Aminta

TASSO'S AMINTA.

Act. 1.

Scen. I.

Daphne and Silvia.

Daph.

ARt thou resolv'd then Silvia to consume Thy fairest youth? can't thy heart find a room For Venus pleasures? wilt not know those joy's A Mother takes to sport with her sweet boyes? Shall so much beauty be to woods confin'd?

Change, fondling that thou art, change, change thy mind.

Sil.

Let others follow loves delights for me, If that in love any delight there be. This life me pleases best; Nor do I know Ought I take pleasure in, but in my bow; This is my chiefest comfort, for to follow The wild beasts in the chase, hear huntsmen hollow: Nor do I fear such sports will wanting be.

Da.

More sottish sports, more sottish life, dost see? This life thee pleases cause thou hast not prov'd As yet another, cause thou hast not lov'd. "So in the infant world, and when as yet, "The simple people knew no better meat, "Acorns and water, were accounted sweet: "But when th'earth did abound with corn and wine, "Acorns and water then were food for swine. So shouldst thou taste but one poor thousand part Of the sweet joys of love, thou'dst say, dear heart, Why didst thou six my pleasure on such toyes And leave me widow to more reall joyes? Thou'lt sorrowfull repent the lost time past And curse it now for running on so fast. How many a widow night, how many a day I've ignorantly spent! thou'lt sighing say. Change then, sond fool, change change thy mind I pray, Lest when'ts too late thou do repent in vain

Sil.

Daphne, when I repent or o're again Repeat these words of thine, w^ch thou dost feign' Just as thou list, then let the rivers turn Back to their fountains; let the Ocean burn, The wolves fly from the tender lamo, the hares Pursue the greyhounds; then let the fierce bears, Inhabit waters: and let dolphins range The fields, whenever I my mind do change.

Daph.

This is meer childishness, Sister, as thou Art, I was once. (Alas!) although that now I'me chang'd by age, even just so neat, so fair My count'nance was, so golden was my hair, Just such a cherry lip, just such a Rose, I did in th'middle of my cheek disclose; 'Twas my delight, then, Silvia, (now I find A foolish one it was) to hunt the Hind, Follow the footsteps of wild beasts, my net Spread to untrap the birds, take care to whet My dart; and if I did but chance to spy Some youthfull Shepheard cast an am'rous eye, I looked down with scorn, and with disdain, Counting what was my grace to be my pain, And nought was more displeasing unto me Then see me pleasing unto others be: But yet at length, time and th'importunate Pray'rs of my faithful lover, did abate That Virgin frost, Sister, I was (and blesse The hour) o'recome at last, I do confesse, And in one night's black shade I did learn more Then I had done in all my life before:

So now I did my former folly know, I quite renounc'd both Cynthia's; life and bow: And so I hope thou wilt too, and at last Aminta's sighs may melt thy flinty breast. How canst thou choose but love him? canst deny He's handsom? then pray tell the reason, why? Thinkst thou he loves thee not? or does love any Better than thee, though he be lov'd by many? If so, why do's he so thy love pursue? Think'st him not enough noble? if thou do Though from this Rivers god the third thou be, Third from great Pan the shepherds god is he. Why then despi'st thou him? thinkst thou the lilies Of the fair cheeks of fairest Amarillis, Are not as beautiful as thine? yet he Thou seest despiseth her, and follows thee; She follows him and seeks his love, and thou, Though he seeks thine, refusest his; pray now Imagine, he, thus crost by thy disdain (God grant th'imagination be but vain) Should leave thee and take her, I fain would know Whether it would not grieve thee yea or no? 'Tis better to accept him then, by half, Then taking her both at thy folly laugh.

Sil.

Let 'minta and his loves disposed be, As best him pleaseth little't imports me: Nor who his love has, so I do it misse, Care I, mine he can't be, since I'me not his: And though he mine were, his I would not be.

Daph.

From whence proceeds this hatred now from thee? If I were thee I'd strive to love him rather.

Sil.

It's from his love.

Daph.

Strange child of such a Father, When was fierce tyger born of gentle lamb? Or when from Swan's egge a black crow e're came? Sister thou cheatest or thy self or me.

Sil.

I hate his love, cause he my honesty: And I should love him while he would not crave Ought else of me but what my self would have,

Daph.

Thou onely wil'st thy hurt, he only would Wish that to thee which wish himself he should:

Sil.

Daphne, or talk of somewhat else, or hold Thy peace I pray.

Daph.

O gods! do but behold This perverse wench! but prethee Sister do, But answer this, If that another sue Should for thy love, would'st thus requite his pain?

Sil.

Who would entrap my chastity, the same Requite should find from me, what e're he be, Whom thou stil'st lover, I am enemy.

Daph.

The Ram unto the ewe dost thou esteem Or to the tender heifer the bull deem, En'mies to be, or doth the Turtle dove Reject her mate, because he doth her love: Seest thou the fragrant season of the year, How every thing doth sweet and green appear? This pleasant verdure covering o're the plains,

Invites, alas, not only nymphs and Swains, But very beasts to love, and dost not see, How all things in the world inamoured be? See how those two doves whisper, with what willing, And joynt consent as 'twere they two are billing! You Nightingale which hops from grove to grove Still as she hops, she sings, I love, I love; The cruell Adder who doth stop his ears. And having stung, will not be charm'd by tears, Or cries, is charm'd by sweetest love: 'ith woods The tigers love, the fishes in the floods Love too, but thou more cruel then a beast Denyest sweet love an entrance in thy breast; But what talk I of beasts; seest thou each tree In this vast forrest? they inamoured be. Behold with what a sweet embrace the vine Does her dear consort lovingly intwine, The firr doth love the firr, the pine the pine; You stubborn oak, which scarce the wind can move, Is mov'd by th'power of divinest love, Hadst thou a spir't of love, or if of stone, Were not thy heart, thou'dst hear it sigh and groan, And utter forth it's am'rous plaints: yet thou For all this art not mov'd to love, why now Wilt thou than plants or beasts be more unkind? Change, fondling that thou art, change, change thy mind:

Sil.

When I of plants the am'rous sighs shal hear I'l likewise be in love, til then forbear.

Daph.

Well though thou now laugh at, and dost disdain My faithful counsels; know that to thy pain Thou wilt repent, thou dost not while thou may Them follow; for be sure there comes a day, When what's to thee a pleasure and delight, Shall be thy greatest grief, thy greatest spight; And as thou now disdainest others, so, Thou'lt then despise thy very self; and know Those so clear springs in which thou oft dost use Thy most resplendent beauty to peruse, Thou'lt leave forsaken and neglected now, Or stand amazed at thy wrinkled brow But why speak I of this? since 'tis a sure And common evil we must all endure: I'l tell thee more, and mark me what I say, 'Tis what the sage Elpino t'other day Recounted unto Licoris the fair The gentile Licoris: whose beauty rare, Has such pow'r o're Elpino, as his art In singing ought t'have o're her pliant heart; If there be any debt in love. He told It before am'rous Thir's and Battus old, Just at the entrance of Aurora's cave, Where writ in golden Characters you have; All you that are profane depart from hence, And said that it was told to him long since By the grand Poet, who so high did sing

The life of many a Heroe, many a King, Who dying did leave him his pipe, There is Sayes he, at bottom o'th profound abysse, A horrid cave, vomiting smoak with fire, And a most constant stink out of the dire Fornace of Acheronta, where do lie, In torments dark, and that eternally Those women; who perswaded here above, Neither by pray'rs, nor tears, could be to love: And 'tis a just, and well deserved law, Smoak should force tears, which pity could not draw: Then if thou thus thy cruelty continue, Look to be consort with that curst retinue.

Sil.

But what said Licoris to this, and how Answer'd she him;

Daph.

Why see! thou fain wouldst know Others affairs, but car'st not for thine own: She answered with her eyes.

Sil.

With eys alone How could she answer him?

Dap.

Those very ey's Were, as 'twere, messengers, or rather spies; Which mix'd with pleasant smiles to him made known, Licoris and her heart were now his own: Except he did believe, faith was as rare In them as beauty; she as false as fair.

Sil.

Why should he so believe?

Daph.

knowst thou what Thir's, That famous Master both of Love and Verse, Did write, when burning with the flames of love

He wandring through the forrest, did both move The nimphs & swains to laughter? but though he Did things worth laughter, yet his writings be Not to be jeer'd; this in a tree he writ, With th'tree it grew, and there I oft read it: The looking-glasses of false hearts your eyes Are; and in them all deceit hidden lies, But what avails't since shun them love denies:

Sil.

I here in pratling cast my time away, And had forgot this is th'appointed day, In which we ought to go, as we were wont, In Eliceto for to raise the Hunt. Prethee do thou stay for me while i'th nigh Fountain I cleanse the sweat, and dust which I, Got yesterday by hunting of a Deer, Which at the last I kil'd;

Daph.

I'l stay thee here Perhaps I'l bath me too, but first my gate, I'l homewards bend for it's not yet so late As't seems, and thou at home for me mayst stay: But in the mean time think of that, I pray, Concerns thee more then hunting, and say I Bid thee take a fools counsel, so god bu'y.

