
Not yet? his sleeps are sound.
Thyr. Ah Sylvia, [Speaks in his sleep.
Preserve thy life! O, let me die. Alas!
I do but dream. Methought I saw myself
Condemn'd to die, and Sylvia, to save me,
Offer'd herself, and would needs die for me.
'Twas a sweet shadow: let me court this dream.
Del. He must not sleep again: shepherd, look up.
Thyr. Who envies me this small repose? Indeed
I do not often sleep: ha, who are you?
Del. Sent to thee from thy Sylvia. Shepherd, rise,
And follow me.
Thyr. Do I dream still! What are you?
Came you from heaven, where my Sylvia is,
And must I thither? whosoe'er you are,
An angel or a fiend, in such a name
You come, as I'm conjur'd to follow you:
But I must die first. Here is to be with thee.
[Offers to stab himself.
Del. Stay, hold thy hand: she lives—thy Sylvia lives
To make thee happy, if thou wilt go to her.
Thyr. You're habited like those I've seen at court;
And courtesy, they say, is ever there,
Yet mingled with deceit. If you do mean
T' abuse me for your sport, this way will prove
Too sad to raise mirth out of. There's no ill
That I have done to you or any else,
Unless my constancy be here a sin.
Del. His griefs have made him wild. [Aside.
I have no time
Left me to use persuasions, or to make
This truth apparent to you; on my word,
You shall be safe; and if you dare believe me,
I'll bring you where your love is; follow me.
Thyr. Why should I doubt, or fear to go with her?
Ill does he call for physic whom the law
Has doom'd to die. There's no condition
Can prove worse to me than my present one.
Pray, lead me where you please; I'm sure of this:
To one that's desperate no way's amiss. [Exeunt.
SCENA II.
Euarchus, Eubulus, Cleander, Attendants.
All leave the room. Eubulus, I'm resolv'd
To hold an easier hand over my daughter
Than I was wont: therefore I sent Cleander
To bring her to my presence. Though she have
Wrong'd her great birth and breeding by her follies,
Yet I consider that she is my daughter,
And this restraint cannot but harden her
In her fond resolutions. Have you sought
By all the means you can to sift the cause
Of her departure?
Eub. Sir, I have tried
By all the ways that fit a subject, to
Inquire a truth of one that is his princess.
Euar. And what have you discover'd?
Eub. Nothing more
Than what my son Cleander did before.
Euar. I have heard his relation: but [I] wonder
How for a whole month's time she should abide
Within our confines, when so great a search
Through all our countries, and loud proclamations,
Were made for her recovery.
Eub. 'Tis true.
She herein was ingenuous, and confess'd
That she foresaw what search would be made for her:
Therefore with some about her she had plotted
To hire a bark that might convey her hence
In a disguise to Smyrna, where she stay'd
Till time did fit her, that with safety
She might return in habit of a nymph
Unto the place where then Cleander found her:
But why she left the court she will not tell.
Euar. I will not force her to't: some little time
Perhaps may make discovery of that secret.
But unto thee, my faithful councillor
(As unto one my heart hath still been open),
I will discover what my purpose is
In sending for these shepherds to my court.
Eub. I should believe they're sent for to delight
Your majesty, as they were wont.
Euar. No, Eubulus;
But for a greater end: I fear my daughter,
And therefore I have sent for her to see
These sports with purpose to observe her looks.
For I suspect she loves some shepherd there.
Eub. It cannot be: she will not stain her birth
With such ignoble love; yet I confess,
Revolving all the causes of her strange
Departure, I could fix on none but that.
Euar. Well, if she do so, I will let her forth—
Forth of my blood; and whosoe'er he be
Whose fortune mark'd him out to be the object
Of this her love, shall find Ixion's fate,
He shall embrace a shadow. By my life,
They both shall die.
Eub. O my gracious lord,
Remember she's your daughter!
Euar. Ay, thou still
Dost plead for her, but yet am I her king
As well as father; private men respect
Their profits and their private interests
Of kindred, but the actions of a king
To honour and renown must be directed:
Consider that, and then thou wilt forget her.
Enter Cleander.
Cleander, welcome! how does Calligone?
Is she not glad to come unto our presence?
Why dost not answer? Art thou frighted, man?
Cle. I know not how to answer anything,
Unless your majesty will sign my pardon.
Euar. Why, what's the matter? speak, and speak it freely.
Cle. Then know, great sovereign, that, when I went
As full of joy as speed, with your glad message,
I found the princess——
Euar. What, not dead, I hope?
Cle. Dead to her honour.
Euar. Ha!
Cle. In short, my lord,
I found her walking in the garden with
A shepherd—more of him I cannot tell;
But she was habited in that attire
She wore, when from the woods I brought her home.
I slipp'd away, not being seen by them,
And if you please to go, perhaps, great sir,
You still may find them there.
Euar. How now, Eubulus,
Are my presages true? Shall I then sleep
With this disgrace, and let my neighbour princes
Mock at my humble fortunes, when they hear
The daughter of Euarchus match'd herself
With a base shepherd? Go, Eubulus, quickly:
Here take my signet; let this be your warrant
To put them both to death.
Eub. How! both, my lord?
Euar. Ay, both.
Eub. Your daughter too?
Euar. Why do you question me?
Have I not said they both shall die: despatch.
Let me not see thee till they both be dead. [Exit.
Eub. What hast thou done! thou rash, inhumane boy?
