Chorus. Love only does our souls refine,
And by his skill
Turns human things into divine,
And guides our will.
Then let us of his praises sing:
Of love, that sweetens everything.
And by his skill
Turns human things into divine,
And guides our will.
Then let us of his praises sing:
Of love, that sweetens everything.
Del. Madam, you're overheard.
Syl. I care not, Delia.
Although my liberty and free discourse
Be here denied me, yet the air is common:
To it, then, will I utter my complaints,
Or to thee, friend, to whom my love will dare
To show the secrets of my heart; for others
I do not care nor fear, so thou be faithful.
Although my liberty and free discourse
Be here denied me, yet the air is common:
To it, then, will I utter my complaints,
Or to thee, friend, to whom my love will dare
To show the secrets of my heart; for others
I do not care nor fear, so thou be faithful.
Del. Madam, I have no life, but what I wish
May be employ'd to do your beauty's service;
My tongue is rul'd by yours: what you would have
It speak, it shall; else further than my thoughts
Nothing shall venture that you leave to me:
And those my thoughts I'll keep to such restraint,
As they shall never come within my dreams,
Lest they betray your counsels. This I vow
Religiously by——
May be employ'd to do your beauty's service;
My tongue is rul'd by yours: what you would have
It speak, it shall; else further than my thoughts
Nothing shall venture that you leave to me:
And those my thoughts I'll keep to such restraint,
As they shall never come within my dreams,
Lest they betray your counsels. This I vow
Religiously by——
Syl. Hold, I will not
Have thee to swear, nor would I thou shouldst think
That I so much suspect thee, as to urge
An oath; I know thou hast too much of goodness,
That's bred within thee, to betray a trust:
And therefore, without further circumstance,
I'll let thee know my fortunes, part of which
I'm sure th' hast heard already.
Have thee to swear, nor would I thou shouldst think
That I so much suspect thee, as to urge
An oath; I know thou hast too much of goodness,
That's bred within thee, to betray a trust:
And therefore, without further circumstance,
I'll let thee know my fortunes, part of which
I'm sure th' hast heard already.
Del. Madam, I have,
And wish'd that they had sorted to your wishes.
And wish'd that they had sorted to your wishes.
Syl. I thank thee, Delia; but my evil genius,
That has pursu'd my innocence with hate,
Brought me from thence, where I had set my heart,
Unto this cursed Court which, though it be
My place of birth and breeding, I do find
Nothing but torment and affliction in it.
That has pursu'd my innocence with hate,
Brought me from thence, where I had set my heart,
Unto this cursed Court which, though it be
My place of birth and breeding, I do find
Nothing but torment and affliction in it.
Del. I guess the cause, sweet madam, but that's pass'd
And now forgotten: if you clear your looks,
Your father will enlarge you, and ne'er think
On what you did, but that you are his daughter.
And now forgotten: if you clear your looks,
Your father will enlarge you, and ne'er think
On what you did, but that you are his daughter.
Syl. Alas, my Delia! thou dost mistake,
My liberty is of no worth to me,
Since that my love, I fear, will ne'er be free:
Nor do I care what idle ladies talk
Of my departure or my strange disguise,
To colour my intents; I am above
Their envy or their malice:
But for th' unlucky chance that sent to me
The over-curious eyes of him I hate—
Thou know'st the man.
My liberty is of no worth to me,
Since that my love, I fear, will ne'er be free:
Nor do I care what idle ladies talk
Of my departure or my strange disguise,
To colour my intents; I am above
Their envy or their malice:
But for th' unlucky chance that sent to me
The over-curious eyes of him I hate—
Thou know'st the man.
Del. Yes, you mean Cleander,
Son to Eubulus, who is now your keeper:
What star directed him to find you out?
Son to Eubulus, who is now your keeper:
What star directed him to find you out?
Syl. His love, forsooth; for so he colour'd his
Unseason'd boldness: told me he was not able
To want my sight: and so, when every one
Had given o'er their strict inquiry of me,
He only, with too much officiousness,
Observ'd me in the woods, walking alone:
And when I would have shunn'd him, which perhaps
Had I not done, he had not so well known me:
He came and utter'd, as his manner was,
His tedious complaints; until at length
He brought me with him, making no resistance:
And to ingratiate himself the more,
He said he would convey me where my father
Should have no knowledge of me. I refused it;
Willing, however, to be rid of him.
