Mir. Why, who can say Mirtillus does not love?
Mirtillus, he who has employ'd his youth
Ever in service of the fairest nymphs.
Hyl. Mirtillus cannot love.
Mir. No, gentle Hylas?
This riband and this hair you see me wear,
Are they not ensigns of a lover? Say,
What shepherdess whom ever swain thought fair,
Has not Mirtillus courted, and obtain'd
Some favour from. But you will think, because
I do not fold my arms, and sigh, and spend
The days, the gods have given me to rejoice,
In whining passion, walking still alone,
Now proud with hopes, then cast down with despair,
Unequal to myself in everything,
I cannot love. No, Hylas, know I love
Dorinda, Chloris, Amarillis, all
Whom ever love did to his altars call:
And when this mistress frowns, I am content
To take another; when that flame is spent
By time, or put out by a rival, straight
A third supplies her place, perhaps more worthy;
If less, because she loves, I'll think her so.
Hyl. Alas, Mirtillus! I do pity thee—
Pity the error which thou wander'st in,
That think'st thou lov'st, and know'st not what it is.
Mir. Why, what is love, say you, if mine be not?
Hyl. I know, Mirtillus, that no lover yet
Purchas'd a lasting pleasure without grief;
For love has gall in it as well as honey,
And so compounded that, whosoe'er will taste
The sweets of it, must take the bitter too,
Out of both which is made our constancy.
You, that embrace the false delights alone,
Are a feign'd lover or (more truly) none.
Mir. I know not what you mean by constancy:
I'm sure I love the fairest.
Hyl. Still you err;
For, if you lov'd the fairest, none had been
The object of your choice but my Nerina;
Nerina, she the glory of these woods,
The only subject of all shepherds' song.
Mir. She has her share of beauty with the rest,
And I confess she's fit for love as any;
But why she only should take up your breast,
And shut out all that have a right as good,
Whose equal or transcendent beauty pleads
As just a title to't as hers can do,
I cannot reach the reason, but admire
Your faith and (what you praise) your constancy.
Hyl. Mirtillus, though I know your stubborn heart
Could never entertain a lover's thought,
Yet did I think you would have been more tender
How you profan'd a name so sacred as
Nerina's is, whom never any swain,
Nor rural god, nor satyr, though he be
Of savage kind, would ever violate:
Nerina, in whose form love ever dwells,
Attended by the Graces, which do range
Themselves in order 'bout her comely face:
Whose breasts without are hills of whitest snow,
Within, the seat of blameless modesty,
Regard of honour and pure chastity;
Nor may a loose thought ever harbour there
To tempt such lovers as you seem to be:
Is it for that you slight her?