Depriv'd thy father of a child, thyself
Of thine own sister, whom but now thou knew'st?
Well may the king take that dear life away
Which he did never give: I will go tell him
I am her father: but I lose my life
If I do that, as guilty of a treason.
Go, murderer, hadst thou no pity in thee!
Cle. Sir, I do feel so much grief within me
For this my act that, if my blood will serve
To save her life, I'll make no price of it:
Yet could I not imagine that the king
Would have been so enrag'd; or if he would,
I had no time to think of it before.
Eub. No time! who bid thee hasten to the ruin
Of thy poor father and thy family?
The messages which come to do us hurt
Are speedy; but the good come slowly on.
Cle. But, sir, remember what a strait we're in:
It will concern us to invent some way
To save my sister, though the shepherd die;
He will deserve it for his bold attempt.
Eub. Go, take thy way, whither thou wilt, thyself;
That way is best which leads me to my grave. [Exit.
Cle. What luck is this? This is more haste than speed:
I am resolv'd, though my life lie at stake,
To stand the fury of th' enraged king:
Who knows but he may be as sorry for
His sudden act, as I for mine. 'Tis here
To save her, though it cost her lover dear. [Exeunt.
SCENA III.
Sylvia, Thyrsis.
Nay, stay a little, Thyrsis; we are safe.
My wary keepers now are with the king.
Thyr. Madam, for my poor self I do not fear;
But when I think on you, and how your name
And state, that is so eminent, must needs
Receive a certain scandal and foul blot
If we be seen together, blame me not,
Though I do fear or doubt. What cruel fate,
Angry with men, that gave us hearts alike
And fortunes so asunder? You're a cedar,
I a poor shrub, that may look up unto you
With adoration, but ne'er reach your height.
Syl. But, Thyrsis, I do love you. Love and death
Do not much differ; they make all things equal:
The monuments of kings may show for them
What they have been; but look upon their dust—
The colour and the weight of theirs and beggars'
You'll find the same: and if, 'mongst living men,
Nature has printed in the face of many
The characters of nobleness and worth,
Whose fortune envies them a worthy place
In birth or honour, when the greatest men,
Whom she has courted, bear the marks of slaves,
Love (sure,) will look on those, and lay aside
The accidents of wealth and noble blood,
And in our thoughts will equal them with kings.
Thyr. 'Tis true, divinest lady, that the souls
Of all men are alike, of the same substance,
By the same Maker into all infus'd;
But yet the several matters which they work on—
How different they are, I need not tell you.
And as these outward organs give our souls
Or more or less room, as they are contriv'd,
To show their lustre, so again comes fortune
And darkens them, to whom the gods have given
A soul divine and body capable
Of that divinity and excellence.
But 'tis the order of the Fates, whose causes
We must not look into. But you, dear madam,
Nature and fortune have conspir'd to make
The happiest alive.
Syl. Ah me most wretched!
What pleasure can there be in highest state,
Which is so cross'd in love—the greatest good
The gods can tell how to bestow on men?
Thyr. Yet some do reckon it the greatest ill,
A passion of the mind, form'd in the fancy,
And bred to be the worst disease of reason.
Syl. They that think so are such as love excludes:
Men full of age or foul deformity.
No, Thyrsis, let not us profane that deity:
Love is divine, the seed of everything,
The cause why now we live, and all the world.
Thyr. Love is divine, for if religion
Binds us to love, the gods, who never yet
Reveal'd themselves in anything to us
But their bright images, the fairest creatures
Who are our daily objects; loving them,
We exercise religion: let us not
Be scrupulous or fear; the gods have care
Of us and of our piety.
Syl. But take heed:
We cannot be too wary. Many things
Oppose our wills; yet, if you think it fit,
And this night's silence will so favour us,
We'll go together: if we quit this country,
It is no matter: all the world to me
Will be Arcadia, if I may enjoy
Thy company, my love.
Thyr. No, Sylvia—
Pardon me, dear, if still I call you so—
Enjoy your fortunes; think how much your honour
Must suffer in this act! For me, I find,
It is enough that I have ever lov'd you:
Now let me, at the light of your bright eye,
Burn like the bird whose fires renew her nest;
I shall leave you behind me to the world,
The Phœnix of true love and constancy:
Nor is that bird more glorious in her flames,
Than I shall be in mine, though they consume me.
Syl. It must not be; for know, my dearest shepherd,
I shall not tell one minute after thee;
I find my soul so link'd to thine, that death
Cannot divide us.
Thyr. What then shall we do?
Shall we resolve to live thus, till we gaze
Our eyes out first, and then lose all our senses
In their succession? Shall we strive to leave
Our souls breath'd forth upon each other's lips?
Come, let us practise: this our envious fates
Cannot deny us.
Enter Cleander.
Cle. What a sight were this,
To meet her father? This would make him mad
Indeed, and execute his rage himself.
Madam, your father's here!
Syl. Ha, Delia!
Cleander, is it thou? then I'm betray'd
The second time; but must thy fortune make thee
The instrument of my undoing still?
Cle. Shepherd, I will not honour thee so much
As to inquire thy name: thou hast done that
Thou wilt pay dear for, and I hope thy death
Will take away the blot of this disgrace
Th' hast laid upon the princess.
Thyr. If you do this,
You'll make me happy: it was this I look'd for,
My trivial acts of life this of my death
Will recompense with glory; I shall die
To save my princess, and what's more, to save
The life of her life, her unspotted honour.
