IL PASTOR FIDO: OR The faithful Shepherd.  
Translated out of Italian into English.  
LONDON Printed for Simon Waterson. 1602.   

To the right worthy and learned Knight, Sir Edward Dymock, Champion to her Majesty, concerning this translation of Pastor Fido.  
I do rejoice learned and worthy Knight,  
That by the hand of thy kind Countryman  
(This painful and industrious Gentleman)  
Thy dear esteemed Guarini comes to light:  
Who in thy love I know took great delight  
As thou in his▪ who now in England can  
Speak as good English as Italian,  
And here enjoys the grace of his own right.  
Though I remember he hath oft embased  
Unto us both, the virtues of the North,  
Saving, our costs were with no measures graced,  
Nor barbarous tongues could any verse bring forth.  
I would he saw his own, or knew our store,  
Whose spirits can yield as much, and if not more.  Sam. Daniel.  

A Sonnet of the Translator, dedicated to that honourable Knight his kinsman, Sir Edward Dymock.  
A silly hand hath fashioned up a suit  
Of English clothes unto a traveler,  
A noble mind though shepherds weeds he wear,  
That might consort his tunes with Tassoes lute,  
Learned Guarinies first begotten fruit,  
I have assumed the courage to rebeare,  
And him an English Denizen made here,  
Presenting him unto the sons of Brute.  
If I have failed t'express his native look,  
And be in my translation taxed of blame,  
I must appeal to that true censure, book  
That says, 'tis harder to reform a frame,  
Then for to build from ground work of ones wit,  
A new creation of a noble fit.   

TO THE RIGHT WORTHY and learned Knight, Sir Edward Dymock, Champion to her Majesty.  
Sir, this work was committed to me to publish to the world, and by reason of the dearness of kin to the deceased Translator, and the good knowledge of the great worth of the Italian Author, I knew none fitter to Patronize the same than your worthiness, to whom I wish all happiness, and a prosperous new year. London this last of December. 1601.  
Your Worships ever to be 
 commanded. 
 Simon Waterson.   

The persons which speak in it.  

Silvio, the son of Montanus.  
Linco, an old servant of Montanus.  
Mirtillo, in love with Amarillis.  
Ergasto, his companion.  
Corisca a Nymph, in love with Mirtillo.  
Montanus, high Priest.  
Titirus, a Shepherd.  
Dametas, an old servant of Montanus.  
satire, an old Lover of Corisca's.  
Dorinda, enamoured of Silvio.  
Lupino a Goteheard, her servant.  
Amarillis, daughter of Titirus.  
Nicander, chief minister of the Priest.  
Coridon, a Lover of Corisca's.  
Carino, an old man, the putative father of Mirtillo  
Vranio, an old man his companion.  
Nuntio.  
Tirenio, a blind Prophet.    

PASTOR FIDO, OR The faithful Shepherd.  
Chorus of 

Shepherds.  
Huntsmen.  
Nymphs.  
Priests.    
The Scene is in Arcadia.  


Scene. 1. Act. 1.  Silvio. Linco. 
GO you that have enclosed the dreadful beast,  
And give the sign that's usual to our hunting,  
Go swell your eyes and hearts with horns and shouts,  
If there be any swain of Cinthia's troop  
In all Arcadia, delighted in her sports,  
Whose generous affects are stung with care,  
Or glory of these woods: let him come forth  
And follow me, where in a circle small  
(Though to our valour large) enclosed is  
The ugly Boar, monster of nature & these woods.  
That vast and fierce (by many harms well known)  
Inhabitant of Erimanthus, plague to the fields,  
Terror to country clowns. Go then prevent  
Not only, but provoke with horns shrill sound,  
Blushing Aurora out. Linco we'll go  
And worship first the Gods: for there 'tis best  
We any work begin.  Lin. 
Silvio I praise  
Thy worshipping the Gods, but yet to trouble them  
That are their ministers I do not praise.  
The keepers of the temple are a sleep,  
They cannot see the day break for the mountains top.  Sil. 
To thee perhaps, that art not yet awake,  
All things do seem a sleep.  Lin. 
O Silvio,  
Did nature on these youthful years of thine  
Bestow such beauty to be cast away?  
Had I but such a ruddy cheek? so fresh?  
Farewell to woods, I'd follow other sports:  
I'd wear my days in mirth: all summer tie  
In dainty shades, winter by the fire side.  Sil. 
Thy counsel (Linco) is like unto thyself.  Lin. 
At other pleasures would I aim, were I Silvio.  Sil. 
So would I, were I Linco, but I Silvio am,  
Therefore I Siluioes' deeds do like, not Lincoes.  Lin. 
O fool, that seek'st so far for hurtful beasts▪  
And hast one lodged so near thy dwelling house.  Sil. 
Art thou in earnest? or dost thou but jest?  Lin. 
Thou jests, not I  Sil. 
And is he then so near?  Lin. 
As near as 'tis to thee.  Sil. 
Where? in what wood?  Lin. 
Silvio thou art the wood: the ugly beast  
That's harboured there, is this thy beastliness.  Sil. 
Was't not well guessed of me thou didst but jest?  Lin. 
A Nymph so fair, so delicate! but tush  
Why do I call her Nymph, a Goddess rather.  
More fresh, more dainty, than the morning rose.  
More soft, more purely white than swanny down.  
(For whom there's not a shepherd 'mongst us all so brave,  
But sighs, and sighs in vain) for thee alone  
Reserves herself, ordained by heaven and men:  
And yet thou neither thinkst of sighs or plaints.  
O happy boy (though most unworthily)  
Thou that might'st her enjoy, still sliest her Silvio,  
Still her despisest. Is not then thy heart  
Made of a beast, or or of hard Iron rather?  Sil. 
If to relinquish love be cruelty,  
Then is it virtue, and I not repent  
That I have banished love my heart: but joy  
That thereby I have overcome this love,  
A beast more dangerous than th'other far.  Lin. 
How hast thou overcome that which thou never proved.  Sil. 
Not proving it, I have it overcome.  Lin. 
O if thou hadst but proved it Silvio once,  
If thou but knewst what a high favour 'twere,  
To be beloved, and loving to possess  
A loving heart, It'am sure thou then wouldst say,  
Sweet lovely life why hast thou stayed so long?  
These woods and beasts leave foolish child, and love.  Sil. 
Linco, I swear a thousand Nymphs I'll give  
For one poor beast that my Melampo kills:  
Let them that have a better taste than I  
In these delights possess them, I will none.  Lin. 
Dost thou taste aught, since love thou dost not taste,  
The only cause that the world tasteth all?  
Believe me boy, the time will one day come  
Thou wilt it taste. For love once in our life  
Will show what force he hath. Believe me child,  
No greater pain can any living prove,  
Then in old limbs the lively sting of love.  
Yet if in youth love wound, that love may heal:  
But come it once in that same frozen age,  
Wherefore oftentimes the disability,  
More than the wound we plain. O mortal then,  
And most intolerable are those pains.  
If thou seekest pity, ill if thou findest it not,  
But if thou findest it ten time worse, do not  
Protract it till thy better time be passed,  
For if love do assail thy hoary hears,  
Thy silly flesh a double torment tears.  
Of this which when thou wouldst thou canst not,  
These woods and beasts leave foolish boy & love.  Sil. 
As though there were no life but that which nursed  
These amorous sollies and fond ecstasies.  Lin. 
Tell me if in this pleasant time now flowers renew,  
And the world waxeth young again; thou shouldst  
In stead of flowery valleys, fragrant fields,  
And well clad woods: see but the oak, the ash, the pine,  
Without their levy hears: graslesse the ground▪  
The meadows want their flowers. Wouldst thou not say  
The world doth languish? nature did decay?  
Now that same horror, that same miracle,  
That monstrous novelty thou hast thyself.  
As love in old men is ridiculous:  
So youth without love is unnatural.  
Look but about (Silvio) what the world hath  
Worthy to be admired. Love only made  
The heavens, the earth, the seas themselves do love.  
And that same star that the days. break foretells,  
Tasteth the flames of her thrice puissant son.  
And at that hour, because perhaps she leaves  
The stolen delights and bosom of her love:  
She darteth down abroad her sparkling smiles.  
Beasts in the woods do love; and in the seas  
The speedy Dolphins and the mighty Whales.  
The bird that sweetly sings, and wanton  
Doth she, now from the oak unto the ash,  
Then from the ash unto the mirtill tree:  
Says in her language I in love do burn.  
(Would I might hear my Silvio answer her the same!)  
The Bull amid the herd doth loudly low,  
Yet are those allows but bidding to loves feasts.  
The Lion in the wood doth bray, and yet  
Those brayes are not the voice of rage, but love.  
Well to conclude, all things do love but thou,  
Thou only Silvio art in heaven, in earth,  
In seas, a soul uncaple of love.  
Leave, leave these woods, these beasts, and learn to love.  Sil. 
Was then my youth committed to thy charge?  
That in these soft esseminate desires  
Of wanton love, thou shouldst it nurse and train?  
Remember'st not what thou, and what I am?  Lin. 
I am a man, and human me esteem,  
With thee a man, or rather shouldst be so,  
I speak of human things. Which if thou scornest  
Take heed least in dishumaning thyself,  
A beast thou prove not sooner than a God.  Sil. 
Neither so famous nor so valiant  
Had been that monster-tamer, of whose blood  
I do derive myself, had he not tamed love.  Lin. 
See blind child how thou erst: where hadst thou been  
Had not that famous Hercules first loved?  
The greatest cause he monsters tamed was love.  
Knowest thou not that fair Omphale to please,  
He did not only change his Lion's skin  
Into a woman's gown; but also turned  
His knotty club into a spindle and a rock.  
So was he wont from trouble and from toil  
To take his ease, and all alone retire  
To her fair lap, the haven of happy love.  
As rugged Iron with purer metal mixed  
Is made more fit (refined) for noble use:  
So fierce & untamed strength that in his properrage  
Doth often break: yet with the sweets of love  
Well tempered proveth truly generous.  
Then if thou dost desire to imitate  
Great Hercules, and to be worthy of his race,  
Though that thou wilt not leave these savage woods  
Do: follow them: but do not leave to love,  
A Love so lawful as your Amarillis.  
That you Dorinda she I you excuse,  
For 'twere unfit your mind on honour set,  
Should be made hot in these amorous thefts:  
A mighty wrong unto your worthy spouse.  Sil. 
What sayst thou Linco? she's not yet my spouse.  Lin. 
Hast thou not solemnly received her faith?  
Take heed proud boy, do not provoke the gods.  Sil. 
The gift of heaven is human liberty,  
May we not force repel, that force receive?  Lin. 
Nay if thou wouldst but understand! the heavens  
Hereto do tie thee that have promised,  
So many favours at thy nuptial feast.  Sil. 
I'm sure that gods have other things to do  
Then trouble and molest them with these toys.  
Linco, nor this, nor that love pleaseth me,  
I was a huntsman not a lover borne,  
Thou that dost follow love thy pleasure take.  Exit Sil. Lin. 
Thou cruel boy descended of the gods,  
I scarce believe thou wert begot by man,  
Which if thou wert, thou sooner wert begot  
With venom of Meger and Ptisifo,  
Then Venus' pleasure which men so commend.  Exit. Lin.  

Sce. 2.  Mirtillo. Ergasto. 
Cruel Amarillis, that with thy bitter name  
Most bitterly dost teach me to complain.  
Whiter then whitest Lilies and more fair,  
But deafer and more fierce than th'adder is.  
Since with my words I do so much offend,  
In silence will I die: but yet these plains  
These mountains and these woods, shall cry for me,  
Whom I so oft have learned to resound  
That loved name. For me my plaints shall tell  
The plaining fountains and the murmuring winds:  
Pity and grief shall speak out of my face,  
And in the end though all things else prove dumb,  
My very death shall tell my martyrdom.  Er. 
Love (dear Mirtillo) 's like a fire enclosed,  
Which straightly kept, more fiercely flames at last,  
Thou shouldst not have so long concealed from me  
The fire, since it thou couldst not hide.  
How often have I said Mirtillo burns,  
But in a silent flame and so consumes.  Mi. 
Myself I harmed her not to offend  
(Courteous Ergasto) and should yet be dumb,  
But strict necessity hath made me bold.  
I hear a voice which through my scared ears  
Woundeth alas my wretched heart with noise  
Of Amarillis nighing nuptial feast,  
Who speaks aught else to me he holds his peace.  
Nor dare I further search, as well for fear  
To give suspicion of my love, as for to find  
That which I would not. Well! I know (Ergasto)  
It fits not with my poor and base estate  
To hope at all a Nymph so rarely qualifide,  
Of blood and sprite truly celestial,  
Should prove my wife. O no, I know too well,  
The lowliness of my poor humble star,  
My desteny's to burn! not to delight  
Was I brought forth, but since my cruel fates  
Have made me love my death more than my life,  
I am content to die, so that my death  
Might please her that's the cause thereof;  
And that she would but grace my latest gasp  
With her fair eyes, and once before she made  
Another by her marriage fortunate,  
She would but hear me speak. Courteous Ergasto,  
If thou lov'st me, help me with this favour,  
Aid me herein, if thou tak'st pity of my case.  Er. 
A poor desire of love; and light reward  
Of him that dies: but dangerous enterprise.  
Wretched were she, should but her father know  
She had bowed down her ears to her lovers words,  
Or should she be accused to the priest  
Her father in law, for this perhaps she shuns  
To speak with you, that else doth love you well,  
Although she it conceals; for women though  
They be more frail in their desires,  
Yet are they craftier in hiding them;  
If this be true, how can she show more love  
Than thus in shunning you? she hears in vain,  
And shuns with pity that can give no help.  
It is sound counsel, soon to cease desiring,  
When we cannot attain to our aspiring.  Mi. 
Oh were this true, could I but this believe,  
Thrice happy pain. Thrice fortunate distress.  
But tell me sweet Ergusto, tell me true,  
Which is the shepherd whom the stars so friend?  Ergust. 
Know'st thou not Silvio Montane's only son?  
Diana's priest: that rich and famous shepherd,  
That gallant youth? He is the very same.  Mi. 
Most happy youth, that hast in tender years  
Found fate so ripe. I do not envy thee,  
But plain myself.  Erg. 
Nor need you envy him  
That pity more than envy doth deserve.  Mi. 
Pity! and why?  Erg. 
Because he loves her not.  Mi. 
And lives he? hath a heart? and is not blind?  
Or hath she on my wretched heart spent all her flames?  
And her fair eyes blown all their loves on me?  
Why should they give a lemme so precious  
To one that neither knows it, nor regards it?  Erg. 
For that the heavens the health of Arcady  
Do promise at these nuptials. Know you not  
How we do still appease our goddess wrath,  
Each year with guiltless blood of some poor Nymph?  
A mortal and a miserable tribute.  Mi. 
'tis news to me, that am a new inhabitant,  
As't pleaseth love and my poor destiny:  
That did before inhabit savage woods,  
But what I pray you was that grievous fault  
That kindled rage in a celestial breast?  Erg. 
I will report the doleful tragedy  
From the beginning of our misery,  
That able are pity and plaints to draw  
From these hard rocks, much more from human breasts.  
In that same golden age when holy priesthood, and  
The temples charge was not prohibited  
To youth. A noble swain Amintas called,  
Priest at that time, loved Lucrina bright:  
A beauteous Nymph, exceeding fair: but therewithal  
Exceeding false, and light. Long time she loved him,  
Orat the least, she seemed so, with feigned face  
Nursing his pure affections with false hopes.  
Whilst she no other suitors had. But see  
Th' unconstant wretch! no sooner was she wooed  
By a rude shepherd, but at first assault,  
At his first sigh, she yielded up her love:  
Before Amintas dreamt of jealousy.  
At last Amintas was forlorn, despide,  
So that the wicked woman would nor see, nor hear  
Him speak, now if the wretch did sigh,  
Be thou the judge that know'st his pain by proof.  Mi. 
Ay me, this grief all other griefs exceeds.  Er. 
After he had his heart recovered  
From his complaints, he to his goddess turns,  
And praying saves: Great Cynthia if I have  
At any time kindled with guiltless hands  
The holy flames, revenge thou then for me  
This broken faith of my unconstant Nymph.  
Diana hears the prayers of her priest,  
And straight out-breathing rage, she takes her bow  
And shoots shafts of mennitable death  
Into the bowels of Arcadia.  
People of every sex, of every age,  
Soon perished, no succour could be found,  
'Twas bootless art to search for remedies,  
For often on the patient the physician died.  
One only remedy did rest, which was  
Straight to the nearest Oracle they went,  
From whom they had an answer very clear,  
But above measure deadly horrible.  
Which was, our Cynthia was displeased, and to  
Appease herire, either Lucrina or some else for her,  
Must by Amintas hands be sacrificed.  
Who when she had long time in vain complained,  
And looked for help from her new friend in vain,  
Was to the sacred Altars led with solemn pomp,  
A woeful sacrifice. Where at those feet  
Which had pursued her long time in vain  
At her betrayed lovers feet she bends  
Her rtembling knees, attending cruel death.  
Amintas stretcheth out the holy sword,  
Seeming to breath from his inflamed lips,  
Rage and revenge; turning to her his face,  
Speaks with a sigh, the messenger of death:  
Lucrina for thy further pains, behold  
What Lover thou hast left, and what pursued  
judge by this blow. And with that very word  
Striketh the blade into his woeful breast,  
Falling a sacrifice upon the sacrifice.  
At such a strange and cruel spectacle,  
The Nymph amazed stand twixt life and death,  
Scarce yet assured whether she wounded were  
With grief, or with the sword. At last, assoon  
As she recovered had, her sprite, and speech,  
She plaining says. O faithful valiant love!  
O too late known! that by thy death hast given  
Me life and death at once. If 't were a fault  
To leave thee so? behold I'll mend it now,  
Eternally uniting both our souls,  
And therewithal she takes the sword, all warm,  
With the blood of her too late loved friend,  
And strikes it through her heart, falling upon  
Amintas, that was scarcely dead as yet,  
And felt perchance that fall. Such was their end,  
To such a wretched end did too much love,  
And too much treachery conduct them both.  Mi. 
O wretched Shepherd, and yet fortunate,  
That hadst so large and famous scope, to show  
Thy troth, and waken lively pity of thy death  
Within another's breast. But what did follow?  
Was Cynthia pleased, found they a remedy?  Er. 
Somewhat it slaked, but yet not quite put out:  
For after that a year was finished,  
Her rage began a fresh, so that of force  
They driven were, unto the Oracle:  
To ask new counsel, but brought back again  
An answer much more woeful than the first.  
Which was, to sacrifice them: and each after year,  
A maid, or woman, to our angry power,  
e'en till the third and past the fourth degree:  
So should ones blood for many satisfy.  
Besides, she did upon th' unhappy sex,  
Impose a wretched and a cruel law.  
And (if you mark their nature) in observable.  
A law recorded with vermilion blood:  
What ever maid or woman broken had  
Their faith in love, and were contaminate,  
If they should find none that would die for them▪  
They were condemned without remission.  
To these our grievous great calamities,  
The fathers hoped to find a happy end,  
By this desired marriage day. For afterward  
Having demanded of the Oracle  
What end the heavens prescribed had our ill,  
Answer was given in such like words as these:  
No end there is to that which you offends,  
Till two of heavens issue love unite;  
And for the ancient fault of that false wight,  
A faithful Shepherds pity make amends.  
Now is there not in all Arcadia  
Other bows left, of that celestial root:  
Save Amarillis, and this Silvio,  
Th' one of Pan's seed, th' other of Hercules.  
Nor to our mischief yet hath never happed,  
That male and female met at any time  
Till now. Therefore good reason Montane hath  
To hope, though all things sort not to the Oracle,  
Yet here's a good foundation laid: the rest  
High fates have in their bosoms bred,  
And will bring forth at this great marriage day.  Mi. 
O poor Mirtillo! wretched man!  
So many cruel enemies? such wars?  
To work my death cannot great Love suffice?  
But that the Fates, their arms will exercise.  Er. 
This cruel love (Mirtillo) feeds himself  
With tears, and grief, but's never satisfied.  
I promise thee to set my wits a work,  
That the fair Nymph shall hear thee speak. Let's go?  
These burning sighs do not as they do seem,  
Bring any cooling to th'inflamed heart:  
But rather are huge and impetuous winds,  
That blow the fire, and make it greater prove,  
With swelling whirlwinds of tempestuous love,  
Which unto wretched lovers always bears  
Thick clouds of grief, and showers of dreary tears.   

Scene. 3.  Corisca. 
WHo ever saw or heard a stranger, and  
A fonder passion of this foolish love?  
Both love, and hate, in one self heart combined,  
With such a wondrous mixture: as I know not how,  
Or which of them hath got the deeper root.  
If I mirtillo's beauty do behold:  
His gracious countenance, good behaviour,  
Actions, customs, words and manly looks:  
Love me assails, with such a puissant fire,  
That I burn altogether. And it seems  
Other affections are quite vanquished with this.  
But when I think upon th'obstinate love  
He to another bears; and that for her  
He doth despise (I will be bold to say)  
My famous beauty of a thousand soft:  
I hate him so, I so abhor the man,  
That 't's impossible me thinks at all,  
One spark of love for him should touch my heart.  
Thus with myself sometime I say: Oh if I could  
Enjoy my sweet Mirtillo! were he mine,  
And had not others interest in him,  
Oh more than any other happy Corisca.  
And then in me upflames such great good will,  
And such a gentle love to him; that I resolve  
Straight to discover all my heart to him,  
To follow him, and humbly sue to him:  
Nay more, e'en to fall down and worship him.  
On th'other side, I all reclaimed say,  
A niceproud fool? one that disdaineth me?  
One that can love another and despise myself?  
One that can look on me and not adore me?  
One that can so defend him from my look,  
That he dies not for love. And I that should  
See him (as I have many more ere this)  
An humble suppliant before my feet,  
Am humble suppliant at his feet myself.  
Then such a rage at him possesseth me,  
That I disdain my thoughts should think on him,  
Mine eyes should look on him. His very name  
And all my love, I worse than death do hate.  
Then would I have him the woefull'st wight alive:  
And with these hands than could I kill the wretch.  
Thus hate, and love, spite, and desire make war.  
I that have been till now tormenting flame,  
To thousand hearts: must languish now myself,  
And in my ill, know others wretchedness.  
I that so many years in cities, streets, courts,  
Have been invincible to worthy friends,  
Mocking their many hopes, their great desires:  
Now conquered am, with silly rustic love,  
Of a base shepherd's brat. Oh above all  
Wretched Corisca now. What shall I do  
To mitigate this amorous furious rage?  
Whilst other women have a heap of loves,  
I have no other but Mirtillo only.  
Am I not stoutly furnished? Oh thousand times,  
Ill-counselled fool! that now reduced art  
Into the poverty of one sole love:  
Corisca was ne'er such a fool before.  
What's faith? what's constancy? but fables feigned  
By jealous men: and names of vanity,  
Simple women to deceive. Faith in a woman's heart,  
(If faith in any woman's heart there be:)  
Can neither virtue nor yet goodness be.  
But hard necessity of love, a wretched law  
Of beauty weak that pleaseth only one,  
Because she is not gracious in the eyes of more.  
A beauteous Nymph, sought too by multitudes  
Of worthy lovers, if she be content  
With only one, and all the rest despise,  
Either she is no woman, or if so she be,  
She is a fool. What's beauty worth unseen?  
Or seen, unsought? or sought too but of one?  
The more our lovers be, the greater men,  
The surer pledge have we in this vild world.  
That we are creatures glorious and rare,  
The goodly splendour of a beauteous Nymph,  
Is to have many friends. So in good Towns  
Wise men ever do. It is a fault,  
A foolish trick, all to refuse for one.  
What one cannot, many can well perform:  
Some serve, some give, some fit for other use.  
So in the City lovely Ladies do,  
Where I by wit, and by example too,  
Of a great Lady learned the Art of love.  
Corisca would she say. Let thy  
Lovers and thy garments be alike.  
Have many, use, wear but one, and change often.  
Too much conversing breedeth noisomeness,  
And noisomeness despite, which turns to hate:  
We cannot worser do, then fill our friends,  
Let them go hungry rather from thee still.  
So did I always, always loving store,  
One for my hand, an other for mine eye:  
The best I ever for my bosom kept,  
None for my heart, as near as ere I could.  
And now I know not how Mirtillo comes  
Me to torment, now must I fie, and worse  
Sigh for myself, deceiving no man else.  
Now must I rob my limbs of their repose,  
Mine eyes of sleep, and watch the break of day:  
Now do I wander through these shadowed woods,  
Seeking the footsteps of my hated love.  
What must Corisca do? shall I entreat him?  
No: my hate not gives me leave. I'll give him o'er,  
Nor will my love consent. What shall I do?  
Prayers and subtleties I will attempt:  
I will bewray my love, but not as mine,  
If this prevail not, then I'll make disdain  
Find out a memorable huge revenge.  
Mirtillo if thou canst not like my love,  
Then shalt thou try my hate. And Amarillis,  
Thou shalt repent thou ere my rival were't.  
Well, to your costs you both shall quickly prove,  
What rage in her can do that thus doth love.   

