The extravagant sheepherd a pastoral comedie / written in French by T. Corneille ; Englished by T.R. 1654.

SCENE VI.

Enter to them Montenor, disguised like a God of a River, with a very long Beard, and one of his servants disguised with many branches of Cypresse, carrying a Lute.

Syn.

Great Father, may your waters cleare and pure

(to Monten.)

For ever flow, as we by your embrace, Receive the soveraign height of our content.

Ly.

Never could we believe, a God so great, Would leave his watry bed to visit us. And knowing us to be such Demi-gods, Should us prefer before Neptune and Thet is.

(Montenor instead of answering, grunts.)

Sisters, he answers in an uncouth way, Pray what's his language?

Syn.

'Tis a Rivers language, He can be understood by Fishes onely.

Ly.

This venerable God grunts like a Hog; Your Fishes methinks, speak a foolish language, He stares upon me with one ugly eye.

Syn.

He wonders much to see you in this place: Father pray know this stranger Demi-god; 'Tis he that once the honour was of Brie, The glory of Age, and past'rall Life. He's now a Tree, and will people your banks With many branches springing from his body.

(To Lysis.)

He beckens you, go and receive his kindenesse.

Ly.

What do you mean to squeeze me as you do?

(striving to get out of his armes, he em∣bracing him too hard.)

Must your arms thus supply your want of voice? Good mute God hold, and do not crush my Wood.

Clor.

What, flie from his embrace?

Ly.

Ah—Hamadryade, I do not like such kind embraces, I—

Syn.

The God holds out his arm at your loud cry.

Ly.

Truce to embraces, Ile be there no more.

Syn.

Truce if you please, but let's do something else, Let's consecrate with songs your Metamorphose; Father shall we obtain to't your consent?

(The God grunting.)

Ly.

This grunting God does very much displease me.

Syn.

Come, who begins?

Ly.

Why Demi-goddess, the Dispute's between you two, I'm not concern'd.

Syn.

Well't shall be I.

Clor.

We will sing afterwards.

Syn.

Good Brother Cypresse lend me (pray) your Lute.

(She taking the Lute from Cypress singing to it, begins.)

O Fate, most worthy Envy!

Ly.

Ye Gods! Why was not I a Tree at first? Divine Amphion!

Syn.

Silence, hear.

Lyn.

Thy voice Charms me, as much as did thy Apricocks.

Syn.

sings. Oh Fate most worthy Envie! we Lysis possesse that glorious Tree: Whose vertues him a Demi-god have made T' enjoy a life shall never fade. Oh envied Destinie! He is worthy of this glory, His Sheepherd's noble acts, which him renownd, Declar'd, that thus he one day should be crown'd And engrave his name in story, He is worthy of this glory. Well, what think ye?

Ly

Sweet Nymph Apricock, may I not inoculate such Trees as you?