Bless'd lady, though you are as innocent
And chaste as purest virgins that have yet
Seen nothing in a dream to warm their blood,
Yet the malicious world, the censuring people,
That haste to cast dirt on the fairest things,
Will hardly spare you, if it once be known
That we were here together. As for me,
My life is nothing but variety
Of grief and troubles, which with constancy
I have borne yet; 'tis time that now I die,
Before I do accuse the gods, that have
Brought me to this, and so pull on my death
A punishment. Will you be merciful,
And end me quickly?
Cle. Shepherd, know for this
Thy resolution, which in noble bloods
I scarce have found, I willingly would grant
What thou desir'st. But something must be known
Before that time either from you or you.
Syl. I know, Cleander, it is me you aim at:
I do confess, this shepherd is my love;
For his sake I did leave the court and thee,
Unworthy as thou art to be his rival.
Cle. Madam, my duty bids me speak to you,
Not as a lover now, but as you are
My princess and the daughter of my king.
I would not for the world have those desires
Which I had then; for, sure, my bolder love
Would have transgress'd the limits of all duty,
And would have dar'd to tell you that this shepherd
Was not a match for great Arcadia's heir,
Nor yet one fit for my competitor.
'Tis not his outward feature—which how fair
It is, I do not question—that can make him
Noble or wise; whereas my birth, deriv'd
From ancient kings, and years not far unsuiting
Those of your own—to these my education,
To you well known, perhaps might make me worthy
Of being your servant.
Syl. Can'st thou look on this,
This piece, Cleander, and not blush to boast
Thy follies thus, seeking to take away
From his full virtue? If but this one act
Of his appear unto the world, as now
It shall; for I'll not shame to publish him,
Though I die for it: will it not devour
Thy empty glories and thy puff'd-up nothings
And (like a grave) will bury all thy honours?
Do, take his life, and glory in that act;
But, be thou sure, in him thou shalt kill two.
Cle. What mean you, madam?
Syl. Not to live a minute
After his death.
Cle. That all the gods forbid!
Syl. No, they command it rather, that have made
Our souls but one. Cleander, thou wert wont
To be more courteous; and I do see
Some pity in thee: if not for pity's sake,
Yet for thine own good, spare his life, and take
Mine; for thou know'st, when I am dead, this kingdom
Thy father will inherit or thyself.
'Tis but the waiting of an old man's death,
Who cannot long outlive me: will you do't?
Thyr. Sir, you are noble, I do see you are,
You lov'd this lady once: by that dear love—
With me it was a conjuration
To draw my soul out, whilst I was so happy—
I do beseech you spare her noble life,
Her death will sit full heavy on your soul,
And in your height of kingly dignities
Disturb that head which crowns will give no rest to.
To take my life is justice.
Syl. Rather mine;
I have offended in first loving him,
And now betraying him unto his end.
Thyr. Be not so cruel, madam, to yourself
And me, to envy me a death so noble.
Sir, as you hope your love shall ever prosper,
Your great designs, your fights, whate'er they are;
As you do hope for peace in your last hour,
And that the earth may lightly clothe your ashes,
Despatch me quickly, send me to my death.
Cle. A strange contention! Madam, will you please
A little to retire: 'tis your honour
That I do strive to save, as well as life.
Pray, do not cross my purpose; I shall do
Something that you may thank me for.
Syl. Cleander,
Save but the shepherd, and I'll crown thy merit.
Cle. Will you be pleas'd to enter here?
Syl. But swear
That thou wilt save him.
Cle. I shall do my best.
I dare not swear; for 'tis not in my power
To do what you command.
Syl. But will you swear
To let me know of it before he die?
Cle. I will, by heaven.
Syl. Then I take my leave.
And, Thyrsis, be thou sure, whatever fate
Attends thy life, the same does govern mine:
One kiss I must not be denied.
Cle. Fie, madam!
How low is this in you?
Syl. Then thus we part,
To meet again, I hope.
Thyr. Down, stubborn heart,
Wilt thou not break yet? In my death I find
Nothing that's terrible; but this farewell
Presents my soul with all the pains of hell. [Exeunt.
SCENA IV.
Mirtillus, Chorus of Shepherds.
1st Shep. I'm sorry that this business went not forward.
2d Shep. So am not I; we're rid of so much trouble.
1st Shep. Yet it is strange the king should send for us,
And when we were come, command us to return.
Mir. No, 'tis not strange; it was his will to do
so.
But if you have an itch of dancing, friends,
Next holiday we'll ha't amongst ourselves,
And every man shall dance with his own sweetheart:
What say you, shepherds? will't not be as well?
1st Shep. It will be very fine. But where is Thyrsis?
2d Shep. Ay, where is he! you went along with him;
Where did you leave him?
Mir. Walking in a garden,
Where when I came to call him, he was gone.
2d Shep. It seems he cares not for our company.
Mir. Neither for yours nor any man's besides.
1st Shep. He is much alter'd since his love was lost;
Methinks he's nothing like the man he was.
Mir. Well then, beware, my friends, how you engage
Yourselves in love: he is a fair example.
And Hylas too—he's drooping for his mistress:
Daphnis is mad, they say; if you've a mind
To die or to run mad, then be in love.
2d Shep. See where he comes, in what a fume he is!