Sce. 4.  Titirus. Montanus. Damaetas. 
SO help me Gods, I know I now do speak  
To one that understands more than I do.  
These Oracles are still more doubtful than  
We take them, for their words are like to knives,  
Which taken by the hafts, are fit for use,  
But by the edges held, they may do harm.  
That Amarillis as you argue, is  
By the high heavenly Destinies elected for  
Arcadia's universal health: who ought  
More to desire, or to esteem the same  
Then I that am her father? but when I regard  
That which the Oracle foretold, ill do the signs  
Agree with our great hopes: since love should then  
Unite, how falls it out he slies from her?  
How can hate and despite bring forth loves fruit?  
Ill could he contradict had heavens ordained it.  
But since he doth contrary it, 'tis clear,  
Heavens do not will: for if so they would  
That Amarillis should be Siluioes' wise,  
A Lover, not a Huntsman, him they would have made.  Mon. 
Do you not see he is a child as yet?  
He hath attained scarcely to eighteen years,  
All in good time he may yet taste of love.  Tit. 
Taste of a beast, he'll neveuer woman like.  Mon. 
Many things alter in a young man's heart.  Tit. 
But always love is natural to youth.  Mon. 
It is unnatural where years do want.  Ti. 
Love always slowres in our green time of age.  Mon. 
It doth but flower, 'tis quite without all fruit.  Ti. 
With timely flowers love ever brings forth fruit.  
Hither I came not for to jest (Montane)  
Nor to contend with you. But I the father am  
Of a dear only child, and (if't be lawful so to say)  
A worthy child, and by your leave of many sought.  Mon. 
Titirus, if the Destinies have not ordained  
This marriage, yet the faith they gave on earth,  
Binds them unto't, which if they violate,  
They violate their vow to Cynthia,  
Who is enraged 'gainst us, how much thou know'st.  
But for as much as I discover can,  
The secret counsels of th' eternal powers:  
This knot was knit by th' and of Destiny.  
All to good end will sort, be of good cheer.  
I'll tell you now a dream I had last night.  
I saw a thing which makes my ancient hope  
Revive within my heart, more than before.  Tit. 
Dreams in the end prove dreams, but what saw you?  Mon. 
Do you remember that same woeful night,  
When swelling Ladon overflowed his banks,  
So that the fishes swam where birds did breed,  
And in moment did the ravenous flood,  
Take men and beasts by heaps and herds away.  
(Oh sad remembrance) in that very night  
I lost my child, more dear than was my heart:  
Mine only child, in cradle warmly laid.  
Living, and dead, dearly beloved of me.  
The Torrent took him hence ere we could prove  
To give him succour, being buried quite,  
In terror, sleep, and darkness of the night:  
Nor could we ever find the cradle where he lay,  
By which I guess some whirlpit swallowed both.  Tit. 
Who can guess otherwise? and I remember now,  
You told me of this your mishap before:  
A memorable misadventure sure,  
And you may say, you have two sons begot,  
One to the woods, the other to the waves.  Mon. 
Perhaps the piteous heavens will restore  
My first sons loss, in him that liveth yet;  
Still must we hope, now listen to my tale.  
The time when light and darkness strove together,  
This one for night, that other for the day,  
Having watched all the night before, with thought  
To bring this marriage to a happy end,  
At last, with length of weariness, mine eyes  
A pleasing slumber closed, when I this vision saw,  
Me thought I sat on famous Alfeus bank,  
Under a levy plane tree with a baited hook,  
Tempting the fishes in the stream, in midst  
Whereof, there rose me thought an aged man:  
His head and beard dropping down silver tears,  
Who gently reached to me with both his hands  
A naked child, saying, behold thy soone,  
Take heed thou killst him not. And with that word  
He dived down again. When straight the skies  
Waxed black with clouds, threatening a dismal shower,  
And I afraid, the child took in mine arms,  
Crying, ah heavens, and will you in an instant then,  
Both give and take away my child again?  
When on the sudden all the sky waxed clear:  
And in the River sell a thousand bows,  
And thousand arrows, broken all to shivers.  
The body of the plane tree trembled there,  
And out of it there came a subtle voice  
Which said, Arcadia shallbe fair again.  
So is the Image of this gentle dream  
Fixed in my heart, that still me thinks I see't:  
But above all, the courteous aged man.  
For this when you me met, I coming was  
Unto the temple for to sacrifice,  
To give my dreams presage prosperous success.  Tit. 
Our dreams are rather representments vain  
Of Idle hopes, than any things to come:  
Only days thoughts made fables for the night.  Mon. 
The mind doth not sleep ever with the flesh,  
But is more watchful then, because the eyes  
Do not lead it a wandering where they go.  Tit. 
Well, of cur children what the heavens disposed have,  
Is quite unknown to us, but sure it is,  
Yours 'gainst the law of nature feels not love.  
And mine hath but the bond of his faith given  
For her reward. I cannot say she loves,  
But well I wot she hath made many love:  
And 'tis unlike, she tastes not that she makes  
So many taste. Me thinks she's altered much  
From that she was: for full of sport and mirth,  
she's wont to be. But 'tis a grievous thing,  
To keep a woman married and unmarried thus.  
For like a Rose that in some garden grows,  
How dainty 'tis against the Sun doth rise,  
Persuming with sweet odours round about,  
Bidding the humming bees to honey feast:  
But if you then neglect to gather it,  
And suffer Titan in his middayes' course  
To scorch her sides, and burn her dainty seat,  
Then ere Sunset, discoloured she falls,  
And nothing worth upon the shadowed hedge.  
Even so a maid whom mother's care doth keep,  
Shutting her heart from amorous desires.  
But if the piercing looks of hungry lovers eyes  
Come but to view her, if she hear him sigh,  
Her heart soon opes, her breast soon takes in love:  
Which if for shame she hide, or fear contain,  
The silent wretch in deep desire consumes.  
So fadeth beauty if that fire endure,  
And losing time, good fortune's lost be sure.  Mon. 
Be of good cheer, let not these human fears,  
Confound thy sprite, let's put our trust th'th ' Gods,  
And pray to them ('tis meet) for good success.  
Our children are their offspring, and be sure  
They will not see them lost that others keep.  
Go'w, let us to the Temple jointly go,  
And sacrifice you a he Goat to Pan,  
I a young Bull, to mighty Hercules.  
He that the heard makes thrive, can therewithal  
Make him thrive, that with the profits of his herd  
halloweth the Altars. Faithful Dametas,  
Go thou and fetch a young and lovely Bu'l,  
As any's in the heard, and bring it by the mountains way,  
I at the Temple will attend for thee.  Tit. 
A he Goat bring Dametas from my herd.  Exeunt Mon. & Titt. Da. 
Both one and other I will well perform.  
I pray the Gods (Montane) thy dream do sort  
Unto as good an end as thou dost hope.  
I know remembrance of thy son thou lost,  
Inspires thee with a happy prophecy.   

Sce. 5.  satire alone. 
LIke frost to grass, like drought to gentle flowers,  
Like lightning unto corn, like worms to seeds,  
Like nets to dear, like lime to silly birds,  
So to mankind is love a cruel foe.  
He that love likened unto fire, knew well  
His perfidous and wicked kind. For look  
But on this fire, how fine a thing it is.  
But touch it, and 'tis then a cruel thing.  
The world hath not a monster more to dread.  
It ravens worse than beasts, and strikes more deep  
Than edged steel, and like the wind it slies:  
And where it planteth his imperious feet,  
Each force doth yield, all power giveth place.  
e'en so this love, if we it but behold,  
In two fair eyes, and in a golden Tress,  
Oh how it pleaseth! oh how then it seems  
To breath out joy, and promise largely peace!  
But if you it approach, and tempt it once,  
So that it creep and gather force in you,  
Hircane no Tigers, Libya no Lions hath,  
Nor poisonous worms, with teeth or stings so fierce,  
That can surpass, or equal loves disease,  
More dreadful than is hell, then death itself,  
Sweet pities foe, the minister of rage:  
And to conclude, love void of any love.  
Why speak I thus of love? why blame him thus?  
Is he the cause that the whole world in love,  
Or rather love-dissembling, sinneth so?  
Oh woman's treachery! that is the cause  
That hath begotten love this infamy.  
How ever love be in his nature good,  
With them his goodness suddenly he loseth.  
They never suffer him to touch their hearts,  
But in their faces only build his bower.  
Their care, their pomp, and all their whole delight.  
Is in the bark of a bepainted face.  
'tis not in them now faith with faith to grace,  
And to contend in love with him that loves,  
Into two breasts dividing but one will:  
Now all their labour is, with burnished gold  
To die their hair, and tie it up in curls,  
Therein to snare unwary lovers in.  
O what a stinking thing it is, to see them take  
A Pencil up, and paint their bloodless cheeks:  
Hiding the faults of nature and of time,  
Making the pale to blush, the wrinkled plain,  
The black seem white, faults mending with far worse.  
Then with a pair of pincers do they pull  
Their eyebrows till they smart again.  
But this is nothing, though it be too much,  
For all their customs are alike to these.  
What is it that they use, which is not counterfeit?  
Open they their mouths? they lie: move they their eyes?  
They counterfeit their looks: If so they sigh,  
Their sighs dissembled are. In sum, each act,  
Each look, each gesture, is a very lie.  
Nor is this yet the worst. 'tis their delight,  
Them to deceive e'en most, that trust them most;  
And love them least, that are most worthy love.  
True faith to hate, worser than death itself:  
These be the tricks that make love so perverse.  
Then is the fault faithless Corisca thine?  
Or rather mine, that have believed thee so?  
How many troubles have I for thy sake sustained?  
I now repent, nay more I am ashamed.  
lovers believe me, women once adored,  
Are worser than the griefly powers of hell.  
Straight by their valour vaunt they that they are  
The same you by your folly fashion them.  
Let go these base● sighs, prayers and plaints,  
Fit weapons for women and children only.  
Once did I think that prayers, plaints, and sighs,  
Might in a woman's heart have stirred up  
The flames of love, but rush I was deceived.  
Then if thou wouldst thy mistress conquer, leave  
These silly toys, and close thou up all love.  
Do that which love and nature teacheth thee,  
For modesty is but the outward virtue of  
A woman's face. Wherefore to handle her with modesty,  
Is a mere fault, she though she use it, loves it not.  
A tender-hearted Lover shalt thou not  
Corisca ever find me more, but like a man  
I will assail and pierce thee through and through.  
Twice have I taken thee, and twice again  
Thou hast escaped (I know not how) my hands:  
But if thou com'st the third time in my reach,  
I'll fetter thee for running then away.  
T'hart wont to pass these woods, I like a hound  
Will hunt thee out. Oh what a sweet revenge  
I mean to take: I mean to make thee prove  
What 'tis unjustly to betray thy love.  Exit. Chorus. 
Oh high and puissant law writ, rather borne  
Within loves mighty breast,  
Whose ever sweat and lovely loving force,  
Towards that good which we unseen suborn,  
Our hearts doth pull and wills doth wrest,  
And e'en nature's self to it doth force;  
Not only our frail corpce  
Whose sense scarce sees is borne and dies again,  
As daily hours wax and wain.  
But e'en inward causes, hidden seeds  
That moves and governs our eternal deeds.  
If great with child the world do wondrous frame  
So many beauties still:  
And if within as far as Sun doth see  
Toth' mighty Moon and stars Titanian fame  
A living sprite doth fill,  
With his male value this same vast degree▪  
If thence man's of spring be.  
The plants have life, and beasts both good and bad,  
Whether the earth be clad,  
With flowers, or nipped have her ill-feathered wing,  
It still comes from thine eversting spring.  
Nor this alone but that which hopes of fire  
Sheds into mortal wights:  
From whence stars gentle now straight fierce are found  
Clad in good fortunes or mishaps attire,  
From whence lists frailest lights  
The hour of birth have, or of death the bound.  
That which makes rise or else pull● down  
In their disturbed affects all human will,  
And giving seems, or taking still.  
Fortune, to whom the world would this were given,  
All from thy sovereign bounty is deriven,  
Oh word inevitably true and sure  
If it thy meaning is  
Arcadia shall after so many woes  
Find out new rest and peace, new life procure.  
If the foretold on bliss  
Which the great Oracle did erst expose  
Of the fair fatal marriage rose  
Proceed from thee and in thy heavenly mind  
Her fixed place doth find.  
If that same voice do not dissemble still,  
Who hinders then the working of thy will?  
See loves and pities foe, awayward swain,  
A proud and cruel youth,  
That comes from heaven, and yet with heaven contends.  
See then another Lover, (faithful in vain)  
Battering a hearts chaste truth,  
Who with his flames perhaps thy will offends,  
The less that he attends,  
Pity to's plaints: reward to his desert  
More strangely flames in faith his heart.  
Fatal this beauty is to him that it high prizeth,  
Being destinied to him that it despizeth.  
Thus in itself alas divided stands  
This heavenly power,  
And thus one fate another justles still,  
Yet neither conquered is, neither commands.  
False human hopes that tower  
And plant a siege to th'elemental hill,  
Rebellious unto heavens will:  
Arming poor thoughts like giant fools again,  
Lovers and no lovers vine.  
Who would have thought love and disdain blind things,  
Should mount above the sovereign starry wings.  
But thou that stand'st above both stars & fate,  
And with thy wit divine  
Great mover of the skies dost them restrain,  
Behold: we thee beseech our doubtful state  
With destiny combine.  
And father's loving zeal, love and disdain,  
Mix flame and frozen vain.  
Let them that shunned to love, now learn to love,  
Let not that other moan.  
Ah let not others blindest folly thus  
Thy gently promised pity take from vs.  
But who doth know? perhaps this same that seems  
An unavoidable mischievous estate,  
May prove right fortunate.  
How fond a thing it is for mortal sight  
To search into the Eternal suns high light.  
An end of the first Act.    


Act. 2. Scene. 1.  Ergasto. Mirtillo. 
HOw I have searched alongst the rivers side,  
About the meadows, fountains, and the hills,  
To find thee out: which now I have, the gods be praised.  Mir. 
Ah that thy news Ergasto may deserve  
This haste. But bringst thou life or death?  Er. 
This though I had I would not give it thee.  
That do I hope to give thee, though I have it not  
As yet. But fie, thou must not suffer grief  
To overthrow thy senses thus. Live man and hope.  
But to the purpose of my coming now,  
Ormino hath a sister, know'st her not?  
A tall big wench, a merry-countnaun'st Nymph  
With yellow hair, somewhat high-coloured.  Mir. 
What is her name?  Er. 
Corisca.  Mir 
I know her well,  
And heretofore have spoke with her.  Er. 
Then know that she (and see withal your luck)  
Is now become (I know not by what privilege)  
Companion to your beauteous Amarillis.  
I have discovered all your love to her,  
And this which you desire, and readily  
She me hath given her faith to bring't about.  Mir. 
O happy Mirtillo if this same prove true:  
But said she nothing of the means whereby?  Er. 
Nothing as yet, nor would she that conclude  
Until she knew the manner of your love.  
How it began, and what hath happed therein,  
That she might easilier spy into the heart  
Of your beloved Nymph, and better know  
How to dispose by prayers or by fraud  
Of her request. For this I came to you,  
And make me now acquainted from the head,  
With all the history of your dear love.  Mir. 
So will I do, but yet Ergasto know  
This memory (a bitter hopeless thing)  
Is like a firebrand tossed in the wind,  
By which how much the fire increaseth still,  
So much the brand with blazing flame consumes  
O piercing shaft made by some power divine!  
The which the more we seek to draw it out,  
The faster hold it takes, the deeper root.  
Well can I tell you, that these lovers hopes  
Are full of vanities and falsehoods still,  
loves fruit is bitter, though the root be sweet.  
In that sweet time when days advantage get  
Above the nights, then when the year begins:  
This dainty pilgrim, beauties bright new sun,  
Came with her countenance like another spring,  
T'illumin●te my then thrice happy soil  
Of Pisa, and Eglidis fair. Brought by her mother  
To see the sacrifices and the sports  
That celebrated in those solemn days  
Were unto love. Where while she meant to make  
Her eyesight blessed with that same spectacle,  
She blessed the spectacle with her fair eyes,  
Being loves greatest miracle beneath the skies.  
No sooner had I scene that face, but straight  
I burned, defending not the foremost look,  
Which though mine eyes into my breast directed  
Such an imperious beauty, as me thought did say,  
Mirtillo yield thy heart for it is mine.  Er. 
Oh in our breasts what mighty power hath love?  
there's none can tell, save they the same which prove  Mir. 
See how industrious love can work e'en in  
The simplest breasts. A sister which I had  
I made acquainted with my thoughts, who was  
By chance companion to my cruel Nymph.  
The time she stayed in Pisa and Elide,  
She faithful counsel, and good aid me gave,  
She dressed me finely in one of her gowns,  
Circling my temples with a periwig,  
Which gracefully she trimmed up with flowers.  
A quiver and a bow hung at my side,  
She taught me furthermore to feign my voice  
And looks, for in my face as then there grew no hair.  
This done, she me conducted where the Nymph  
Was wont to sport herself, and where we found  
A noble troop of maidens of Megara,  
By blood or love allied to my goddess.  
'mongst them she stood like to a princely Rose,  
Among a heap of humble Violets.  
We had not long been there before uprose  
One of the maidens of Megara, and thus bespoke.  
Why stand we idly still in such a time,  
When plames and famous trophies are so rise?  
Have not we arms counterfeit fights to make  
As well as men? Sister's be ruled by me:  
Let's prove among ourselves our arms in jest,  
That when we come to earnest them with men,  
We may them better use. Let's kiss, and strive  
Who can kiss sweetliest among ourselves:  
And let this garland be the victor's gain.  
All at the proposition laughed: and all  
Unto it straight agreed. Straightway began  
A fight confused, no signal we attended.  
Which by her seen that first ordained the sport,  
She says again. Let's make her worthy judge  
That hath the fairest mouth. All soon agreed,  
And Amarillis chose. Who sweetly bowing down,  
Her beauteous eyes in modest blushing stand,  
Did show they were as fair within as th'were without.  
Or that her face her, rich-clad mouth envy,  
And would be clothed in pompous purple too,  
As who should say, I am as fair as it.  Er. 
In good time did you change into a Nymph,  
A happy token of good luck to come.  Mir. 
Now did the beauteous judge sit in her plate,  
According as the Megarence prescribed.  
Each went by lot to make due proof of her  
Rare mouth, that heavenly paragon of sweetness.  
That blessed mouth that may be likened to  
A perfumed Indian shell of oriental pearl,  
Opening the dainty treasure, mixed with honey sweet  
And purple blush. I cannot (my Ergasto) tell  
Th'inexplicable sweetness which I felt  
Out of that kiss. But look what Cypress caves  
Or hives of Hybla have, are nothing all  
Compared with that which then I tasted there.  Er. 
Oh happy theft sweet kiss.  Mir. 
Yea sweet,  
But yet not gracious, for it wanted still  
The better part: love gave it, but love not  
Returned it back.  Er. 
But then how did you  
When it was your lot to kiss?  Mir. 
Unto those lips  
My soul did wholly fly, and all my life  
So shut therein, as in a little space  
It waxed nothing but a kiss. And all  
My other limbs stood strenghlesse trembling still,  
When I approached to her lightning looks,  
Knowing my deed was theft and deceit,  
I feared the majesty of her fair face,  
But she assures me with a pleasing smile:  
And puts me forward more, love sitting like  
A Bee upon two fresh and dainty Roses close.  
Kissing, I tasted there the honey sweet,  
But having kissed, I felt the lovely Bee  
Strike through my heart with his sharp piercing sting.  
And being wounded thus, half desperate,  
I thought t'have bitten those manslaught'ring lips,  
But that her odoriferous breath like air divine,  
wakened my modesty and still my rage.  Er. 
This modesty molesteth Lovers still.  Mir. 
Now were the lots fulfilled, and every one  
With heedful minds the sentence did attend:  
When Amarillis judging mine the best,  
With her own hands she crowns my tresses, with  
The gentle garland kept for victory.  
But never was shadeless meadow drier parched,  
Under the baleful fury of the heavenly dog,  
Then was my heart in sunshine of that sweet,  
Never so vanquished as in victory.  
Yet had I power to take the garland off,  
And reach it her, saying to you belongs  
Alone the same. 'tis due to you, that made  
Mine good, by virtue of your mouth.  
She gently took't and crowned herself therewith.  
And with an other that she ware crowned mine.  
't's this I wear thus dried as you see,  
It will I carry to my grave with me.  
In dear remembrance of that happy day.  
But more for sign of my dead hopes decay.  Er. 
Thou pity more than envy dost deserve,  
That wert another Tantalus in loves delights,  
That of a sport a torment true didst make.  
Thou payest too dear for thy stolen delicates.  
But did she ere perceive thy policies?  Mir. 
That know I not (Ergasto) yet thus much I know,  
That in the time she made Elidis blessed  
With her sweet countenance, she liberal was  
Of pleasing looks to me. But thereof did  
My cruel fates rob me so suddenly,  
That I perceived it not till they were gone.  
When I drawn by the power of her beauteous look  
Leaving my home came hither, where thou know'st  
My father had this poor habitacle.  
But now the day that with so fair a spring began,  
Come to his western bound, thunders & lightens out,  
Ah then I saw these were true signs of death.  
Now had (alas) my tender father felt,  
My not-foreseene departure, and o'ercome  
With grief, fell sick nigh hand to death,  
Whereby I was constrained to return.  
Ah that return proved the father's health,  
But deadly sickness to the son: for in short time  
I languished and pined quite away.  
Which held me from the time the sun had left  
The bull, until his entry into Capricorn.  
And so had still, had not my piteous father sought  
For counsel to the Oracle, which said,  
Only Arcadia could restore my health.  
So I returned to see her that can heal  
My body's grief (O Oracles false lie)  
But makes my soul sick everlastingly.  Er. 
Strange tale thou tellest (Mirtillo) thought be true.  
The only health to one that's desperate,  
Is to despair of health. And now 'tis time  
I go communicate with our Corisca.  
Go to the fountain you, there stay for me,  
I'll make what haste I can.  Mir. 
Go happily,  
The heavens (Ergasto) quiths thy courtesy.   