And now, you know, it is a full month since
I did return to Court, but left my heart
Behind me in those fields wherein I joy'd.
Unseason'd boldness: told me he was not able
To want my sight: and so, when every one
Had given o'er their strict inquiry of me,
He only, with too much officiousness,
Observ'd me in the woods, walking alone:
And when I would have shunn'd him, which perhaps
Had I not done, he had not so well known me:
He came and utter'd, as his manner was,
His tedious complaints; until at length
He brought me with him, making no resistance:
And to ingratiate himself the more,
He said he would convey me where my father
Should have no knowledge of me. I refused it;
Willing, however, to be rid of him.
And now, you know, it is a full month since
I did return to Court, but left my heart
Behind me in those fields wherein I joy'd.
Del. Madam, has not the Court more pleasure in it
Than the dull country, which can represent
Nothing but what does taste of solitude?
'Twas something else that carried you away.
Than the dull country, which can represent
Nothing but what does taste of solitude?
'Twas something else that carried you away.
Syl. 'Tis true, my Delia; for though thou wert
Privy to my departure, yet the cause
Thou couldst not tell, which I will now unfold;
And think I trust my honour in thy hands,
And maiden modesty: 'twas love that did it.
Privy to my departure, yet the cause
Thou couldst not tell, which I will now unfold;
And think I trust my honour in thy hands,
And maiden modesty: 'twas love that did it.
Del. Love, madam! Sure, it is impossible
You should find anything there worth your love.
You should find anything there worth your love.
Syl. Thou know'st the shepherds that do dwell about
This place which, for their entertainments only,
The king my father built, did use to come,
As now they do, being sent for unto Court:
I ever lik'd their sports, their harmless mirth,
And their contentions, which were void of malice,
And wish'd I had been born just such an one.
This place which, for their entertainments only,
The king my father built, did use to come,
As now they do, being sent for unto Court:
I ever lik'd their sports, their harmless mirth,
And their contentions, which were void of malice,
And wish'd I had been born just such an one.
Del. Your state is better, madam, as you are.
Syl. But I confess the rather, 'cause there was
One amongst them of a more comely grace
(Though none of them did seem uncomely to me)
Call'd Thyrsis; and with him methought I could
Draw out my life rather than any other,
Such things my fancy then suggested to me:
So well he sung, so passionate his love
Show'd in his verse, thereto so well express'd,
As any one would judge it natural:
Yet never felt he flame, till this of me:
Often he came, and oft'ner was desir'd
Of me; nor did I shame in public there
Before my father to commend his graces;
Which when I did, the whole Court, as they use,
Consented with me, and did strive to make them
Greater than I or any else could think them:
At last I was surpris'd, I could not help it;
My fate with love consenting, so would have it:
Then did I leave the Court—I've told thee all.
One amongst them of a more comely grace
(Though none of them did seem uncomely to me)
Call'd Thyrsis; and with him methought I could
Draw out my life rather than any other,
Such things my fancy then suggested to me:
So well he sung, so passionate his love
Show'd in his verse, thereto so well express'd,
As any one would judge it natural:
Yet never felt he flame, till this of me:
Often he came, and oft'ner was desir'd
Of me; nor did I shame in public there
Before my father to commend his graces;
Which when I did, the whole Court, as they use,
Consented with me, and did strive to make them
Greater than I or any else could think them:
At last I was surpris'd, I could not help it;
My fate with love consenting, so would have it:
Then did I leave the Court—I've told thee all.
Del. 'Tis strange! but, madam, though in that disguise,
How could you hope (a stranger) to be lov'd
Of him you held so dear?
How could you hope (a stranger) to be lov'd
Of him you held so dear?
Syl. I feign'd myself
Of Smyrna, and from thence some goats I had
And sheep, with them a rich commodity.
Near him I bought me land to feed them; he
Seem'd glad of it, and thinking me a stranger,
Us'd me with such civility and friendship,
As one would little look for of a shepherd;
And did defend me from the avarice
Of the old shepherds, which did think to make
A prey of what I had. At length I saw
He did address himself with fear to me,
Still gazing on me. Knowing my love to him,
I easily believ'd he lov'd me too—
For love, alas! is ever credulous—
And though I was resolv'd (having my end,
Which was no more than to discourse with him)
Never to let him know what flame I felt;
Yet when I saw his tears, and heard his vows—
Persuasive speakers for affection—
I could not choose but open to his view
My loving heart; yet with this caution,
That he should ever bear respect unto
My honour and my virgin chastity:
Which then he vow'd, and his ambition
Never was more than to attain a kiss,
Which yet he hardly got. Thou seest, sweet Delia,
How willingly I dwell upon this theme.