Mir. I do not like his fumes: pray let's away. [Exeunt.
SCENA V.
Daphnis. To him Dorinda.
Daph. He will not now be found, the traitor. But,
Where'er he be, nor heaven nor hell shall save him
From my revenge. To take away the life
Of that sweet innocent, without whose sight
He knew I could not live, and to do this
Under the name of friendship! O ye gods!
What age can parallel so great a mischief?
This is his magic glass, which had the virtue
To make her mine, but sent her to the gods.
Bless'd soul, I will revenge thy death, and then
I'll follow thee myself.
Dor. Daphnis, my, love,
Whither so fast?
Daph. Now, love, deliver me;
And must you come to trouble me? Begone!
I cannot stay to hear thy tedious follies.
Dor. Were all your vows then made but to abuse me?
Are there not pains to punish perjur'd men?
And will they not o'ertake you?
Daph. 'Las, poor fool!
The gods do laugh at such slight perjuries
As come from lovers.
Dor. Yet it was no conquest
To deceive one that would be credulous:
A simple maid, that lov'd you!
Daph. Then I see
There is no end of women's reasoning;
Or else this might suffice thee—that I cannot,
No, nor I will not love thee.
Dor. Never?
Daph. Never.
Dor. Go, cruel man, and if the god of love
Will hear my prayers, thou in thy love shalt thrive,
As I in mine: that, when thou art forlorn,
Thou may'st remember her thou now dost scorn. [Exeunt.
[ACTUS V., SCENA 1.]
Hylas.
It was the cruel practice of my fate
That lifted me unto the height of bliss
To make my fall the greater: for no sooner
Did I enjoy the love of my Nerina,
But in a moment she was taken from me:
A love so dearly bought with sighs and tears,
So many years spent in the gaining her,
And lost in one poor minute! It is better
Always to live a miserable life
Than once to have been happy. She is dead,
And I alive, that cannot live without her.
'Tis fit that I die too; but by what means?
By violence? No, that the gods forbid.
A ling'ring grief, I need not fear, will kill me,
When every day I shall repair, as now,
Unto her tomb, and consecrate my tears
And tearing sighs unto her blessed ghost.
Some pitying god, when I'm dissolv'd away
Upon her ashes, will congeal those tears,
That they may clothe her dust; whilst some kind shepherd,
Passing this way, does write this on her grave—
See here Nerina, that from Hylas' eyes
Fed her fair flame, now in their dew she lies.
Thus I will have it: so the words shall run. [Exit.
SCENA II.
Daphnis, Alcon, Nerina. To them Hylas, Montanus, Charinus, Mirtillus.
Daph. It shall not serve thy turn, malicious shepherd,
Though thou hast ta'en my love away by tricks,
Yet all thy cunning and thy practices
Shall not secure thee from my revenge.
Alc. Are these the thanks I have for that rich jewel
Which I bestow'd on thee, ungrateful man?
Daph. Yes, for a poison'd glass—a precious jewel!
Alc. I do confess 'twas poison'd.
Daph. Do you so!
And, to do me a courtesy, you kill'd her.
Alc. Yet hear me, she is not dead; and if she be,
I'll pay my life for hers.
Daph. Be sure thou shalt.
But can'st thou hope for such a strong illusion
To mock my sense? Did I not see her dead?
Alc. She did appear so: what you thought was death
Is but a lethargy; though I profess not
To draw the moon down from the sphere she is in,
Or make the sun look bloody by my art,
Yet am I well-inform'd in everything
This glass is made of, and I know th' effects
It works, and can discourse 'em.
Daph. Let me hear them.
Alc. Have patience, and you shall: the glass, you see,
Of this rare mirror which I gave you, is
Made of a Memphian stone, that has the power
To bring a deadly sleep on all the senses:
With it, to make th' effects more strong, is mingled
The quintessence, extracted in a limbec,
Of the torpedo, which has such a quality
That if the fisher touch it with his hook,
A poison straight will creep through all his veins,
Till it benumb his senses. This compounded,
And made into a glassy metal, soon
Reflects upon the eyes of him that looks in't
A sleepy poison, which will stupefy
The vital parts. Yet he that gave it me
Taught me the cordial water which he us'd
To restore spirits and heat unto those vitals;
And I have brought it with me for our purpose.
What have I wrong'd you now? Or is my present
Worthy the thanks you give me?
Daph. Yet you were
To blame, that you'd not tell me this, before
I gave it her.
Alc. In that I show'd my love;
For I did fear your resolution,
Though I were certain of recovering her.
Daph. And what must now be done?
Alc. Here, where you found me,
I saw her laid, and buried in the clothes
She wont to wear—her father so would have it.
I waited on the funeral with purpose
To see the stone laid hollow on her grave,
For fear of hurting her.
Daph. It was well done.
Alc. Here I'll apply my medicine; you shall see
Whether I lie or no.
Daph. Let's lose no time.
I long to see my love alive again.
Alc. Then help to lift this stone; see where she lies—
The same Nerina?
Daph. She is dead, I see.
Alc. Love is still full of fears: give me the water.
Daph. Here: but take heed it do not spoil her face.
Alc. If she be dead, you need not fear the change
Of any colour. What a child is love!
Daph. The gods, I see, will not let beauty die.
She breathes—she stirs—her eyes begin to open
As after sleep. O miracle!
Alc. How now?
Is she alive? Will you believe your sense?