Sce. 2.  Dorindo. Lupino. Silvio. 
O Fortunate delight, and care of my  
Fair spiteful Silvio. Ah that I were  
As dear unto thy cruel master as thou art.  
(Happy Metampo) he with that white hand,  
That nips my heart, thee softly stroking feeds.  
With thee all day and all the night he is,  
Whilst I that love him so, sigh still in vain.  
And that which grieves me worst, he gives thee still  
Kisses so sweet, that had I one of them,  
I should go blessed away, I cannot choose  
But kiss Melampo. Now if th'happy stars  
Of love, sent thee to me because thou shouldst  
Find out his steps. Go'w whither me great love.  
Thee nature teacheth. But I hear a horn  
Sound in these woods.  Silius 
Vo ho ho, Melampo ho,  Do. 
If my desire deceive me not, that is the voice  
O my beloved Silvio, that call, his dog,  
He hath our labour saved.  Sil. 
Vohoho, Melampo ho.  Do. 
Doubtless 't's he: happy Dorinda. heavens  
Have sent him whom thou soughtst, 'tis best I put  
The dog aside, so may I win his love.  
Lupino. (Lu.) What's your will?  Do. 
Go hide thyself  
In that same thick, and take the dog with thee.  Lu. 
I go.  Do. 
And stir not till I call.  Lu. 
No more I will.  Do. 
Go soon.  Lu. 
And call you soon, lest hunger make  
The dog believe I am a shoulder of mutton, and so fall too.  Do. 
Go get you hence hen-hearted wretch.  Sil. 
O wretched me, whither shall I go  
To follow thee my dear, my faithful dog?  
The dales, the mountains, I have sought with care,  
All weary now I am. Cursed be the beast  
Thou didst pursue. But see a Nymph, perhaps  
She can tell news of him. Out upon her,  
'tis she that's still so troublesome to me.  
I must dissemble. Fair and gracious Nymph,  
Did you my good Melampo see to day?  Do. 
I fair good Silvio? can you call me fair?  
That am not fair a whit unto your eyes.  Sil. 
Or fair or soul, did you not see my dog?  
Answer to this, or I am quickly gone.  Do. 
Still thou art froward unto her that thee adores,  
Who would believe that in that smooth aspect  
Were harboured such rugged thoughts. Thou through  
These savage woods and rocky hills pursuest  
A beast that flies thee, and consumest thyself  
In tracing out thy greyhounds steps: and me  
Thou shun'st and dost disdain that loves thee so.  
Ah leave these does that run so fast away,  
Take hold of me thy preordained prey.  Sil. 
Nymph, I Melampo came to seek, not to lose time,  
Farewell.  Do. 
Do not so shun me cruel Silvio,  
I'll tell thee news of thy Melampo man.  Sil. 
Thoviests Dorinda. (Do.) Silvio, I protest  
By that dear love that me thy handmaid makes,  
I know where thy Melampo is that coursed the do.  Sil. 
How did he lose her?  Do. 
Both dog and do are in my power.  Sil. 
Both in your power?  Do. 
Why doth it grieve you then  
That I them hold that do adore you so?  Sil. 
Dear Dorinda, quickly give me him.  Do. 
See wavering child, am I not fortunate?  
When a beast and a dog can make me dear to thee.  Sil. 
Good reason too, but yet her I'll deceive.  Do. 
What will you give me?  Sil. 
Two guilded apples  
Which my mother gave me yesterday.  Do. 
I want no apples, and perhaps I could  
Thee better-tasted give; didst thou not thus  
Disdain my gifts.  Sil. 
What wouldst thou have, a kid,  
A lamb? Ah but my father gives me no such leave.  Do. 
Nor kids, nor lambs do I desire, it is thy love  
My Silvio which I seek.  Sil. 
Wilt thou nought but my love?  Do. 
Nought else.  Sil. 
I give it thee. Now my dear Nymph  
Give me my dog and do.  Do. 
Ah that thou knewst  
That treasure's worth whereof thou seemest so liberal,  
Or that thy heart did answer to thy tongue.  Sil. 
Hear me fair Nymph, thou ever tellest me of  
A certain love, I know not what it is.  
Thou dost desire I should thee love, and so I do.  
As far forth as I can, or understand,  
Thou callst me cruel, and I know not cruelty.  Do. 
Wretched Dorinda, how hast thou placed thy hopes  
In beauty, feeling ne'er a spark of love?  
Thou lovely boy art such a fire to me,  
And yet burns not thyself. Thee under human shape  
Of dainty mother, did the Cyprian dame  
Bring forth, thou hast his arrows and his fire.  
Well know my breast both burnt and wounded too,  
Get but his wings unto thy shoulders, and  
New Cupia shall thou be, were't not thy hear●  
Is made of rocky frozen Icy shelf,  
Thou wantedst nought of love, but love itself.  Sil. 
Tell me, what kind of thing is this same love?  Do. 
If in thy face I look (oh lovely boy)  
Then is this love a paradise of joy.  
But if I turn and view my spirit well,  
Then 'tis a flame of deep infernal hell.  Sil. 
Nymph, no more words, give me my dog and do.  Do. 
Nay give me first, the love you promised.  Sil. 
Have I not given it? what a stir is here,  
Her to cnntent: take it, do what thou wilt,  
Who doth forbid thee? what wouldst thou have more?  Do. 
Thou sow'st thy seed in sand wretched Dorinda.  Sil. 
What would you have? why do you linger thus?  Do. 
As soon as you have got what you desire,  
(Perfidious Silvio) you are gone from me.  Sil. 
No trust me Nymph.  (Do.) 
Give me a pledge.  (Sil.) 
What pledge?  Do. 
I dare not tell.  (Sil.) 
And why?  (Do.) 
I am ashamed.  Sil. 
Are you ashamed to speak, and not ashamed  
It to receive?  (Do.) 
If you will promise me  
To give it, I will tell.  (Sil.) 
I promise you.  Do. 
(Silvio my dear) do you not understand me yet?  
I should have understood you but with half of this.  Sil. 
Thou art more subtle much then I.  Do. 
I am more earnest, and less cruel much then thou.  Sil. 
To say the troth, I am no Prophet I,  
You must speak if you'll have me understand.  Do. 
O wretch one of those which thy mother gave to thee.  Sil. 
A blow on th'ear?  (Do.) 
A blow on th'ear to one that loves  Sil. 
Sometime she maketh much of me with one of them.  Do. 
Doth she not kiss you then?  (Sil.) 
Nor she nor any else  
Doth kiss me. But perhaps you'd have a kiss.  
You answer not, your blushing you accuseth,  
I am content, but give me first my dog.  Do. 
Youhave promised me?  (Sil.) 
'tis true, I have promised thee.  Do. 
And will you stay?  (Sil.) 
Tush what a stir is here? I will.  Do. 
Come forth Lupino, Lupino dost not hear?  Lu. 
Who calls? I come, I come, it was not I,  
It was the dog that slept.  (Do.) 
behold thy dog  
More courteous than thyself.  (Sil.) 
O happy me.  Do. 
He in these arms that thou despisest so,  
Did put himself.  (Sil.) 
O my most dear Melampo.  Do. 
Esteeming dear my kisses and my sighs.  Sil. 
I'll kiss thee thousand times poor cur.  
Hast thou no harm in running poor Melampo?  Do. 
O happy dog might I change lots with thee:  
Am I not brought unto an excellent pass,  
That of a dog I must be jealous thus?  
Lupino go unto the hunting straight,  
I'll follow thee.  (Lu.) 
Mistress I go.  Exit.  

Scene. 3 Silvio. Dorindo.  
Is aught behind? Where is the Do you promised me?  Do. 
Will you her have alive or dead?  Sil. 
I understand you not.  
How's she alive, hath not my dog her killed?  Do. 
But say the dog hath not.  (Sil.) 
Is she alive?  Do. 
Alive.  (Sil.) 
So much more welcome she's.  Do. 
Only she's wounded in the heart.  (Sil.) 
Thou mockest:  
How can she live and wounded in the heart?  Do. 
My cruel Silvio, I am that same Do  
Without pursuit or conquest taken so.  
Quick if thou pleasest to accept of me,  
Dead if thou dost despise my company.  Sil. 
Is this the Do, the game you told me of?  Do. 
This is the same. Ay me, why look you so?  
Hold you a Nymph no dearer than a Do?  Sil. 
I neither hold thee dear nor like of thee:  
But hate thee brute, wild, lying filth.  Exit. Do. 
Is this my guerdon cruel Silvio?  
Ungrateful boy, is this all my reward?  
I gave Melampo and myself with him to thee,  
Hoping that thus thou wouldst not have denied  
The sunshine of thine eyes to me. I would  
Have kept thee and thy dog most faithful company.  
I would have wiped thy brows from toilefull sweat:  
Upon this lap that never taketh rest,  
Thou might'st have ta'en thy rest. I would  
Have carried all thy ●ew and proved thy prey,  
When beasts had wanted in the woods thou mightst  
Have shot at me for one, and in this breast  
Have used still thy tough-well-sinewed bow.  
So as thou wouldst, I like thy servant might  
Thy weapons carried have, or proved thy prey,  
Making my breast both quiver and the mark  
For those thy shafts. But unto whom speak I?  
To him that hears me not, but's fled from me,  
Fly where thou wilt, thee will I still pursue,  
e'en into hell, if any hell can be  
More painful than my grief, than thy great cruelty.  Exit.  

Scene 4.  Corisca. 
O How Fortune favours my designs  
More than I looked for. She good reason hath,  
For I ne'er asked her favour shamefastly.  
Great power she hath, and with good cause the world  
Calls her a puissant goddess: yet must we not sit still,  
For seldom idle folks prove fortunate.  
Had not my industry made me companion unto her,  
What would this fit occasion have availed me,  
To bring my purpose unto pass? Some fool  
Would have her rival shunned, and show'd signs of  
Her jealousy, bearing an evil eye  
About, but that had been ill done, for easilier  
May one keep her from an open then a hidden foe.  
The covered rocks are those which do deceive  
The wisest mariners Who cannot friendship fain,  
Cannot truly hate. Now see what I can do,  
I am not such an ass to think she doth not love,  
It might she make some other fool believe.  
But tush, I am the mistress of this art. A tender wench,  
Scarce from the cradle crept, in whom love hath  
Stilled but the first drops of his sweet, so long  
Pursued and wooed by a worthy friend,  
And worse, 〈◊〉, and ●ekist, and yet not loue●▪  
She is an ass that it believes. I'll not believe't.  
But see how Fortune favours me: Behold  
Where Amarillis is herself. I'll make  
As though I saw her not, and stand aside.   

Scene 5.  Amarillis. Corisca. 
Dear blessed woods, and you the silent groves  
Of rest and peace, the harbour-houses true:  
How willingly I turn to visit you.  
And if my stars had so been pleased t'have let  
Me live unto myself, I with th'Elysian fields  
The happy gardens of the demi gods,  
Would not have changed your gentle shadow spots.  
If I judge right, these worldly goods are nought  
But muschiefes, still the richest have least goods,  
And he possesseth most that is most poor.  
Riches are ever snares of liberty.  
What's fame of beauty worth in tender years?  
Or heavenly nobleness in mortal blood?  
So many favours, both of heaven and earth,  
Fields large, and happy, goodly meadow plains,  
Fat pastures, that do fatter flocks present,  
If in the same the heart be not content.  
Happy that shepherdess, whose scarcely knees,  
A poor, but yet a cleanly gown doth reach:  
Rich in herself, only in nature's gifts.  
Who in sweet poverty, no poorness knows:  
Nor feels no tortures which this Riches brings.  
Desire to have much, near doth her torment,  
If she be poor, yet is she well content.  
She nature's gifts doth nurse with nature's gifts,  
Making milk spring with milk, saucing her native sweet  
With honey of the Bee, one fountain serveth her  
To drink, to wash, and for her looking glass.  
If she be well, than all the world is well.  
Let the clouds rise, and thunder threat amain,  
Her poverty doth all the fear prevent,  
If she be poor, yet is she well content.  
Finely the flock committed to her charge  
Feeds on the grass, the whilst her shepherd friend  
Feeds on her eyes, not whom the stars, or men,  
Her destinies, but whom affection chooseth.  
Then in the shadow of a M●●tell tree,  
Cherished, she cherisheth again; nor doth  
She feel that heat which she discovers not:  
Nor ever heat discover which she doth not feel.  
Always declaring troth of her intent,  
If she be poor, yet is she well content.  
True life that knows not death before they die.  
Ah that I might my fortune change with theirs.  
But see Corisca. Gods save you good Corisca.  Co. 
Who calleth me? Dear Amarillis dearer than  
Mine eyes, my life, whither go you alone?  Ama. 
No further than you see, glad I have found you out.  Co. 
You have her found that will not part from you.  
And e'en now, thus was I thinking with myself,  
Were I her soul how could she stay away so long?  
And therewithal you came my dear, and yet  
You do not love your poor Corisca.  Am. 
Why so?  Co. 
Ask you why so? and you a bride to day.  Ama. 
A bride?  Co. 
A bride, and yet from me you keep it.  Ama. 
How should I utter that I do not know?  Co. 
Yet will you feign?  Am. 
You jest.  Co. 
'tis you that jest.  Ama. 
And can it then be true?  Co. 
Most certain true.  
Do not you know thereof?  Ama. 
I know I promised was,  
But know not that the marriage is so near.  Co. 
I heard it of my brother Ormin: and to say the troth,  
There is no other talk. But you look pale.  
This news perhaps doth trouble you.  Ama. 
It is  
Long since the promise past, and still my mother said  
This day it should revive.  Co. 
Unto a better life  
You shall revive, for this you should be merry,  
Why do you sigh? let that poor wretch go sigh.  Ama. 
What wretch?  Co. 
Mirtillo, whom e'en now I found  
Ready to die: and surely he had died  
Had I not promised him this marriage to disturb,  
Which though I only for his comfort said,  
Yet were I fit to do it.  Am. 
And did he give consent?  Co. 
I: and the means.  Am. 
I pray you how?  Co. 
Easily:  
So you thereto disposed be to yield.  Ama. 
That could I hope, and would you give your faith  
Not to disclose it, I discover would  
A thought which in my heart I long have hid.  Co. 
I it disclose! Ground open first thy jaws  
And swallow me up by a miracle.  Ama. 
Know then (Corisca) when I think I must  
Be subject to a child, that hates, that flies from me,  
And hath no other sport but woods and beasts,  
And loves a dog better than thousand Nymphs,  
I malcontented ●●ue half desperate.  
But dare not say so for respect I bear  
Unto mine honesty, unto my faith  
Which to my father, and what worser is,  
Which to our puissant goddess I have given:  
If by thy help my faith my life both saved,  
I might divide me from this heavy knot,  
Then shouldst thou be my health, my very life.  Co. 
If so for this thou sighest good reason thou  
Dear Amarillis haste. How oft he said?  
A thing so fare to one that can despise it?  
So rich a lemme to one that knows it not:  
But you too crafty are to tell the troth.  
What let's you now to speak?  Ama. 
The shame I have.  Co. 
Sister you have a mischievous disease,  
I'had rather have the pox. the fever, or the fistula,  
But trust to me, you'll quickly leave the same:  
Once do but master it, and then 'tis gone.  Ama. 
This shamefastness that nature stamps in us  
Cannot be mastered for if you seek  
To hunt it from your heart, it she's into your face.  Co. 
O Amarillis, who (too wise) conceals  
Her ill, at last great folly she reveals.  
Hadst thou but at the first discovered  
This thought to me, thou hadst been lose ere this.  
Now try Corisca's art, you could not have  
Entrusted you into more subtle faithful hands.  
But when you shall be freed by my help  
From this same captive husband, will you not  
Provide you of another Lover then?  Ama. 
At better leisure we will think of that.  Co. 
Trust me you cannot faithful Mirtillo.  
You know there is not at this day a swain  
For value, honest troth and beauty, worthier  
Of your affection. And you will let him die,  
Without so much as saying so. Yet hear him once.  Ama. 
How better 'twere to give him peace & stab:  
The root of such desire as hath no hope.  Co. 
Give him this comfort yet before he die.  Ama. 
It rather double will his misery.  Co. 
Leave that to him.  Ama. 
But what becomes of me,  
If ever it be known?  Co. 
Small hurt thou hast.  Ama. 
And small t'shall be before my name it do endanger.  Co. 
If you may fail in this then in the rest.  
I you may fail. Adieu.  Ama. 
Nay stay Corisca,  
Hear me but speak.  Co. 
No not a word, unless  
You promise me.  Am. 
I promise you, so you  
Do tie me to nought else.  Co. 
To nothing else.  Ama. 
And you shall make him think I knew not of it.  Co. 
I'll make him think it was by chance.  Am. 
And that I may  
Depart assoon as I think good.  Co. 
assoon  
As you have heard him speak.  Ama. 
And that he shall  
Quickly dispatch.  Co. 
So shall he do.  Ama. 
And that  
He come not near me by my darts length never.  Co. 
O what a toil 'tis to reform your simpleness:  
All parts saving his tongue we'll surely tie.  
Will you ought else?  Am. 
No nothing else.  Co. 
When will you do't?  Ama. 
When you think good, give me but so much time  
I may go home and hear more of this marriage.  Co. 
Go. But take heed you do it warily.  
But hear what I am thinking on. To day  
About noon time among these shadow trees  
Come you without your Nymphs, here shall you find  
Me to that end, with me shallbe Nerine,  
Aglaure, Elisa, Phillis, and Licoris, all mine own.  
As wise as faithful good companions.  
Here may you now (as often you have done)  
Play at blind buff. Mirtill will easily think,  
That for your sport and not for him you came.  Ama. 
This pleaseth me, but yet I would not have  
Your Nymphs to hear the words Mirtillo speaks.  Co. 
I understand, and well advised, let me alone,  
I'll make them vanish when I see my time:  
Go, and forget not now to love your poor Corisca.  Am. 
How can I choose but love her in whose hands  
I have reposed my life.  Co. 
So she is gone.  Exit. Am. 
Small force will serve to batter down this rock,  
Though she have made defence to my assault,  
Yet will she never his abide. I know too well  
How hearty prayers of a gracious Love  
Can tempt a tender wench's heart. Yet with this sport  
I'll tie her so, she'll scarcely think it sport.  
I'll by her words, will she or nill she, spy  
And pierce into the bowels of her heart,  
I'll make me mistress of her secrets all.  
Then I'll conduct her so that she shall think  
Her most unbridled love and not my art  
Hath brought her in to play this wretched part.   

Scene 6.  Corisca. Satir. 
O I am dead,  Sa. 
And I alive?  Co. 
Ah turn  
My Amarillis, turn again, I taken am.  Sa. 
Tush Amarillis hears thee not, be quiet now.  Co. 
Oh me my hear.  Sa. 
I have hunted thee so long  
That at the last thouart fallen into my snare.  
This is the robe sister, this is the hear.  Co. 
Speak you to me satire?  Sa. 
I e'en to thee.  
Are you not that same famous Corisca, that  
Excellent mistress of lies, that at so dear a rate  
False hopes, feigned looks, and lying words dost sell,  
That hast betrayed me so many ways perfidous Corisca.  Co. 
I am Corisca gentle satire, but not now  
So pleasing to thine eyes as I have been.  Sa. 
I gentle wicked wretch, I was not so  
When me thou 〈◊〉 to follow Coridon.  Co. 
I left thee for another.  Sa. 
See, see a wonder,  
This is news indeed. But when I stole  
Fair Lillaes' bow, Clor● scarf, Daphne's rich robe,  
And Silutaes' buskins, than thou promised me  
Thy love thou gav'st another should be my reward.  
The dainty garland which I gave to thee,  
Thou gav'st to Nisus. And when me thou mad'st  
To watch so many frosty night▪ both ●n  
The cave, the woods, and by the river side,  
And ever mockedst me, was I not gentle then?  
Believe me now thou shalt me pay for all.  Co. 
Thou stranglest me as if I were a dog.  Sa. 
Now see if thou canst run away again.  
Thy policies shall not avail thee now.  
If but thy head hold on 'tis vain to strive.  Co. 
Good satire give me leave to speak to thee.  Sa. 
Speak tlhen  Co. 
How can I speak? let me go:  
Upon my faith I will not run away.  Sa. 
What faith oh faithless woman hast? Dar'st thou  
Yet speak of faith to me? I'll carry thee  
Into the darkest cave this mountain hath:  
Where never Sun nor human step approached,  
I'll hide the rest there thou with my delight  
And with thy scorn shalt feel what I will do with thee.  Co. 
And canst thou be so cruel to that hair  
For which thou oft hast sworn 'twere sweet to die,  
And that thou couldst not suffer too much ill for me?  
Oh heavens, oh fates, whom shall a woman trust?  Sa. 
Ah wicked, thinkst thou to deceive me yet?  
Canst thou yet tempt me with thy subtleties?  Co. 
Oh gentle satire do not make a scorn  
Of her that thee adores. If so thy heart  
Be not of marble made, behold me at  
Thy feet, if ever I offended thee (o Idol of  
My soul) I pardon crave. By these same strong  
And more than manlike knees which I embrace,  
By that same love thou sometime bar'st to me,  
By that same sweetness which thou wontest to draw  
Thou saidst out of mine eyes calling them stars,  
Now wretched fountains of these bitter tears,  
I pray thee pity me, let me but go.  Sa. 
The wretch hath almost moved me, should I but trust  
Affection only I were overcome.  
But to be short, I will not trust thee, strive no more.  
For all this humbleness thou art Corisca still.  Co. 
Oh me my head, stay yet do not deny  
Me one poor favour yet.  Sa. 
What favour's that?  Co. 
Hear me but once.  Sa. 
Thou think'st with feigned words  
And forged tears to mollify my heart.  Co. 
Ah courteous satire, what wilt thou make of me?  Sa. 
we'll try.  Co. 
No pity then?  Sa. 
No pity I.  Co. 
Art thou resolved of this?  Sa. 
I am resolved.  
Hast thou now made an end of all thy charms?  Co. 
Oh villain indiscreet, unseasonable.  
Half a man, half a goat, and all a beast:  
Dried Carogne, defect of wicked nature.  
Dost thou believe Corisca loves not thee?  
It is most true. What should I love in thee:  
This goodly bunch of that beslavered beard,  
These goatlike ears, that stinking toothless cave?  Sa. 
Oh witch are these to me?  Co. 
These are to thee.  Sa. 
Ribald to me?  Co. 
Half goat to thee.  Sa. 
And do  
Not I with these my hands thrust out thy bitch's tongue?  Co. 
I if thou durst.  Sa. 
A silly woman in my hands,  
Dares brave me? dares despise me thus? Well I'll.  Co. 
Villain what wilt thou do?  Sa 
I'll eat thee quick.  Co. 
Where be thy teeth?  Sa. 
Oh heavens who can endure  
I'll pay you home, come on.  Co. 
I will not come.  Sa. 
That will I see.  Co. 
Spite of thy heart I will not.  Sa. 
Come on, we'll see who hath the stronger, thou  
The neck or I the arms. Nay soft and fair.  
Well let us see.  (Sa.) 
Go too.  (Co.) 
satire hold fast.  
Farewell, I would thy neck were broke.  Exit Co. Sa. 
O me my head, my back, my side. Oh what  
A fall is this? I scarce can turn myself.  
And is she gone and left her head behind?  
Unusual wonder. Nymphs and shepherds come,  
Behold a witchcraft trick of one that's fled  
And lives without a head! How light it is?  
It hath no brains, there cometh out no blood.  
Why look I so? Oh fool she gone without a head,  
Thou art without a head that seest not  
How thou art mocked. Treacherous perfidous witch,  
Is't not enough thoust made thy heart to lie,  
Thy face, thy words, thy laughter and thy looks,  
But that thy hair must lie. Poets behold  
Your native gold, your amber pure, that you  
So fondly praise, for shame your subject change,  
In steed whereof sing me a witch's subtlety,  
That robbeth sepulchres and rotten heads  
To dress her own. As well you may go praise  
Megeraes' viperous monstrous hairs. lovers  
Behold, and be ashamed wretches now,  
Make this the means your senses to recover  
That are ensnared in such without more plaints.  
But why stay I to publish out her shame?  
This hair my tongue so famous made erewhile,  
I will go prove to make again as vile.  
Finis Act. 2.   
Chorus. 
Great was her fault and error sure,  
That did occasion all our teen:  
Who loves great laws holy and pure  
(Breaking her faith) did violate  
And thereby did illuminate  
The mortal rage of our immortal queen.  
That neither tears nor blood  
Of many harmless souls have done us good.  
So faith to every virtue root  
The ornament of every soul well borne,  
In heaven hath surely set his foot,  
That worthily are faithless held in scorn.  
So nature truth would ever happy make,  
e'en for the true almighty maker's sake.  
Blind mortals you that have so deep desire  
To get and to possess  
A guilded carcase of a painted tire,  
That like a naked shadow walks on still,  
Seeking her sepulchre by guess:  
What love, or rather fond will,  
Hath witched your heart dead beauty to pursue?  
Rich treasures are loves follies found. The true  
And lively love is of the soul:  
All other subjects want what love requires,  
Therefore they not deserve these amorous desires.  
The soul because it only loves again,  
Is only worthy of this loving pain.  
It is a pretty thing to kiss  
The delicate vermilion Rose  
Of some fair cheek, they that have proved that bliss  
(Right happy Lovers) so will say. Yet those  
Will say again kisses are dead and vain,  
Where beauty kissed restores it not again.  
The strokes of two enamoured lips are those  
Where mouth on mouth loves sweetest vengeance shows.  
Those are true kisses where with equal wills  
We ever give and take again our fills.  
Kiss but a curious mouth, a dainty hand,  
A breast, a brow, or what you can demand,  
You will confess no part in woman is,  
Save for sweet mouth that doth deserve a kiss,  
By which two souls with lively spirits meet,  
Making live rubres kindly entergreet,  
So 'mongst themselves those sowly sprightful kisses  
Do enter-speake, and in a little sown  
Great things bewray, and sweetest secret blisses  
To others hidden, to themselves well known.  
Such joy, nay such sweet life doth loving prove,  
Soul knit to soul by th'earthly knot of love.  
Kisses that kisses meet, do paint unmoved,  
Th'encounters of two hearts, loving beloved.    


Scene 1.  Mirtillo. 
O Spring, the gentle childhood of the year,  
Mother of flowers, fresh herbs, & fresh desires,  
Thou turn'st again, but with thee do not turn  
The happy days of my delightful joys:  
Thou turnst, thou turnst, but with thee turnst nought else  
Save of the loss of my dear trusures lost,  
The miserable wretched memory.  
Thou art the same thou wert, so fresh, so fair,  
But I am not as I was wont to be,  
So dear to other eyes. Oh bitter sweets of love,  
Much worser 'tis to lose you once possessed,  
Then never to have you enjoyed at all,  
Much like the grief to change a happy state.  
The memory of any good that wastes,  
Consumes itself as th'other is consumed.  
But if my hopes be not as is their use,  
Of brittle glass, or that my deep desire  
Make not my hope much greater than the truth,  
Here shall I see the sunbeams of mine eyes.  
Here if I be not mocked I shall her see  
Stay her quick feet at sound of my lament.  
Here shall my greedy eyes after long fast  
Receive sweet food from her divinest look.  
Here will she turn her son'raigne lights on me,  
If not gentle, yet cruel will they be.  
If not the means to breed mine inward joy,  
So fierce, yet as I die to mine annoy.  
O happy day sighed for long time in vain,  
If after times so clouded with complaints  
Love thou dost grant me sight of her fair eyes,  
I mean made bright as is the morning Sun,  
Hither Ergasto sent me, where he said  
Corisca and my beauteous Amarillo  
Would be together playing at blind man buff:  
Yet here see I none blind, save my blind will,  
That wandering seeks her sight by other means  
But finds it not. O poison to my food,  
This long delay blindeth my heart with fear.  
My cruel destiny will never change.  
Each hour, each moment that a Lover stays  
Expecting his contentment, seems a world.  
But who doth know? perhaps I stayed too long.  
And here Corisca hath attended me.  
Ay me! If this be true, then welcome death.   