But can'st thou help me, now that I have open'd
My wound unto thee?
Of Smyrna, and from thence some goats I had
And sheep, with them a rich commodity.
Near him I bought me land to feed them; he
Seem'd glad of it, and thinking me a stranger,
Us'd me with such civility and friendship,
As one would little look for of a shepherd;
And did defend me from the avarice
Of the old shepherds, which did think to make
A prey of what I had. At length I saw
He did address himself with fear to me,
Still gazing on me. Knowing my love to him,
I easily believ'd he lov'd me too—
For love, alas! is ever credulous—
And though I was resolv'd (having my end,
Which was no more than to discourse with him)
Never to let him know what flame I felt;
Yet when I saw his tears, and heard his vows—
Persuasive speakers for affection—
I could not choose but open to his view
My loving heart; yet with this caution,
That he should ever bear respect unto
My honour and my virgin chastity:
Which then he vow'd, and his ambition
Never was more than to attain a kiss,
Which yet he hardly got. Thou seest, sweet Delia,
How willingly I dwell upon this theme.
But can'st thou help me, now that I have open'd
My wound unto thee?
Del. Alas! I would I could
Invent the way to cure you; I should soon
Apply my help: yet, stay, this day it is
The shepherds come to Court.
Invent the way to cure you; I should soon
Apply my help: yet, stay, this day it is
The shepherds come to Court.
Syl. 'Tis true, they come;
But what is that to me, if Thyrsis come not?
Or if he come, how shall he know me his,
Or I enjoy his company?
But what is that to me, if Thyrsis come not?
Or if he come, how shall he know me his,
Or I enjoy his company?
Del. Let me alone to work out that.
Syl. Thou dream'st: thou can'st not do it.
Del. I'll undertake it; but how shall I know him
Without inquiring, which must breed suspicion?
Without inquiring, which must breed suspicion?
Syl. True, and beware thou ask; the majesty
Which sits upon his brow will say 'tis he—
Thyrsis my love. But yet, perhaps, at this time,
If I myself not flatter, thou shalt know him
By his eyes cast down and folding of his arms,
And often sighs that interrupt his words.
For if his sorrow wears the liveries
Which mine does for his absence, by these signs
Thou shalt descry him.
Which sits upon his brow will say 'tis he—
Thyrsis my love. But yet, perhaps, at this time,
If I myself not flatter, thou shalt know him
By his eyes cast down and folding of his arms,
And often sighs that interrupt his words.
For if his sorrow wears the liveries
Which mine does for his absence, by these signs
Thou shalt descry him.
Del. These are silent marks:
Yet will I not despair to find him out.
Yet will I not despair to find him out.
Syl. But when thou hast, what wilt thou say to him?
Syl. Thou speak'st my thoughts: do this, and I will crown
Thy faith: thou shalt be queen instead of me.
Thy faith: thou shalt be queen instead of me.
Del. If you could crown me with your virtues, madam,
I should be a queen indeed; in the meantime,
As I am Delia, I'll do this business.
I should be a queen indeed; in the meantime,
As I am Delia, I'll do this business.
Syl. Do it, and when th' hast done, the god of love
Reward thee with thine own desires for this.
Reward thee with thine own desires for this.
Del. Madam, withdraw; I hear your keepers coming. [Exeunt.
SCENA II.
Cleander, Eubulus.
Sir, you have put a bridle on my passions,
And given my soul the liberty it wish'd:
I now entreat your pardon for beginning
A thing of so great consequence without
Leave and advice from you.
And given my soul the liberty it wish'd:
I now entreat your pardon for beginning
A thing of so great consequence without
Leave and advice from you.
Eub. 'Tis well, Cleander,
It will behove you then to be reserv'd,
And lock this secret up: for 'tis no jesting
With kings, that may command our lives and fortunes:
You now perceive her, whom we call the princess,
To be your sister, and the love you bear her
Must be a brother's friendship, not a lover's
Passionate heat; but yet she must not know,
That I her father am, and you her brother:
And trust me, son, had I not seen despair
Of life in you, which this love brought you to,
I should not have reveal'd what now you know.
