Poems with the Muses looking-glasse: and Amyntas· By Thomas Randolph Master of Arts, and late fellow of Trinity Colledge in Cambridge.

SCEN. 5.

The virgins passe over the stage with waxe candles in their hands, Amaryllis goes the first, but she is staid by Damon, as unknown to be Amaryllis, she be∣ing vail'd and having on her head the garland that Laurinda took from Damon.

Chast beauteous Nymph, Ceres so grant your prayers, as you determine Iustly our cause!

Amar.

Ceres has heard my prayers, For all my morning orisons beg'd no more Then one kind word from Damon.

Dam.

Amaryllis!

Alex.

That name breaths life & soul to poore Alexis.

Amar.

The same;—why startle you? you have not met A poyson, Damon.

Dam.

Yes, a thousand vipers Have stung my soule.

Alex.

As many joyes crown mine With happinesse.

Dam.

Would I had met this morning Infectious vapors nursing plagues, not thee; No curse but that had power to ruin mee!

Alex.

No other blessing hath preserved mee.

Amar.

What should this mean, my Damon? how have I Displeas'd you, sweet? heaven knowes it is my praier More then for heaven, to please you.

Da.

O my torture!

Fly hence as farre as hell, and hide thy head Lower then darknesse; would thou had'st been acting▪ Incest or murder, when thou cam'st to pray: Thou hadst in any thing sinn'd lesse then this: Vnseasonable devotion!

Amar.

Can it be A sin to pray for Damon?

Dam.

Thou had'st blest mee Had'st thou sate all this while in some dark cell Loading my head with curses.

Ama.

Innocence Let me not understand you.

Da.

I'le not stand To her award, she is a partiall judge, And will decree unjustly.

Ama.

How, to Damon? To him she loves so deerely?

Dam.

That's the reason; Shee does confesse, Alexis, that she loves me, That's argument enough against het.

Amar.

Ceres, these obscure passions move me.

Alex.

I'le instruct you, Take here the paper, pen and inke.

Ama.

Why yet sir I know no more.

Alex.

You are to passe your censure, Being the first Nymph that we have met this morning, Which of us two must have the faire Laurinda. Write your award; our mutuall oathes doe bind us Not to deny't.

Da.

'Tis a meere plot contriv'd Betwixt this cursed Nymph, and you▪ Alexis.

Alex.

Damon you wrong us both.

Dam.

Where did you steale This Garland? it was mine.

Amar.

For that I love it, Because it once was thine.

Da.

For that I hate it, Cause it is thine, had it been true to mee▪ Me thinkes as soone as it had toucht thy head It should have withered.

Amar.

So it would have done Had it not first touch't yours. Laurinda gave me This Garland, but nere told me of this accident.

Da.

Alexis, you deale false, 'tis a conspiracy 'Twixt you and her.

Alex.

How can it? you know, Damon, I have not beene one minute from your presence.

Da.

You tooke your time while I was sleeping.

Alex.

Neither, Nor I nor you could sleepe one winke this night, The expectation of this morning tryall Did keepe us both awake.

Da.

I doe not know, But there is some trick in't, and I'le appeale From her too partiall se•…•…ence.

Ale.

I'le the while goe fetch Laurinda, shee shall force you stand Vnto her tryall.

Exit.

Amar.

Damon, thy harsh language is more then death

Vnto me.

Da.

I doe charge you to teare the paper, And refuse to judge between us.

Amar.

No, I am resolv'd to write what I determine.

Da.

Now thou hast indeed a time wherein thou maist Revenge my scorne. Take it, but I'le prevent thee.

he strikes her.

Amar.

Welcome death! From him all things are so. Damon, fly hence, Thou hast shed bloud here in the Sacred Valley, Make hast away or thou art lost for ever.

Dam.

Thy counsell's good, no matter whose the guilt.

Exit Damon.

Ama.

What was it he said last?—Thou hast indeed A time wherein thou maist revenge my scorne. —With love, no otherwise: and there thou shalt not Prevent mee, Damon. I will write—This inke Deserves not to record the name of Damon, Tis black and ugly; thou thy selfe hast furnisht mee With that of better colour. 'Tis my blood That's truly Cupids inke: love ought to write Only with that;—. This paper is too course; O that I had my heart, to write it there! But so it is already. Would I had A Parchment made of my own skin, in that To write the truth of my affection, A wonder to posterity!—Hand make hast As my bloud does, or I shall faint I feare Ere I have done my story.—