Now I have put her in your hands, be sure
You do not let her go, and lose no time.
If you give credit to her words, you're lost.
What cannot women's words and flatteries
Effect with simple lovers? Think on that.
Be confident: I'll leave you to your fate.
Ner. Ye gods, where am I now? What place is this?
What light is this I see? Are the same things
Seen in this new world as they are in th' other?
Or in the grave do men see waters, trees,
As I do now, and all things, as I liv'd?
But (sure) I live still. If I do, why then
Was I here buried amongst these flowers?
Sure, I am dead; but yet I walk and speak,
And I have heard that those who once are dead
Can never use their voice or action.
But who is this I see here? Daphnis, ha!
Are you dead too, as well as I?
Daph. No, sweet;
I live to be the servant of Nerina.
Ner. Ay, so said Hylas, whilst I liv'd with him.
Daph. She thinks of Hylas still: what shall I do?
Ner. But tell me, Daphnis, in what place am I?
Daph. In Daphnis' heart you live, and ever did.
Ner. And so said Hylas, when we liv'd together.
Daph. O gods, again! Nerina, think not on him;
You must love me.
Ner. Must they in this new world,
As they have chang'd their lives, so change their loves?
I never shall do that.
Daph. You are deceiv'd:
You are not dead.
Ner. Not dead? How came I hither then?
Daph. By my device to keep me company.
Ner. But will you not declare how I came hither?
Daph. Ask me not that; but go along with me.
Ner. Stay, shepherd, whither would you have me go?
Daph. Where love and silence shall befriend us best.
Ner. But tell me, Daphnis, was not I once dead?
Daph. You were; but I, your servant, chang'd that death
Into a sleep.
Ner. I know not what you mean:
Can you change death into a sleep?
Daph. I can,
And did for love of you.
Ner. This is a riddle:
Pray let me know what you do mean by it?
Daph. Come with me, and you shall.
Ner. Nay, tell me first.
Daph. Then know, fair shepherdess, that when I saw
My love, my services, my gifts, my vows,
Did all return to me without your love,
I had recourse unto this artifice:
A pleasant one of love's invention,
Which you may well remember.
Ner. What was that?
Daph. I did present you with a looking-glass.
Ner. You did, but what of that?
Daph. Nothing at all.
Pray, go this way with me.
Daph. That cast you into this deep lethargy:
Such was the magic of it.
Ner. To what purpose
Did you do this?
Daph. To make you mine.
Ner. Yours, Daphnis?
How could you hope that without my consent?
Daph. My services, I thought, would merit it;
Besides, the world, not dreaming but you were
Dead and here buried, we two might live
Together, without being known to any.
Ner. But could you practise tricks on those you love?
Now you are paid with your own artifice:
For know, there's none that can dispose of me
But Hylas, who has long preserv'd my heart;
And now my father, whom I did resolve
For ever to obey, has made him mine
By giving his consent, which had not been
But for this trick of yours.
Daph. Why then it seems
You do not love me?
Ner. Love you! Know, I had
Rather embrace my death again than thee.
Daph. Then 'tis no time to dally: come along,
Or I will force you.
Ner. Help me, shepherds, help!
Daph. Fool! stop your mouth, no human help shall save thee.
Enter Hylas.
Hyl. This is the place where I am come to pay
My tears' first sacrifice upon this tomb
That glories in the spoils of all my wealth.
Ner. Hylas, come help me; see'st thou not that Daphnis
Will ravish me?
Hyl. Ha! what do I hear?
The voice of my Nerina! so she spake
When she did live; but now, alas! she's dead.
Some devil mocks me with a vision,
And voice unto it.
Ner. Will you see me ravish'd
Before your face? O Hylas! O my love!
Hyl. Tis she, it is no vision: hold, ravisher,
My love thou canst not take without my life.
Enter Mirtillus, Montanus, Charinus.
Mir. What noise is this?
Mon. Some shriek much like a woman's.
Ner. O, help my love, Mirtillus!
Mir. Shepherd, hold;
Let go this nymph.
Daph. Or death or victory
Shall crown my enterprise.
Char. Who makes this outcry?
Mir. Sir, I shall cool you, if you be so hot.
Char. My daughter here! was she not buried?
Away, foul spirit, away! Let's part these shepherds.
Ner. O father, do you think that I am dead?
I am alive, as you are; touch me, see.
Char. She is alive indeed! How cam'st thou hither?
Ner. Daphnis, whom you would have to be my husband,
Brought me to this supposed death and grave.
Char. By what strange means, Nerina?
Ner. By the glass
You bid me I should take: he has confess'd
To me that it was poison'd.
Char. Can it be?
Can Daphnis do this? He had little reason.
Daph. She was a fool to cry; I should ha' pleas'd her
Ere this, perhaps.
Char. Here, Hylas, take my daughter,
For she is thine: you, Daphnis, I did further
In all I could, till you would find a trick
To put yourself beside her.
Ner. I forgive him:
For though it was ill-meant, yet did it sort
By accident unto my good.
Mon. But will
Our laws permit a ravisher to live?
Hyl. No, no, Montanus: let him live, and envy
Our present happiness.
Daph. Cover, you gods,
The world in public ruin, or else show me
A way to hide my shame.
Mon. What will he do?
Mir. He will go hang himself: what plots he had
To fool himself with!
Mon. They that practise tricks,
Find them as jades, that throw 'em first, then kick 'em,
As his has done.