Act. 1. Scen. 2.

Aminta and Thirsis.

A.

I have with my laments, my sighs, my groans To pity moved, both the rocks and stones; But mov'd I have not nor can hope to move Her I adore, to pity or to love: Remorseless Nymph, I know not which I best May stile thee, or a woman; or fierce beast For thou to be a woman dost deny, Since more than best'al is thy cruelty.

Thir.

The lambs on tender grasse, wolves on lambs feed, And both do satisfie their hungry need: But though love feed on tears, the more it have Of tears and sighs, it still the more doth crave;

Amin.

Alas! alas! love long since with the food Of my tears satiate is, now for my blood

It onely thirsts, and therefore to the eyes Of it and that cru'l nymph I'l mak't a prize:

Thir.

Why talkst thou thus Aminta? if unkind And cruel she be, thou'lt another find.

Amin.

How can I find another, when that I Can't find my very self, or pray whereby Can one lost to himself e're pleasure gain?

Thir.

Do not despair, at length thou mayst obtain This cruel fair; time teaches men to check, Lions, and bring fierce tygers to their beck:

Amin.

But whilst that I wait out this long delay, I shall with grief be quite consum'd away:

Thir.

Short the delay will be, for the disdain Of woman's kindled soon, soon quench't again: They're moveable by nature, nor the wind, Can breath more changes then a womans mind: Lighter than feathers, and will readier bow, Then ripened ears before a storm; but thou, Of thy condition farther let me know, And the hard fortune of thy love, for though Thou long since toldst me that thou wast in love, Yet thou hidst from me, who it was could move In thee this am'rous fire, although that faith, And ever constant friendship 'twixt us hath Oblig'd thee to discover that to me, Which unto others might concealed be.

Amin.

Thirsis, I am content to tell thee what The woods and mountains know, but men know not, And 'tis but just that I being now so nigh,

My death, should leave the reason why I die To some dear friend, who may when I am gone Report it, or may grav't in tree or stone, Near the place where my bloodlesse corps shall lie, That if that pit'lesse Nymph chance to pass by. She may stamp on't with her proud foot, and boast, That her dire cruelty my life me cost; And that she may rejoyce to see me lie, There as a trophee of her victory. Perhaps at last she may (but things above Desert I hope) both pity then and love Him dead, who living by her hate was slain, And with salt tears may wish me back again; But listen now.

Thir.

Proceed; I wel thee mind, And am to help thee at thy need inclin'd.

Amin.

I was as yet a child & scarce could crop Those fruits the willing trees did seem to drop, From their full loaden branches near the earth, When full of jollity and harmlesse mirth, Not knowing love, or caring it to know, With th' sweetest nymph I did familiar grow, That in the wind e're spread a golden hair, It was the rich Cidippe's daughter fair; Grandchild unto the great Montan, whose flocks And mighty heards fill both the woods and rocks, Silvia, the glory of the woods, the fire Of every heart, of all souls the desire:

With her I kept such faithful company, That 'twixt two Turtles ne're the like could be; Nothing to me than Silvia was dearer, Near were our houses, but our hearts were nearer: Her age was equal almost with my own, But 'twixt our thoughts, there was no diff'rence known; With her I often us'd to spread the snares, To catch the simple birds, or fearful hares: With her I us'd to force swift Does to flight, Equal the prey was, equal the delight; But whilst we thus made prize of beasts: a prize My self was made to her all-conqu'ring eyes; And like a weed which of it self doth grow, So grew there in my bosom, from I know Not yet what root, a strange and unknown fire, Which made me Silvia's presence more desire: Her eyes were food to me, sweet, but did leave A bitter; did me of all joyes bereave: And though my sighs, alas, now were not few, Yet of those many sighs no cause I knew. Thus was I, e're that I could it discover, By her fair ey's forc'd to becoem a lover: But how I came to know't at last, do thou Take notice pray.

Thir.

Proceed and tell me how.

Amin.

When Phoebus bright his hottest beams displai'd, Silvi' and Phillis once chanc't' seek a shade

Under a spreading beech, when, lo, a Bee Buzzing about Phillis fair cheeks chanc'd see The lovely red she did in them disclose, Did make the Bee mistake them for a Rose, And think to gather honey from that sweet, She lights: but with too harsh salute did greet Those rosean cheeks, and Phillis with the pain, Of the sharp sting most sadly did complain; When my Dear Silvia told her: Phillis pray Lament not thus, I soon will take away Thy pain with an inchantment, which I learn'd Of the sage Aresia, and I earn'd It well, for in requital of it I Gave unto her my horn of Ivory, VVhich was adorn'd with gold. Thus having said Her sweeter lips to Phillis cheek she laid: Just where the Bee had stung her, and she there Muttred some words which well I could not hear: But O most wonderful! Phillis had ease Immediately, and all her pain did cease. VVhether it was her Magick art or no, That so soon wrought the cure I don't well know, But I believe in her sweet mouth was such Vertue that it did heal all it did touch. I, that before had so restrain'd the fire Of love, that nothing else I did desire, But Silvia's presence, and a paradice It was to feast my self on her fair ey's,

Or hear the sweet tunes of her warbling voice, More pleasing far to me than was the noise, The little pibbles make in murm'ring sloods, Or than the wind when't sings among the woods Was now by an ambitious spirit inclin'd, To a desire which wish'd my lips were join'd To hers. This amorous desire me taught, A very subtile craft which at length brought Me wish'd successe (do but observe how love Makes mens ingenio's nimbly for to move) Her wondrous cure on Phillis I did see, The sight of that taught me to feign a Bee Had bit my under lip, and though her pray I durst not for to take my pain away By her inchantment, yet did my lament Expresse as 'twere to her my hearts intent; She harmlesse soul pittying the grief that I Made shew of, proffered freely to apply Her cure to my feign'd wound, which added fuel, To my hearts wound, and made it far more cruel. Oh Thirsis! never Bee did suck from Rose, Honey so sweet as I did suck from those Sweet cherries of her lips, though every kisse, Me thought did yet want some part of its blisse, For though I had a ful desire, yet I Was or restrain'd by fear, or modesty: But whilst this honey mixt with gall descended Thus to my heart, I sorry so soon ended

Should be my blisse, feign'd that her charms did ease Me somewhat, but not quite the pain surcease; Which made her willingly to take the trouble, That to me sweet inchantment to redouble; Thus so increas'd this love within my breast, That at the last 'twas forced to leave its nest: Nor would it be kept secret, so one day, When we were sit as we were wont to play; Shepherds and Nymphs together on the grasse, Each lad some secrets whispering to his lasse: I Silvia told, Silvia, I burn for thee, And sure shal die unlesse thou helpest me; Strait at my words there in her face arose A blush both shame and anger did disclose: Bow'd to the ground her fair face was, and she With nought but an harsh silence answer'd me, And from me turn'd, nor ever would she deign, Since that to see or hear me speak again, Though ful three years are past and I have tri'd All means I could to get her pacifi'd, Except my death; and could but that appease Her anger, I methinks could die with ease, And should account it highly worth my pain, If I by death her pity could obtain, And for my faith would deem it recompence, Should she lament me when I'm gone from hence; But why should I wish grief unto that breast, In which I fixed have my joy, my rest?

Thir.

But is it possible if she should hear Thee say thus much? she longer could forbear, This true love to requite?

Amin.

That know not I, But when I'd speak she more my words doth fly, Than doth an aspe the charmer.

Thir.

Trust to me, Aminta, and I will procure that she Shal hearken to thee.

Amin.

Nothing from her can you, Thirsis, procure, or if procure you do That I speak to her, yet alas in vain Will be my speech, and I shall nothing gain:

Thir.

Why dost despair so?

Amin.

Just oc∣casion I Have to despair, nay rather for to die; For the wise Mopsu's long since did foreshow This my hard fortune. Mopsus, who doth know The vertue of all herbs, and talk of birds.

Thir.

Which Mopsus speakst thou of? of him whose words Are honi'd, and who has a friendly smile In's face, but in his heart has nought but guile: Be of good cheer, Aminta, do not fear, Those uncouth prophesies he sels so dear To unadvised persons, I reject As foolish, for they never have effect; This know I by experience, and I, Cause he hath thus foretold, do hope thereby

That in thy love all things wil succeed wel,

Amin.

If by experience thou canst ought me tell Which comfort may my hope, pray don't it hide,

Thir.