It will behove you then to be reserv'd,
And lock this secret up: for 'tis no jesting
With kings, that may command our lives and fortunes:
You now perceive her, whom we call the princess,
To be your sister, and the love you bear her
Must be a brother's friendship, not a lover's
Passionate heat; but yet she must not know,
That I her father am, and you her brother:
And trust me, son, had I not seen despair
Of life in you, which this love brought you to,
I should not have reveal'd what now you know.
Cle. It was a comfort, sir, I do confess,
That came in time to rescue me from death,
So great her scorn was, and my love so violent.
That came in time to rescue me from death,
So great her scorn was, and my love so violent.
Eub. Now you're at peace, I hope?
Cle. I am: but if
I be too curious in asking where
The king's son is, I shall desire your pardon:
For, sure, it were injustice to deprive
So great a prince of that which he was born to.
I be too curious in asking where
The king's son is, I shall desire your pardon:
For, sure, it were injustice to deprive
So great a prince of that which he was born to.
Eub. You are too far inquisitive; yet because
I have engag'd you in a secret of
As great importance, this I will not hide.
The king, I told you, when his wife grew near
The time of her delivery, sent to know
Of our great oracle whether the child should be
Female or male, and what should be its fortune.
I have engag'd you in a secret of
As great importance, this I will not hide.
The king, I told you, when his wife grew near
The time of her delivery, sent to know
Of our great oracle whether the child should be
Female or male, and what should be its fortune.
Cle. What said the oracle? have you the answer?
Eub. It only was imparted unto me,
And this it is, which I have never shown
To any but the queen. Here take and read it.
And this it is, which I have never shown
To any but the queen. Here take and read it.
If e'er thy issue male thou live to see,
The child thou think'st is thine, thine shall not be;
His life shall be obscure: twice shall thy hate
Doom him to death. Yet shall he 'scape that fate:
And thou shalt live to see, that not long after
Thy only son shall wed thy only daughter.
The child thou think'st is thine, thine shall not be;
His life shall be obscure: twice shall thy hate
Doom him to death. Yet shall he 'scape that fate:
And thou shalt live to see, that not long after
Thy only son shall wed thy only daughter.
This oracle is full of mystery.
Eub. It is; and yet the king would needs interpret
That, should it prove a man-child, 'twas a bastard:
And being loth that one not of his blood,
As he conceived by this, should be his heir,
Told me in private that, if it were male,
He would not have it live; yet, fearing most
To publish his dishonour and his wife's,
He charg'd me not reveal it unto any,
But take the child and see it made away,
And make the world believe it was still-born.
That, should it prove a man-child, 'twas a bastard:
And being loth that one not of his blood,
As he conceived by this, should be his heir,
Told me in private that, if it were male,
He would not have it live; yet, fearing most
To publish his dishonour and his wife's,
He charg'd me not reveal it unto any,
But take the child and see it made away,
And make the world believe it was still-born.
Eub. No, for indeed I durst not
For anything become a murderer.
For anything become a murderer.
Cle. How did you then?
Eub. I went unto the queen,
Show'd her the state she was in, and besought her
To be as careful of me as I was
Of her, and we would work a better end
Than she expected. So we both agreed
That, if the child she then did labour with
Proved to be a male, I should with care conceal
The birth of it, and put a female child
Instead of it, which I was to look out.
It fortun'd that your mother then was ready
To be deliver'd of your sister, and
Time and good fortune did conspire to save
The king's child and to make my daughter princess.
Show'd her the state she was in, and besought her
To be as careful of me as I was
Of her, and we would work a better end
Than she expected. So we both agreed
That, if the child she then did labour with
Proved to be a male, I should with care conceal
The birth of it, and put a female child
Instead of it, which I was to look out.
It fortun'd that your mother then was ready
To be deliver'd of your sister, and
Time and good fortune did conspire to save
The king's child and to make my daughter princess.
Cle. But what did then become of the young prince?
Eub. The queen protesting to me that it was
The king's own child, conjur'd me to preserve it,
Which as mine own I could not; for already
Many took notice that my child was female,
And therefore I was fain to publish her
As dead, and buried an empty coffin.