Sce. 2.  Amarillis. Mirtillo. Chorus of Nymphs. Corisca. 
BEhold the buff!  Ms. 
Behold indeed! ah sight.  Am. 
Why stay ye now▪  Mir. 
Ah voice that hast at once  
Both wounded me and healed me again?  Am. 
Where be ye? what do ye? Lisetta you  
That so desired this sport, where are you now?  
Where is Corisca? and where be the rest?  Mir. 
Now may't be truly said that love is blind,  
And hath a scarce that bindeth up his eyes.  Ama. 
Come list to me! guide me clear of these trees,  
There set me in the pain, you round about  
A circle make and so begin the play.  Mir. 
What shall I do? I see not how this sport  
Can do me good, not I Corisca see that is  
The lodestar of my hopes. heavens aid me.  Am. 
Why are ye come? think ye nought else to do  
But blind mine eyes? Where are ye let's begin?  Cho. Nim. 
Blind love I do not trust to thee,  
That makes desires full of obscurity.  
Thou hast s●● all sight lesser troth,  
Unhappy they that trust thine oath.  
Blind or not blind thou tempest in vain,  
For I can shift me in this plain.  
Blind thou dost see through Aaron's eyes,  
Blind thou best sighted safely ties.  
Now that I am at liberty,  
I were a fool to trust to thee.  
In test nor earnest I'll not stay,  
Because thou killest when thou dost play.  Am. 
But ye play too far off, ye should touch me.  Mir. 
O mighty Gods! what do I see? am I  
In heaven or earth? youhave no such harmony.  Co. Nim. 
But you that blind and faithless prove,  
That calleth me to play this hour,  
Behold I play and with my hand  
Hit your back and by you stand.  
I play and round about you run,  
And for I trust not you I shun.  
Here am I not and there again,  
Whilst you take me strive in vain.  
The reason is my heart is free,  
Therefore you cannot handle me.  Ama. 
I thought I had Licoris caught, and I  
Have got a tree. I hear you laugh full well.  Mir. 
Oh would I were that tree. Me thinks I see Corisca  
Hidden in yonder shrubs, she nods to me,  
'tis e'en she, she beckons still to me.  Cho. Nim. 
Free hearts have ever feet to fly,  
And so (enticing power) have I▪  
Yet will you tempt me in to train?  
In saith (sweet) no: 't's all in vain.  
The reason is my hearts is free,  
Therefore you cannot handle me.  Ama. 
I would this tree were burned, now had I thought  
I had Essa ta'en.  Mir. 
Yet doth Corisca point,  
She threatens me, sh'would have me put myself  
Among these Nymphs.  Ama. 
Belike thus I all day  
Must play with trees.  Co. 
I must spite of my heart  
Go out and speak. Why stayest thou fearful wretch?  
Until she come into thy arms? let her take thee,  
Give me thy 〈◊〉 (fool) go and meet with her.  Mir. 
How ill agree my heart with my desire?  
Th'one dares so little, th'other seeks so much.  Ama. 
'tis time I turn again unto the sport,  
I almost weary am. Fie, ●ie: you make  
Me run too much, in faith you're too blame.  Cho Nim. 
Now look about triumphant power,  
That the world's tribute dost devour.  
Now bear'st thou mocks and many a bat,  
And like an Owl thouart wondered at.  
About whom birds flock thick and round,  
ut hilst them she strives in vain to wound.  
So art thou love this instant tide  
Laughed at and mocked on every side.  
Some hit thy back and some thy face,  
Sparing thee neither time nor place.  
It will not boot thee spread thy wings,  
Nor that thy pi●tons whistling stings.  
Catch how thou wilt thou geist not me,  
The reason is my heart is free.  (Amarillis takes Mirtillo now.) 
Him thou hast caught it is no wonder,  
For love holds all his senses under.  Exeunt Cho. Nim,  

Sce. 3.  Amarillis. Mirtillo. Corisca. 
IN faith Auglaura I have catched you now.  
Will you be gone? nay 〈◊〉 I'll hold you fast.  Co. 
Trust me had I not unawares to him  
Thrust him on her, this labour had been lost.  Ama. 
What not a word? are you she or not she?  Co. 
Here do I take this dart, and in this grove  
I turn me to observe what followeth.  Ama. 
So now I know Corisca are you not?  
'tis so you are so great and have no hair,  
I could have wished no better match than this.  
And since you tied me, do untie me too,  
Quickly my heart, and I will pay thee with  
The sweetest kiss thou ever hadst. Why stayest?  
Me thinks your hands do shake. Put to your teeth,  
If with your nails you cannot do the deed.  
How tedious you're? Let me alone,  
Myself will rid me of this trouble soon:  
But see how many knots have made me sure.  
Ah that I may but make you play this part.  
So now I see. Ay me what do I see?  
Let me alone (traitor) ay wretched me.  Mir. 
Stand still my soul.  Am. 
Let me alone I say,  
Date you thus offer force to Nymphs Aglaure,  
Elisa treachours where are you become?  
Let me alone.  Mir. 
Behold I let you go.  Ama. 
This is Corisca's craft, well keep you that  
Which you have not deserved.  Mir. 
Why fly you hence▪  
(Cruel) behold my death, behold this dart  
Shall pierce my woeful breast.  Am. 
What will you do?  Mir. 
That which perhaps grieves you (most cruel Nimph.  
That any else beside yourself should do.  Am. 
Oh me, me thinks I am half dead.  Mir. 
But if this work belong alone to you,  
Behold my breast, here take this fatal dart.  Ama. 
Death you have merited. But tell me who  
Hath made you boldly thus presume?  Mi. 
My love  Ama. 
Love is no cause of any villain-act.  Mi. 
Love trust me 'twas in me. I made me respective:  
And since you first laid hold on me less cause  
You have to call my action villainy.  
Yea e'en when I by so commodious means  
Might be made bold to use the laws of love,  
Yet did I quake a Lover to be found.  Ama. 
Cast not my blind deeds in my teeth I pray.  Mir. 
My much more love makes me more blind than you.  Ama. 
Prayers and fine conceits, not snares and thefts,  
Discreetest Lovers use.  Mir. 
Assavadge beast  
With hunger hunted, from the woods breaks forth  
And doth assail the stranger on his way,  
So I that only by your beauteous eyes  
Do live: since that sweet food me have forbade,  
Either your cruelty or else my fate  
A starved Lover issuing from those woods  
Where I have suffered long and wretched fast,  
Have for my health assayed this stratage me  
Which loves necessity upon me thrust.  
Now blame not me (Nymph cruel) blame yourself,  
For prayers and conceits true loves discretion  
As you them call, you not attend from me,  
You have bereaved with shunning me the means  
To love discreetly.  Ama. 
Discreetly might you to do  
To leave to follow that which flies you so,  
In vain you know you do pursue me still.  
What is't you seek of me?  Mir. 
Only one time  
Deign but to hear me, ere I wretched die.  Ama. 
't's well for you, the favour that you ask  
You have already had: now get you hence.  Mir. 
Ah Nymph that which I have already said,  
Is but a drop of that huge ample sea  
Of my complaints, if not for pity sake,  
Yet for your pleasure now hear (cruel) but  
The latest accents of a dying voice.  Ama. 
To ease your mind and me this cumber rid,  
I grant to hear you, but with this condition,  
Speak small, part soon, and never turn again.  Mir. 
In too too small a bundle (cruel Nymph)  
You do ccommaund me bind my huge desires,  
Which measure, but by thought nought could contain:  
That I you love, and love more than life,  
If you deny to know, ask but these woods  
And they will tell, and tell you with them will  
Their beasts, their trees & stones of these great rocks  
Which I so oft have tender made to melt  
At found of my complaints. But what make I  
Such proof of love where such rare beauty is?  
See but how many beauteous things the skies contain,  
How many dress the earth in brave attire:  
Thence shall you see the force of my desire.  
For as the waters fall, the fire doth rise,  
The air doth fly, the earth lies firmly still,  
And all these same the skies do compass round.  
e'en so to you as to their chiefest good,  
My soul doth fly, and my poor thoughts do run  
With all affection to your lovely beauties:  
He that from their dear object would them turn,  
Might fast turn from their vivall course the sky,  
The earth, the air, the water, and the fire.  
And quite remove the earth from oft his seat.  
But why command you me to speak but small?  
Small shall I tell, it I but tell you shall  
That I must die, and less shall dying do,  
If I but see what is my turn too.  
Ay me, what shall I do? which may outlast  
My miserable love? When I am dead,  
Yet cruel soul have pity on my pains.  
Ah fair! ah dear I sometime so sweet a cause  
Why I did live whilst my good fates were pleased.  
Turn hitherward those starry lights of love,  
Let me them see once meek and full of pity  
Before I die. So may my death be sweet.  
As they have been good guide, unto my life,  
So let them be unto my death, and that  
Sweet look which first begat my love, beget  
My death 〈◊〉 my loves Hesperus become  
The 〈◊〉 star of my decaying day.  
But you obdurate, never 〈…〉,  
Whilst I more humble you more haughty are.  
And can you hear me and not speak a word?  
Whom do I speak too wretch a marble stone?  
If you will say nought else, yet bid me die,  
And you shall see what force your words will have.  
Ah wicked love, this is a misery extreme,  
A Nymph so cruel so desirous of my death,  
Because I ask it as a favour, scorns to give it,  
Arming her cruel voice in silence so,  
Lest it might favour mine exceeding wo.  Ama. 
If I as well to answer as to hear,  
You pronused had, just cause you might have found  
To have condemned my silence for unjust.  
You call me cruel, imagining perhaps  
By that reproof more easily to draw  
Me to the contrary. No know (Mirtillo)  
I am no more delighted with the sound  
Of that desertless and disliked praise  
You to my beauty give, then discontent  
To hear you call me cruel and unjust.  
I grant this cruelty to any else a fault,  
But to a lover virtue 't's and honesty,  
Which in a woman you call cruelty.  
But be it as you you'd blameworthy fault,  
To be unkind to one that loves. Tell me,  
When was Amarillis cruel unto you?  
Perhaps when reason would not give me leave  
To use this pity: yet how I it used  
Yourself can judge, when you from death I saved:  
I mean when you among a noble sort of maids,  
A lustful Lover in a woman's clothes  
Banded yourself, and durst contaminate  
Their purest sports, mingling 'mong kisses innocent,  
Kisses lascivious and impure: which to remember  
I am ashamed. But heavens my witness are,  
I knew you not, and after I you knew,  
I scorned your deed, and kept my soul untouched  
From your lasciviousness, not suffering at all  
The venom there to run to my chaste heart.  
You violated nothing save th'out side  
Of these my lips. A mouth kissed but by force  
Spits out the kiss, and kill the shame withal.  
But tell me you, what fruit had you received  
Of your rash theft, had I discovered you  
Unto those Nymphs? The Thracian Orfeus had not been  
So lamentably torn on Ebers banks  
Of Bacchus' dames as you had been of them,  
Had not you help't, her pity whom you cruel call.  
That pity which was fit for me to give, I ever gave:  
For other 'tis in vain you either ask or hope:  
If you me love, then love mine honesty,  
My safety love, and love my life withal.  
Thou art too far from that which thou desir'st,  
The heavens forbid, the earth contraries it,  
Death is the punishment thereof. And above all  
Mine honesty defies forbidden acts:  
Then with a safer keeper of her honour's flower,  
A soul well-born will ever scorn to have.  
Then rest in peace (Mirtillo) give over this suit,  
Get thee far hence to live if thou art be'st wise.  
T'abandon life for peevish grief or smart,  
Is not the action of a valiant heart.  
From that which pleaseth virtue, 'tis t'abstain,  
Is that which pleaseth breeds offence again.  Mir. 
To save one's life is not within his power,  
That hath his soul forsaken and given over.  Ama. 
One armed in virtue conquereth all desire.  Mir. 
Virtue small conquest gets where love triumphs.  Ama. 
Who cannot what he would will he what he can.  Mir. 
Oh loves necessity no laws endures.  Ama. 
Distance of place may heal your wound again.  Mir. 
In vain one flies from that his heart doth harbour.  Ama. 
A new desire an old will quite displace.  Mir. 
Had I another heart, another soul.  Ama. 
Time will at last clearly this love consume.  Mir. 
I after love hath quite consumed my life.  Ama. 
Why then your wounds will not be cured at all?  Mir. 
Never till death.  Ama. 
Till death▪ well hear me now,  
And look my words be laws unto your deeds.  
Howbeeed I know to die is the more usual voice  
Of an enamoured tongue, than a desire  
Or firm conceit his soul hath entertained,  
Yet if by chance such a strange folly hath  
Possessed thy mind, know then thy death will be  
Death to mine honour as unto thy life.  
Now if thou lov'st me, live and let it be  
A token of thy wit henceforth thou shun  
To see me, or to seek my company.  Mir. 
O cruel sentence! can I without life  
Live think you then? Or can I without death  
Find end unto my torment and my grief?  Ama. 
Well now 'tis time you go (Mirtillo) hence!  
you'll stay too long. Go comfort yourself,  
That infinite the troop of wretched Lovers is.  
All wounds do bring with them their several pain,  
Nor can you only of this love complain.  Mir. 
Among these wretches I am not alone: but yet  
A miserable spectacle am only I,  
Of dead and living, nor can live nor die.  Ama. 
Well go your ways.  Mir. 
Ah sad departure,  
End of my life, go I from you, and do not die?  
And yet I feel the very pangs of death,  
That do give life unto mine exttasie,  
To make my heart immortally to die.   

Scene 4.  Amarillis. 
OH Mirtillo! oh my dearest soul  
Couldst thou but see into her heart whom thou  
Call'st cruel Amarillis, then wouldst thou say  
Thou hadst that pity which thy heart desires.  
Oh minds too much infortunate in love!  
What boots it thee my heart to be beloved?  
What boots it me to have so dear a Love?  
Why should the cruel sates so disunite  
Whom love conjoines? and why should traitorous love  
Conjoin them whom the destinies do part?  
Oh happy savage beasts whom nature gives  
No laws in love, save very love itself.  
Inhuman human law, that punish'st  
This love with death, if't be so sweet to sin,  
And not to sin so necessary be,  
Imperfect nature that repugneth law,  
Or law too hard that nature doth offend.  
But rush, she loves too little that fears death,  
Would gods death were the worst that's due to sin.  
Dear chastity, th'inviolable power  
Of souls well-born that hast my amorous will  
Retained in chains of holy rigour still:  
To thee I consecreate my harmless sacrifice.  
And thou my soul (Mirtillo) pardon me,  
That cruel 〈◊〉 where I should piteous be.  
Pardon her that in looks and only words  
Doth seem thy foe, but in my heart thy friend.  
If thou wouldst be revenged, what greater pain  
Wouldst thou 〈◊〉, thou this my cruel grief?  
Thou art my heart, and shalt be spite of heaven  
And earth, when thou dost plain & sigh, and weep,  
Thy tears become my blood, thy sighs my breath:  
And all thy pains they are not only thine,  
For I them feel, and they are turned mine.   

Sce. 5.  Corisca. Amarillis. 
Hid you no more my Amarillis now.  Ama. 
Wretch I discovered am.  Co. 
I all have heard,  
Be not afraid, did I not say I loved you,  
And yet you are afraid? and hides yourself  
From her that loves you so▪ Why do you blush?  
This blushing is a common fault.  Ama. 
Corisca I am conquered I confess.  Co. 
That which you cannot hide you will confess.  Ama. 
And now I see too weak a thing doth prove  
A woman's heart t'encounter mighty love.  Co. 
Cruel unto Mirtillo, but more cruel to yourself.  Ama. 
It is no cruelty that springs of pity.  Co. 
Cicute and Aconite do grow from hoisome roots.  
I see no difference twixt this cruelty  
That doth offend, and pity helping not.  Ama. 
Ah me Coriscal  Co. 
These sighs good sister  
Are but weakness of your heart theyare fit  
For women of small worth.  Ama. 
I could not be  
Thus cruel but I should love cherish hopelessly.  
Therefore to shun him shows I have compassion  
Of his ill and mine.  (Co.) 
Why hopelessly?  Ama. 
Do you not know I am espoused to Silvio,  
And that the law each woman dooms to death  
That violates her faith?  (Co.) 
Oh simple fool,  
Is this the let? Which is more ancient among us,  
Diana's law or loves? this in our breasts  
Is bred and grows with us, Nature herself  
With her own hands imprints in our hearts breasts:  
And where this law commands, both heaven & earth obey.  Ama. 
But if the other law do take my life,  
How can loves law restore it me again?  Co. 
You are too nice, were every woman so,  
Had all such straight respects Good times farewell,  
Small practisers are subject to this pain.  
The law doth never stretch unto the wise.  
Believe me should blameworthy all be slain,  
The country than would soon prove womanlesse.  
It needful was, theft should forbidden be  
To them that closely could not cover theft.  
This honesty is but an art to seem so,  
Let others as they list believe, I'll think so still.  Ama. 
These are but vanities (Corisca) 'twere best  
Quickly to leave that which we cannot hold.  Co. 
And who forbids thee fool? This life's too short  
To pass it over with one only love:  
Men are too sparing of then favours now,  
(Whether't be for want, or else for frowardness  
The fresher that we are, the dearer still:  
Beauty and youth once gone we're like Bee hives  
That hath no honey, no nor yet no wax.  
Let men prate on they do not feel our woes,  
For their condition differs much from ours,  
The elder that they grow, they grow the perfectest:  
If they lose beauty, yet they wisdom gain:  
But when our beauty fades that oftentimes  
Conquers their greatest wits, straight fadeth all our good,  
There cannot be a vilder thing to see  
Then an old woman. Therefore ere thou age attain,  
Know me thyself, and use it as thou shouldst.  
What were a Lion worth did he not use his strength?  
What's a man's wit worth that lies idly by?  
e'en so our beauty proper strength to us,  
As force to Lions, wisdom unto men,  
We ought to use whilst it we have. Time flies  
Away and years come on, our youth once lost  
We like cut flowers never grow fresh again.  
And to our hoary hairs love well may run,  
But Lovers will our wrinkled skins still shun.  Ama. 
Thou speakest this (Corisca) me to try,  
Not as thou think'st I am sure. But be assured  
Except thou showest some means how I may shun  
This marriage bonds, my thought's irrevocable,  
And I resolved am rather to die  
Then any way to spot my chastity.  Co. 
I have not seen so obstinate a fool,  
But since you are resolved I am agreed.  
But tell me do you think your Silvio is  
As true a friend to faith as you to chastity?  Ama. 
Thou mak'st me smile. Silvio a friend to faith?  
How can that be? he's enemy to love.  Co. 
Silvio an enemy to love? O fool,  
These that are nice put thou no trust in them:  
loves theft is never so securely done  
As hidden under vail of honesty,  
Thy Silvio loves (good Sister) but not thee.  Ama. 
What goddess is she? for she cannot be  
A mortal wight that lighted hath his love.  Co. 
Nor goddess, nor a Nimph.  (Ama.) 
What do you tell?  Co. 
Know you Lisetta?  (Ama.) 
She that your cattle keeps?  Co. 
e'en she.  (Ama.) 
Can it be true?  (Co.) 
That same's his heart.  Ama. 
Sure he's provided of a dainty love.  Co. 
Each day he feigns that he on hunting goes.  Ama. 
I every morning hear his cursed horn.  Co. 
About noone-time when others busy are,  
He his companions shuns, and comes alone  
By a back way, unto my garden there,  
Where a shadow hedge doth close it in,  
There doth she hear his burning sighs his vows,  
And then she tells me all, and laughs at him.  
Now hear what I think good to do. Nay I  
Have done't for you already. You know the law  
That ties us to our faith, doth give us leave  
Finding our spouses in the act of perfidy,  
Spite of our friends the marriage to deny,  
And to provide us of an other if we list.  Ama. 
That know I well, I have examples two,  
Leucipp to Ligurine, Armilla to Turingo,  
Their faith once broke, they took their own again.  Co. 
Now hear! Lisetta by my appointment hath  
Promised to meet th'unwary Lover here  
In this same Cave, and now he is the best  
Contented youth that lives, attending but the hour  
There would I have you take him. I'll be there  
To bear you witness ofted, for else we work  
In vain, so are you free from this same noisome knot  
Both with your honour, and your fathers too.  Ama. 
Oh brave invention, good Corisca what's to do?  Co. 
Observe my words. In midst of this same cave  
Upon the right hand is a hollow stone,  
I know not if by Art or nature made,  
A little Cave all lined with ivy leaves,  
To which a little hole aloft gives light,  
A fit and thankful receptacle for loves theft.  
Prevent their coming and attend them there:  
I'll haste Lisetta forward, and as soon  
As I perceive your Silvio enter, so will I:  
Step you to her, and as the custom is,  
we'll carry both unto the Priest, and there dissolve  
This marriage knot.  (Ama.) 
What to his father?  Co. 
What matter's that? Think you Montanus dare  
His private to a public good compare?  Ama. 
Then closing up mine eyes, I let myself  
Be led by thee my dear, my faithful guide.  Co. 
But do not stay now, enter me betime.  Ama. 
I'll to the Temple first, and to the Gods  
My prayers make, without whose aid no happy end  
Can ever sort to mortal enterprise.  Co. 
All places (Amarillis) temples are,  
To hearts devout, you'll slack your time too much.  Ama. 
Time's never lost in praying unto them  
That do command the time.  Co. 
Go then dispatch.  
Now if I err not, am I at good pass,  
Only this staying troubles me, yet may it help,  
I must go make new snares to train in Coridon.  
I'll make him think that I will meet him there,  
And after Amarillis send him soon,  
Then by a secret way I'll bring Diana's Priests:  
Her shall they find, and guilty doom to death.  
My rival gone (Mirtillo) sure is mine,  
See where he comes. Whilst Amarillis stays  
I'll somewhat try him. Love now once inspire  
My tongue with words, my face with heavenly fire.   