Char. Come, shepherds, let's away,
And solemnise these nuptials.
Mir. Stay, Montanus,
Did the king send for you?
Mon. He did.
Mir. And how?
Mon. The message came from Thyrsis.
Mir. I'll go with you:
'Tis strange the king should send for you: pray heaven
Thyrsis have done no mischief there: he's handsome,
Of a good grace and moving eloquence:
Perhaps some lady may have taken him
Up for herself, and he, I'll lay a wager,
Will be so squeamish that, if Sylvia
Come in his mind, he ne'er will do her reason,
And then her plot will be how to betray him—
Would I were in his place!
Mon. I would thou wert,
So he were safe.
Mir. I would comply, ne'er fear it;
They live a heavenly life of love in court
To that which we do here; a mistress there
Will satisfy the longings of her lover,
And never trouble Hymen for the matter:
Then, if they like not, they may look elsewhere.
Mon. Thou wilt be punish'd one day for thy mischief.
Mir. The mischief's in my tongue, I ne'er do any.
Mon. No, I have heard that Stella was with child
By thee, and thou must father it.
Mir. Who—I?
Take me at that once—fathering of children,
And make me common father of them all!
A child's a pretty thing, and I should joy
To see one of mine own. I'll tell thee truth,
Montanus. By this hand, I never lay
With any woman in my life.
Mon. How then?
You have courted all; who is it that Mirtillus
Has not profess'd to love?
Mir. I do confess it,
And that is all I could do; for before
I could get earnest of any one's love,
To whom I made address, even she would say:
You have another mistress, go to her,
I will not be her stale: and so by this means,
Nor this nor that would do me any reason.
Mon. You had ill luck, it seems; 'twas not your fault.
Mir. No, for if they would believe me, I did swear
I had no other. Pray, Montanus, tell me——
For you have known the several ways of wooing,
Which is the best and safest?
Mon. O Mirtillus,
Grey hairs have put the wilder thoughts of love
Out of my head; cold blood and frozen limbs
Fright all those heats away, in place of which
Discretion and sobriety should come.
Mir. But, I have heard, old men do sometimes
love.
Mon. They doat, Mirtillus—give it the right name;
In old men's bloods Cupid does quench his flames.
But as we go, I'll tell thee: not to love
At all is best; but if you needs must love,
Love one, and seek no further. Thou wilt find
Enough of her, if once she prove unkind.
SCENA III.
Daphnis, Alcon. To Daphnis, Dorinda.
There is no way t' avoid the shame of this.
Each shepherd's boy, that sings unto his flock,
Will make me the scorn'd subject of his song.
Alc. Had you been sudden, as I counsell'd you,
You had not fail'd: but you young men do never
Go through with anything.
Daph. For heaven's sake,
Call not that wicked deed to my remembrance.
I do repent me that I e'er begun it:
I would not for a world have ended it:
Nerina's chaste and fair, and I a villain.
Leave me, I pray; for something tells me you
Did first advise me to this damned act.
Alc. Nay, if you prize my friendship at this rate,
I'll leave you to your penance. [Exit.
Daph. This old man
Is full of malice; nothing troubles him.
The ills that he has done fly from his thoughts,
And he rejoices that he did them quaintly;
I have begun my youth as if I meant
To have my age so punish'd as his is.
Enter Dorinda.
Who's this? Dorinda! I have done her wrong:
I sued for love to her first, which obtain'd,
I stuck disgraces on her; let me ask
Forgiveness now, for 'twere too much to hope
That she should love one stain'd with such a deed
As I have done, so foul and impious.
Dor. Great love, if yet thou art not satisfied
With all the wrongs I have sustain'd for thee;
My blood, I hope, thy anger will appease,
Which thou may'st glut thyself with.
Daph. Gentle nymph.
Dor. I've been too gentle, do not mock me with't:
O Daphnis! is it you? This is not well
To mock me thus; your looks, when arm'd with frowns,
Gave not my heart so deep a wound as this.
Daph. I mean no scorn; I come to ask your pardon
For what I've done already, not to heap
More sins upon my head.
Dor. 'Tis very strange.
Daph. But true, Dorinda; will you spit upon me?
Take your revenge, for I have well deserv'd it.
Dor. But is this serious, Daphnis? O, take heed,
Crack not my heart with such a load of grief
And scorn, so press'd as this is: if you do,
The gods will punish it; for though they have
Neglected me thus long, they will revenge
Such injuries as these.
Daph. My many ills
Discredit my repentance: if my words
Can find no faith with you, believe my tears:
Indeed they are not feign'd.
Dor. Even so you look'd
When first you stole my heart: but I forgive you,
Whate'er become of me, I still must love you.
Daph. Forgive me first, and then I will begin
By my endeavours and true services
To deserve something of you, if not love.
Dor. There is not that hard-heartedness in man
Which I did think, for he repents, I see.
O Daphnis! if thou mean'st not this as scorn,
Take me into thine arms, and I will be
Thy slave.
Daph. O, say not so; let me
Rather be thine; it will be pride in me
To be ambitious of it.
Dor. O my heart!
What sudden joy thou strik'st into it now!
But yet methinks I fear thou dost not love me.