When I came hither first for to a∣bide Within these woods, I knew and did esteem, This Mopsus such as thou dost now him deem; I had by chance occasion for to go To the great Citie; which I let him know As hoping his advice, when thus to me He spake, To the great land thou go'st, said he, Where the sly Citizens and those o'th Court Of simple rusticks make a scoffing sport; Therefore be sure this counsel take of mine, Come not near those whom thou shalt see to shine With gold and stones, and other vain devices, But above all (and slight not my advices) Beware, least thou be led by thy ill fate, Or youthful curios'ty to the gate O'th magazine of pratlers. Then strait I Demanded of him, what that place might be? In this place Sorceresses live, said he; Who by inchantments do all things unvail, What to thee seems pure gold, to them is pale And sordid brasse, those arches thou with trea∣sure Deemst fil'd, are dirt and mire out of measure;

There are the wals built with great art, and do Speak themselves, and to speakers answer too: Nor do they answer a dumb voice alone, As Eccho here, but in words one by one, Tables and stools and all go tittle tattle, And should a dumb man enter here he'd prattle. But ther's worse evil yet, here maist thou be Chang'd into water, fier, or a tree, Water of tears, and fire of sighs: content, With this fond foresight I to th'City went, Where guided by blest fate I chanc'd to spy The happy lodge, as I was passing by; With curious eye expecting something worth My sight, I chanc'd to hear at length come forth Out of the gate such pleasant murm'ring noises, Of nymphs and Sirens the harmonious voices, As made me stand astonied with delight, The object pleas'd so both my ears and sight. Just by the gate as guard to things so good, A man of a magnan'mous aspect stood; To whom I do not wel know which I were Best give that stile of Duke, or Cavalier, He with benign and grave aspect together, Invited great and smal to come in thither, Nor did he me poor simple soul despise; O gods what did I see there! near mine eyes Enjoy'd such blessed sights, nymphs ful as fair, As heavenly goddesses, or far more rare: Beauties more bright then glittering Phaebus beams,

When, at his rise he guild's the eastern streams; There sate Apollo, and the Muses nine, Shining in all their Graces, so Divine; And, 'mongst the Muses, sate the sage Elpin. Then was I ravished, with a high desire, Then, first I flam'd with a Poetick fire; I sang the lives of Kings, oth 'ancient times, Scorning a mean verse, or pastorall rimes; And, though again I to these woods return'd, By my ill destiny: yet still I burn'd With some part of that fire: yet did abound, My Pipe, still, with a more then rurall sound. But, envious Mopsus, chancing me to spy, One day cast at me a Malignant eye: Whereby, I hoarse became, and then long time I silent was, and sung no more in rime. Seen by the Wolfe, Pastors supposed me, Which caus'd my silence: but that wolfe was he; This I have told thee, that thou maist perceive, How willing is this Mopso to deceive, And void of faith, and therefore cause he will Thee void of hope, I'd have thee hope more still.

Amin.

It pleases me extreamly, for to heare What thou hast told, then of my life the care To thee I do commit.

Thir.

Let me alone, I care will take of it, as of my own; Ile go see what for thee I can prevaile, Then in an houre to meet me do not faile.

CHORUS.

MOst blessed age of gold! not cause the floods Stream'd down pure snow, white milk: nor cause the woods Distill'd sweet hony, or, the free earth bore Her fruits untouch't, nor had her bowells tore; As yet by th' labr'ing ploughman, lambs might erre Through the thick forrests, without noise or fear; Nor yet because no winters clouds begun T 'ecclipse that Radiant Splendor of the Sun, With which it's warme and pleasant beames did bring The wish'd-for happ'nesse of a constant spring; Nor wandring pines did yet, with sails unfold, For warr or gain compass the late known world. But, only cause that foolish, and that vain, Idol of errors, and deceit, that name So without substance, which the Vulgar, mad, Did afterwards call Honour, as yet had No Power to play the Tyrant, or controule The Peace and Freedome of a joviall soule.

But nymphs and pastors sweetly liv'd, nor knew Any delight, but what from freedom grew, Not subject, but to law perform'd with ease Which nature writ; Is lawful if it please. No need there was of Cupids torch to move Or shafts to force the Nymphs and Swains to love, Their very sports inflam'd them and their smiles They mix with their sweet words, and then e're while, Both with their sweeter kisses then the rose, Of her fair cheeks the Virgin did disclose Freely to all; which now alas are blown, To the delight and pleasure but of one; Then often by the waters of a bright Spring, lovers us'd to take their full delight. But thou perversest honour first didst shade This fountain of delight, and thou first made This freedom cease, and thou didst first deny Water to quench his thirst whom love made dry; Thou taught'st those splendant beauties first to lie, Vail'd and obscur'd from every am'rous eye; Their all gold shining hair thou didst restrain, Into a net, and thou hast put a rein To all sweet dear lascivious acts, and we Think now that theft which us'd loves gift to be, And all these acts of thine turn to our pain:

But thou great Jove who with thy power dost reign, O're love and nature with a word, can'st tame The greatest Monarchs and whose very name Strikes terrour, why alas dost take delight, To disturb us poor miscreants? kings of might And power best fit thy thoughts, disturb their peace, And grant great god that we may live at ease, And by thy divine providence be hurl'd Into the golden—oth' ancient world. We'l hope, since there's no joy, when once one dies We'l hope; that as we have seen with our eies The Sun to set, so we may see it rise.

Act. 2.

Scen. 1.

Satyre alone.

SMall is the Bee, much smaller is her sting, Yet doth its wound both pain & sorrow bring, But what's more smal then love? since it conceals It self within such minute parts, and steals Into the smallest spaces, now it rests Within the valley of two alp-like breasts: Now creeps and hides it self within the fair And curled tresses of a golden hair: Now under twinkling eye-brows, now i'th' sleek And rosie dimples of a laughing cheek; Yet are it's wounds, it's plagues, so sad, so sore, That nought can be imagin'd torment more. Ah me! my very bowels and my heart Boil o're with blood, and like a cruel dart, So Silvia's fair ey's pierce me, I may say Cruel Love; but far more cruel Silvia,

Cru'ler then woods, Oh! how wel doth agree Thy nature with thy name, wel did he see That it impos'd thee, woods in their green brakes Do hide fierce lions, tigers, wolves and snakes, Thou under covert of thy sairest breast, Hid'st anger, hatred and disdain, which beasts Are worse by much (alas) than those of prey, As lions, tygers, wolves or snakes; for they May be appeased, but ay me! these are Such, as will not be charm'd by gift or pray'r; Thou slights the flowr w^ch from the fields I chose Because thy cheek flowers much fairer showes. I from the orchards bring thee apples fair, Which thou rejectst disdainful, cause there are In thy fair bosome apples far more rare. I bring thee sweetest honey, even such From hives I stole thou, deignst it not to touch Cause on thy sweet lips sweeter ther's by much; But if my poverty permits me not To give unto thee any thing but what In thee's more sweet and fair, my self then take; Unjust, why shouldst thou such a gift forsake? I'm not to be despised, no, for I Saw my self in the sea when it did lie Becalm'd & free from waves, this my fierce, stern And sanguine look, these shoulders large, this arm So strong and nervous, this rough shaggy breast, These big-bon'd thighs of mine, and all my rest So well knit members, are a sign that I Am strong and lusty, if believ'st not, try;

What wil't do with these tender fooles, whose sleek Face, scarce allowes them down upon their cheek? Women, in show, and Workes they be, nor are Skill'd in ought else, but to dispose each haire, In it's due order; ther's not one that dare Follow thee through the woods, to hunt the Bear, Or, durst encounter wilde Boares for thy sake. I'me not so ugly, no: nor dost forsake Me, 'cause I am thus form'd, alas, but why? Because I'm poor, thou dost thy love deny. Alas, the Villages do follow now The custom of the Mighty Cities: how Well may the golden age this called be, Since gold alone Commands imperiously? O! thou, who first didst teach the way, to sell Divinest love, may torments, worse then hell, Still waite and tend upon thee; maist thou dy Unpitied let thy cold ashes ly Unburied; let Nimphs and Shepherds cease Passing to say, Soule, do thou rest in Peace; Let the raine wet thee, move thee may the wind; Let flocks and strangers too, be so unkind, As for to trample on thee, thou first sham'd The Nobility of love, not to be nam'd; Horrid and Monstrous, 'tis not to be told,

How Love is made the Price of abject Gold. But, why in vaine lament I? since I see, Beasts, for their safety, use those Armes, which be, Allotted them by Nature, Tigers paw's Use for defence, Lions their teeth and claw's; The Stag does for her safety use to fly, A womans weapon is her Beauty. Why? (Then since all these do use their nat'ral armes To conquer foes, or save themselves from harms) Should not I when that nature ha's me made Apt for to ravish, make use of the trade? I'l force, I'l ravish what she me denies, Nor will be moved with her pray'rs nor cries. Not long ago I told was by a Swain, That in the fountain lies in yonder plain; She often baths her self, there I intend To hide me in the bushes, to the end That when she comes I may be sure to take Hold on her; what resistance can she make 'Gainst me, poor tender soule? and for her cries, I'l neither them nor of her beauty prize The power. Oh if I can but once entwine, This hand within her locks, why then she's mine, Nor shal the gods release her, til that I For my revenge my armes in blood do dy.

Act. 2. Scen. 2.

Daphne and Thirsis.

Daph.

THirsis, as I thee told, I long since thought, Amintas did love Silvia, and have sought, God knows, all way's to further this his love, And shall the more, since thou art pleas'd to move Me in it: but I rather had by far Chuse for to tame a lion, or fierce bear, Then such a simple girle, who does not know How piercing be her beauties armes, and though She others kils, yet is her self stil sound, And wounding others knows, not how to wound.