I rode forth with the child a full night's journey,
With purpose to deliver it to some
Plain honest man, that would be careful of it,
And not inquisitive to know whose child
It was, but give it breeding as his own:
When, being frighted with the noise of arms
Of some outlawed thieves, that did infest
The place, I made all haste I could to 'scape 'em,
Considering my charge; for that I knew,
If I were taken, though they spar'd my life,
The charge I had must needs betray me to
The king, and then I could not hope for mercy
I laid it down there, cover'd closely o'er,
A circle 'bout his neck, wherein was writ—
The king's own child, conjur'd me to preserve it,
Which as mine own I could not; for already
Many took notice that my child was female,
And therefore I was fain to publish her
As dead, and buried an empty coffin.
I rode forth with the child a full night's journey,
With purpose to deliver it to some
Plain honest man, that would be careful of it,
And not inquisitive to know whose child
It was, but give it breeding as his own:
When, being frighted with the noise of arms
Of some outlawed thieves, that did infest
The place, I made all haste I could to 'scape 'em,
Considering my charge; for that I knew,
If I were taken, though they spar'd my life,
The charge I had must needs betray me to
The king, and then I could not hope for mercy
I laid it down there, cover'd closely o'er,
A circle 'bout his neck, wherein was writ—
Archigenes, son of Euarchus and Eudora
In characters known only to myself
And to the king, in which I us'd to clothe
Secret despatches when I writ to him
From foreign states, and within the circle
I grav'd the king's less seal, which then I kept.
Some gold besides and jewels there I left,
That, whosoe'er should find him might with that
Defray the charge of his education;
Howe'er, next day I purposed to return
With speed, and carry it to some abode.
And to the king, in which I us'd to clothe
Secret despatches when I writ to him
From foreign states, and within the circle
I grav'd the king's less seal, which then I kept.
Some gold besides and jewels there I left,
That, whosoe'er should find him might with that
Defray the charge of his education;
Howe'er, next day I purposed to return
With speed, and carry it to some abode.
Cle. But did the queen know this?
Eub. She did not,
Till my return next day: then, when I told her,
The child was thence remov'd where I had left him.
Till my return next day: then, when I told her,
The child was thence remov'd where I had left him.
Cle. Belike those thieves had carried him away.
Eub. 'Tis probable.
Cle. How could the queen take this
So sad a story?
So sad a story?
Eub. With such impatience
That, being weak before, she shortly died.
That, being weak before, she shortly died.
Cle. But yet, sir, with your favour, might you not
Have made inquiry after him?
Have made inquiry after him?
Eub. I durst not,
For fear of being discover'd. On your life,
Take heed how you reveal this.
For fear of being discover'd. On your life,
Take heed how you reveal this.
Cle. I am charm'd.
Eub. Then let us watch my daughter, for I fear
The flight she made was for some other end
Than for retirement, which she does pretend.
The flight she made was for some other end
Than for retirement, which she does pretend.
Cle. Henceforth I shall obey her as my princess,
And love her as my sister, not my mistress.
And love her as my sister, not my mistress.
Eub. You shall do well: come, let us to the king.
SCENA III.
Hylas, Mirtillus, Chorus of shepherds and shepherdesses, representing Paris, [OE]none, Venus, and the Graces.
Hyl. It was my dream, and I will send it to her;
Though I myself by her too cruel sentence
Must never see her face.
Though I myself by her too cruel sentence
Must never see her face.
Mir. What paper's that?
Love verses, as I live! What's here? a dream!
Nay, I will read 'em: therefore stand aside.
Love verses, as I live! What's here? a dream!
Nay, I will read 'em: therefore stand aside.
Mirtillus reads.
Sleep, thou becalmer of a troubled sprite,
Which lead'st my fancy to that sweet delight
Wherein my soul found rest when thou didst show
Her shadow mine whose substance is not so,
Wrap up mine eyes in an eternal night:
For since my day springs only from that light,
Which she denies me, I account the best
Part of my life is that which gives me rest.
And thou, more hard to be entreated than
Sleep to the heated eyes of frantic men;
That thou canst make my joys essential
Which are but shadows now, be liberal,
And outdo sleep; let me not dream in vain,
Unless thou mean'st I ne'er shall sleep again.