Daph. Why should you fear? By Pan, you are to me
Whate'er you can imagine; equal—above
All that I e'er thought fair; and if you be
Content to hide my faults, and take me to
Your nuptial bed, which yet I dare not hope—
But if you will, whene'er that day shall come,
Th' embraces of my love and me shall be
Such, as the Cyprian boy from our abundance
Shall take his fires to kindle other hearts,
Yet leave with us a flame which we will cherish,
And keep alive unto eternity.
Dor. Women are ever credulous—most then,
When knowledge of the truth would but afflict them.
I dare not now distrust you, though I knew
What you have said were false: it has a semblance
Of such a pleasing truth: give me thy hand,
And take thou mine; whilst we walk thus entwin'd,
I shall think Daphnis never was unkind. [Exeunt.
SCENA IV.
Eubulus, Cleander. To them Thyrsis, Sylvia.
What, are they dead? is the king's will obey'd?
Cle. No, sir, they live, and Hymen in his bands
Has tied them both; the happiest knot that e'er
Knit two such equal hearts and loves together.
O, I'm ravish'd with the news: my joy
Is greater now than if sh' had been the daughter
Unto our king, and I had married her.
Eub. I am amaz'd; pray Jove thou be'st not mad.
Cle. Somewhat exalted, sir, beyond myself,
But yet not mad. Go, sir, unto the king;
Tell him Cleander lives to make him happy.
Eub. Sure, thou wilt come unto thyself anon!
Prythee, bethink thee.
Cle. Yes, sir, I do think,
And know that I have news to make him live,
And you an age yet longer.
Eub. This is strange.
Cle. 'Tis true.
Eub. But what is true?
Cle. 'Tis true, my sister
Shall be a queen.
Eub. If she do live, I think
She will; but yet you know we were commanded
To cut that life off.
Cle. But your hasty son,
That came so speedy with a fatal message,
Was not so forward now; they both do live,
And both are married.
Eub. Jupiter forbid!
Cle. The Fates command it, 'tis their proper work:
The shepherd is a prince—your prince and mine,
And married to my sister.
Eub. Ha! what's that?
Prythee, digest thy troubled thoughts, and tell me
What prince is this thou mean'st?
Cle. Archigenes.
Eub. Thou dream'st: it cannot be.
Cle. No? then come forth,
You royal pair, and testify yourselves.
Enter Thyrsis and Sylvia.
Syl. Father, your blessing.
Eub. Ha!
Cle. Nay, I've told all.
She knows she is your daughter: look, sir, here;
Here we must place our reverence.
Eub. Who's this?
Cle. Not yet? Then look upon this circle, that
You know for certain, though you know not him.
Eub. 'Tis it—it is the same: Archigenes,
Son of Euarchus and Eudora:
This is my character, and this my seal.
Thyr. Sir, I have heard that by your piety
My infant life was sav'd: now by the goodness,
Deriv'd from you unto your son, I have
Not only found my life, but my content.
The sum of all my hopes—this lady here,
Without whose love my life had been a torment.
Syl. And I the happiest maid that ever was,
Conducted by the power of simple love,
Have found, in place of him I thought a shepherd,
A princely lover.
Eub. Rise, Calligone:
The gods are just, I see, that, favouring
My innocence, have brought this match about.
But say, Cleander, what fate guided thee
To this discovery?
Cle. Sir, should I tell you
How many ways I cast to save my sister
After the fatal message which I brought,
I should be tedious, and keep you from
What you do long to hear: in short, I soon
Resolv'd to make away this royal shepherd:
And knowing that, in this affair, to keep it
Secret, despatch was needful, I commanded
A servant, of whose faith and courage I
Was well-assur'd, to kill him in my presence.
Eub. 'Tis strange thou shouldst be present at a murder.
Cle. 'Twas a necessity was laid upon me,
Because I would be sure to see him dead.
I bade him choose his death; when manfully
He said he car'd not how, so he might die.
I knew to strangle him was the readiest way,
Which death himself was ready to embrace:
This his so noble resolution
Did startle me from mine; my servants' hands
Trembled for fear,
Presaging what a sin they were to act:
He bade him be assur'd he would not start.
And often call'd him to despatch him quickly.
Syl. What man could have a heart for such a deed,
And see his face?
Cle. The prince, before he came
To put the fatal twist about his neck,
Besought me, as I ever hop'd for peace,
I should preserve the princess; this I promis'd,
And whatsoever else he would desire.
He answered, nothing now, but hasty death;
Then stripping off his doublet, I espied
With a quick eye this golden circle here,
When hastily I bid my servant hold,
And let him go. He ask'd me why I stay'd;
I told him that about his neck was sacred.
He would have rent it off, but I forbad it.
Eub. What did you then?
Cle. Sir, I did well remember
What I had heard of th' oracle and you,
Which, with the computation of his years,
I found agreeing to make up a truth;
Which you before assur'd me. Then I ask'd him
Whether he would be married to the princess
Before he died; he thought that I had mock'd him,
And said I practis'd tyranny upon him.
Then went I to my sister, and desir'd
The same of her. In fine, I saw them both
Join hands and hearts together; but the prince
Thought this a dream of life, which certain death
Would wake him from, until I did assure him
Of his great state, and that his love, whom now
He thought to be the princess, was my sister;
All which I did refer unto your knowledge.
Eub. This day for ever let it holy be,
And you, whom love has brought through deep despair
Unto the haven of your happiness,
Enjoy each other freely. Of you, brave shepherd,
But now my prince, I shall inquire anon
Where and with whom you liv'd.