Sce. 6.  Mirtillo. Corisca. 
HEre weeping sprights of hell new torments hear,  
New sorts of pain, a cruel mind behold  
Included in a look most merciful,  
My love more fierce than the infernal pit,  
Because my death cannot suffice to glut  
Her greedy will, and that my life is but  
A multitude of deaths command me live,  
That to them all my life might living give.  Co. 
I'll make as though I heard him not, I hear  
A lamentable voice plain hereabouts,  
I wonder who it is, oh my Mirtillo.  Mir. 
So would I were a naked shade or dust.  Co. 
How feel you now yourself after your long  
Discourse with your so dearly loved Nymph?  Mir. 
Like a weak sick man that hath long desired  
Forbidden drink, at last gets it unto his mouth  
And drinks his death, ending at once both life & thirst.  
So I long sick, burnt and consumed in  
This amorous drought, from two fair fountains that  
Ice do distill from out a rocky brain  
Of an indurate heart,  
Have drunk the poison that my life will kill,  
Sooner than half of my desire fulfil.  Co. 
So much more mighty waxeth love as from  
Our hearts the force is he receives (dear Mirtillo)  
For as the Bear is wont with licking to give shape  
To her misshapen brood, that else were helpless borne.  
e'en so a Lover to his bare desire,  
That in the birth was shapeless, weak and frail.  
Giving but form and strength begetteth love:  
Which whilst 'tis young and tender, then 'tis sweet,  
But waxing to more years, more cruel grows,  
That in the end (Mirtillo) an mueterate affect  
Is ever full of anguish and defect.  
For whilst the mind on one thought only beats;  
It waxeth thick by being too much fixed.  
So love that should be pleasure and delight,  
Is turned to melancholy, and what worser is,  
It proves at last, or death, or madness at the least:  
Wherefore wise is that heart that often changeth love.  Mir. 
Ere I change will or thought, changed must my life  
Be into death, for though the beauteous Amarillis  
Be most cruel, yet is she all my life:  
Nor can this body's bulk at once contain  
More than one heart, more than one soul retain.  Co. 
O wretched shepherd, ill thou know'st to use  
Love in his kind, love one that hates thee, one  
That flies from thee, fie man, I had rather die.  Mir. 
As gold in fire, so saith in grief's refined,  
Nor can (Corisca) amorous constancy  
Show his great power, but through cruelty.  
This only rests amongst my many griefs.  
My sole content doth my heart burn or die,  
Or languish ne'er so much, light are the pains,  
Plaints, torments, sighs, exile, and death itself,  
For such a cause, for such a sweet respect.  
That life before my faith shall broken be,  
So worse than death I hold inconstancy.  Co. 
O brave exploit, Lover magnanimous,  
Like an enraged beast or senseless rock,  
There cannot be a greater damned plague,  
More mortal poison to a soul in love.  
Then is this faith. Unhappy is that heart  
That let itself be gulled with vain fantas●nes  
Of this erroneous and unseasonable  
Disturber of these amorous delights.  
Tell me poor man with this thy foolish virtue of constancy,  
What lov'st thou in her that doth thee despise?  
Lov'st thou the beauty that is none of thine?  
The joy thou hast not? the pity thou want'st?  
The reward thou dost not hope for? if thou deemest right,  
Thou lov'st thine ill, thy grief, thy very death,  
thouart mad to hunt thus that thou canst not have.  
Lift up thyself (Mirtillo) happily thou want'st  
some choice of friends, thou finds none to thy mind.  Mir. 
More dear to me is pain for Amarillis▪  
Then any joy a thousand else can give:  
If me my fates forbid her to enjoy,  
For me then die all other kinds of joy.  
I fortunate in any other kind of love?  
No though I would I could not:  
Nor though I could I would not.  
And if I thought in any time henceforth  
My will would wish or power obtain the same,  
I would desire of heaven and love at once  
Both will and power might quite be ta'en away.  Co. 
Wilt thou then die for her that thee disdains?  Mir. 
Who pity not expects doth fear no pains.  Co. 
Do not deceive thyself, perhaps thou think'st  
She doth dissemble in this deep despite,  
And that she loves thee well for all this show.  
Oh that thou knewst what unto me she ever says.  Mir. 
All these are trophies of my truest faith,  
With which I will triumph over her cruel will,  
Over my pains, and my distressed chance,  
Over world's fortune, and over death itself.  Co. 
(What would he do, did he but know her love?)  
How I bewail thee wretched frenzy man:  
Tell me didst thou e'er any love besides?  Mir. 
She was my first, and she my last shall be.  Co. 
For aught that I can see you never tried  
Love but in cruel moods, but in disdain.  
Oh if you had but proved him one time kind,  
Prove him but so, & you shall see how sweet a thing  
It is t'enjoy a grateful Nymph; she'll you adore,  
she'll make your Amarillis bitter to your taste.  
How dear a thing it is wholly to have  
What you desire, and be nought bar thereof.  
Here your Nymph sigh to cool your scalding sighs,  
And after say (my dear) all that you see is yours.  
If I be fair, I am only fair for you:  
Only for you I cherish these my cheeks,  
My locks, my breast, your dear hearts only lodge.  
But this (alas) is but a brook to that  
Great Sea of sweets which we in love might taste,  
Which none can utter save by proof.  Mir. 
Thousand times blessed that under such a star is borne.  Co. 
Here me (Mirtillo) how like I was t'have said  
My heart) a Nymph as gentle as the wind  
Doth blow upon with hair of glistering gold,  
As worthy of your love as you of hers,  
Praise of these woods, love of a thousand hearts,  
By worthy youths in vain solicited,  
You only loves more than her heart, her life,  
If you be wise do not despise her then.  
She like a shadow to thyself will be,  
A faithful follower of thy footsteps ever,  
One at thy word, obedient at thy beck,  
All hours of day and night at thy command.  
Do not forsake this rare adventure then,  
No pleasure in this earth so sweet as this,  
It will not cost a tear, no not a sigh.  
A joy accommodated to thy will,  
A sweetness tempered sweetly to thy taste,  
Is't not a treasure worth the having (man)?  
Leave then the feet of flying hopeless trace,  
And her that follows thee, scorn not t'embrace.  
I feed you not with hopes of vanity.  
If you desire to see her, you shall see her straight.  Mir. 
My heart's no subject for these loves delights.  Co. 
Prove it but once, and then return again  
Unto thy solitary grief, so mayst thou see  
What are those joys that in loves pleasures be.  Mir. 
A taste corrupted, pleasant things abhors.  Co. 
Be not you cruel yet to rob her life,  
That on your eye, depends, you know what 'tis  
To beg with poverty, if you desire  
Pity yourself, do it not her deny.  Mir. 
What pity can he give that none can get?  
In sum I am resolved whilst here I live,  
To keep my faith to her how ere she prove,  
Cruel or pitiful, or how she will.  Co. 
(Oh truly blind, unhappy senseless man)  
To whom preseru'st thou faith? trust me I am loath  
T'augment thy grief, but for the love I bear thee  
I cannot choose. Thinkst Amarillis is unkind  
For zeal she to religion bears?  
Or unto chastity? Thou art a fool,  
The room is occupied and thou must weep  
Whilst others laugh. What? now thouart dumb.  Mir. 
Now stands my life in midst twixt life and death,  
Whilst I in doubt do stand, if to believe,  
Or not believe, this makes me so amazed.  Co. 
You'll not believe me then?  Mir. 
Oh if I do,  
Straight shall you see my miserable end.  Co. 
Live wretched man, live and revenged be.  Mir. 
Oh no it is not true, it cannot be.  Co. 
Well there's no remedy, I must rehearse  
That which will vex thy heart. Seest thou that cave?  
That is the true custodian of her faith  
And her religion. There thee to scorn she laughs,  
There with thy torments doth she sauce the joys  
Of thy thrice happy rival. There to be plain  
Thy faithful Amarillis oft is wont  
To dally in the arms of a base shepherd slave.  
Go sigh, preserve thy faith, there's thy reward.  Mir. 
Dost thou tell true Corisca? may I believe thee?  Co. 
The more thou seek'st, the worse thou findest still.  Mir. 
But hast thou seen this thing Corisca?  Co. 
I have not seen't, yet mayst thou if thou wilt,  
For even this day is order ta'en this hour,  
That they may meet. Hide thee but somewhere here,  
And thou shalt see her first go in, than he.  Mir. 
Then comes my death.  Co. 
See where she comes,  
Softly descending by the Temple's way. Seest thou her?  
Do not her stealing feet bewray her stealing heart?  
Attend thou here and thou shalt see th'effect.  Mir. 
Since I am here, the truth I now will see,  
Till then, my life and death suspended be.   

Sce. 7.  Amarillis. 
LEt never mortal enterprise be ta'en in hand  
Without this heavenly counsel, half confused  
And doubtful was my heart when I went hence  
Unto the Temple, whence thanks be to heaven,  
I do well comforted, and well disposed return.  
Me thought to my pure prayers and devout,  
I felt a sprite celestial move within me  
Heartening my thoughts, that as it were did say,  
What fear'st thou Amarillis? be assured.  
So will I go assured, heavens be my guide,  
Favour fair Mother of love her pure designs,  
That on thy succour only doth depend.  
Queen of the triple sky if e'er thou prou'dst  
Thy suns hot fire, take pity then of mine.  
Guide hither courteous goddess that same swain  
With swift and subtle feet that hath my faith.  
And thou dear Cave into thy bosom take  
Me, loves handmaid, and give me leave there to  
Accomplish my desires. Why do I stay?  
Here's none doth see or hear. Enter secure.  
Oh Mirtillo, couldst thou but dream to find me here.   

Sce. 8.  Mirtillo. 
WHat am I blind, or do I too much see?  
Ah had I but been borne without these eyes,  
Or rather not at all had I been borne.  
Did spiteful fates reserve me thus alive  
To let me see so bad, so sad a sight?  
Mirtill thy torments pass the pains of hell.  
No: doubt no more: suspend not thy belief,  
Thine eyes, thine ears, have seen, have heard it true.  
Thy love an other owns not by the law  
Of earth, that binds her unto any one,  
But by loves law that ties her sole to thee.  
O cruel Amarillis, was't not enough  
To kill me wretch, but thou must scorn me too?  
That faithless mouth that sometime grac'd my joys,  
Did vomit out my hateful name, because  
She would not have it in her heart to be  
A poor partaker of her pleasures sweet.  
Why stayest thou now? she that did give me life  
Hath ta'ned away, and giu'ned an other man:  
Yet wretch thou liv'st, thou dost not die. O die  
Mirtillo, die to thy tormenting grief,  
As to thy joy thou art already dead.  
Die dead Mirtillo, finished is thy life.  
Finish thy torment too: fleet wretched soul  
Through this four constrained and wayward death:  
'tis for thy greater ill that thus thou liust.  
But what? And must I die without revenge?  
First will I make him die that gives me death:  
Desire to live so long I will retain  
Till justly I have that Usurper slain.  
Yield Grief unto Revenge: Pity to Rage,  
Death unto life, till with my life I have  
Revenged the death, another guiltless gave.  
This Steel shall not drink mine unvenidall blood,  
My hand shall rage ere it shall piteous be.  
What ere thou art that ioyst my comforts all,  
I'll make thee feel thy ruin in my fall.  
I'll place me here e'en in this very Grove,  
And as I see him but approach the Cave,  
This Dart shall sudden wound him in his side.  
It shallbe cowardlike to strike him thus,  
I'll challenge him to single combat, I:  
Not so; for to this place so known and used,  
Shepherds may come to hinder us, and worse:  
May search the cause that moved me to this fight,  
Which to deny were wickedness to feign,  
Will make me faithless held: and to discover,  
Will blot her name with endless infamiet  
In whom albeit I like not what I see,  
Yet what I loved I do, and ever shall.  
But what hope I to see, th'adulterer die  
That robbed her of her honour, me my life?  
But if I kill him, shall not then his blood  
Be to the world a token of this deed?  
Why fear I death? since I desire to die.  
But then this murder once made plain, makes plain  
The cause whereby she shall incur that infamy:  
I'll enter then this Cave, and so assail him,  
I so, that pleaseth me: I'll steal in softly,  
So that she shall not hear me. I believe  
That in the secretest and the closest part  
I gather by her words I shall her find,  
Therefore I will not enter in too far.  
A hollow hole there is made in a Rock,  
The left side covered all with ivy leaves:  
Beneath th'other assent there will I stand,  
And tune attend t'effect what I desire:  
I'll bear my dead foe to my living foe;  
Thus of them both I shallbe well revenged:  
Then with this self same Dart I'll pierce this breast,  
So shall there be three pier'st without relief,  
First two with Steel, the third with deadly grief,  
(Fierce) she shall see the miserable end  
Of her beloved, and her betrayed friend,  
This Cave that should be harbour of her joys,  
Of both her loves, and that which more I crave,  
Of her great shame, may prove the happy grave.  
And you the steps that I in vain have followed,  
Could you me speed of such a faithful way?  
Could you direct me to so dear a Bower?  
Behold I follow you. O Corisea, Corisea,  
Now hast thou told too true, now I believe thee.   

SCE. 9  Satire. 
DOth this man than believe Corisea, following her steps  
Into the Cave of Eri●●a●. Well, he's mad,  
He knows her not; believe me he had need  
Have better hold of her engaged faith,  
Then I had of her hear: But knots more stranged,  
Then gaudy gifts on her he cannot tie.  
This damned Whore hath sold herself to him,  
And here she'll pay the shameful markets price.  
She is within, her steps bewray the same,  
This falls out for her punishment, and thy revenge:  
With this great ouerstu●ding stone close thou the Cave,  
Go then about, and fetch the Priest with thee:  
By the hill way which few or none do know,  
Let her be executed as the law commands,  
For breach of marriage troth, which she to Coridon  
Hath plighted, though she ever it concealed  
For fear of me, so shall I be revenged  
Of both at once, I'll lose no farther time:  
From off this Elm I'll cut a bough, with which  
I may more speedily remove this stone! Oh how great it is!  
How fast it sticks. I'll dig it round about.  
This is a work in deed: Where are my wonted forces:  
Oh perverse Stars! in spite of you I'll moved.  
Oh Pan Licciu, help me now, thou wert a lover once,  
Revenge thy love disdained, upon Corisea.  
So, in the name of thy great power it moves.  
So, in the Power of thy great name it falls.  
Now is the wicked Fox ta'en in the trap.  
Oh that all wicked Women were with thee within,  
That with one fire they might be all destroyed.  Chorus. 
HOw Puissant art thou Love,  
Nature's miracle, and the worlds wonder?  
What savage nation, or what rustic heart  
Is it that of thy power feels no part?  
But what Wit's so profound can pull asunder  
That powers strength?  
Who feels those flames thy fire lights at length,  
Immoderate and vain,  
Will say amortall sprite thou sole dost reign  
And live, in the corporal and fleshly breast.  
But who feels after how a lover is  
wakened to Virtue, and how all those flames  
Do tremble out at sight of honest shames,  
(Vnbrid'led blust'ring lusts brought down to rest)  
Will call thee sprite of high immortal bliss,  
Having thy holy receptacle in the soul.  
Rare miracle of human: and divine aspects,  
(That blind) dost see, and Wisdom (mad) corrects,  
Of sense and understanding intellects,  
Of reason and desire confused affects.  
Such Empery hast thou on earth,  
And so the heavens above dost thou control:  
Yet (by your leave) a wonder much more rare,  
And more stupendious hath the world than you,  
For how you make all wonders yield and bow  
Is easily known. Your powers do berthe,  
And being taken from virtue of a woman fair.  
O Woman gift of the high heavenly sky,  
Or rather his who did their spangled gown  
So gorgeous make unto our mortal eye:  
What hath it which a Woman's beauty push not down,  
In his vast brow a monstrous Cicloplike,  
It only one eye hath,  
Which to beholding gazers gives no light,  
But rather doth with terror blindness, strike:  
If it do sigh or speak, 'tis like the wrath  
Of an enraged Lion that would fight:  
And not the skies alone but even poor fields,  
Are blasted with the flames his lightning wields.  
Whilst thou with Lamps most sweet,  
And with an amorous angelic light  
Of two Suns visible that never meet,  
Dost always the tempestuous troubled sprite  
Of thy beholder quiet and delight:  
Sound, motion, light, that beauty doth assume,  
State, daintiness, and value, do aright  
Mix such a harmony in that far sight,  
That skies themselves with vanity presume,  
If less than Paradise those skies do shine  
To Paragon with thee (thing most divine)  
Good reason hath that sovereign creature (named  
A Man) to whom all mortal things do how,  
If thee beholding, higher cause allow  
And yield to be.  
What though he rule and triumph truly famed,  
It is not for high powers more worth do see  
In him than is in thee,  
Either of sceptre or of victory:  
But for to make thee far more glorious stand,  
Because the Conqurour thou dost command:  
And s●'t must be, for man's humanity  
Is subject still to Beauty's duty.  
Who will not trust this, but contrary saith,  
Let him behold mirtillo's wondrous faith:  
Yet Woman to thy worth this is a stain,  
Love is made love so hopelessly and vain.    


SCE. 1.  Corisea. 
SO fixed was my heart and whole intent  
In bringing of this Deer unto the bow,  
That I forgotten had my dearest heir  
That brutish villain robbed me of: Oh how I grieved,  
With such a price to purchase mine escape:  
But 'twas of force to get out of the hands  
Of that same senseless beast, who though he have  
Less heart than any Coney hath, yet might he do  
Me many injuries and many scorns.  
I always him despised: whilst he had blood  
In any of his veins (like a Horseleech)  
I sucked him still. Now doth it grieve him that  
I have given o'er to love him still; just cause he had.  
If one could love a most unlovely Beast,  
Like herbs that erst were got for wholesome use,  
The juice drawn out, they rest unprofitable,  
And like a stinking thing we them despise:  
So him, (when I had what so ere was good sucked out  
From him) how should I use, but throw the sapless trunk  
Unto the dunghill heap? Now will I see  
If Coridon be gotten close into the Cave.  
What news is this I see? Sleep I or do I wake?  
I am assured this caves mouth erst was open,  
How close 'tis shut? How is this ancient Stone?  
Rolled down? was it an Earthquake since.  
Yet would I know if Coridon were there  
With Amarillis, then cared I little for the rest,  
Certain he's there, for 'tis a good while since  
Lisetta gave him word. Who knows the contrary?  
'Tmay be Mirtillo moved with disdain,  
Hath done this deed, he had he but my mind,  
Could only have performed this rare exploit.  
Well by the mountains way will I go see,  
And learn the troth of all how it hath past.   

SCE. 2.  Dorinda, Linco. 
LInco, I am assured thou know'st me not.  Lin. 
Who would have thought that in these rusty rags  
Gentle Dorinda had been ever hid.  
Were I some Dog, as I but Linco am,  
Unto thy cost I should thee know too well.  
What do I see? Dor. Linco, thou seest great love,  
Working effects both strange and miserable.  Lin. 
One like thyself, so soft so tender yet,  
That were't but now (as one would say) a babe,  
And still me thinks it was but yesterday  
Since in mine arms I had thee little wretch,  
Ruling thy tender cries, and taught thee too  
To call thy Father Dad, thy Mother Mamme:  
When in your house I was a Servant hired,  
Thou that so like a fearful do wast wont  
To fear earch thing before thou feltst this love,  
Why, on a sudden thee would scar each blast,  
Each Bird that stirred a bush, each Mouse that from  
Her hole did run, each Leaf would make thee start,  
Now wanderest all alone by hills, by woods,  
Fearing no Beast that haunts the Forests wild?  Dor. 
Wounded with Love, who fears another hurt.  Lin. 
Love had great power, that could not only thee  
Into a Man, but to a Wolf transeforme.  Dor. 
O Linco, couldst thou but see here within,  
There shouldst thou see a living Wolf devour  
My wretched soul like to a harmless Lamb.  Lin. 
And who's that Wolf? Silvio. Do. Ah thou hast said.  Lan. 
Thou, for he is a Wolf, hast changed thyself  
Into a Wolf because no human looks  
Could move his love, perhaps this beasts yet mought.  
But tell me, where hadst thou these clothes so raged?  Do. 
I'll tell thee true, to day I went betime  
There where I heard that Silvio did intend  
A noble hunting to the savage Boor,  
At Erimantus foot, where Eliceit  
Puts up his head, not far off from the lawnd,  
That from the hill is severed by descent,  
I found Melampo my fair Siluioes' Dog,  
Whose thirst I think had drawn him to that place:  
I that each thing of Silvio held full dear,  
Shade of his shape, and footsteps of his feet,  
Much more the Dog which he so dearly loved,  
Him straightway took, and he without ado,  
Like to some gentle Cade, came quietly with me:  
Now whilst I cast this Dog to reconuey  
Home to his Lord and mine, hoping to make  
A conquest of his love by gift so dear,  
Behold he comes seeking his footsteps out,  
And here he stays. Dear Linco I will not  
Leese further time in telling every thing  
That twixt us past, but briefly to dispatch:  
After a heap of feigned vows and words,  
The cruel Boy fled from me straight away  
In ire'full mood with his thrice-happy Dog,  
And with my dear and sweetest sweet reward.  Lin. 
Oh desperate Silvio! Oh cruel Boy!  
What didst thou then? Disdaind'st thou not his deed?  Dor. 
As if the heat of his disdain had been  
Of love unto my heart the greatest fire,  
So by his rage increased my desire:  
Yet still pursuing him unto the chase,  
Keeping my broken way, I Lupus met,  
here thought I good with him to change my clothes,  
And in his servile habit me to hide,  
That 'mongst the Swains I for a Swain might pass,  
And at my pleasure see my Sila●o.  Lin. 
Wentest thou to hunt in likeness of a Wolf,  
Seen by the Dogs, and yet returned'st safe?  
Domida, thou hast done 〈◊〉.  Do 
〈◊〉  
No wonder 'tis, the dogs could do no harm  
Unto their masters 〈…〉.  
There stood I 〈…〉 sort  
Of neighbour 〈…〉,  
Rather to see the 〈…〉.  
At every 〈…〉 Beast  
My heart did quake: 〈…〉  
My soul step: 〈…〉  
But my chief hope the 〈…〉 disterbed,  
Of that immeasurable Boor 〈…〉,  
Like as the ravenous strength of 〈◊〉 storm  
In little time brings trees and rocks to ground:  
So by his tusks bedewed with blood and foam,  
We see Dogs slain, staves broke, and wounded men.  
How many times did my poor blood desire  
For Siluioes' blood to combat with the Boor,  
How often times would I have stepped to make  
My breast a buckler for my Siluioes' breast,  
How often said I in my sefe, excuse,  
Excuse the dainty lap of my dear Love:  
So to myself spoke I with praying sighs,  
Whilst he his Dog all armed with hardened skin,  
Let's loose against the Beast, who waxed proud  
Of having made a wretched quarries sight  
Of wounded shepherds and dogs slain outright:  
Linca, I cannot tell this Dogs great worth,  
And Silvio loves him not without good cause.  
Look how an angry Lion entertains  
The pointed horns of some undaunted Bull,  
Sometime with force, sometime with policy,  
And fastens at the last his mighty paws  
So on his back as no power can removed:  
So strong Me●●●●p ' avoiding craftily  
The Boors swift 〈◊〉 and mortal wounding blows:  
At last taints on his ear, which first he shakes,  
And afterward so firmly him he holds,  
As his vast sides might wounded be at ease:  
The dismal token of a deadly stroke,  
The Silvio innocating Phoebe's name,  
Du●ct this blow (said he) and here I vow  
To sacrifice to thee his ghastly head.  
This laid, from out his q●uer of pure gold,  
He taketh a speedy Shaft, and to his ear  
He draws his mighty Bow, and straight the Boor  
Between his neck and shoulder wounded, dies:  
I freed a sigh, seeing my Silvio safe.  
Oh happy beast mightst thy life so leave,  
By him that hearts from human beasts doth reave.  Lin. 
But what became of that same fearful beast?  Dor. 
I do not know, because I came away  
For fear of being seen: But I believe  
That solemnly they mean to carry it  
Unto the Temple, as my Silvio vowed.  Lin. 
And mean you not to change these rusty clothes?  Dor. 
Yes wis full fain, but Liep●●e hath my Gown,  
And promised t'attende me at this Spring,  
But 〈◊〉 miss: dear Linco if thou lov'st me  
Go seek him in these Woods, he is not far,  
I'll rest me in the mean time by this Den,  
For weariness makes me to sleep desire,  
Nor would I home return in this attire.  Lin. 
I go, and stir not you till I return.   

SCE. 3.  Chorus, Ergasto. 
shepherds, have you not heard our Demi-God  
Montanus, worthy son of Hercules descent,  
Hath slain the dreadful Boor, that did infest  
All Arcady, and now he doth prepare  
To satisfy his Vows, if we will thankful be  
For such a benefit, let's go and meet him,  
And give him all the reverence that we can.  Er. 
Oh doleful fortune! Oh most bitter chance!  
Immedicable wound, Oh mournful day!  Cho. 
What voice of horror and of plaint hear we?  Er. 
Stars foomen to our good, thus mock you us?  
Did you so high our hopes lift up, that with  
Their fall you might us plague the more?  Cho. 
This seems Ergasto, and 'tis surely he.  Er. 
Why do I Stars accuse, accuse thyself,  
That brought'st the Iron to loves anvil so,  
Thou didst it strike, thou mad'st the sparks fly out  
From whence this fire grows so unquenchable:  
But heavens do know my pity brought me to't.  
Oh hapless Lovers, wretched Amarillis,  
Unfortunate Titirus, childless father,  
Sad Montanus, desolate Arcadia:  
Oh miserable we; and to conclude,  
All that I see, speak, hear, or think, most miserable.  Cho. 
What wretched accident is this that doth contain  
So many miseries? Gow ' Shepherds Go '!  
Let's meet with him: Eternal heavenly powers,  
Will not your rage yet cease? Speak good Ergasto,  
What lamentable chance is this thou plainst?  Er. 
Dear friends, I plain us all the ruin of Arcadia.  Cho. 
What's this?  Er. 
The prop of all our hopes is down.  Cho. 
Ah speak more plain.  Er. 
Daughter of Titirus,  
The only branch of her decaying stock,  
Hope of our health, which to Montanus son,  
Was by the heavens promised and destenied,  
Whose marriage should have freed Arcadia,  
Wise Amarillis, Nymph celestial,  
Pattern of honour, flower of chastity:  
My heart will not give me leave to speak.  Ch. 
Why, is she dead?  Er. 
Nay doomed to death.  Cho. 
Ay me, what's this.  Er. 
Nay worse, With infamy.  Cho. Amarillis 
infamous.  Er. 
Found with the adult'rour, & if hence ye go not soon,  
Ye may her see led captive to the Temple.  Cho. 
Oh rare! but wicked, valour of this female sex,  
Oh chastity, how singular thou art,  
Scarce can a man say any woman's chaste,  
Save she that ne'er was tried; unhappy age:  
But courteous Shepherd, tell us how it was?  Er. 
This day betime you know Montanus came,  
With th'hapless father of the wretched Nymph,  
Both by one self devotion led, which was  
By prayers, to haste the marriage to good end:  
For this the sacrifices offered were,  
Which solemnly performed with good aspects:  
For never were there seen entrails more fair,  
Nor flames more bright, by which the blind Divine  
moved, did to Montanus say: This day  
With Amarillis shall your son be wed:  
Go quickly and prepare the marriage feast.  
Oh blindly done, blind Prophets to believe,  
The fathers and the standers by were glad,  
And wept, their hearts made tender with this joy.  
Titirus was no sooner gone, but straight we heard  
And saw unhappy fearful signs, the messengers  
Of sacredire: at which so sudden and so fierce,  
Each stood amazed, the priests enclosed were  
Within the greater cloisture, we without,  
Weeping were saying holy pray'res, when lo  
The wicked Satire audience earnest craves  
Of the chief Priest: and for this was my charge,  
I let him in, to whom he thus begins,  
Fathers, if to your Vows the Incense and  
The sacrifices be not answerable,  
If on your Altars purely burn no flames,  
Wonder not, for in Ericinaes' Cave,  
A treacherous Nymph profanes your holy Laws:  
And in adultery her faith doth break.  
Come Ministers with me, we'll take in the fact.  
A while th' unhappy father breathes, thinking he had  
Found out the cause of this so dismal signs,  
Straight he commands chief Minister Nacander go  
With that same Satire, and captived to bring  
Them to the Temple both: him straight accompanied  
With all our troop of under Ministers,  
The Satire by a dark and crooked way,  
Conducts into the Cave: the youngman scared  
Without torchlight, so suddenly assailed:  
Assays to fly unto that outward issue,  
But it the Satire closed hath too fast.  Cho. 
What did you then?  Er. 
I can not tell you how  
Amazed we were, to see her that we taken had,  
To be Titirus daughter, whom no sooner we  
Had laid hold on, but out Mirtillo steps,  
And throws his Dart, thinking to wound Nicander:  
And had the steel hit as he did direct,  
Nicander had been slain: but shrinking back,  
Whether by chance or wit, he shunned the harm:  
But the strong Dart pierced his hairy clothes,  
And there stuck fast, Mirtillo not being able  
It to recover, captive taken was.  Cho. 
What's come of him?  Er. 
He by an other way is led.  Cho. 
What shall he do?  Er. 
To get more out of him,  
Besides, perhaps he shall not scotfree 'scape:  
For having so offended our high Priest,  
Yet would I could have comforted the wretch.  Cho. 
Why could you not?  Er. 
Because the Law forbids  
Us under Ministers to speak with guilty folks:  
For this I came about, and left the rest,  
Provoking heavens with tears and prayers devout,  
To turn away this dreadful storm from us:  
And so pray ye, and therewithal farewell.  Cho. 
So shall we do, had we but once performed  
Our duty unto Silvio, eternal Gods  
In pity, not in fury, show yourselves supreme.   