Thir.

And where's that child so simple han't a mind, As soon as out of swathling bands, to find

Arts to seem handsom and to make her please? And how to kil with pleasing? and with ease Can tell what armes they be cause death? nay more, What armes they be which life again re∣store:

Daph.

Who mistresse is of so much art?

Thir.

As though Thou knewst not Daphne, 'tis the same doth shew Flight to the winged birds, and doth infuse Swimming to fishes, teaches Buls to use Their hornes, and makes Juno's proud bird to spread Her Argus-eye-deckt feathers o're his head:

Daph.

I'd very fain know how you cal this same Mistress of arts?

Thir.

Why Daphne is her name.

Daph.

Out filthy liar that thou art.

Thir.

why fool Art thou not able then to keep at school A thousand girls, although no need there is In this same Art of Love of Mistresses, For nature is their mistresse, though, 'tis true, The mother and the nurse bear a share too.

Daph.

Come, thou too knavish art, in sum I'l tel Thee that I am not yet resolved well, If Silvia be so simple as she feigns Her self to be; for down in yonder plains Where the clear waters of the silent lake Incircled round a pretty Island make, I t'other day saw Silvia counsel take,

How she the golden tresses of her head In pretty curls might o're her forehead spread, And then how she might fittest o're them place Her snow-white vail, o're that with better grace Order some fragrant flowers, with lilies fair Her white neck she'd adorn; and so compare Which was the whitest, now a lovely rose, To her sweet cheeks to see which did disclose The liveliest hue; then with delight would she Smile, as 'twere boasting of the victory: Methought she seem'd to say, I onely do For your disgrace base flowers carry you, Not for my ornament, since all may see How much in beauty you must yeild to me; But whilst she flatt'red thus her self, her eye By chance she turn'd, and turning did espie That I sat laughing in th'adjacent bowers, At which she blush'd, and strait let fall her flowers; When laugh the more to see her blush did I, Which her cheeks tinged in a deeper dy; But cause that onely on one side her head Her hair was gathered, on the other spread; She fearful I should see again, poor soule, As 'twere from the clear fountain counsel stole, And though she were undrest, yet pleas'd was she That, so undrest, she look'd so handsomely:

I saw it and was silent.

Thir.

Thou dost tell What I before told thee; guest I not well?

Daph.

Well didst thou guesse, but I have been told how Pastors and nymphs were not so sly as now In former times, nor young was I so bold: The world do's grow more wicked, as more old.

Thir.

'Tis true that then Citizens us'd not so Oft in the Countrey come, nor Rusticks go Unto the City; now their crafty race As well as customes do with us take place; But to our purpose canst not thou procure, That the hard-hearted Silvia may endure To hear Amintas speak alone, or't least In company with thee, which she'l think best.

Daph.

I'l tell thee, Silvia now so coy doth grow That well how to obtain it I don't know.

Thir.

Amintas too respectfully is nice.

Daph.

True sayst thou Thirsis; there can no worse vice In lovers be; he that would learn the art Of divine love must lay respect apart, Must dare demand, solicite, importune; And if by these means he can't overcome, Must ravish too: Thirsis, thou knowst so well, That I am sure there's none need thee to tell, The nature of a woman, if she flies 'Tis cause she'd be pursu'd; if she deny's,

Alas 'tis onely cause that she would have Men to force that which first they did but crave, She fights to be o'recome: laugh not at me That I speak thus in considence to thee, And that I speak in rimes, but thou knowst, Thirsis, I can for rimes return thee more than verses.

Thir.

Thou hast no reason to suspect that I Should e'r tell ought against thy modesty. But I conjure thee, Daphne, by the dear Remembrance of thy youth that thou wilt here Lend thy assistance with me for relief Of poor Amintas, who else dies with grief.

Daph.

How neatly he conjures me, by the joy Of mine that's past, and by my present'noy? But what wilt have me do?

Thir.

Judgement and skil I know thou hast, then onely, that thou will.

Daph.

In sum I'l tell thee then Silvi' and I This day at Dians well, which is hard by, Intend to wash, where an inviting shade For nymphs and shepherds by a beech is made; And there she'l naked bath her tender wast.

Thir.

What then?

Daph.

What then! if thou hast wit thou maist Guess at the rest.

Thir.

I guess, but do not know Whether he'l have the heart to come or no.

Daph.

If come he wo'n't, for ought that I can say, Stay until she looks after him he may.

Thir.

He so deserves.

Daph.

But, Thirsis, may not we (At leisure now) talk somewhat too of thee? Why dost not thou a sweet-heart get? Alas Thou'rt yet but young! and scarce dost four years passe Of the fifth lustre (and full well do I Know when these arms have danc't thee lullaby) Why wilt neglected live, and void of joy? Since without love there's no delight (my boy)

Thir.

A man may shun fond love, and yet not fast From Venus pleasures, he the sweet do's taste Without the bitter.

Daph.

Most unsavorie 'tis: The sweet's not seasoned with some bitternesse Soon satiate.

Thir.

Better once satisfide: Then before meat and after to abide Stil hungry.

Daph.

Thirsis, if the meat you have doth please; the more you tast, the more you crave

Thir.

But who can alwaies present have that food Which, though he's hungry, to his taste is good.

Daph.

Who seeks no good shal find none.

Thir.

There's no ease In seeking that, which found, 'tis true doth please; But if not found when sought torments us more. Thirsis wil ne'r a lover be, before That cruel love shal leave it's company Of sighs and tears, enough already I Have sigh'd and wept.

Daph.

Enough enjoyed though Perhaps thou hast not.

Thir.

Nor desire, if so

Dear I must buy it.

Daph.

Well if nothing move Thee can, at length thou wilt be forc'd to love:

Th.

Love cannot force who's out of his command.

Dap.

But who is't can out of loves empire stand?

Thir.

Who fears his witching charms and flies away.

Daph.

Where wilt thou fly if love his wings display?

Thir.

But love when young ha's his wings short, and so Can't overtake the man will from him go.

Daph.

The birth of love, there's no man can dis∣cry, And when discri'd, his wings grown great, he'l fly.

Thir.

Some by experience his first birth can tel.

Dap.

Thirsis, since thou pretendst to know so wel That Art, we'l see if thou canst from him run, This I protest to thee, I'l not be won A hand, a foot, or eye-brow for to move, Either to help or aid thee in thy love.

Thir.

Fy cruel one then couldst thou dead me see? If thou wilt have me love, why, love thou me.

Daph.

Why dost thou mock me, Thirsis? perhaps thou Dost not deserve so fine a mistresse; how Many a colour'd and smooth face be guiles.

Thir.

I do not mock thee; no, but thou mean∣whiles With this pretext my love dost not accept; This is the common trick: but if reject

My love thou dost, I without love will live.

Daph.

Thirsis, maist thou contently live and thrive, More then e're yet thou didst, maist live in ease And leisure, without which love ne're doth please.

Thir.

Daphne, this leisure god hath granted me, One who a god may here esteemed be; To whom on verdant plains and cliffy rocks, From sea to sea we feed our herds and flocks: Thirsis, said he, let others take a care, To chase the wolves, and thieves, let others share Rewards unto the servants; others guard My wal'd-in sheep; thou (from these labours bar'd,) Shalt sing: then just it is my pipe should move, Not in fond fancies of a worldly love; But that in higher strains it onely hollow The ancestors of my Jove, or Apollo. (For which of those to call him well, in troth, I know not, since he do's resemble both) Progenitors of greater worth by far, Then or bright Saturn or the Heavens are; (Low Muse to such a merit,) but yet he, Sing I or clear or hoarse, rejects not me; His praise I dare not chant, nor well can I Worthily honour him, but silently, And with due reverence; but his altars ne'r Without my flowers or sweet perfumes yet were: And when I do forget him to adore, Or worship; then let Thirsis be no more:

Let Rivers change their beds, the Soane ad∣vance To wash the Persian banks, the Tigris France.

Daph.

High ho, thou'rt flown too high, prethee descend Unto our purpose.

Thir.

Daphne, I intend, That thou shouldst as thou go'st along the way Endeavour for to soften Silvia; I'l procure that he come, this task of mine I doubt will harder be by far than thine, Then go thy waies:

Daph.

I do, but I did mean By this talk part of which thou didst not dream;

Thir.

If I can wel discern him by the face, Aminta 'tis appears in yonder place.

Act. 2. Scen. 3.

Aminta Thirsis.

Amin.

I'Le see what Thirsis may have done for me, In what to do he promis'd; but if he Have nothing done, why then, before that I Will be consum'd to nothing, I will die Before the rigid Silvia; that abate My death, may somewhat of her cruell hate, She (that so pleas'd is with that plague, the Dart Of her fair ey's ha's gi'n my love-sick heart) Wil with that wound which my brest shal endure From mine own hands be doubly pleas'd I'm sure.

Thir.