Thyr. Sir, the shepherd
Whom I call father stays without. Montanus
His name is, by whose gentle hands (as he
Has often told me) I was rescu'd first
From cold and death, since under his kind roof
Foster'd, and bred as his.
Eub. Go, call him in.
Enter Montanus, Mirtillus.
You're welcome both; you may applaud your fortune
That brought you such a shepherd. Stay all here,
Whilst I go to the king. This day will add
More years unto his life, when he shall say,
No day shone brighter on Arcadia. [Exit.
Mon. We are both come to do our duties to you,
I as being sent for, and Mirtillus with me,
To celebrate your joys. Within a while,
The shepherds and the nymphs will all be here.
Thyr. My old companions shall be welcome all,
As you are now; I never shall forget
Your courtesy nor theirs.
Syl. Nor I the nymphs',
Once my dear fellows; but you, Mirtillus,
Though you did scorn to love, yet could you sing
Well, if you listed of it.
Cle. Can shepherds then
Despise that deity which we adore?
Mir. Madam, I reverence it in you,
The perfect'st pattern of a constant lover,
And in the honour of your nuptials
I have a song, which if your grace will hear,
'Twill entertain the time.
Syl. Let it be sung.
Song.
Hymen, god of marriage-bed,
Be thou ever honoured:
Thou, whose torch's purer light
Death's sad tapers did affright,
And instead of funeral fires
Kindled lovers' chaste desires:
May their love
Ever prove
True and constant; let not age
Know their youthful heat t' assuage.
2.
Maids, prepare the genial bed:
Then come, night, and hide that red,
Which from her cheeks his heart does burn;
Till the envious day return,
And the lusty bridegroom say,
I have chas'd her fears away,
And instead
Of virgin-head,
Given her a greater good:
Perfection and womanhood.
Thyr. Thanks, good Mirtillus; this indeed was proper
Unto your subject.
Mir. Your thrice-happy match
Being but now come to my knowledge, made me
Contract myself into a straiter room
Than the large subject might afford.
Cle. The king!
To these Euarchus, Eubulus.
Euar. Although I wonder, yet I do believe thee,
My faithful councillor.
Eub. Your majesty
Has found me always real; but this truth
The oracle's accomplishment will prove,
That did foretell their match.
Euar. Read it, Eubulus,
Once more, and then call in my son and daughter.
Eub. If e'er thy issue male thou liv'st to see,
The child thou think'st is thine, thine shall not be.
Euar. Calligone is not my child; proceed.
Eub. His life shall be obscure: twice shall thy hate
Doom him to death, yet shall he 'scape that fate.
Euar. 'Tis true, that twice I did command his death,
First thinking him a bastard, then a shepherd,
For his offence: the gods are just. Go on.
Eub. And thou shalt live to see, that not long after
Thy only son shall wed thy only daughter.
Euar. This was a riddle ever till this day,
Their marriage has made it plain. Eubulus,
Call in Archigenes, and call thy daughter,
The fair Calligone, that I may pour
My blessings on them: and I long to see
Those characters thou writ'st about his neck,
That I may call him mine.
Eub. See where they are!
Euar. Archigenes, come nearer, for thou art
A stranger yet, although thou be my son.
The character is plain, it is the same
Eubulus writ to me: ye heavenly powers,
Give me a heart that may be large enough
T' express my joy for these and thanks to you.
Thyr. My royal father—for I am instructed
To call you so—if I have done amiss
In hasting to this match, I ask your pardon.
Syl. And I for daring to aspire so high
Without your leave.
Euar. Rise both; you have my blessing.
But who are these?
Thyr. This is the shepherd, sir,
Who took me up first, whom till now I call'd
Father, and he deserv'd it for his care.
Euar. Eubulus, this is he; Montanus, is it not?
Eub. He is deliver'd to me for the shepherd,
Of whom your majesty may, if you please,
Be well-inform'd of all those passages
I left untold.
Euar. Some other time we'll hear them:
Let him be well rewarded.
Thyr. Sir, these shepherds
Are come to entertain your majesty
With their devices, as their custom is;
In which sometimes, until my fortune chang'd,
I bore a part.
Euar. Let them be feasted all,
And study something new to celebrate
These nuptials, which I will have proclaim'd
Throughout my kingdom: and, Eubulus, see
That everything be fitted for their honour.
Come, let us to the temple, that we may
With holy sacrifice appease the gods,
Whose great decrees, though we did strive to hinder,
Yet are they now fulfill'd. It is in vain
T' oppose the Fates, whose laws do all constrain.
[THE EPILOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN.]
To you, most royal pair, whose lives have brought
Virtue in fashion, and the world have taught,
That chaste innocuous sports become the stage,
No less than civil manners do the age,
We dedicate this piece, but yet with fears
To have displeas'd so chaste, so tender ears;
Which if you free us from, we'll call this play
No more the Shepherds', but our Holiday.
[FUIMUS TROES: THE TRUE TROJANS]
EDITION.
Fvimvs Troes, Æneid. 2. The Trve Troianes, Being a Story of the Britaines valour at the Romanes first invasion: Publikely represented by the Gentlemen Students of Magdalen Colledge in Oxford.
Quis Martem tunicâ tectum adamantinâ
Dignè scripserit?
London, Printed by I. L. for Robert Allott, and are to be sold at the signe of the Beare in Pauls-Churchyard, 1633. 4o.