SCE. 4.  Corisea. 
NOw crown my temples with triumphant Bays,  
Victorious ten bless, this day happily  
I combated have in the field of Love,  
And vanquished: this day both heaven and earth,  
Nature and Art, Fortune and Destiny,  
Both friends and enemies have fought for me.  
The wicked Satire whom I hated so,  
Hath helped me much: for it was better that  
Mirtillo should, than Coridon, be ta'en,  
To make her fault more likely and more ill:  
What though Mirtillo taken be, he'll soon be free,  
To her alone the punishment is due.  
O solemn victory, On famous triumph,  
Dress me a Trophy amorous deceits,  
You in this tongue, in this same precious breast  
Are above Nature most omnipotent.  
Why stay I now? 'tis time for me to go,  
Until the Law have judged my rival dead,  
Perhaps the Priest may draw the troth from me:  
Fly then Corisea, danger 'tis to lie,  
For them that have no feet wherewith to fly▪  
I'll hide me in these woods until I may  
Return t'enjoy my joys: happy Corisea,  
Who ever saw a braver enterprise?   

SCE. 5.  Nicander, Amarillis. 
He had a heart most hard, or rather had  
No heart at all, nor any human sense,  
That did not pity thee poor wretched Nymph,  
And felt no sorrow for thy misery:  
Only to see a Damsel captivate,  
Of heavenly countenance and so sweet a face,  
Worthy the world should to thee consecrate  
Temples and Sacrifices, led to the Temple  
For a Sacrifice, surely 'twere a thing  
That with dry eyes I think none could behold:  
But who knows how and wherefore thou wert borne?  
Titirus daughter, Montan'es' daughter in law,  
That should have been, and that these two are they  
Which do uphold Arcadia, and that thyself  
A dainty Nymph, so fair of form,  
The natural confines of this thy life,  
Approachest now so near the bounds of death:  
He that knows this, and doth not plain the same,  
He is no man, but beast, in human shape.  Am. 
If that my fault did cause my wretchedness,  
Or that my thoughts were wicked, as thou thinkst  
My deed, less grievous would my death be then:  
For it were just my blood should wash the spots  
Of my defiled soul, heavens rage appease,  
And human justice justly satisfy,  
Then could I quiet my afflicted sprights,  
And with a just remorse of well-deserued death,  
My senses mortify, and come to death:  
And with a quiet blow pass forth perhaps  
Unto a life of more tranquillity:  
But too too much Nicander too much grieved  
I am, in so young years Fortune so high,  
An Innocent, I should be doomed to die.  Nic. 
Ah pleased it heavens we had 'gainst thee offended,  
Not thou offended 'gainst the heavenly powers:  
For we alas with greater case might have  
Restored thee to thy violated name,  
Then thou appeased their violated powers:  
But I see not who thee offended hath,  
Saving thyself. Tell me? wert thou not found  
In a close place with the Adulterer, alone  
With him alone? Were't thou not promised  
Unto Montanus son? Hast thou not broke thy faith?  
How art thou innocent?  Am. 
I have not broke  
The Law, and I am innocent.  Ni. 
Thou hast not broke  
The law of Nature happily (Love if thou likest)  
But human law and heavens thou hast transgressed,  
(Love lawfully.)  Am. 
Both heavens & men have erred to me:  
If it be true that thence our haps do come,  
For is it reason in my destiny,  
I bear the pain that's due to other's faults?  Ni. 
Peace Nymph, came up thy tongue in wilful rage,  
Let loose, do not condemn the Stars, for we  
Ourselves procure us all our misery.  Am. 
I none accuse in heaven, but my ill fates.  
And worse than them is she, that me deceived.  Ni. 
Then blame thyself, that hast deceived thyself,  Am. 
I was deceived, but by an other's fraud.  Ni. 
'tis no deceit, to whom deceit is dear.  Am. 
Then you I see condemn me for unchaste?  Ni. 
I say not so, ask but your deeds, they'●e tell.  Am. 
Deeds often are false tokens of the heart.  Ni. 
The deeds we see, we cannot see the heart.  Am. 
See what you will, I'm sure my heart is clear.  Ni. 
What led you then into the Cave alone?  Am. 
Simplicity, and my too much belief.  Ni. 
Trust you your Chastity unto your Love?  Am. 
I trusted my false friend, and not my love.  Ni. 
What friend was that, your amorous desire?  Am. 
Orminoes' sister, who hath me betrayed.  Ni 
Sweet treachery, to fall into your love.  Am. 
I knew not of mirtillo's coming I.  Ni. 
Why did you enter then? and to what end?  Am. 
Let it suffice not for mirtillo's sake.  Ni. 
You are condemned except youhave better proof.  Am. 
Let her be asked of my innocency.  Ni. 
What she, that was the occasion of your fault?  Am. 
She that betrayed me, will you not her believe?  Ni. 
What faith hath she that was so faithless then?  Am. 
I by our Goddess Cinthiaes' name will swear.  Ni. 
Thy deeds have marred the credit of thine oath:  
Nymph, to be plain, these are but dreams, and waves  
Of muddy water, cannot wash clean, nor guilty hearts  
Speak troth; thou shouldst have kept thy chastity  
As dearly as the apple of thine eye.  Am. 
And must I then thus (good Nicander) die?  
Shall none me hear, nor none my cause defend?  
Thus left of all, deprived of every hope,  
Only accompanied with an extreme  
Unhappy Funeral 〈◊〉 that not helps me.  Ni. 
Nymph be content, and since thou wert so fond  
In 〈◊〉, be more 〈…〉 punishment:  
〈…〉 eyes to heaven, thence 〈◊〉 thou come,  
And thence doth come all 〈…〉 that hap●,  
As from a Fountain doth a 〈…〉:  
And though to us it ill do seem, as every good  
〈…〉 with some ill, yet there 'tis 〈◊〉.  
Great 〈◊〉 doth know to whom all thoughts are known:  
So doth our Goddess whom we worship here,  
How much I grieve for thee: and if I have  
〈◊〉 with my words thy soul, like a Physician I  
Have done, who searcheth first the wound  
Where it suspected is: be quiet then  
Good Nymph, and do not contradict that which  
Is writ in heaven above of thee.  Am. 
O cruel sentence, whether writ in heaven  
Or earth? In heaven it is not writ,  
For there mine innocency is known: but what  
Avails it since I needs must die? Ah too too hard,  
And too too bitter cup. Ah good Nicander,  
For pity sake make not such haste with me  
Unto the Temple! stay, Oh stay a little while!  Ni. 
O Nymph, to whom death is so grievous now,  
Each moment seems a death, it is thine ill to stay:  
Death hath not so much harm, as fear thereof;  
Thou sooner dead, thy pain is sooner passed.  Am. 
Some help may come, dear father: father now  
Dost thou leave me, now leave thine only child.  
Wilt thou not help me yet before I die?  
Do not deny me yet thy latest kiss:  
One blade shall wound both breasts, and out of mine  
Thy blood must stream. Oh father! Oh sweet name!  
Sometime so dear which I ne'er called in vain,  
Make you your only daughter's marriage thus,  
A mornings Bride, an evening Src●●fize?  Ni. 
Nimph. Do not thus torment thyself and me,  
'tis time I lead you to the Temple now,  
My duty 'tis, I may not slack it so.  Am. 
Dear Woods farewell, my dearest Woods farewell,  
Receive my latest sighs until my soul  
By cruel wound from this my body free,  
Return to seek your loved shadows out:  
For Innocentes can not be doomed to hell,  
Nor 'mongst the blessed can despayrers dwell.  
O Mirtillo, wretched was that day  
That first I saw thee, and thy sight did please,  
Since I my 〈◊〉 must leave, more near to thee  
Then thine, which proves the occasion 〈◊〉 my death.  
Wilt thou believe that she is doomed to death  
For thee, that cruel ever was to thee,  
To keep me innocent? For me too bold,  
For thee too little dating 〈◊〉 my will: how ever 'twas,  
I faultless die, fruitless, and without thee  
My dear I die, my dear Mirt. Ni. Surely she  
Is dead, and in mirtillo's loved 〈◊〉 her life  
Hath finished: her love and grief the blade  
Prevented hath: come help to hold her up,  
She liveth yet, I feel her heart doth throb:  
Carry her to the Fountain here hard by,  
Fresh water may restore her stonied sprights,  
But were it not a deed of pity now,  
To let her die of grief, and shun the blade:  
No let us rather succour now her life,  
We do not know what heavens will do with her.   

SCE. 6.  Chorus of Huntsmen. Chor. of shepherds with Silvio. Chor. Hunt. 
O Glorious child of great Alcides race,  
That Monsters kill'st, and Wild-bestes dost deface.  Cho. Sh. 
O glorious child, who 〈◊〉 Boor  
Hast overthrown, unconquerable thought:  
Behold his head, that seems to breath out death,  
This is the 〈◊〉 of our Demi-God,  
Help shepherds help to celebrate his name,  
And with solemnity his deeds to grace.  Cho. Hu. 
O glorious child of great Alcides' race,  
That Monsters kill'st, and Wild-bestes dost deface.  Cho. Sh. 
O glorious child, by whom the fertile plains,  
Deprived of till age, have their good regains:  
Now may the Ploughman go securely, and  
Sow both his Seed, and reap his Harvest in:  
These ugly teeth can now no more them chase.  Cho. Hu. 
O glorious child of great Alcides' race,  
That monsters 〈◊〉, and wild Beasts dost deface.  Cho. Sh. 
O glorious child, how thou dost couple still  
Pity with fortitude. 〈◊〉 behold  
Thy humble Silui●● vow; behold this head,  
That here and here in thy despite is armed  
With white and crooked tusks, envying thy horns.  
Thou puissant Goddess, since thou didst direct  
His shaft: the price of his great victory  
Is due to thee: he famous by thy grace.  Cho. Hun 
O glorious child of great Alcides' race,  
That monster, kill'st, and wild Beasts dost deface.   

SCE. 7.  Coridon. 
Until this time I never durst believe,  
That which the Satire of Corisea said,  
Imagining his tale had been but forged,  
Maliciously to work me injury:  
Far from the troth it seemed to me that place,  
Where she appointed I with her should meet,  
(If that be true which was on her behalf,  
Delivered me by young Lisetta late)  
Should be the place to take th'Adult● ou● in:  
But see a sign that may confirm the same,  
e'en as he told me, so it is in deed.  
Oh what a Stone is this, which shuts up thus  
The huge mouth of this Cave? Oh Corisea,  
All in good time I have found out your guiles,  
Which after so long use, at last return  
With damage to yourself. So many lies,  
So many treacheries, must needs presage  
Some mortal disaduenture at the least,  
To him that was not mad, or blind with love:  
'Twas good for mee● stayed away so long,  
Great fortune that my father me detained  
So with a tedious stay, as then me thought,  
Had I kept time but as Lisetta bade,  
Surely some strange adventure had I had.  
What shall I do? shall I attired with spleen,  
Seek with outrageous fury for revenge?  
Fenno, I honour her too much: so be  
The case with reason waighd; it rather would  
Have pity and compassion, than revenge.  
And shall I pity her, that me betrays?  
She rather doth betray herself, that thus  
Abandons me, whose faith to her was pure,  
And give herself in prey  
To a poor Shepherd stranger vagabond,  
That shall to morrow be more perfidous than she.  
Should I according to the satires counsel, her accuse,  
Of the faith broken, which to me she swore:  
Then must she die: My heart's not half so base,  
Let her then live for me: or to say better,  
Let her die unto me, and live unto others:  
Live to her shame, live to her infamy;  
Since she is such, she never can in me  
Kindle one spark of fearful jealousy.   

SCE. 8.  Silvio. 
O Goddess, that no Goddess art, but of  
An idle people, blind and vain: who with  
Impurest minds and fond Religion,  
halloweth the Altars and great Temples too.  
What, said I Temples? wicked theatres  
Of beastly deeds, to colour their dishonest acts  
With titles of thy famous Deity,  
Because thy shames in others shames made less,  
Let lose the rains of their lasciviousness.  
Thou foe to Reason, plotter of mildeedes,  
Corrupter to our souls, calamity  
To the whole world; thou daughter of the Sea,  
And of that treacherous monster rightly borne,  
That with the breath of hope dost first entice  
These human breasts, but afterward dost move  
A thousand storms of sighs, of tears, of plaints:  
Thou mayst be better called Mother of tempests and  
O● rage, than Mother of love.  
To what a misery hast thou thrown down  
Those wretched Lovers? now mayst thou vaunt thyself  
To be omnipotent, if thou canst save  
That poor nymphs life, whom with thy snares thou hast  
Conducted to this miserable death.  
O happy day I hallowd my chaste mind  
To thee my only Goddess Cynthia,  
Such power on earth to souls of better sort,  
As thou art light in heaven above the Stars.  
Much better are those studious practices  
Then those which Venus unchaste servants use:  
Thy servants kill both Bears and ugly Boors,  
Her servants are of Bears and Boors still slain.  
Oh Bow and matchless Shafts, my power and my delight,  
Vain fantastive Love, come prove thine arms,  
effeminate with mine: but fie, too much  
I honour thee poor weak and wreckling child,  
And for thou shalt me hear, I'll speak aloud.  
A rod to chastise thee will be enough.— enough.  
What art thou L●●ho that so sounds again?  
Or rather Love, that answerest loudly so?— y so.  
I could have wished no better match; but tell  
Me then, Art thou (by heaven) he— even he  
The son of her that for Aaenis did  
So miserably burn, in whom nought good it.— Goddess.  
A Goddess? no, the Concubine of Mars,  
In whom 〈◊〉 doth wholly lie— wholly a lie.  
O fine, thy tongue doth 〈…〉,  
Wilt thou come forth? thou do●● but darkly dare,— y dare,  
I held thee for a coward 〈◊〉, art thou a 〈…〉  
Dost thou that title bravely scorn— y scorn.  
O God, than art thou Vulcan's son, by that  
Lame Smith begot.— God,  
A God? of what? of Winds, mad with base ●●earth— earth.  
God of the earth? makes thou thy foes to rue:— t'●ue.  
With what dost thou still punish those that strive,  
And obstinately do contend with Love?— with love.  
Nay soft, when shall crooked Love (tell me good fool)  
Enter my breast? I warrent 'tis too straight.— straight,  
What, shall I fall in love so suddenly?— suddenly,  
What is her name that I must then adore?— Dore.  
Dorind● fool, thou canst not speak out yet,  
But dost not thou mean her●— e'en her.  
Dorinda whom I hate; but who shall force my wills— I will.  
What weapons wilt thou use? perhaps thy Bow,— thy Bow  
My Bow? not till it be by thy lewd folly broken,— broken  
My broken arms encounter me, and who  
Shall break them? thou?— thou.  
Fie fie thou art drunk, go sleep go sleep: but stay,  
These marvels must be done: but where?— hear.  
O fool, and I am gone, how thou art laden with  
Wit-robbing Grapes that grew upon the Vine.— Divine  
But soft, I see, or else me thinks I see  
Something that's like a Wolf in yonder Grove.  
'tis sure a Wolf: How monstrous great it is.  
This day for me is destinied to praise:  
Good Goddess, with great favours dost thou show  
To triumph in one day over two Beasts:  
In thy great name, I lose this shaft, the swiftest and  
The sharpest which my quiver holds.  
Great Archeresse, direct thou my right hand,  
And here I vow to sacrifice the spoils  
Unto thy name. O dainty blow, blow fallen  
e'en where my hand and eye it destinied.  
Ah that I had my Dart, it to dispatch,  
Before it get into the Woods away.  
But here be Stones, what need I any else?  
here's scarcely one, I need none now: here is  
Another Shaft will pierce it to the quick.  
What's this I see? unhappy Silvio?  
I'have shot a Shepherd in a Wolvish shape.  
O bitter chance! O ever miserable!  
〈…〉 thinks I know the wretch, t's Linco that  
Doth hold him up. Oh deadly shaft! Oh most  
Unhappy Vow! I guilty of another's blood?  
I thus the causer of another's death?  
I that have been so liberal of my life,  
So large a spender of my blood for other's health?  
So, cast away thy weapons, and go live  
All gloryless. But see where he doth come,  
A great deal less unhappy than thyself.   

SCE. 9  Linco, Silvio, Dorinda. 
Lean thou thyself (my Daughter) on this arm.  
Unfortunate Dorinda. Sil. O me! Dorinda? I am dead.  Dor. 
O Linco Linco, Oh my second father!  Sil. 
It is Dorinda sure: Ah voice; ah sight.  Dor. 
Dorinda to sustain, Linco hath been  
A fatal office unto thee: thou heardst  
The first cries that I ever gave on earth,  
And thou shalt hear the latest of my death:  
And these thine Arms, that were my Cradle once,  
Shall be my Coffin now.  Lin. 
O child more dear  
Than if thou were't mine own. I cannot speak,  
Grief hath my words dissolved into tears.  Sil. 
On earth hold ope thy jaws and swallow me.  Do. 
Oh stay both pace and plaint (good Linco) for  
The one my grief, my wound the other doth increase.  Sil. 
Oh what a hard reward most wretched Nymph,  
Had thou received for thy wondrous love?  Lin. 
Be of good cheer, thy wound not mortal is,  Dor. 
I but Dorinda mortal, willbe quickly dead:  
But dost thou know who 'tis hath wounded me?  Lin. 
Let us care for the sore, not for the essence,  
For never did Revenge yet heal a wound.  Sil. 
Why stay I still? Shall I stay whilst they see me?  
Have I so bold a face? Fly Silvio fly  
The punishment of that revengeful sight,  
Fly the just edge of her sharp cutting voice:  
I cannot fly, fatal necessity doth hold  
Me here, an I makes me seek whom most  
I ought to shun.  Dor. 
Why Linco, must I die  
Not knowing who hath given me my death?  Lin. 
It Silvio is.  Dor. 
P●●●so.  Lin. 
I know his shaft.  Dor. 
On happy issue of my lives last end,  
If I be shun by such a lovely friend.  Lin. 
See where he is, with countenance him accusing.  
Now heavens be praised, you're at good pass,  
With this your bow and shafts omnipotent,  
Hast thou not like a cunning Woodman shot?  
Tell me, thou that of silver liust; was it not I  
That shot this dainty shoot? Oh Boy too wise,  
Hadst thou believed this foolish aged man,  
Had it not better been Answer me wretch.  
What can thy life be worth, if thee do die?  
I know thou'st say thou thoughtst t'have shot a Wolf,  
As though it were no fault to shoot  
Not knowing (careless wandering chied) if 'twere  
A man or beast thou shotst at: what Herdsman, or  
What Plougsman dost thou see attired in other clothes?  
Ah Silvio, Silvio, who ever soweth wi●t so green,  
Doth ever reap ripe fruit of ignorance.  
Think you (vain Boy) this chance by chance did come?  
Never without the powers divine did such like happen:  
Heaven is enraged at your supportlesse spite,  
To love and deep despising so human affects.  
God's will not have companions on the earth,  
They are not pleased with this austerity:  
Now thou art dumb, thou wert not wont t'endure.  Do. 
Silvio, let Linco speak, he doth not know  
What sou'raign●tie thou o'er Dorinda haste,  
In life and death by the great power of love.  
If thou hast shot me, thou hast shot thine own:  
Thou hitst the mark that's proper to thy shaft,  
These hands that wounded me, have followed right  
The aim of thy fair eyes. Silvio, behold her whom  
Thou hatest so, behold her as thou wouldst:  
Thou wouldst me wounded have, wounded I am:  
Thou wished me dead, I ready am for death,  
What wouldst thou more? What can I give thee more?  
Ah cruel Boy, thou never wouldst believe  
The wound by thee Love made, canst thou deny  
That which thy hand hath done? thou never sawst  
The blood mine eyes did shed; seest thou this then,  
That gusheth from my side: but if with pity now  
All gentleness and valour be not spent,  
Do not deny me cruel soul, I pray,  
At my last gasp, one poor and only sigh:  
Death should be blessed, if thou but thus wouldst say,  
Go rest in peace poor soul, I humbly pray.  Sil. 
Ah my Dorinda, shall I call thee mine,  
That art not mine, but when I thee must lose:  
And when thou hast thy death received by me,  
Not when I might have given thee thy life:  
Yet will I call thee mine, that mine shalt be  
Spite of my fortune: and since with thy life  
I cannot have thee, I'll have thee in death:  
All that thou seest in me, is ready for revenge:  
I killed thee with these weapons, with the same  
I'll kill myself: I cruel was to thee,  
I now desire nothing but cruelty.  
I proudly thee despied, upon my knees  
I humbly thee adore, and pardon crave;  
But not my life. Behold my Bow, my Shafts.  
Wound not mine eyes or hands, theyare innocent:  
But wound my breast, monster to pity, foe  
To love: wound me this heart, that cruel was  
To thee: behold, my breast is bare.  Do. 
Silvio, I wound that breast? thou hadst not need  
Let it be naked to mine eyes, if thou desirdst  
I should it wound. O dainty beauteous rock,  
So often beaten by the waves and winds  
Of my poor tears and sighs in vain: and is it true,  
Thou pity feelst? or am I wretch but mocked:  
I would not this same Alabaster skin  
Should me deceive, as this poor Beasts hath thee.  
I wound thy breast? 'tis well, Love durst do so.  
I ask no wore revenge, than thou shouldst love.  
Blessed be the day wherein I first did burn,  
Blessed be my tears and all my martyrdoms:  
I wish thy praise, and no revenge of thee.  
But courteous Silvio, that dost kneel to her,  
Whose Lord thou art; since me thou needs wilt serve,  
Let thy first service be, to rise when I thee bid:  
The second, that thou liv'st: for me, let heavens  
Work their will; in thee my heart will live:  
As long as thou dost live, I cannot die.  
But if it seem unjust my wound should be  
Unpunished, then break this cruel Bow,  
Let that be all the malice thou dost show.  Si. 
Oh courteous doom: and so't shallbe,  
Thou deadly Wood shalt pay the price of others life,  
Behold, I break thee, and I render thee  
Unto the Woods, a trunk unprofitable:  
And you my Shafts that pierced have the side  
O● my fair Love, because you brothers be  
I put you both together, and deliver you,  
Rods armed in vain, and vainly feathered.  
'Twas true Love told me late in echoes voice.  
O powerful tamer both of Gods and men:  
Late enemy, now Lord of all my thoughts,  
If thou esteemest it glory to have mollified  
A proud obdurate heart, Defend me from  
The fatal stroke of death? one only blow  
Killing Dorinda, will me with her kill:  
So cruel death, if cruel death she prove,  
Will triumph over thee triumphant love.  Lin. 
So wounded both, yet wounds most fortunate,  
Were but Dorindaes' sound. Let's soon go seek  
Some remedy.  Dor. 
Do not good Linco lead  
Me to my father's house in this attire.  Sil. 
Shall my Dorinda go to other house  
Then unto mine? no sure: alive or dead  
This day I'll marry thee.  Lin. 
And in good time,  
Since Amarillis hath lost life and marriage too.  
O blessed couple! O eternal Gods!  
Give two their lives, giving but one her health.  Dor. 
Silvio I weary am, I cannot hold me on  
My wounded side.  Sil. 
Be of good cheer,  
Thou shalt a burden be to us most dear.  
Linco give me thy hand.  Lin. 
Hold there it is.  Sil. 
Hold fast, and with our arms we'll make a seat  
For her. Sit there Dorinda, and with thy right hand  
Hold Lincoes' neck, and with thy left close mine:  
Softly my heart, for rushing of thy wound.  Dor. 
O now me thinks I am well. Sil. Linco hold fast.  Lin. 
Do not you stagger, but go forward right,  
This is a better triumph than a head.  Sil. 
Tell me Dorinda, doth thy wound still prick?  Dor. 
It doth; but in thine arms my lovely treasure,  
I hold e'en pricking dear, and death a pleasure.  Chorus. 
O Sweet and golden age, when Milk  
Unto the tender World was meat:  
Whose Cradle was the harmless Wood,  
Their dearer parts whose grass like silk,  
The Flocks untouched, did joy to eat:  
Nor feared the World the spoil of blood,  
The troublous thoughts that do no good  
Did not then make a cloudy vail  
To dim our suns eternal light:  
Now Reason being shut up quite,  
Clouds do our Wits skies over-haile:  
From whence it is strange lands we seek for ease,  
Ploughing with huge Oak trees the Ocean seas,  
This bootless superstutious voice,  
This subject profit less than vain,  
Of toys, of titles, and of sleight,  
Whom the mad World through worthless choice,  
Honour to name doth not disdain,  
Did not with tyranny delight,  
To rule our minds, but to sustain  
Trouble for troth, and for the right  
To maintain saith a firm decree  
amongst us men of each degree,  
Desire to do well was of right:  
Care of true Honour, happy to be named,  
Who what was lawful pleasure to us framed.  
Then in the pastures grony shade,  
Sweet Carroles and sharp Madrigals.  
Were flames unto dear lawful Love:  
There gentle Nymphs and Shepherds made  
Thoughts of their words, and in the dales  
Did Himen's joys and kisses move,  
far sweeter and of more behove,  
True lovers only did enjoy  
loves lively Roses and sweet Flowers,  
Whilst Wily-craft sound always showers,  
Showers of sharp will, and wills annoy:  
Were it in Woods or Caves for quiet rest,  
The name of Husband still was liked best.  
False wicked World, that courrest still  
With thy base mercenary name  
The souls chief good, and dost entice  
To nourish thought of new-found Will,  
With likelihoods 〈◊〉 again:  
Vnbridling eu●● secret vice,  
Like to a Net laid by device  
Among 〈◊〉 Flowers and sweet● spread 〈◊〉,  
Thou cloathst wild thoughts in 〈…〉,  
Esteeming seeming goodness, deeds,  
By which the life with Art deceive:  
Nor dost thou care (this Honour is thy act)  
What theft it be, so Love may hide the fact.  
But thou great Honour, great by right,  
Frame famous spirits in our hearts,  
Thou true Lord of each Noble breast:  
O thou that rulest Kings of might,  
Once turn thee into these our parts,  
Which wanting thee, cannot be blessed:  
Make their from out their mortal rest,  
With mighty and with powerful stanges,  
Who by a base unwarthy will  
Have left to work thy pleasure still,  
And left the worth of antiqur things:  
Let's hope our ills a truce will one day take.  
And let our hopes not waver no nor shake:  
Let's hope the setting sun will rise again,  
And that the skies when they most aarke appear,  
Do draw (though covered) after wished clear.  
Finis Cho. Act. 4.    