I new's of comfort bring thee, and con∣tent, Then deare Aminta, cease thus to lament.

Amin.

What say'st thou Thirsis, must I live or die?

Thir.

I bring thee life and safety, for if I

The other had, I'd not it bring, but need There is of courage, man, and that with speed?

Amin.

What need is there of courage, pray. and where Must I employ it?

Thir.

If thy Silvia were Within a wood, encompass'd round with rocks, Where lions and fierce Tigers by whole flocks Did range, no way to scape by strength or art, To go to rescue her, would'st have the heart?

Amin.

More joyfull farr then on a holy day, A Countrey wench doth run to dance or play.

Thir.

If she 'mongst murd'rers were, I fain would know, Whether thou dar'st unto her rescue go.

Amin.

I'd go more readier then the Stag does fly To the long-wish'd-for fountain, when he's dry.

Thir.

But greater proofes more courage do require.

Amin.

I would for Silvia's sake passe through the fire, Or through the floods, when down the Moun∣tains throw, With a full torrent, their dissolved snow; I'd go to hell it selfe, if hell could be, Where there is one so fair so good as she; But tell me pray, where is't?

Thir.

Hark then.

Amin.

Go on.

Thir.

Silvia attends thee naked and alone, At that same fountain call'd Diana's well;

Dar'st thou to go.

Amin.

Alas! what dost thou tell Me, Thirsis? naked and alone do's she Stay for me, sayst thou?

Thir.

Unlesse Daphne be There (who of our side is) alone I say.

Amin.

But naked prethee do's she for me stay?

Thir.

I say she there stayes naked for thee, but-

Amin.

But what? thou kilst me if that word thou put.

Thir.

But I can't tel if thou hadst best to go.

Amin.

Oh hard conclusion! which all the forego- Ing sweetnesse doth imbitter: with what art Dost strive to wound my almost bloodlesse heart? Is't not enough that thus unhappy I Am, but thou wilt increase my misery?

Thir.

Aminta, if thou wilt my counsel take, Thou mayst be happy:

Amin.

What, for the gods sake, Dost thou advise me;

Thir.

What! That thou be bold, And on what fortune thee presents lay hold.

Amin.

The gods I hope will keep me that I may Ne're think a thought to displease Silvia: I ne're displeas'd her yet, but by my love, Nor was't my fault, her beauties power did move Me to't: but let me when I cease to strive Silvia to please, no longer care to live.

Answer me now, If in thy Pow'r it were To leave her love, wouldst do't to ple asure her Love lets me not say so, nay 't does deny That I should think to leave her love, though I Could do't.

Thir.

Why then though leave her? love thou could'st; Yet, in despight of her, love her thou would'st.

Amin.

Not in despight, but yet I'd love her still.

Thir.

Why then thou love her would'st a∣gainst her will.

Amin.

Yes, certainly I should.

Thir.

Then dar'st thou not Against her will (fool as thou art) take what At first may hard and heavy seem, once past Sweeter and sweeter growes unto the last.

Amin.

Thirsis, love for me answers, and my heart Know's it's own means, but cannot them impart, Thee constant use ha's skil'd in loves great Art, But that ha's bound my tongue which bound my heart.

Thir.

Why then we wil not go.

Amin.

Yes go wil I: But not where thou dost deem.

Thir.

Whither?

Amin.

To die; To die alas I'l go, if this be all The favour thou hast done me.

Thir.

Think'st it small? Think'st Daphne counsel would to go, if find

In part she did not that 'twas Silvia's mind? And who can tell, it may be Silvia too Know's it her selfe, but would not have that you Should know she knows it; now, if thou dost crave Her full consent, thou do'st desire to have What would displease her most, and then (foole) where Is that desire of thine to pleasure her? Or if she would that thy injoyment were Thy theft, and not her gift, what need'st thou care?

Amin.

But who assures me such is her desire?

Thir.

Why see? thou do'st that certainty re∣quire, Which does and ought displease her, and which thou Ought'st not to seek: but pray imagine now That such were her desire, and thou not go, Equal the doubt is, the losse equal; so, I think it better that couragiously Thou like a man, than like a coward, die Ar't silent? thou'rt o'recome, confesse I pray This love Aminta; it occasion may Thy greater Vict'ry; let's go then.

Amin.

I pray.

Thir.

What, stay! seest not how fast the time does run?

Amin.

Pray let us think first w^ht is to be done.

Thir.

We by the way wil think the rest, but who Do's too much think things, seldom wel doth do.

CHORUS.

LOve, who can teach us thy mysterious art? Who thy divinest fancies can impart? Where may we learne them? who can them display? Since (though the mind them comprehend) a∣way? Arm'd with thy wing'd prowes, they soare a∣bove, Not learned Athens ere the art of love Could teach, nor its Liceo could it shew, Phaebus in Helicon thy art ne'r knew; He could discourse of love, 'tis true, but so, As if he did thy art but blindly know, Or were a learner, cold were his desires, Nor did his voice burn with celestiall fires, As sits thy power, nor could his thoughts arise To comprehend thy sacred mysteries; Thou only, Love, a worthy master art, In thy sublime, and more then heav'nly art; To rustick brests thou mak'st known those Di∣vine And most Celestiall Characters of thine,

Writ by thine own hand in anothers eye, Thy faithfull servants tongues thou dost untie: And mak'st them glide in pure and nobler stream's, Then ever issu'd from Poetick veines; By thee divinest love there's more exprest In broken words and speeches, then the best Of Orators can do, and more doth move Thy silence, then their Rhetorick, to love: Heart-conquering Love to others, leave will I To learn thy art in blind philosophy, Or from the learned schooles: I only will In faire ey's study this mysterious skill; And their high stiles and Poetry will lesse, Then shall my rough or rustick times, express:

Act. 3

Scen. 1.

Thirsis Chorus of Shepherds.

O Horrid cruelty! unheard! unseen! Or ever yet remembred to have been In humane brest; three hundred times, nay four Ingratefull sex; thou nymph ingrateful more. Why didst thou, Nature, show thy utmost art, Thus in adorning womans outward part? Why did'st her beaut'ous countenance indue With such a sun-like soul-bewitching hue? And didst afford to grace her mind within Nothing but falsenesse, cruelty, and sin. Negligent Mistresse! But ay me, my dear Aminta will have slain himself, I fear; 'Tis full three houres that round about the ground,

Where I him left I sought him, but have found Nor him, nor yet his footsteps, 'tis too plain I clearly see that he himself hath slain; But stay, perhaps those shepherds yonder be May tell me news of him, friends did you see Aminta or hear of him?

Chor.

Thou dost show So troubled; that the cause we fain would know Of this thy grief; from whence proceeds this sweat? This sorrow; tel us if thou think'st it meet.

Thir.

I fear Aminta's ill, did you him see?

Chor.

No him we have not seen, since that from thee Long since he parted; but pray tell us plain What dost thou fear?

Thir.

Lest he himself have slain.

Chor.

That he ha's slain himself! but what could move Him such an act to do?

Thir.

Hatred and love.

Chor.

Who two such potent enemies don't fear? What can't they do? but tel us pray more clear.

Thir.

His great love of a nymph, and her no smal Hatred of him.

Chor.

Nay prethee tell us all; This is a place of passage, and whilst you Relate it, news may brought be; perhaps too Himself may come mean-while.

Thir.

I wil∣lingly Recount it wil, that the just infamy Of such a strange ingratitude may rest

Upon that cruel and remorseless breast; Aminta told was (I alas was he That told it him and he was led by me, Now I repent me) that his Silvia dear This day with Daphne in a fountain clear Would bath her naked limbs, he thither went Not mov'd by his desire, but to content My importunities: oft back have gone He would; but that I still did thrust him on; Now when we come were to the fountain nigh; We thought we heard a womans woefull cry, And not far off we Daphne saw, her ey's Swollen with tears, when she saw us, her cries Did pierce the heav'ns, run and make haste, said she, Silvia is forc'd. Amintas presently, Not staying to hear more, flew away so Swift as I never yet saw swifter Do: I followed him; when, lo, we straightway see The beauteous Silvia ti'd unto a tree; The rope to tie her was her brightest hair, Which in a thousand knots intangled were About the plant; that girdle us'd to be The former warder of her chastitie, Was us'd now to her rape, and serv'd to bind

Unto the tree her snow-white hands behind. The very plant it self did condescend To this foule act, and seem'd as 'twere to lend It's ful assistance to the rape; for round About her legs two pliant twigs were bound; Just before her a cruel Satyre stood, With looks denoting villany and blood, Who finisht had to bind her; she poor heart Did strive with all her force and all her art, But what (alas!) could all her force or skil Prevail 'gainst him who had such strength at will; Aminta with his sharp wel-brandish'd dart Aim'd at, but mist, the cursed Satyres heart; I gather'd up what stones I could, but he Seeing us two, thought it was best to flee: We him pursu'd, Aminta as his flight Gave leave, turn'd back his ey's to have the sight Of her fair members, which more soft by far Seem'd than Swans down, and whiter much than are The snow-deck'd Alpes, but when we had in vain Pursu'd the rogue, he turning back again Accosts her thus, Pardon, O Silvia fair, These hands of mine, which with such boldness dare Approach thy members, for they're forc'd to loose

These knots which ministred to thy abuse; Then since that fortune has been pleas'd to send Them such a blisse, let it not thee offend.