Which lead'st my fancy to that sweet delight
Wherein my soul found rest when thou didst show
Her shadow mine whose substance is not so,
Wrap up mine eyes in an eternal night:
For since my day springs only from that light,
Which she denies me, I account the best
Part of my life is that which gives me rest.
And thou, more hard to be entreated than
Sleep to the heated eyes of frantic men;
That thou canst make my joys essential
Which are but shadows now, be liberal,
And outdo sleep; let me not dream in vain,
Unless thou mean'st I ne'er shall sleep again.
Hyl. I knew I should be mock'd, but I'll divert him. [Aside.
What are those thou hast brought along with thee?
What are those thou hast brought along with thee?
Mir. The masquers, Hylas; these are they must trip it
Before the king: dost like their properties?
Before the king: dost like their properties?
Hyl. What, Paris and [OE]none—the old story?
Mir. But newly made, and fashion'd to my purpose;
Brought hither to make good my own positions
Against the company of puling lovers;
Which if I do not, and with good effect,
Let me be one myself; and that's a torture
Worse than Apollo laid upon the satyr,
When the rude villain durst contend with him.
Look this way, Hylas; see [OE]none here—
The fairest nymph that ever Ida bless'd,
Court her departing shepherd, who is now
Turning his love unto a fairer object;
And for his judgment in variety.
See how the sea-born goddess and the Graces
Present their darling Helena to him!
Be happy in thy choice, and draw a war
On thee and thine, rather than set thy heart
Upon a stale delight. Do, let her weep,
And say thou art inconstant. Be so still;
The queen of love commands it: you, that are
The old companions of your Paris here,
Move in a well-pac'd measure, that may show
The goddess how you are content for her
Fair sake to leave the honour of your woods;
But first let her and all the Graces sing
The invitation to your offering.
Brought hither to make good my own positions
Against the company of puling lovers;
Which if I do not, and with good effect,
Let me be one myself; and that's a torture
Worse than Apollo laid upon the satyr,
When the rude villain durst contend with him.
Look this way, Hylas; see [OE]none here—
The fairest nymph that ever Ida bless'd,
Court her departing shepherd, who is now
Turning his love unto a fairer object;
And for his judgment in variety.
See how the sea-born goddess and the Graces
Present their darling Helena to him!
Be happy in thy choice, and draw a war
On thee and thine, rather than set thy heart
Upon a stale delight. Do, let her weep,
And say thou art inconstant. Be so still;
The queen of love commands it: you, that are
The old companions of your Paris here,
Move in a well-pac'd measure, that may show
The goddess how you are content for her
Fair sake to leave the honour of your woods;
But first let her and all the Graces sing
The invitation to your offering.
Venus and the Graces sing.
Come, lovely boy, unto my court,
And leave these uncouth woods, and all
That feed thy fancy with love's gall;
But keep away the honey and the sport.
Chorus. Come unto me,
And with variety
Thou shalt be fed, which nature loves and I.
And leave these uncouth woods, and all
That feed thy fancy with love's gall;
But keep away the honey and the sport.
Chorus. Come unto me,
And with variety
Thou shalt be fed, which nature loves and I.
2.
There is no music in a voice
That is but one, and still the same:
Inconstancy is but a name
To fright poor lovers from a better choice.
Chorus. Come then to me, &c.
That is but one, and still the same:
Inconstancy is but a name
To fright poor lovers from a better choice.
Chorus. Come then to me, &c.
3.
Orpheus, that on Eurydice
Spent all his love, on others scorn,
Now on the banks of Hebrus torn,
Finds the reward of foolish constancy.
Chorus. Come then to me, &c.
Spent all his love, on others scorn,
Now on the banks of Hebrus torn,
Finds the reward of foolish constancy.
Chorus. Come then to me, &c.
4.
And sigh no more for one love lost:
I have a thousand Cupids here,
Shall recompense with better cheer
Thy misspent labours and thy bitter cost.
Chorus. Come then to me, &c.
I have a thousand Cupids here,
Shall recompense with better cheer
Thy misspent labours and thy bitter cost.
Chorus. Come then to me, &c.
The dance ended, enter a Messenger.
Nun. Shepherds, if you have any pity, come
And see a woful spectacle.
And see a woful spectacle.
Nun. The gentle nymph Nerina—
Hyl. What of her?
Nun. The last of her: I think see lies a-dying,
And calls to speak with you.