SCENA. 1.  Vranio, Carino. 
THe place is ever good, where any thrives:  
And every place is native, to the wise.  Car. 
True (good Vranio) I by proof can tell,  
That young, did leave my father's house, and sought  
Strange places out, and now turn home gra● heard,  
That erst departed hence with golden locks;  
Yet is our native soil sweet unto him  
That hath his sense: Nature doth make it dear,  
Like to the Adamant, whom though the Matrinet  
Carry far hence, sometime where as the Sun  
Is borne, and sometime where it dies; yet still  
The hidden virtue where with it beholds,  
The Northern Pole it never doth forego:  
So he that goes far from his native soil,  
And often times in stranger land doth dwell,  
Yet he retains the love he to it bore.  
O my Arcadia, now I greet thy ground,  
And welcome good Vranio, for 'tis meet  
You do partake my joys, as you have done my toil.  Vra. 
I may partake your toil, but not content,  
When I remember how far hence I left  
My house and little household off: well may I rest  
My limbs, but well I wot my heart will moon,  
Nor save thyself, could any thing have drawn  
Me from Elidis now: yet I know not  
What cause hath made you travail to this place.  Car. 
Thou know'st my dear Mirtillo, whom the heavens  
Have given me: for my Son came hither sick,  
here to get health, according to the Oracle,  
Which said only Arcadia could restore it him:  
Two months he hath been here, and I not able to  
Abide that stay, went to the Oracle  
To know of his return: which answered thus.  
Return thou to thy Country, where thou shalt  
Live merrily with thy Mirtillo dear:  
Heavens have determined great things of him;  
Nor shalt thou laugh but in Arcadia.  
Thou then my dear companion, merry Bee,  
Thou hast a share in all my good, nor will  
Carino smile, if my Vranio grieve.  Vra. 
All labours that I for Carino take,  
Have their reward: but for to short the way,  
I pray you tell what made you travail first.  Car. 
A youthful love I unto Music bore,  
And greediness of foreign fame, disdaining that  
Arcadia only should me praise, made me  
Seek out Eli●● and Pisa famove so,  
Where I saw glorious Egeus crowned with Bays,  
With Purple next to Virtue evermore;  
So that he Phebus seemed: when I devout  
Unto his power did consecrate my Lute:  
Then left I Pisa, and to M●cen● went,  
And afterwards to Argos, where I was  
At first, adored like a God: but twill be too  
Too troublesome to tell the story of my life.  
I many fortunes tried, sometime disdained,  
Sometime respected like a power divine:  
Now rich, then poor; now down, then up aloft:  
But in the change of place, my fortunes never changed,  
I learned to know and sigh my former liberty;  
And leaving Argos, I returned to  
My homely Bower I in Elidis had:  
Where Gods be praised) I did Mirtillo buy,  
Who since, hath comforted all mine annoys.  Vr. 
Thrice happy they who can contain their thoughts  
And not through vain and most immoderate hope,  
〈◊〉 the sweet tasted fruit of moderate good.  Ca 
Who would have thought t'have waxed poor in gold  
I thought t'have found in royal Paliaces  
People of more humanity, than here,  
Which is the noble ornament of worthy spirits;  
But I (Uranio) found the contrary:  
People in name and words right courteous,  
But in good deeds most scarce, and Pities foes:  
People in face, gentle and pleasant still;  
But fiercer than theoutrageous swelling Sea:  
People with countenance all of charity,  
But thoroughly Covetous, and fraught with Envy:  
The greater shows they make, the less troth they mean▪  
That which is virtue otherwhere, is there but vice:  
Uprightest deeds, true love, pity sincere,  
〈…〉 faith, of hand and heart,  
A hie most innocent; these they esteem  
But cowards still, and men of silly wits:  
Follies and vanities, that are ridiculous,  
Coosonage, lying, theft, and rapine clad:  
In holiness, by others downefalles and their loss,  
Rich still to grow, to build their reputation  
On other's infamy, to lay five snares  
To trap the innocent; these are the virtues of that place.  
No merit, worth, reverence of age,  
Of law, or of degree, no rains of shame,  
Respect of love or blood, nor memory  
Of any good received: and to conclude,  
nothing so reverend, pure, or just can be,  
That seems forbidden to these gulfs of pride,  
Of honour so ambitious: so covetous  
Of getting still. Now I that always lived  
Unwary of their snares, and in my forehead had  
All my thoughts written, my heart discovered;  
You well may judge, I was an open mark  
To the suspicious shafts of envious folks.  Vr. 
What can be happy in that caitiff land,  
Where Envy ever Virtue doth command?  Ca 
If since I travailed, my Muse had had  
As good a cause to laugh as 't'had to weep,  
Perhaps my stile would have been fit t'have sung  
The arms, and honours, of my noble Lord,  
So that he needed not to have envy  
The brave Meonian trumpet of Achilles' fame.  
I might have made my Country's brow, been girt  
With happy Laurel too: But too inhuman is this age,  
And too unhappy gift of Poetry.  
The Swans desire a quiet nest, a gentle air,  
Pernassu● never knew this biting care.  
Who quarrels with his fate and fortwe still,  
His voice must needs be hoarse, his song but ill:  
But now 'tis time to seek Mirtillo out.  
Oh how this country's changed! I scarcely know't:  
But Strangers never want a guide that have a tongue,  
We will inquire to the next harbour house,  
Where thou thy weary limbs mayst well repose.   

SCE. 2.  Titirus, Nuntio. 
WHich plain I first (my child) of thee? thy life  
Or honesty? I'll plain thine honesty,  
Because thy fire (though mortal) honest was:  
And in thy steed my life I'll plain and spend,  
Of thy life and thine honesty to see an end.  
O Montane, only thou with thy devices  
And ill-●und Oracles, and with thy love,  
And proud despiser of my daughter, to this end,  
Hast brought my child. Oh doubtful Oracles,  
How vain you be? and honesty 'gainst love  
In youthful hearts a weak defence doth prove,  
A woman whom no match hath ever sought,  
Is evil guarded from this common thought.  Nun. 
If dead he be not, or that through the air  
No winds have carried him, him might I find:  
But see him now, when least I thought I should:  
O late for me, for thee too quickly found,  
Except the news were better that I bring.  Ti. 
Brings thou the weapon that hath slain my child?  Nun. 
Not this, but less: But how heard you this news?  Ti. 
Why lives she then?  Nun. 
She lives, and may do still,  
For in her choice it is to live or die.  Ti. 
Oh blessed be thou that lifts me up from death:  
But how is she unsafe, since at her choice it is  
To live or die?  Nun. 
Because she will not live.  Ti. 
She will not live? What madness makes her thust  Nun. 
Another's death: and if thou dost not move her,  
She is so bent, as others send in vain  
Their praying words.  Ti. 
Why stay we? let us go!  Nun. 
What, soft and fair, the Temples gates are shut,  
And know you not how it unlawful is  
For any one save sacerdotal foot,  
To touch the sacred ground, until such time  
The Sacrifice unto the Altars come,  
Adorned with the Sanctuary rites?  Ti. 
How if shee'ffect her purpose in the while?  Nun. 
She cannot, for she's kept.  Ti. 
in mean time,  
Then tell truly how all this is come to pass?  Nun. 
Thy mournful child now come before the Priest  
With looks of fear and grief, that tears brought forth,  
Not only from us by, but by my troth,  
e'en from the pillars of the Temples self  
And hardest stones, that seemed to feel the same,  
Was in a trice accused, conuiced, condemned.  Ti. 
O wretched child, and why was she condemned?  Nun. 
Because the grounds of her defence were small:  
Besides, a certain Nymph, whom she did call  
In testimony of her innocence,  
Was absent now, and none could find her out:  
And fearful signs, and monstrous accidents  
Of horror in the Temple proved the doubt,  
As dolorous to us, as strange and rare,  
Not seen since we did feel heavenly ire  
That did revenge Amintas love betrayed,  
The first beginning of our misery.  
Diana sweat out blood, the Earth did shake,  
The sacred Cave did bellow out unwonted howling▪  
And dire deadly cries:  
Withal, it breathed out such a stinking mist,  
As Pluto's impair kingdom hath no worse.  
And now with sacred order goes the Priest  
To bring thy daughter to her bloody end,  
The whilst Mirtillo (wondrous thing to tell)  
Offered by his own death, to give her life,  
Crying, unbind those hands (unworthy striges)  
And in her steed that should be sacrificed  
Unto Diana, drove me to the Altars  
A Sacrifice to my fair Amarillis.  Ti. 
O admirable deed of faithful love.  
And noble heart.  Nu. 
Now hear a miracle:  
She that before so fearful was to die,  
Changed on the sudden by mirtillo's words,  
Thus answers with a bold undaunted heart:  
Think'st thou (my dear) then by thy death to gain  
Life to her death, that by thy life doth live.  
O miracle unjust: on Ministers, on on, why do you stay?  
Lead me forthwith unto mine end: I'll no such pity I,  
Mirtill replies, Live cruel piteous love,  
My heart his spiteful pity doth reprove:  
To me it longs to die. Nay then to me  
(She answers) that by Law condemned am:  
And here anew begins a wondrous strife,  
As though that life were death, and death were life.  
(O souls well borne) O couple worthy of  
Eternal honour, never dying praise:  
O living, and o dying glorious lovers.  
Had I so many tongues, so many voices,  
As Heaven hath eyes, or Ocean sea hath sands;  
All would be dumb and hoarse in setting out  
Their wondrous and incomprehended praise.  
Eternal Child of heaven, O glorious Dame,  
That mortal deeds enchroniclest to time,  
Write thou this History, and it enfold  
In solid Diamond with words of gold.  Ti. 
But what end had this mortal quarrel then?  Nun. 
Mirtillo vanquisheth? O rare debate,  
Where dead on living gets the victory.  
The Priest speaks to your Child, be quiet Nymph,  
We cannot change this doom, for he must die  
That offers death, our Law commands it so:  
And after bids, your Daughter should be kept,  
Lest griefs extreme should bring her desperate death▪  
Thus stood the state When Montane sent me for thee.  Ti. 
In sooth 'tis true, sweet scented Flowers shall cease  
To dwell on rivers banks, and Woods in Spring  
Shall be without their Leaves, before a Maid  
Adorned with youth, shall set sweet Love at nought:  
But if we stay still here, how shall we know  
When it is time unto the Church to go?  Nun. 
here best of all, for in this place alas,  
Shall the good Shepherd sacrificed be.  Ti. 
And why not in the Church?  Nu. 
Because there where  
The fault is done, the punishment must be.  Ti. 
And why not in the Cave? there was the fault.  Nun. 
Because to open skies it must be hallowed.  Ti. 
And how know'st thou all these misteriall rites?  Nun. 
From the Highpriest, who from Tireno had them,  
For true Amintas and untrue Lucrine,  
Were sacrificed so: But now 'tis time to go;  
See where the sacred Pempe softly descends:  
'twere well done of us by this other way,  
To go unto the Temple to thy daughter.  
Finis Sce. 2. Act. 5.   

ACTVS. 5 SCE. 3.  Chorus of Shepherds, Chorus of Priests, Montanus, Mirtillo. Chorus of Shep. 
OH daughter of great Jove, sister of Phoebus' bright,  
Thou second Titan, to the blinder world that givest light  Cho. Pri. 
Thou that with thy well tempered vital ray,  
Thy brother's wondrous heat doth well allay,  
Which mak'st sweet Nature happily bring forth  
Rich fertile births of Herbs, of Beasts, of Men:  
As thou his heat dost quench, so calm thine ire  
That sets Arcadia's wretched hearts on fire.  Cho. Sh. 
O daughter of great jove. etc.  Mon. 
Yea sacred Priests, the Altars ready make,  
shepherds devout, reiterate your sounds,  
And call upon the name of our great Goddess.  Cho. Sh. 
O daughter of great jove. etc.  Mon. 
Now Shepherds stand aside, nor you my servants  
Come not near, except I call for you.  
Valiant young man, that to give life else where,  
Abandonest thine own, die comforted thus far:  
'tis but a speedy sigh, which you must pass;  
For so seems death to noble minded spirits,  
That once performed, this envious age,  
With thousands of her years shall not deface  
The memory of such a gentle deed:  
But thou shalt live the example of true faith,  
But for the Law commands thee sacrificed,  
To die without a word: Before thou kneelst,  
If thou hast aught to say, say it, and hold thy peace  
For ever after that.  Mir. 
Father, let it be lawful that I call thee so,  
For though thou gav'st not, yet thou tak'st my life:  
My body to the ground I do bequeath, my soul  
To her that is my life: But if she die,  
As she hath threatened to do; ay me,  
What part of me shall then remain alive,  
Oh death were sweet, if but my mortal parts  
Might die, and that my soul did not desire the same:  
But if his pity aught deserves that dies,  
For sovereign pity then courteous father,  
Provide she do not die; and with that hope  
More comforted, I'll pay my destinies,  
Though with my death you me from her disjoin,  
Yet make her live, that she may me retain.  Mon. 
Scarce I contain from tears: o frail mankind!  
Be of good cheer my son, I promise thy desire,  
I swear it by this head, this hand take thou for pledge.  Mir. 
Then comforted, I die all comforted:  
To thee my Amarillis do I come,  
Soul of the faithful Shepherd, as thine own  
Do thou receive, for in thy loved name  
My words and life I will determine straight:  
So now to death I kneel, and hold my peace.  Mon. 
On sacred Ministers, kindle the flame  
With Frankincense and Myrrh, and Incense throw thereon  
That the thick vapour may on high ascend.  Cho. Sh. 
O daughter of great jove. etc.   

ACT. 5. SCE. 4. Carino, Montanio, Nicander, Mirtillo, Chorus of Shepherds.  Car. 
WHat Countrymen are here, so bravely furnished  
Almost all in a Livery? Oh what a show  
Is here? how rich, how full of pome it is?  
Trust me, I think it is some Sacrifice.  Mon. 
Reach me (Nicander) the golden Basin,  
That contains the juice of Bacchus' fruit.  Ni. 
Behold 'tis ready here.  Mon. 
So may this faultless blood  
Thy breast (Oh sacred Goddess) mollify,  
As do these falling drops of Wine extinguish  
This blazing flame. So, take the Basin, there;  
Give me the silver Ewer now:  Ni. 
Behold the Ewer.  M. 
So may thine anger cease with that same faithless Nymph  
Provoked as doth this fire, this falling stream extinguish.  Car. 
This is some Sacrifice, but where's the holocaust?  Mon. 
Now all is fit, there wants nought but the end.  
Give me the Axe.  Ca 
If I be not deceived,  
I see a thing that by his back seemeth a man:  
He kneels: he is perhaps the holocaust.  
O wretch 'tis so, the Priest holds him by th'ead:  
And hast thou not unhappy country yet,  
After so many years heavens rage's appeased?  Cho. Sh. 
O daughter of great jove, sister of Phoebus' bright,  
Thou second Titan, to the blinder world that givest light.  Mon. 
Revengeful Goddess that for private fault,  
Dost public punishment on us inflict,  
(Whether it be thy only will, or else  
Eternal providence immutable command)  
Since the infected blood of (Lucrina false)  
Might not thy burning justice then appease,  
Drink now this innocent and voluntary Sacrifice,  
No lesser faithful than Amintas was,  
That at thy sacred Altar in thy dire revenge I kill.  Cho. Sh. 
O daughter of great jove, sister of Phoebus' bright,  
Thou second Titan, to the blinder world that givest light.  Mon. 
Oh how I feel my heart wax tender now,  
Binding my senses with unusual maze:  
So both my heart not dares, my hands unable are  
To lift this Axe.  Car. 
I'll see this wretch's face,  
And then depart: for pity will not let me stay.  Mon. 
Perhaps against the Sun my strength doth fail,  
And 'tis a fault to sacrifice against the Sun,  
Turn thou thy dying face toward this hill.  
So now, 'tis well.  Car. 
O wretch! what do I see?  
My son Mirtillo, Is not this my son?  Mon. 
So now I can.  Car. 
It is even so.  Mon. 
Who lets my blow?  Car. 
What dost thou sacred Priest?  Mo. 
O man profane,  
Why hast thou held this holy Axe? how darest  
Thou thy rash hands inpose upon the same?  Car. 
O my Mirtillo, how camest thou to this?  Nic. 
Go dotard old and foolish insolent.  Car. 
I never thought t'have thee embraced thus.  Nic. 
Patch stand aside, thou mayst not handle things  
Sacred unto the Gods, with hands impure.  Car. 
Dear to thee Gods am also I, that by  
Their good direction hither came even now.  Mo. 
N●…er cease, hear him, and turn him hence.  Car. 
Then courteous Priest, before thy sword doth light  
Upon his neck, Why dies this wretched Boy?  
ay, why the Goddess thou adorest, beseech thee tell?  Mon. 
By such a heavenly power thou coniur'st me,  
That I were wicked, if thee denied:  
But what wilt profit thee?  Ca 
More than thou think'st.  Mon. 
Because he for an other willing is to die.  Car. 
die for an other? then I for him will die:  
For pity then, thy falling blow direct,  
In stead of his, upon this wretched neck.  Mon. 
Thou dotest friend.  Ca 
And will you me deny  
That which you grant another man?  Mo. 
Thou art  
A Stranger man.  Ca 
How if I were not so?  Mon. 
Nor couldst thou, for he dies but by exchange.  
But tell me, what art thou? thy habit shows  
Thou art a Stranger, no Arcadian borne.  Ca 
I an Arcadian am.  Mo. 
I not remember  
That I ever saw thee erst.  Car. 
here was I borne,  
〈…〉, and father of this wretch.  〈◊〉. 
Art thou Mirtilloes father then? thou com'st  
〈◊〉 both for thyself and me:  
Stand now aside, least with thy father's tears,  
Thou makest fruitless, vain our Sacrifice.  Car. 
If thou a father wert?  Mon. 
I am a father man,  
A tender father of an only son:  
Yet were this same, my Siluioes' head, my hand  
Should be as ready for't as 'tis for this:  
For he this sacred habit shall unworthy wear,  
That to a public good, his private doth prefer.  Car. 
O let me kiss him yet before he die.  Mo. 
Thou mayst not man.  Car. 
Art thou so cruel son?  
Thou wilt not answer thy sad father once.  Mir. 
Good father hold your peace.  Mo. 
O wretched we  
The holocaust contaminate o Gods.  Mir. 
The life you gave, I cannot better give,  
Then for her sake, who sole deserves to live.  Mon. 
Oh thus I thought his father's tears would make  
Him break his silence.  Mir. 
Wretch with error have  
I done the law of silence, quite I had forgot.  Mon. 
On Ministers, why do we stay so long?  
Carry him to the Temple back to th'noly Cell,  
There take again his voluntary vow.  
Then bring him back, and bring new Water too,  
New Wine, new Fire: dispatch, the sun grows low.  
Finis Scena 4. Acta. 5.   