Chor.

Words that would mollifie a heart of stone! What answer did she give him then?

Thir.

Why none: But looking down disdainfully, she tride, All that she could, her fairest breasts to hide; He from the tree begins her hair to loose; And thus he seem'd to say, Durst thou abuse These golden curls, base plant? which do to thee So great an honour, ah, unworthy be Thy branches of such knots; what vantage pray Can we poor Lovers boast of? Since trees may Enjoy those comforts which we want, en∣twine By force those locks which blesse these hands of mine By their bare touch; this done he from be∣hind Unties the knot, and does her hands unbind; In manner so as if he seem'd to fear Their touch, and yet to touch could not forbear; Then stoops that he might loose her feet, but she Finding her hands were now at libertie, Looks on him scornfully, says touch not, I

Am Dians nymph. I can my feet untie

Chor.

Can so much pride reign in so fair a heart? O for so good an act ingrateful part!,

Thir.

He did respectfully himself retire Not looking on her, though he did desire, Deny'd himself that pleasure, which on trial He fear'd would give her trouble of de∣nial; I heard and saw all this, and hid did lie, And though about to check her cruelty; Yet I with-held: but heare the most unkind Part of all yet; she did at length unbind Her self, scarce loose, nor bidding him adieu, Faster then fleetest Stag away she flew; And yet to fear I'm sure she cause had none, For his respect to her was ful wel known.

Chor.

Why did she fly then?

Thir.

She would of her rape The rescue attribute to her escape, Not to his modest love.

Chor.

Ingrateful too In this! but what said he? what did he do?

Thir.

I know not, I vext at her rigor, ran To overtake and hold her but in vain; For soon I lost her track, then turning, where I left Aminta, could not find him there; My heart presages ill, for this I'm sure He'd rather die than this sad chance endure:

Cho.

The custom 'tis (we know) of those that are In love, to threaten death, but very rare Are those effect it.

Thir.

But pray god that he One of those rare ones be not:

Cho.

He won't be So foolish, fear not.

Thir.

I'l go to the cave Of sage Elpino, where I sure shal have News of him if he lives, for that's his hant; There on his oaten pipe he us'd to chant Sweet songs, and there lament him of his love, And make the very rocks and mountains move; The Rivers stop their course to hear his layes, The trees incline, and wild beasts leave their preys.

Act. 3. Scen. 2.

Amintas Daphne Nerina.

Amin.

PItilesse pity Daphne sure was thine, When thou with-heldst this hand, this dart of mine; That so my death being delay'd by fate Might be more bitter by how much more late; And why dost trace me thus? or thinkst to force Hope into me by this thy vain discourse: What dost thou fear? that I my self should slay, Thou fear'st my good; then prethee goe away;

Daph.

Despair not thus Aminta, for if I

Know Silvia wel, 'twas shame that made her fly, Not cruelty.

Amin.

Alas! there is for me No way but to despair, since hope wil be As't ha's been yet my ruine, stil I find It strives as 'twere to blossom in my mind; And whispers to me live, and can ought be Worse then a life, to such a wretch as me?

Daph.

Live wretch, live stil I say, and let this be Support unto thee in thy misery; That if thy hope in life do but maintain thee, At length thar naked fair one it will gain thee.

Amin.

Both love and fortune, though that at the brink Of wretchednesse I was, yet did not think Me yet forlorn enough, until that I Had fully seen what fully both denie.

Ner.

Must I then alwaies have the luck to be The messenger of such sad news? ay me! Wretched Mantano! what sad heart wil thine Be when thou com'st to hear this newes of mine? O sad and des'late father thou, nay rather, By losse of thy dear Silvia, no more Fa∣ther!

Daph.

I a sad voice do hear.

Amin.

And I hear sound The name of Silvia, which my heart do's wound,

Who is it names her?

Daph.

it seemes at first sight To be Nerina, Cynthia's cheife delight, Who ha's so sweet comportment, so fair face, Such charming ey's, such a bewitching Grace.

Ner.

And yet alas, I'm forc'd to let him know Of this most fatal chance of thine, that so He may seek those unhappy bones, if no More rests of thee; oh! my deare Silvia, oh!

Amin.

Ay me, what say's she!

Ner.

Daphne,

Daph.

what, and why Do'st to thy self name Silvia, and then cry.

Ner.

Alas! with reason I lament her sad And cruel fate;

Amin.

What fate can be so bad To make thee thus lament? Ay me, I feele My heart a dying, as though pierc'd with steele, Is she alive?

Daph.

Prethee to us relate What thus thou mutter'st of her desp'rate fate.

Ner.

Ye Gods! why am I messenger? yet I Must tel't: did she, you know the reason why Come e'n now naked to my Lodg, and there Re-cloath'd her selfe again; she by her pray'r Prevail'd with me, that I would with her go In Eliceto for to hunt a Do. I pleas'd her, and we went when, neer the ground,

Gather'd together many Nymphs we found; Scarce had we spoke to them, when lo we see A mighty wolfe start from behind a tree, Great out of measure was he, and with blood His nose was di'd, he fiercely looking stood; Silvia streight to her bow an arrow fits, And she nere us'd to misse; so now she hits Him just upon the head, he fly's again Into the wood, she followes him amaine:

Amin.

O sad beginning, which do's pierce my heart! What end wilt have?

Ner.

I with another dart Follow'd her track, but at great distance, since She was i'th wood ere I could move me thence, Yet I her footsteps made a shift to trace, Until I came to the most desert place Of all the wood, where, lo, by chance I found My dearest Silvia's dart upon the ground, And not farr off from it I did espy That snow-white vaile, which I my selfe did ty Upon her head, which as you see is di'd With crimson gore, and looking round I spi'd Seven fierce wolves, which seem'd to lick the blood Of a nak'd body, about which they stood, Such was my hap, and so intent they were Upon their prey, they saw not I was there; So I return'd, and this is the full tale I tell of Silvia can, see here the vaile.

Amin.

Th'ast told too much, this vaile, and this blood be Sure tokens of her death.

Daf.

Ah poore wretch! he Is dead with greife too.

Ner.

No, he breathes, revives, 'Tis but a sudden fainting, see he lives.

Amin.

Greife, why? (alas!) do'st thou tor∣ment me so, And do'st not kill outright? if thou too slow Beest, or wouldst have my hand the instrument To do't, to this I'me very well content; And it shal execute that death which thou Refusest, or to do, or know'st not how; Then since the certainty of this we know, And nothing wants now to augment my woe; Why should I longer stay? oh Daphne! why Did'st not permit me, when I would, to die? To this sad end reserv'dst thou me? to this! Sure sweet my death had been, nay more a blisse, And greatest happinesse, had but that dart, Which cruel thou withheldest, pierc'd my heart. But heav'ns deni'd it, and did feare least that I by my sudden death forerun should, what They had ordain'd me, now my utmost ill They executed have, permit they will To make the full summe of their cruel∣ty:

And thou permi too must) that I may dy.

Daph.

Restrain this frantick humour of thy youth, Until we do heare further of the truth.

Amin.

Why do'st thou strive to keep me off with such Delay's? I've staid too long, and heard too much.

Ner.

I would I had been dumb.

Amin.

Nymph, pray bestow On me that blood-bespotted Vail; that so Small, but whole relique of my Silvia; That since no more there rests of her, it may Witnesse my death, and if there ought can be To do't may serve t' augment my misery; Though, I confess, 'tis not so small that I Need to increase it, to perswade me dy.

Ner.

Had I best giv't him, or deny't him? I Think for th' occasion I were best deny.

Amin.

What cruell one! so small a gift to me, Who am resolv'd nere to ask more of thee? In this too wretched fate, I yeeld with you, Then let the Vaile remain, and so adieu; I go to turn no more.

Daph.

Aminta, stay, Gods! with what fury do's he fly away?

Ner.

He flies so fast, that it will be in vaine To follow him, I down in yonder plaine

Wil seek Montano, but I do not know If I were best to tell the newes or no.

CHORUS.

THere is no cause, which death may move To bind him, ha's a noble heart; His faith's enough first, then his love, Nor is so hard of love the art. By him alone that loves wel, love is sought, And like a Merchandise by love is bought; And seeking love we often find A Glory, which we leave behind.

Act. 4.

Scen: 1.

Daphne, Silvia and Chore of Shepherds.

Daph.

THat wind that brought the sad new's of thy death, Brought with it likewise in the selfe same breath Thy present and thy future ill, but thou (Thanks be to God) art live and well, when now I deem'd thee dead; Nerina with such greife It told: had she been dumb, or others deaf.

Sil.

The danger sure was great, and she in∣deed Had just occasion to suspect me dead.

Daph.

A just occasion for to tell it, though, She had not, but let me thy danger know, And how thou scap'dst.