And calls to speak with you.
Hyl. Curse of your follies!
Do I live here whilst she is dying there?
Do I live here whilst she is dying there?
Mir. But, shepherd, what disease is't that so soon
Could spend his force upon her? she was well
This morning, when she made poor Hylas sick.
Could spend his force upon her? she was well
This morning, when she made poor Hylas sick.
Mon. I know not; I am sent unto the well
Of Esculapius to fetch some water
For her recovery. I must be gone. [Exit.
Of Esculapius to fetch some water
For her recovery. I must be gone. [Exit.
Mir. Shepherds, here let us end. I think we are
Perfect in all the rest. This night the king
Must see't, resolve on that.
Perfect in all the rest. This night the king
Must see't, resolve on that.
Chorus. We are all ready.
Mir. Then let's away, and see what will betide
This gentle nymph Nerina.
This gentle nymph Nerina.
Chorus. We'll go with you.
SCENA IV.
Charinus, Nerina, Dorinda, Hylas, Mirtillus, Nuntius.
Hold up thy head, good child: see, he is come.
Bring me the water quickly, whilst there is
Some life in her. Now chafe her, good Dorinda.
Bring me the water quickly, whilst there is
Some life in her. Now chafe her, good Dorinda.
Ner. All is in vain, I cannot live; dear father,
Farewell. What shepherd's that lies on the ground?
Is it not Hylas?
Farewell. What shepherd's that lies on the ground?
Is it not Hylas?
Dor. Yes, it is he, Nerina.
Ner. Alas, poor shepherd! 'tis my greatest grief,
That I have grieved him; I would beg life
For nothing but to make him satisfaction.
That I have grieved him; I would beg life
For nothing but to make him satisfaction.
Mir. Hylas, what, on the ground! look up and speak:
Alas, he's dead!
Alas, he's dead!
Ner. It cannot be: good father,
Let me go to him, and but touch his ear,
It may be that my voice may have more virtue.
Let me go to him, and but touch his ear,
It may be that my voice may have more virtue.
Char. Do what thou wilt, sweetheart: see, my poor child,
How charitable she is: being half-dead
Herself, she pities others.
How charitable she is: being half-dead
Herself, she pities others.
Mir. Mark her finesse,
How at the brink of death she kisses him,
And took this way to mock her simple father:
O fine invention! sure, a woman's wit
Does never fail her. [Aside.
How at the brink of death she kisses him,
And took this way to mock her simple father:
O fine invention! sure, a woman's wit
Does never fail her. [Aside.
Ner. Hylas, Hylas, speak,
Nerina calls thee! speak to thy Nerina!
Nerina calls thee! speak to thy Nerina!
Mir. What cannot love do? It revives the dead,
He's come to himself again!
He's come to himself again!
Hyl. What god is it
That has the power to return my soul
From the Elysian fields?
That has the power to return my soul
From the Elysian fields?
Mir. It is no god:
A goddess rather, Hylas. 'Tis Nerina,
Look where she is!
A goddess rather, Hylas. 'Tis Nerina,
Look where she is!
Hyl. Ah! then I do not wonder
I cannot die, when my best soul comes to me:
Shall we live ever thus?
I cannot die, when my best soul comes to me:
Shall we live ever thus?
Ner. How fain I would
For thy sake, Hylas; but it cannot be:
I feel a heavy sleep sit on my head,
And my strength fails me; help me, sweet Dorinda,
Farewell for ever! O, I die, I die!
For thy sake, Hylas; but it cannot be:
I feel a heavy sleep sit on my head,
And my strength fails me; help me, sweet Dorinda,
Farewell for ever! O, I die, I die!
Hyl. And must I then be call'd to life again,
To see my life expire before my face?
You Fates, if you will take a ransom for her,
Then take my life: but you are sure of that,
You'll say, already; for in her one death
Two lives are forfeit. Nerina, gentle nymph,
The cause why now I live, open these eyes
Once more, and I shall flourish like those plants
The sun gives life to: else I fall and wither,
Leaving behind nought but a worthless stem.
Speak to thy Hylas, sweet Nerina, speak.
To see my life expire before my face?
You Fates, if you will take a ransom for her,
Then take my life: but you are sure of that,
You'll say, already; for in her one death
Two lives are forfeit. Nerina, gentle nymph,
The cause why now I live, open these eyes
Once more, and I shall flourish like those plants
The sun gives life to: else I fall and wither,
Leaving behind nought but a worthless stem.