ACTA 5. SCE. 5. Montan. Carino, Dametas.  Montan. 
But thank thou heavens thou aged impudent,  
Thou art his father? if thou wert not: well,  
(I swear by this same sacred habit on my head I wear)  
Thou shouldst soon taste how ill I brook thy boldness.  
Why, know'st thou who I am▪ know'st thou that with  
This rod I rule affairs both humane and divine?  Car. 
I cry you mercy holy sacred Priest.  Mon. 
I suffered thee so long, till thou growest insolent.  
Knowest thou not Rage that justice 〈◊〉 up,  
The longer 'tis delayed, the greater 'tis?  Car. 
Tempestius fury never waigned rage,  
In breasts magnanimus, but that one blast  
Of Generous effect could cool the same:  
But it I can not grace obtain, let me  
Find justice yet, you can not that deny,  
Law makers be not freed from the Laws:  
I ask you justice, justice grant me then,  
You are unjust, if you Mirtillo kill.  Mon. 
Let me then know how I can be unjust?  Car. 
Did you not tell me it unlawful was  
To sacrifice a Stranger's blood▪  Mon. 
I told you so,  
And told you that which heavens did command.  Car. 
He is a Stranger you would sacrifice.  Mon. 
A Stranger, how? is he not then thy son?  Car. 
Let it suffice, and seek no further now.  Mon. 
Perhaps because you not begot him here.  Car. 
Oft he lest knows, that most would understand.  Mon. 
here we the kindred mean, and not the place.  Car. 
I call him Stranger, for I got him not.  Mon. 
Is he thy son, and thou begots him not?  Car. 
He is my son, though I begot him not.  Mon. 
Didst thou not say that he was borne of thee?  Car. 
I said he was my son, not borne of me.  Mon. 
Extremity of grief hath made thee mad.  Car. 
If I were mad, I should not feel my grief.  Mon. 
Thou art ore-madd, or else a lying man.  Car. 
A lying man will never tell the truth.  Mon. 
How can it be son, and not son at once?  Car. 
The son of love, and not of nature he's.  Mon. 
Is he thy son? he is no Stranger then:  
If not, thou hast no part at all in him:  
Father or not, thus thou convinced art.  Car. 
With words and not with truth, I am conuin'st.  Man. 
His faith is doubted that his words contraries.  Car. 
Yet do I say thou dost a deed unjust.  Mon. 
On this my head, and on my Siluioes' head,  
Let my injustice fall.  Car. 
You will repent it.  Mon. 
You shall repent, if you my duty hinder.  Car. 
I call to witness men and Gods.  Mon. 
Gods you  
To witness call, that you despised have.  Car. 
Since you'll not hear me, hear me heaven and earth.  
Mirtill a stranger is, and not my son,  
You do profane your holy sacrifice.  Mon. 
heavens aid me from this Bedlam man.  
Who is his father since he's not your son?  Car. 
I cannot tell you, I am sure not I  Mon. 
See how he wavers, is he not of your blood?  Car. 
Oh no.  Mon. 
Why do you call him son?  Car. 
Because I from his cradle have him nourished still,  
And ever loved him like my son.  Mon. 
Bought you him? stole you him? where had you him:  Car. 
A courteous stranger in 〈◊〉 gave me him.  Mon. 
And that same stranger, where had he the child?  Car. 
I gave him.  Mon. 
Thou movest at once disdain and laughter.  
First thou him gav'st, and then hadst him in gift.  Car. 
I gave him that which I with him had found.  Mon. 
And where had you him?  Car. 
In a low hole,  
Of dainty Mutle trees upon Alpheus' bank:  
And for this cause Mirtillo I him called.  Mon. 
Here's a fine tale, what have your woods no beasts?  Car. 
Of many sorts.  Mon. 
How scaped he being devoured:  Car. 
A speedy Torrent brought him to this hole,  
And left him in the bosom of a little I'll,  
On every side defended with the stream.  Mon. 
And were your streams so pitiful they drowned him not?  
Your Rivers gentle are that children nurse.  Car. 
Laid in a cradle like a little ship,  
With other stuff the waters wound together,  
He was safe brought by chance unto this hole.  Mon. 
Laid in a cradle?  Car. 
In a cradle laid.  Mon. 
And but a child?  Car. 
I but a tender child.  Mon. 
How long was this ago●●  Car. 
Cast up your court  
Is it not nineteen years since the great flood?  
So long 'tis since.  Mon. 
Oh how I feel a horror shake  
My bones.  Car. 
He knows not what to say:  
Oh wicked act, o'ercome yet will not yield:  
Thinking t'ourstrip me in his wit, as much  
As in his force, I hear him murmur,  
Yet he nill bewray that he convinced is.  Mon. 
What interest had the man you speak of in  
That child? was he his son?  Ca 
I cannot tell.  Mon. 
Had he no better knowledge then of it then thus?  Ca 
Nor that know I.  Mon. 
Know you him if you see him?  Ca 
He seemed a shepherd by his clothes and face,  
Of middle stature, of black hair his beard  
And eyebrows were exceeding thick.  Mon. 
shepherds  
Come hither soon.  Damet. 
Behold we are ready here.  Mon. 
Which of these did he resemble then?  Ca 
Him whom you talk withal he did not only seem,  
But 'tis the same, who though't be twenty years ago,  
Hath not a whit altered his ancient look.  Mon. 
Stand then aside, Dametas stay with me,  
Tell me know'st thou this man?  Da. 
Me seemeth so,  
But yet I know not where.  Ca 
Him can I put in mind.  Mon. 
Let me alone, stand you aside a while.  Ca 
I your commandment willingly obey.  Mon. 
Now answer me Dametas, and take heed  
You do not lie, 'tis almost twenty years  
Since you returned from seeking out my child,  
Which the outrageous River bore away:  
Did you not tell me you had searched in vain  
All that same country, with Alpheus' waters?  Da. 
Why ask you this?  Mon. 
Did not you tell me him  
You could not find?  Da. 
I grant I told you so.  Mon. 
What child then was it (tell me) which you gave  
Unto this stranger which did know you here?  Da. 
Will you I should remember what I did  
So long ago? old men forgetful are.  Mon. 
Is not he old? yet he remembers it.  Da. 
Tush he doth rather dote.  Mon. 
That shall we see,  
Come hither stranger, come.  Ca 
I come.  Da. 
Oh that  
Thou wert as far beneath the ground.  Mon. 
Tell me  
Is this the shepherd that gave thee the gift?  Ca 
This same is he.  Da. 
What gift is't thou speak'st of?  Ca 
Dost not remember in the temple of Olimpich jove,  
Having had answer of the Oracle,  
And being ready to depart, I met with thee,  
And asked thee of the Oracle, which thou declaredst,  
After I took thee home unto my house,  
Where didst thou not give me an Infant child,  
Which in a cradle thou hadst lately found?  Da. 
And what of that?  Ca 
This is that very child,  
Which ever since I like mine own have kept,  
And at these Altars must be sacrificed.  Da. 
Oh force of Destiny.  Mon. 
Yet wilt thou feign?  
Is it not true which he hath told thee here?  Da. 
Oh were I dead as sure as it is true.  Mon. 
And wherefore didst thou give another's goods?  Da. 
Oh master seek no more, let this suffice.  Mon. 
Yet wilt thou hold me off and say no more?  
Villain thou diest if I but ask again.  Da. 
Because the Oracle foretold me that the child  
Should be in danger on his father's hands  
His death to have if he returned home.  Ca 
All this is true, for this he told me then.  Mon. 
Ay me, it is too manifest, the case is clear.  Ca 
What resteth then, would you more proof than this?  Mon. 
The proofe's too great, too much have you declared,  
Too much I understand, ●o Carino, Carino,  
How I change grief and fortunes now with thine,  
How they affections now are waxen mine,  
This is my son, oh most unhappy son,  
Of a more wretched father. More savage was  
The water in him saving, then in running quite away,  
Since at these sacred Altars by thy father's hands  
Thou must be slain, a woeful sacrifice,  
And thy poor blood must wash thy native soil.  Ca 
Art thou mirtillo's father then? how lost you him?  Mon. 
The deluge ravished him, whom when I lost,  
I left more safe, now found, I lose him most.  Ca 
Eternal providence which with thy counsel hast  
Brought all these occurrents to this only point,  
thouart great with child of some huge monstrous birth,  
Either great good or ill thou wilt bring forth.  Mon. 
This 'twas my sleep foretold, deceitful sleep.  
In ill too time, in good too lying still.  
This was th' unwonted pity, and the sudden horror that  
I felt to stay the axe and shake my bones:  
For nature sure abhors a stroke should come  
From father's hands, so wild abominable.  Car. 
Will you then execute the wicked sacrifice?  Mon. 
By other hands he may not at these Altars die.  Ca 
Why will the father murder then the son?  Mon. 
So bids our law, and were it piety to spare  
Him since the true Amyntas would not spare himself?  Ca 
O wicked Fates, me whither have ye brought?  Mon. 
To see two fathers sovereign pity made a homicide▪  
Yours to Mirtillo, mine unto the Gods,  
His father you denying for to be,  
Him thought to save, and him you lost thereby,  
Thinking and seeking, I to kill your son,  
Mine own have found, and must mine own go kill.  Ca 
Behold the monster horrible this Fate brings forth.  
O cruel chance (Mirtillo) o my life.  
Is this that which the Oracle told of thee?  
Thus in my native soil hast thou me happy made:  
O son of me poor old and wretched man,  
Lately my hope, my life, now my despair and death.  Mon. 
To me Carino leave these woeful tears,  
I plain my blood: my blood, why say I so,  
Since I it shed? poor son why got I thee?  
Why wert thou borne? did the mild waters save thy life,  
The cruel father might the same bereave?  
Sacred immortal powers, without whose deep insight  
No wave doth stir in seas, no blast in skies,  
No leaf upon the earth: what great offence  
Have I committed, that I worthy am  
With my poor offspring for to war with heaven?  
If I offended have, oh yet my son  
What hath he done you cannot pardon him?  
O jupiter the great disdainful blast  
Would quickly suffocate my aged sense,  
But if thy thunder bolts will not, my weapons shall.  
The dolorous example I'll renew,  
Of good Amyntas our beloved Priest,  
My son amazed shall see his father slain,  
Ere I a father will go kill my son:  
Die thou Montane, 'tis only sit for thee,  
O powers, I cannot say whether of heaven or hell,  
That agitooke with grief, dispairefull minds,  
Behold your fury thus it pleaseth you.  
I nought desire save only speedy death,  
A poor desire my wretched life to end,  
Some comfort seems to my sad sprite to send.  Ca 
Wretched old man, as greater flames do dim  
The lesser lights, even so the sorrow I  
Do of thy grief conceive, hath put out mine,  
Thy case alone deserveth pity now.   

Act. 5. Sce. 6.  Tireme Mon. Carino. 
SOftly my son, and set thy feet secure,  
Thou must uphold me in this rugged way,  
Thou art my body's eye, I am thy minds,  
And when thou com'st before the Priest, there stay,  Mon. 
Is't not the reverend Tirenio which I see?  
Who blind on earth, yet seeth all in heaven?  
Some great thing moves him thus, these many years  
I saw him not out of his holy Cell.  Ca 
God grant he bring us happy news.  Mon. 
Father Tirenio, what's the news with you▪  
You from the temple? how comes this to pass?  Tire. 
To you I come for news, yet bring you news  
How oft blind eyes do aid the inward sight,  
The whilst the mind untraveld with wild sights,  
Withdraws into itself, and Lynceus eyes  
Doth set a work in sightless senses blind.  
We may not Montane pass so lightly o'er  
The unexpected things, that heavenly mixture temps with human,  
Because the Gods do not converse on earth,  
Nor partly hold with mortal men at all.  
But all these works so great, so wonderful,  
Which the blind world to blinder chance ascribes,  
Is nothing but ce'estiall counsel talk,  
So speak th'eternal powers amongst themselves,  
Whose voices though they touch not deafened ears,  
Yet do they ●ound to hearts that understand.  
O four, o six times happy he that understands it well.  
The good Nicander as thou didst command,  
Stays to conduct the holy sacrifice,  
But I retained him by an accident  
That's newly fallen: the which (I know not) all  
Unwonted and confused, twixt hope and fear.  
Dulleth my sense. I cannot understand, and yet the less  
I comprehend, the more I do conceive.  Mon. 
That which you know not wretch, I know too well,  
But tell me can the Fates hide aught from thee?  
That piercest to the deep'st of Destinies.  Tire. 
If (son) the use divine of light prophetical  
Were nature's gift, and not the gift of heaven,  
Then might'st thou see as well as I, that Fates  
Secrets sometime deny our working minds,  
This only 'tis that makes me come to thee,  
That I might better be informed who 'tis  
That is discovered father to the youth  
That's doomed to die (if I Nicander understand.)  Mon. 
That father you desire to know am I.  Tire. 
You father of our Goddess sacrifice?  Mon. 
I am the wretched father of that wretched son.  Tire. 
Of that same faithful shepherd, that to give  
Life to an other, gives himself to death?  Mon. 
His that by death giveth an other life,  
Yet by that death kills him that gave him life.  Tire. 
And is this true?  Mon. 
Behold my witness here.  Ca 
That which he saith is true.  Tire. 
And who art thou?  Ca 
I am Carino his father thought till now.  Ti. 
Is this the child the flood so bare away?  Mon. 
The very same.  Ti. 
And for this then dost thou  
Montanus call thyself a wretched father?  
O monstrous blindness of these earthly minds,  
In what a dark profound and misty night  
Of errors be they drowned? when thou O heavenly son  
Dost not enlighten them: Montanus thou  
Art blinder in thy mind than I of eyes,  
That dost not see thyself the happiest father  
And dearest to the gods that ever yet did child beget.  
This was the secret which the Fates did hide.  
This is that happy day, with so much blood  
So many tears we did expect.  
This is the blessed end of our distress.  
O thou Montanus turn into thyself,  
How is the famous Oracle forgot,  
Printed i'the hearts of all Arcadia?  
No end there is for that which you offends,  
Till two of heavens issue love unite,  
The tears of joys so satisfy my heart  
I cannot utter it. No end there is,  
No end there is to that which you offends,  
Till two of heavens issue love unite,  
And for the ancient fault of that false wight,  
A faithful shepherds pity make amends.  
Tell me Montanus, is not this thy son  
heavens issue? is not Amarillis so?  
Who hath united them but only love?  
Silvio by parents force espoused was  
To Amarillis, whom he hated still,  
If thou the rest examine, you shall plainly see  
The fatal voice only Mirtillo meant.  
For since Amyntas' chance where have we seen  
Such faith in love that might coequal this?  
Who since Amyntas willing was to die  
For any Nymph, only Mirtill except.  
This is that faithful shepherds pity, which deserves  
To cancel that same ancient error of Lucrine.  
With this deed is the heavens ire appeased,  
Rather than with the shedding human blood,  
Rendering unto th'eternal justice, that  
Which female treachery did take away.  
Hence 'twas no sooner he unto the temple came,  
There to renew his vow, but straight did cease  
All those prodigious signs, now did  
The holy Image sweat out blood no more,  
Nor shook the ground, nor any noise nor stinch  
Came from the Cave, save gracious harmony,  
And odours. O sweet mighty providence,  
O heavenly Cod, had I all words, all hearts,  
All to thy honour would I consecrate:  
But to my power I'll render you your due.  
Behold upon my knees o heavenly powers,  
I praise your name, how much am I obliged  
That you have let me live until this day?  
An hundred years I have already worn,  
And never yet was life so sweet as now:  
I but begun to to live, now am I borne again.  
Why lose I time with words that unto deeds is due?  
Help me up son, without thee can I not  
Upraise these weak and feeble members son.  Mon. 
Tirenio hath waked such joy in me  
United yet with such a miracle  
As I scarce feel I joy, nor can my soul  
Confounded show me high retained mirth,  
O gracious pity of the highest Gods,  
O fortunate Arcadia, o earth,  
More happy than all earths beneath the sun,  
So deare's thy good, I have forgot mine own,  
And my beloved sons, whom twice I lost,  
And twice again have found, these seem a drop  
To the huge waves of thy great good: o dream,  
O blessed dream, celestial vision rather.  
Arcadia now thou waxest bright again.  Ti. 
Why stay we Montane now? heavens not expect  
A sacrifice of rage, but thanks and love,  
In stead of death our Goddess now commands  
Of marriage knot a sweet solemnity:  
But say how far's tonight?  Mon. 
Not past one hour.  Ti. 
Then to the Temple turn, where let thy son  
Espoused be to Amarillis straight, whom he may lead  
Unto his father's house before the sun be set,  
So heavens command. Come, go Montanus, go.  Mon. 
Take heed Tiremo we do not violate  
Our holy law, can she her faith now give  
Unto Mirtillo, which she Silvio gave?  Ca 
And unto Silvio may she give her faith,  
So said thy servant, was Mirtillo called,  
Though I more liked Mirtillo him to name.  Mon. 
That's very true, I did revive his name  
In this my younger son.  Ti. 
That doubts well cleared, now let us go.  Mon. 
Carino go with us, this day Mirtillo hath  
Two fathers found, Montane a son, and thou a brother.  Ca 
In love mirtillo's father, and your brother,  
In reverence a servant to you both:  
And since you are so kind to me, I pray you then  
Bid my companion welcome for my sake.  Mon. 
Most welcome both.  Ca 
Eternal heavenly powers,  
How diverse are your high untrodden ways  
By which your favours do on us descend?  
From those same crooked deceitful paths whereby  
Our thoughts would fame mount up into the sky?   

Sce. 7.  Corisca Linco. 
LInco belike the spiteful Silvio  
When lest he meant, a Lover is become,  
But what became of her?  Lin. 
We carried her  
To Siluioes' house, whose mother her embraced  
With tears of joy or grief I know not whether,  
Glad that her son is waxed a loving spouse,  
But sorry for the Nymphs mishap, and that  
She is a stepdame evil furnished  
Of two daughters in law: plaining one dead,  
An other wounded.  Co. 
Is Amarillis dead?  Lin. 
She must die straight, for so doth fame report,  
For this, I go to comfort old Montanus,  
Who losing one sons wife, hath found an other.  Co. 
Then doth Dorinda live?  Lin 
Live. ay 'twere well  
Thou wert so well.  Co. 
Her wound not mortal was.  Lin. 
Had she been dead, yet Siluioes' cunning would  
Have her 〈◊〉.  Co. 
What Art her healed so soon?  Lin. 
From top to toe i'll tell the wondrous cure.  
About the wounded Nymph stood men and women,  
Each with a ready hand, but trembling heart.  
But fair Dorinda would not any should  
Save Silvio touch her, saying that the hand  
Which was her hurt, should be her remedy.  
Silvio, his mother, and I, stayed there alone,  
Working with counsel too one with his hand,  
Silvio when gently he had wiped away  
The bloody streams that stained her ivory flesh,  
Assays to draw the shaft out of the wound,  
But the wild steal yielding unto his hand,  
Left hidden in the wound the harmful head.  
Hence came the grief, for 'twas impossible  
With cunning hand, or dainty instrument,  
Or other means, to draw it out from thence.  
Opening the wound perhaps with wider wound  
He might have found the steel with other steel.  
So mought he do, or so he must have done,  
But too too piteous, and too loving now  
Was Siluioes' hand, for such like cruel pity  
By such hard means, love never healeth wounds.  
Although it seemed to her that pain itself  
Was pleasant now between her Siluioes' hands.  
He not amazed says thus: this head shall out,  
And with less pain than any will believe.  
I put it there, and though I be not able straight  
To take it out, yet with the use of hunting  
I will restore the loss I have by hunting.  
I do remember now an herb that is well known  
Unto the savage Goat, when he is wounded  
With some Huntsman's shaft: this they to us,  
Nature to them bewrayed, and 'tis hard by.  
All suddenly he parts unto a neighbour hill,  
And there a bundle gathers, straight to us  
He comes, and out he draws the juice thereof,  
And mingles it with vervine seed, and root  
Of centaurs blood, making a plaster soft,  
Which on the wound he lays: virtue miraculous,  
The pain straight ceased, the blood was quickly stayed,  
The steel straightway without or toil or pain,  
The workman's hand obeying, issues out.  
And now her strength returns to her again,  
As though she had not suffered wound at all:  
Nor was it mortal, for it had untouched  
Both left the bones and bellies outward run,  
And only pierced into the musclouse slanke.  Co. 
Great virtue of an herb, but much more great  
For fortune of a woman hast thou told.  Lin. 
That which between them past when this was done,  
Is better to be gesled at then be told.  
Dorinda sure is well, and with her side  
Can serve herself to any use she likes.  
Thou think'st she hath endured more wounds by this,  
But as the piercing weapons divers are,  
So are the wounds: of some the grief is sharp,  
Of some 'tis sweet, one healing waxeth sound,  
The less an other heals, the sounder 'tis.  
In hunting he to shoot such pleasure found,  
That now he loves he cannot choose but wound.  Co. 
Still thou wilt be that amorous Linco.  Lin. 
In mind but not in force my dear Corisca,  
Green blooms desire within this aged trunk.  Co. 
Now Amarillis hath resigned her life,  
I will go see what dear Mirtillo doth.   

Sce. 8.  Ergasto. Corisca. ERg. 
O day of wonders, day all love, all grace,  
All joy, o happy land, o heavens benign.  Co. 
See where Ergasto is, he comes in time.  Er. 
Now all things joyful are, the earth, the air,  
The skies, the fire, the world, and all things laugh.  
Our joys have pierced the lowest hell, nor is  
There any place that not partakes our bliss.  Co. 
How jocund is this man?  Er. 
O happy woods  
That often sighed and wept out woeful case,  
Enjoy our joys, and use as many tongues  
As leaves that leap at sound of these sweet winds,  
Which ●●●l'd with our rejoicings calmly smile,  
Sing they the sweet adventures of these friends.  Co. 
He speaks of Silvio and Dorinda sure,  
Well, we must live, tears are no sooner ebbed,  
But straight the flood of joy comes hussing in  
Or Amarillis, not a word he speaks  
Only takes care to joy with them that joy.  
Why 'tis well done, for else this human life  
Would still be full of sighs: whither away  
Ergasto go'st so pleasantly, unto some marriage?  Er. 
Even so, but hast thou heard the happy chance  
Of the two fortunate Lovers? is't not rare Corisca?  Co. 
To my contentment even now I heard it all  
Of Linco, and t'doth somewhat mitigate  
The grief I for my Amarillis feel.  Er. 
Why Amarillis? Of whom think'st thou I speak?  Co. 
Of Silvio and Dorinda man.  Er. 
What Silvio? what Dorinda? thou know'st nought,  
My joy grows from a higher nobler root.  
I Amarillis and Mirtillo sing,  
The best contented subjects of loves ring.  Co. 
Why is not Amarillis dead?  Er. 
How dead?  
I tell thee she's a bright and merry Bride.  Co. 
Was she not then condemned unto death?  
She was condemned, but soon released again.  Co. 
Tellest thou me dreams? or dreaming do I hear?  Er. 
Thine eyes shall tell thee if thou'lt stay a while,  
Soon shalt thou see her with her faithful friend  
Come from the Temple, where they plighted have  
Their marriage troth, and so go to Montanus house  
To reap sweet fruit of their long amorous toils.  
O hadst thou seen (Corisca) the huge joy,  
The mighty noise of joy full voices, and  
Th'innumerable troops of men and women,  
Thou shouldst have seen, old, young, sacred and profane,  
But little less than mad or drunk with 〈◊〉.  
With wonder who ran not to see the Lovers?  
Each reverence to each them embraced there.  
Some praised their pity, some their constancy.  
Some praised the gifts that jove, and some that nature gave.  
The hills, the dales, the meadows did resound,  
The glorious name of faithful Shepherd,  
From a poor Shepherd to become so soon  
A demi-god, and in a moment pass  
From life to death, the neighbour obsequies  
To change for unexpected and despaired nuptials.  
This is some what (Corisca) but not half  
Her to enjoy, for whom he sought to die,  
Her that disdained to live if he had died,  
This is fortune, this is such a sweet  
As thought prevents, and yet thou art not glad.  
Is not thy Amarillis then as dear to thee,  
As my Mirtillo is to me?  Co. 
Yes, yes, Argasto, see how glad I am.  Er. 
O hadst thou seen but Amarillis when  
She gave Mirtill her hand for pledge, and took  
His hand again, thou easily hadst perceived  
A sweet but unseen kiss: I could not say  
Whether she took it, or she gave it him.  
Her cheeks would have the purest colour stained,  
Purple or Roses Art, or nature brings,  
How modesty was armed in dainty shield  
Of sanguine beauty, with force of that stroke  
Unto the strikor turned, whilst she all nice  
Seemed as though she fled, but to recover force  
She might more sweetly encounter that same blow,  
Leaving it doubtful if this kiss were given or ta'en,  
With such a wondrous Art it granted was.  
This taken sweet, was like an action mixed  
With rapine and with yielding both at once,  
A●o so courteous, that it seemed to crave  
The very thing that it denying gave:  
Such a retreat, and such a speedless flight,  
As mend the pace of the pursuer, might,  
O sweetest kiss, I cannot stay Corisca,  
I go directly I to find a wife:  
For 'mongst the joys there is no pleasure sure,  
If gentle love do not the same procure.  Co. 
If he say true, than thou Corisca hast lost all.   

Sce. 9  Chorus of Shephear is, Corisca, Amarillis, Mirtillo. CHo. Sh. 
Come holy Himeneus, come this even  
According to our vows and to our songs  
〈◊〉 thou these lovers 〈…〉.  
〈…〉 one 〈…〉 of heaven,  
Knit thou the 〈…〉.  Co. 
Ah me it is too true, this is the fruit  
Thou from thy store of vanities must reap.  
O thoughts, o my desires, no less unjust  
Than false and vain. Thus of an innocent  
I sought the death to have my beastly will,  
So bloody cruel was I then, so blind.  
Who opens now mine eyes? Ah wretch, I see  
My fault most foul that seemed felicity.  Cho. Sh. 
Come holy Himeneus▪ etc.  
See faithful Shepherd, after all thy tears,  
All thy distresses, whither thou art come,  
Is not this she from thee was ta'en away  
By law of heaven and earth? by cruel fate?  
By her chaste will? and by thy poor estate?  
By her faith given another man, and by her death,  
Behold Mirtillo now she's only thine.  
This face, these eyes, this breast, these dainty hands,  
All that thou seest, hear'st, and feel'st, so often sought  
In vain by thee, are now rewards become  
Of thine undaunted faith, yet thou art dumb.  Mir. 
How can I speak, I scarce know if I breath,  
Nor what I see, I scarce believe I see:  
Let Amarillis you that pleasure give,  
In her alone my soul's affections live.  Cho. Sh. 
Come holy Himeneus, etc.  Cor. 
What do ye now with me treacherous toys,  
wild frenzies of the body, spots of the soul?  
You long enough have me betrayed here,  
Go get you to the earth, for earth you are,  
You wear th'arms erst of lascivious love,  
Trophies of chastity now may you prove.  Cho. Sh. 
Come holy Hymeneus, etc.  Co. 
Why tris●est thou Coriscal? now's fit time  
〈…〉 impetrate, fear'st thou thy pain?  
Beheld, thy pain cannot be greater than thy fault.  
〈…〉 and blessed couple, of the skies  
And earth beloved, since to your glorious fate  
This day hath meekly bowed all earthly force,  
〈◊〉 reason she do bow that 'gainst the same  
〈◊〉 set a work all of her earthly force.  
Now 〈◊〉, I will not deny  
〈…〉 the same which you desired,  
But you enjoy it, for you worthy were.  
You do enjoy the loyalst man alive.  
And you Mirtillo do enjoy the chastest Nymph  
〈…〉 the world hath bred. Believe you me,  
For 〈◊〉 whetstone was unto your 〈◊〉,  
And to her chastity. But courteous Nymph, before  
Your anger do descend on me, behold  
Your 〈◊〉 face, there shall you find the force  
Both of my fault, and of your pardon too:  
For in the virtue of such worthiness,  
You cannot choose but cause of pardon find.  
Besides you 〈…〉 the self-same fire  
That did inflame unfortunate desire.  Ama. 
I do not only pardon thee 〈…〉  
I count thee 〈◊〉 the effect beholding not the cause.  
For fire and sword, although they wounds do bring,  
Yet those once he●ld to us to whole 〈◊〉 dear,  
Howsoever now thou provest or friend, or foe,  
I am well 〈◊〉 the Destinies did make  
Thee the good instrument of my content.  
Happy 〈…〉,  
And if you please 〈◊〉 with us to be,  
Come then and take part of our joys with vs.  Co. 
I have 〈…〉 pardon me,  
And that 〈…〉.  Mir. 
And I (Corisca) pardon all thy harms,  
Save this delaying of my sweet content.  Co. 
You and your mirth I to the Gods commend.  Cho. Sh. 
Come holy Himeneus▪ etc.   

Sce. 10.  Mirtillo. Amarillis. Chorus of Shepherd. MIr. 
I am so tied to pain, that in the midst  
Of all my joys I needs must languish still.  
Is't not enough this ceremonious pomp  
Doth hold us thus, but that Corisca must  
Come in to hinder us?  Ama. 
thouart too quick my dear.  Mir. 
O my sweet treasure I am not secure,  
Yet do I quake for fear of losing thee.  
This seems a dream, and still I am afraid  
My sleep should break, and thou my soul shouldst fly away.  
In better proof my senses would I sleep,  
That this sweet sight is not a dreaming sleep.  Cho. Sh. 
Come holy Himeneus, come this even  
According to our vows, and to our songs  
Dress thou these Lovers as them best belongs.  
Both t'one and t'other of the seed of heaven,  
Knit thou the fatal knot this blessed even.  Chorus. 
O Happy two,  
That plants have sowed, and reaped smiles.  
In many bitter grievous foils  
Have you imbellist your desires,  
Henceforth prepare your amorous fires,  
And bolden up your tender sprights,  
Unto your true sincere delights.  
You cannot have a sounder joy,  
There is no ill can you annoy.  
This is true joy, true pleasure, and true mirth,  
T'which virtue got, in patience giveth birth.  
FINIS.