Sil.

I'l tell thee, I, in chase

Of a fierce wolf, unto the thickest place Came of the wood, so that I quite the track Did of his footsteps loose, but turning back Again, I spi'd him; by my shaft I knew That 'twas the same wolf first before me flew. He with some others feeding was amain, On a dead carkase they had newly slain; Of what I could not well discern, but he Leaving his prey came running after me. I stood him; with intent to make him feel, My dart than arrow was the sharper steel; And thou knowst well I'm mistresse of the art, Of brandishing and lancing wel a dart; I seldom use to misse, and so, when nigh Enough I thought him, I my dart let fly, But was it fault of fortune, or of me, I mist the wolf, and stuck it in a tree: The Wolf more fiercely at me runs, and I, Seeing 'twas vain to use my bow, did fly: He follows me, (now hear a chance,) my vail Hap'd to untie, and with the murm'ring gale Came through the woods, blew up and down, at last A bot a bough tangled it self so fast, That though my force redoubled was, my strength Could not prevail a rescue, but at length, Seeing no way to'scape, I thought it best Quite to untie it, and there ••et it rest; Which done, I ran again with all my might,

Feare adding thousand wings unto my flight, That he nere joyn'd me, and I came out safe Unto my lodge, where first of all I have Encountred thee, and wondred much to see Thee stand amaz'd, and wondring so at me.

Daph.

Thou liv'st, alas! but others not.

Sil.

doth't greive Thee Daphne then that I am still alive? Hat'st thou me so?

Daph.

no Silvia, I'm full glad Thou liv'st, anothers death 'tis makes me sad.

Sil.

Whose death?

Daph.

Aminta's.

Sil.

Is he dead, and how?

Daph.

Well how I cannot tell, nor do I know If it be certain.

Sil.

Strange! but can'st di∣vine What was the occasion of his death?

Daph.

why? thine.

Sil.

I understand thee not.

Daph.

The ti∣dings sad Brought of thy wretched death, such power had O're him, poore foul, and o're his wearied life, That I beleive 'thas brought him cord or knife.

Sil.

I hope that vaine will this suspect of thine Be of his death, as vain was that of mine; For when men come to the effect, they strive

(Let them boast what they wil before) to live.

Daph.

Silvia, thou know'st not what the fire of love Can in a heart that's not of marble move, But thine's more hard than stone, else thou be∣lieve Would'st him, for whom thou yet seem'st not to grieve; And would'st have lov'd him who far more did prize Thy love, than the dear apples of her ey's. I wel believ'd him, knew, and saw't, when he Having unloos'd the (Tigresse) from the tree, An act that would have forc'd thee him to love, Had'st had a heart; but what is't thee can move? I say I saw him there reverse his dart And with his ful force strive to pierce his heart; Nor did repent him, though at first he di'd It in his crimson gore; but once more tri'd To make it enter farther, and he sure Had pierc'd his heart, but I could not endure To see't, so staid him; yet believe the rage Of that smal wound did not at all asswage His desp'rate constancy, but onely made A freer passage for his thirsty blade.

Sil.

What dost thou tell?

Daph.

I saw him too when he First understood news of the death of thee To swound for grief; reviv'd, he fled away In fury with intent himself to slay:

And he'l have done it surely.

Sil.

Think'st thou so.

Daph.

I cannot doubt it.

Sil.

Oh my Daphne, oh Why followedst not to hinder him, with me Come now and seek to find him; for if he, Thinking me dead, resolv'd himself to kill, Sure now I live, remain in life he will.

Daph.

I follow'd him, and sought him, but in vain, For when he once got out of sight, again I could not find him, nor his footsteps; thou Then whither, prethee, wilt go seek him now?

Sil.

Alas let's go however, for if we Don't stay him, he will his own murd'rer be.

Daph.

Perhaps it grieves thee then that any one Should boast of killing him, but thee alone; Or cruel one dost think it scorn, his heart Should wounded be by any, but thy dart? Content thy self, how e're he dies, yet he Dies for thy sake, thou wilt his murd'rer be.

Sil.

Ay me! thy comfort's harsh, but now I find That grief of heart, which overswayes my mind; For his sad chance imbittered is the more, By how much I was rigorous before, And the remembrance of my cruelty Torments me now, I call'd it honesty, And so it was, but too severe by far, Too cruel since it did all pity bar;

Now I repent me.

Daph.

Strange! what do I hear? Pitiful thou? what can thy flint heart bear The least impress'on? weep'st thou? what can move These tears? are they of pity or of love?

Sil.

They tears of love not, but of pity, are.

Daph.

Pity to love is alwaies messenger, As lightning to the thunder.

Chor.

Oft when rest He hidden seeks within a virgins breast, Who had with too strict honesty before, Against his sly charms shut and barr'd the door: He of mild pitie his fond servant takes The shape and habit, and so entrance makes.

Daph.

Silvia, these tears of love be, 'tis too plain Art silent? dost thou love? thou lov'st in vain: O divine force of love! how justly thou Chastisest those who don't thy pow'r avow! Wretched Aminta! like the Bee who leaves Sorrow to him he stings, but yet bereaves Himself of life: so now thou victor art, And dying wounded hast that stony heart Which living thou ne'r couldst, and if thou be A wandring spir't, as I believe, then see Her tears, and though to thee all joy be past, Rejoyce that thou hast overcome at last. Lover in life, belov'd in death; if thy

Eate 'twere not to be lov'd til thou didst die, Or if this cruel one at no lesse price Would sell her love, then to him for it dies; See thou hast given her the price she sought, And with thy early death, her love hast bought.

Chor.

Dear price to him that gave it, but more griev- Ous far (alas) to her did it receive.

Sil.

Could I but with my love his life re∣gain, Or with my life call him from death again!

Daph.

Ah pitiful too late! and too late wise, Pity assists not where fate help denies.

Act. 4. Scen. 2.

Ergasto Chore of Shepherds Silvia Daphne.

Erg.

SO full my breast of pity is, and so Clogd up with horror, that I do not know Whither to turn me, nothing comes to sight, Nothing I hear, which doth not me affright.

Chor.

What newes brings our Ergasto? sure 'tis bad, His countenance and accent both are sad.

Erg.

I bring the sad news of Aminta's death:

Sil.

Ay me!

Erg.

The noblest shepherd that did breath Within these woods; whose sweet comport∣ments were Unto the nymphs, and muses both, so dear.

Chor.

And is he dead? and how? relate that we May his untimely end lament with thee.

Sil.

I dare not listen to this sad discourse,

Nor yet go near to hear it, though of force Hear it I must, wicked relentlesse heart Of mine, what fear'st thou? go receive that dart Which he brings in his tongue; that so there∣by May be made known thy heartlesse cruelty. Shepherd I come a partner here to be Of that grief, which thou promist's others, me Perhaps it more concerns, and as a due Debt of my rigor I receiv't from you.

Erg.

Nymph, I believe thee well; for at his death He with thy name gave up his latest breath.

Daph.

Now begin this sad story.

Erg.

I surround The Mount did with some nets, spread on the ground, When, lo, Amintas passed by, and he Was too much chang'd from what he us'd to be, Too troubled, and too sad; I ran and staid Him, though with much ado; he to me said: Ergasto I'd intreat a courtesie Of thee, 'tis this, to come along with me, And be a witnesse of what I shal do, But this I shal requier first of you, That by streight oath your firmest faith you bind,

Neither to hinder nor oppose my mind; I (for who could have thought so strange a case, Or such mad fury?) let his will take place And did conjure, Pan, Pales, Priapus, And all those gods are honour'd most by us; He at my oaths went forward, and me led There where the cliffy rock hangs o're it's head: Road it was none, for there no path at all, But from the mount, a precipice doth fall Into th'adjacent valley; here a stop We made, when I with looking from the top, Such was the height, so level to the ground, That with a giddinesse my head turn'd round; I started back, he smil'd to see me start, Which too much did assure my fearlesse heart: Then to me said, Ergasto, I'd have thee Recount to Nymphs and Pastors what thou'lt see, So looking down began—

Had I here ready to my will, The teeth of rav'nous wolves to spill My blood, I'd onely choose that death, By which she di'd who was my breath: They tear this body should of mine, As they did that fair corps of thine; But since that heav'n is so unjust As to deny, (though die I must)

My death desired, nor will send Fierce beasts to help me to my end; I'l find a death though not the due, Shall end my life as soon as you. Silvia I come, I come to thee, Disdain not then my company; Contentedly I shall endure The sharpest death, were I but sure 'T would not again begin our strife, Thy anger ceas'd were with thy life.

Silvia

I come, this said: he in a trice Threw himself down; I frozen stood like Ice.

Daph.

Wretched Aminta!

Sil.

Ay poor me!

Chor.

But why Some way to hinder him didst thou not try? Perhaps thy promis'd oath did thee restrain.

Erg.

No; for, rejecting oaths in that case vain, When I discern'd his purpose, though too late, I ran to stay him; such was his hard fate, I onely caught this silken girdle here, But he went with such force it could not bear His body's weight, and so it did remain Thus broken in my hands.

