Ah, Sylvia! How shall I live till night? And you impose too cruelly upon me, in conjuring me to go to Cesario; alas! Does Sylvia know to what she exposes her Philander? Whose joy is so transporting, great, that when he comes into the grave cabal, he must betray the story of his heart, and, in lieu of the mighty business there in hand, be raving still on Sylvia, telling his joy to all the amazed listeners, and answering questions that concern our great affair, with something of my love; all which will pass for madness, and undo me: no, give me leave to rave in silence, and unseen among the trees, they'll humour my disease, answer my murmuring joy, and echoes flatter it, repeat thy name, repeat that Sylvia's mine! and never hurt her fame; while the cabals, business and noisy town will add confusion to my present transport, and make me mad indeed: no, let me alone, thou sacred lovely creature, let me be calm and quiet here, and tell all the insensibles I meet in the woods what Sylvia has this happy minute destined me: oh, let me record it on every bark, on every oak and beech, that all the world may wonder at my fortune, and bless the generous maid; let it grow up to ages that shall come, that they may know the story of our loves, and how a happy youth, they called Philander, was once so blest by heaven as to possess the charming, the adored and loved by all, the glorious Sylvia! a maid, the most divine that ever graced a story; and when the nymphs would look for an example of love and constancy, let them point out Philander to their doubted swains, and cry, 'Ah! love but as the young Philander did, and then be fortunate, and then reap all your wishes:' and when the shepherd would upbraid his nymph, let him but cry,--'See here what Sylvia did to save the young Philander;' but oh! There never will be such another nymph as Sylvia; heaven formed but one to shew the world what angels are, and she was formed for me, yes she was--in whom I would not quit my glorious interest to reign a monarch here, or any boasted gilded thing above! Take all, take all, ye gods, and give me but this happy coming night! Oh, Sylvia, Sylvia! By all thy promised joys I am undone if any accident should ravish this night from me: this night! No not for a lease of years to all eternity would I throw thee away: oh! I am all flame, all joyful fire and softness; methinks it is heaven where- ever I look round me, air where I tread, and ravishing music when I speak, because it is all of Sylvia----let me alone, oh let me cool a little, or I shall by an excess of joyful thought lose all my hoped for bliss. Remove a little from me; go, my Sylvia, you are so excessive sweet, so wondrous dazzling, you press my senses even to pain--away--let me take air--let me recover breath: oh let me lay me down beneath some cooling shade, near some refreshing crystal murmuring spring, and fan the gentle air about me. I suffocate, I faint with this close loving, I must allay my joy or be undone--I will read thy cruel letters, or I will think of some sad melancholy hour wherein thou hast dismissed me despairing from thy presence: or while you press me now to be gone with so much earnestness, you have some lover to receive and entertain; perhaps it is only for the vanity to hear him tell his nauseous passion to you, breathe on your lovely face, and daub your garments with his fulsome embrace; but oh, by heaven, I cannot think that thought! And thou hast sworn thou canst not suffer it--if I should find thee false--but it is impossible.--Oh! Should I find Foscario visit thee, him whom thy parents favour, I should undo you all, by heaven I should--but thou hast sworn, what need Philander more? Yes, Sylvia, thou hast sworn and called heaven's vengeance down whenever thou gavest a look, or a dear smile in love to that pretending fop: yet from his mighty fortune there is danger in him--What makes that thought torment me now?--Be gone, for Sylvia loves me, and will preserve my life----
I am not able, my adorable charmer, to obey your commands in going from the sight of happy Bellfont; no, let the great wheel of the vast design roll on----or for ever stand still, for I will not aid its motion to leave the mightier business of my love unfinished; no, let fortune and the duller fools toil on----for I'll not bate a minute of my joys with thee to save the world, much less so poor a parcel of it; and sure there is more solid pleasure even in these expecting hours I wait to snatch my bliss, than to be lord of all the universe without it: then let me wait, my Sylvia, in those melancholy shades that part Bellfont from Dorillus's farm; perhaps my Sylvia may walk that way so unattended, that we might meet and lose ourselves for a few moments in those intricate retreats: ah Sylvia! I am dying with that thought----oh heavens! What cruel destiny is mine? Whose fatal circumstances do not permit me to own my passion, and lay claim to Sylvia, to take her without control to shades and palaces, to live for ever with her, to gaze for ever on her, to eat, to loll, to rise, to play, to sleep, to act over all the pleasures and the joys of life with her--but it is in vain I rave, in vain employ myself in the fool's barren business, wishing--this thought has made me sad as death: oh, Sylvia! I can never be truly happy--adieu, employ thyself in writing to me, and remember my life bears date but only with thy faith and love.
PHILANDER.
Try, my adorable, what you can do to meet me in the wood this afternoon, for there I will live to-day.
To PHILANDER.
Obstinate Philander, I conjure you by all your vows, by all your sacred love, by those dear hours this happy night designed in favour of you, to go without delay to Cesario; 'twill be unsafe to disobey a prince in his jealous circumstances. The fatigue of the journey cannot be great, and you well know the torment of my fears! Oh! I shall never be happy, or think you safe, till you have quitted this fatal interest: go, my Philander----and remember whatever toils you take will be rewarded at night in the arms of
SYLVIA.
To SYLVIA.