Speak to thy Hylas, sweet Nerina, speak.
Char. Ah me! my daughter, hadst thou liv'd, perhaps
I might have seen thee married to Daphnis,
Now we must see thee buried. Ah me!
I might have seen thee married to Daphnis,
Now we must see thee buried. Ah me!
Ner. Hylas!
Hyl. She lives! give me some more of that——
That water there, see now she comes again!
O gentle Destinies, but spare this thread,
And cut a thousand coarser! Speak, Nerina;
Give me some comfort, give thy father some,
Or else behold three lives fall in thy death.
That water there, see now she comes again!
O gentle Destinies, but spare this thread,
And cut a thousand coarser! Speak, Nerina;
Give me some comfort, give thy father some,
Or else behold three lives fall in thy death.
Ner. Ye Fates, that keep th' account of all our days,
Add but one minute to my life, that I
May quit my soul of those two heavy burthens,
Which now oppress it: dry your eyes, good father,
Remember that the gods do send us nothing
But for our good; and if my journey be
Shorter than yours, the less will be my trouble.
Will you forgive me, father, that I have not
Paid so much duty to you as I ow'd you?
Take my good-will, I pray, instead of it.
Add but one minute to my life, that I
May quit my soul of those two heavy burthens,
Which now oppress it: dry your eyes, good father,
Remember that the gods do send us nothing
But for our good; and if my journey be
Shorter than yours, the less will be my trouble.
Will you forgive me, father, that I have not
Paid so much duty to you as I ow'd you?
Take my good-will, I pray, instead of it.
Char. See her good nature. Ay, child, 'tis enough,
Thou always wert obedient.
Thou always wert obedient.
Char. Ay, do, my child; speak freely.
Ner. I've heard you say that no sin was so heavy
As is ingratitude.
As is ingratitude.
Char. Tis true, Nerina.
How she remembers what her father said!
How she remembers what her father said!
Ner. Then be not angry, if I now must tell you,
That this poor shepherd, whose swoll'n eyes you see
Cover'd with tears, for many years now pass'd
Has courted me: but still with such a love,
So full of truth and gentle services,
That should I not requite him with my love,
I should be guilty of ingratitude.
Therefore, before I die, I pray give leave
That he may have my dying heart, which living
I still debarr'd him of. Hylas, thy hand!
O, stay a little, death: here, take thou mine,
And since I cannot live the wife of Hylas,
Yet let me die so. Sir, are you content?
That this poor shepherd, whose swoll'n eyes you see
Cover'd with tears, for many years now pass'd
Has courted me: but still with such a love,
So full of truth and gentle services,
That should I not requite him with my love,
I should be guilty of ingratitude.
Therefore, before I die, I pray give leave
That he may have my dying heart, which living
I still debarr'd him of. Hylas, thy hand!
O, stay a little, death: here, take thou mine,
And since I cannot live the wife of Hylas,
Yet let me die so. Sir, are you content?
Char. I am with anything that pleaseth thee.
Ner. Tell me, are you so, Hylas?
Hyl. O my love,
Ask me if I would live amongst the gods,
But ask not this. Sir, have we your consent?
Ask me if I would live amongst the gods,
But ask not this. Sir, have we your consent?
Char. You have: it is in vain now to deny it.
You see, Dorinda, what her vow's come to!
You see, Dorinda, what her vow's come to!
Ner. Then let me die, take me into thy arms,
Sweet love, you'll see my coffin strew'd with flowers,
And you, Dorinda, will you make a garland?
I die a virgin, though I die his wife.
Sweet love, you'll see my coffin strew'd with flowers,
And you, Dorinda, will you make a garland?
I die a virgin, though I die his wife.
Dor. Alas, she's gone!
Hyl. She's dead, and do I live?
Char. Look to the shepherd there! O my Nerina!
Char. Then there is no hope left:
Pray help us, shepherds, now to bear her hence;
You'll come, I hope, to see her in her grave. [Exeunt.
Pray help us, shepherds, now to bear her hence;
You'll come, I hope, to see her in her grave. [Exeunt.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
I do not often sleep: ha, who are you?
Del. Sent to thee from thy Sylvia. Shepherd, rise,
And follow me.
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.
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.