Chor.

But what became Of the unhappy corps?

Erg.

That know not I, I had not heart enough to see it lie:

(Pity and horror having fill'd the place) So shattred into peeces.

Chor.

O strange case!

Sil.

If this newes kil's not me, my heart's of stone, Or rather I believe that I have none; Shall the false rumour of my death have such Power o're his life, whom I did hate so much? And shall not his true death, who life did leave For love of me, me of my life bereave? It shall: and if that griefe can't do't, a knife, Or else this girdle shall command my life; This girdle left behind, alone to be The just revenger of my cruelty; Unhappy girdle of a Master farr Unhappier, disdaine not that you are Lodg'd in this justly to thee hatefull brest, Since there thou as an instrument do'st rest Of that revenge, which is in justice due To your so haplesse Master, and to you; For since twas by my cruelty deni'd Aminta should my consort here abide, 'Tis just I should by work of thine be made His consort, in the sweet Elizian shade.

Chor.

Comfort thy selfe poore wretch, thou fault hast none In this, but fault of fortune 'tis alone.

Sil.

Shepherds, weep not for me, your tears you loose,

Those pity don't deserve, who none did use, Or if ye weep, his losse ye weep in vain, Since that deserves a far more dolefull streine; And thou too, Daphne, dry those teares of thine, If from no other cause they come than mine; This s'd intreat thee do, not for my sake, But for his worthy was, the pains to take, To go with me to see those wretched bones, I feare me, crush'd among the rocks and stones, And helpe to bury them, and when that I Have perform'd this, what should I do but dy? This office I'l repay him, since no more, I can, for that great love which he me bore; And though these hands of mine contami∣nate Will this good work: yet since pernicious fate Permits me only to do this; I know It will be deare to him, he lov'd me so.

Daph.

Who would their help to such a work deny? But afterwards thou must not think to dy.

Sil.

Till now I liv'd, have to my selfe a∣lone, And to my cruelty, what rests, to none I'l live but to Aminta: and if fade, My hopes do there, I'l live to his cold shade, So long I'l live, till in one point can I Finish his saddest obsequies, and dy;

Shepherd direct me, that I may not faile To find the way which leads unto the vale; Where ends that cursed precipice.

Erg.

You are Just in the way, nor is it very far.

Daph.

Come, I'l go with thee, thou my foot-steps trace, And I'l thee lead directly to the place.

Sil.

Then Shepherds, Nimphs, Meadows, and Plaines adieu; Woods, Rivers, Fountains, all farewell to you.

Erg.

Alas! she takes her leave with sighs so sore, As if she were resolv'd to turn no more.

CHORUS.

WHat death must yeeld, that love retains, Thou peace's friend, he wars unkind, Ever his triumphs, vaunts and reignes; And whil'st thoudo'st twofair souls bind; Thou rendr'st earth so like the heavenly sphear, That thou thy selfe deign'st to inhabit here; There is no anger there above And thou hast mortal brests inclin'd By thy divinest art of love; To put all hatred out of mind; And with a pow'r exceeding earthly Kings Thou here below dost govern mortall things.

Act. 5.

Scen. 1.

Elpine Chorus of Shepherds.

Elp.

IN truth, the divine law by which love sway's His sacred Empire is not hard nor stray's In oblique paths, sage providence the guide Is of his workes, and all his actions glide In deepest mysteries, see by what art By what strange uncouth meanes he leads a heart To happinesse! and when man thinks that he Is now arriv'd at th' depth of misery And wretchednesse, why then the winged boy Transports him to the paradise of joy: Behold Aminta, by his fall ascends To his long wish'd-for, and desired ends; Happy Aminta, happy so much more, By how much more mis'rable thou before;

By thy example why should I despaire, But rather hope that cruell one, though faire, Who under smiles of pity doth conceale Her mortall rigor, now at length may heale My wounded heart, and may true pity have To cure that wound, her feigned pity gave.

Chor.

see how the sage Elpino yonder walkes, And to himselfe of poor Aminta talkes, As though he living were; he fortunate And happy calls him, O the sad estate Of lovers! is his judgement so misled, To call those happy, who find pity dead? Is this the paradise of joy? is this His wish'd contentment, his desired blisse? Is this the great reward, the greatest ease Love gives his servants? can this so much please? Can this suffice? Elpino, is so bad, Thy luck, that thou stil'st sprtunate the sad Death of Aminta? such an end do'st crave?

Elp.

No Shepherds, no; but let your sorrows have An end; false the report is, he was dead.

Chor.

O! how much comfort hath this good new's bred? Did he not then himselfe precipitate?

Elp.

He did, but his more than thrice blessed fate Under deaths dolefull image did him give

Both life and joy: shepherds, he still doth live, And lives content; for now his head doth rest On his deare Nymphs so much desired brest; She whom before, nor tears, nor sighs could move To pity him, is now as full of love, Is now as mercifull; and from his ey's With her own mouth his teares of joy she dry's. I go to seek her father, old Montane, And to conduct him unto yonder plaine Where they two be, for nothing to the sill Of their content there wants, but his good will.

Chor.

Equal their birth is, equal are their years Their wills agree, and good Montane, who bears Desiers to have nephews, and to fence, His drooping age with such a sweet defence, Will make his will be theirs; but dear Elpine Relate to us what fate, what god divine Could of our poor Aminta such care have As might in that same desp'rate fall him save.

Elp.

I am content to tell it, and no man I'm sure can tell it better then I can. Just at the entrance of my cave stood I, Which you know well at the hils foot doth lie; I reasoning was of her, who in a net First Thirsis caught, and after me, and yet

I did my thraldom far prefer above His life of freedom, or his flight from love, When a strange voice our ears and ey's did call Up to the top, from whence to see one fall, And see him on a bush of briers light, Which stood in the mid-way, was all one sight; Nature had planted on the mountain's side A sett of thornes, so thick, that they seem'd ti'd, Or wove together, here at first he fell, Which, though 'twas like a net, yet could not well His bodi's weight susteine, but let him go Quite through, that at our feet he fell; yet so Much of the force and shock it took away, That 'twas not mortall, only there he lay Astonished, and void of sence. Amaz'd We at the sad chance stood, but when we gaz'd More neerly on, and knew him, then our trouble, Our sorrow, and our anguish did redouble; But to our griefe it was some small repreive That he was not quite dead, perhaps might live; Then Thirsis t' me the secrets did disco∣ver

Of this disconsolate and desp'rate lover We knowing 'twas in vain him to lament Bethought a remedy; and while we sent For learned Esculapius, whom Apollo Taught, Physicks art when he him us'd to fol∣low: At the same time he did on me bestow The skil to tune a harp, and bend a bow. Silvia and Daphne thither seeking came That body which they did believe was slain; When Silvia saw Aminta's cheeks once fair Now void of life, now grown so pallid were, So wan that the bleak violet display's Not half that palenesse scorch'd by Phoebus rayes: She stupifi'd neer void of sense doth rest Lamenting, crying, beating her fair breast She on him falls, to take her latest kisse, And joyn'd his face to hers, her mouth to his.

Chor.

Could she that was so coy, now not re∣strain Her passion but extend the bounds of shame.

Elp.

Weak love is held by shame, but love grows bold As strong, what is it then can it with-hold: She as though in her ey's she did contain Fountains of tears, did with such plenty rain Them on his cheeks, and they such vertue had, That it reviv'd again the breathlesse lad; His ey's he weakly opens, and he sends

From his afflicted soule a sigh, which ends In his dear Silvia's spirit, by her sweet Mouth it was catch't and seem'd with it to meet; Her Echo quite enliv'ned him, but who Could now declare the joy possest these two; Aminta thought 'twas more then heav'nly charms, That thus enclasp'd him in his Silvia's armes; He that loves servant is, perhaps may guesse Their blisse; but none there is can it expresse.

Chor.

And is Aminta fully cur'd canst tell? No danger of his life?

Elp.

He's fully well: 'Tis true he's somewhat bruis'd, but nothing he Do's it account, and nothing it will be; Thrice happy he who did so fully prove Love's worst, and now doth tast the sweets of love; His sufferings and his torments onely be Sweet seasonings of his felicitie. Shepherds farewel. For I must once again Make haste to find out the good old Montane.

CHORUS.

CAn that Martyrdom he prov'd, While he serv'd, and while he lov'd, While he hop'd, while he dispair'd, While he sigh'd, and while he car'd, Ever recompensed be Though with joy's eternally? What if sweet things sweeter more Are when bitter go before? What if good things better will Be, if savour'd with some ill? Yet Love I pray give me the lesse Not this greater blessednesse. If thou wilt, blesse others so, Who this full blisse crave to know: But let me my nymph enjoy, For a word or for a toy, Without sighs, and without care, Without tears, without dispair.

Let the season'ngs of our love, Such be as may onely move, (Not such torments or such pain) Sweet repulses, sweet disdain; To which kind kisses may succeed, To show our hearts are still agreed.

FINIS.