THE Shepherd's holiday. A PASTORALL TRAGICOMEDY. ACTED BEFORE BOTH THEIR majesties AT Whitehall, by the queen's Servants. WITH AN elegy ON THE DEATH of the most noble Lady, the Lady VENETIA DIGBY.  
VIR. Nec erubuit Sylvas habitare Thalia .WRITTEN BY J. R.  
LONDON: Printed by N. and I. Okes, for john Benson, and are to be sold at his shop in St. Dunstan's Churchyard in Fleetstreet. 1635.   

TO THE TRULY NOBLE Sir KENELME DIGBY, Kt.  
SIR,  
IT is said, that all things naturally affect their place of birth. Fire feigned to be stolen from Heaven, of its own Nature tends upwards. The Soul of Man desires to be united with the Divine Essence from whence it is derived. 'tis then but reason that these Poems should of themselves return to you, by whose influence they were conceived; Both of them being borne in your house: The one whilst I admired the serenity, and sweetness of your disposition: the other when I kept time with your grief, which you took for the loss of that noble Lady, your dear wife: So that now I doubt whether I may call myself the Author, or you. At least, if this be my work, I am yours: And could my capacity have reached those Heroic virtues, which in the time of my attendance I beheld in you, I might perhaps have dared a higher flight, and from the humble strain of shepherds, have grown up to you, as you are, the subject of all moral virtues: I should ha' then described your valour, Industry, and Prudence in your actions at sea, your Bounty still exercised in the right place, your Piety in the memory of your deceased Lady, of whom, (besides the Monument you have erected to her,) the statues and pictures you have, and whatever else might render her, testify what a value you set on the original. uxorem enim vivam amare voluptas est, defunctam religio. But these aims are too high for me, yet may you somewhat raise my thoughts, if you descend to keep these in your esteem, and with them,  
Your true servant, JOS. RUTTER.   

To my dear Son, and right-learned Friend, Master JOSEPH RUTTER.  
YOu look, my Joseph, I should something say  
Unto the world, in praise of your first Play:  
And truly, so I would, could I be heard.  
You know, I never was of Truth a feared,  
And less ashamed; not when I told the crowd  
How well I loved Truth: I was scarce allowed  
By those deep-grounded, understanding men,  
That sit to censure Plays, yet know not when,  
Or why to like; they found, it all was new,  
And newer, then could please them, because true.  
Such men I met withal, and so have you.  
Now, for mine own part, and it is but due,  
(You have deserved it from me) I have read,  
And weighed your Play: untwisted every thread,  
And know the woof, and warp thereof; can tell  
Where it runs round, and even: where so well,  
So soft, and smooth it handles, the whole piece,  
As it were spun by nature, off the fleece:  
This is my censure. Now there is a new  
Office of Wit, a Mint, and (this is true)  
Cried up of late: Whereto there must be first  
A Master-worker called, th'old standard burst  
Of wit, and a new made: a Warden then,  
And a controller, two most rigid men  
For order, and for governing the pixe,  
A Say-master, hath studied all the tricks  
Of Fineness, and alloy: follow his hint,  
Yo' have all the Mysteries of Wits new Mint,  
The valuations, mixtures, and the same  
Concluded from a carack to a dram.  
Ben. jonson.   

To my much respected Friend, Master joseph Rutter. upon his Pastoral.  
WHy should I vainly strive to vindicate  
Thy fame, or fear thy well-writ Poems fate?  
Why should I wrong the age, to think a strain  
So clearly sweet, so elegantly plain,  
Should be mistaken? that a Reader, though  
Not of the best, who judge because they know,  
But of the venturing rank, should therefore cease  
To praise, because he understands with ease?  
Because he is not puzzled, but may find  
A quick delight, such as should move the mind  
In Plays or Pastorals, whose gentle strains.  
Should not perplex, but recreate the brains?  
Can unjust ignorance offer so much  
Wrong to itself? yet I have heard that such,  
For whom no language can be plain enough,  
Praise nought but intricate and clouded stuff,  
As if that conscious to their own weak sense,  
Because they know not perfect Eloquence,  
And yet would seem; they think that best must be,  
That's farthest off from their capacity.  
Let such, if such there be, have their desire;  
And, though nor pleased, nor profited, admire.  
I wish who ere shall read thy sweetest strain,  
May love the Authors skill that made it plain,  
And so be just both to himself, and thee:  
But I'll no more anticipate, nor be  
Tedious in censure; to that Worthy's breast,  
To whom thou send'st thy Book, I leave the rest.  
Thomas May.   


TO this fair Company I am to say,  
You're Welcome all, to a well meaning play,  
For such our Author made it, with intent  
To defame none. His Muse is innocent,  
A Virgin yet, that has not found the ways  
Out of foul crimes to raise herself a praise;  
And therefore She desires, you would excuse  
All bitter strains, that suit a satire Muse:  
And that which so much takes the Vulgar Ear,  
Looseness of speech, which they for jests do hear;  
She hopes none such are here, therefore she dares  
Venture this story, purged from lighter airs:  
A piece entire, without or patch, or maim,  
Round in itself, and everywhere the same.  
And if there be not in't, what they call wit,  
There might have been, had it been thought so fit.  
A Shepherd's Muse gently of love does sing,  
And with it mingles no impurer thing.  
Such she presents unto your ears, and eyes,  
And yet your Christian freedom not denies  
Of liking, or disliking what you will,  
You may say this is well, or that is ill,  
Without dispute; for why should you that pay  
For what you have, be taught what you should say,  
Or made to judge by any square, or rule,  
As if you came not to a Stage, but School?  
No, he that made it, says, if you will eat,  
He will not force your stomachs, there's your meat,  
Which if you like 'tis well, if not, all's one,  
There must be difference in opinion:  
Besides, he's sure whatever he could wish,  
Your taste, and not his Art must praise the dish.   

The Persons of the Play.  

Thyrsis, the Lover of Sylvia.  
Hylas, the Lover of Nerina.  
Mirtillus, the common Lover.  
Daphnis, the rich Shepherd.  
Montanus, an ancient Shepherd.  
Charinus, Father to Nerina.  
Alcon, an ancient Shepherd.  
Nuntius.   

Chorus of Shepherds.  
Sylvia, beloved of Thyrsis.  
Nerina, a huntress, beloved of Hylas & of Daphnis  
Dorinda, enamoured of Daphnis.  
Delia, a Court Lady.  
Euarchus, King of Arcady.  
Eubulus, his Counsellor.  
Cleander, Son to Eubulus.  
Attendants.   
The Scene Arcady.   

THE Shepherd's holiday.  

ACTVS. 1.  

SCENA 1.  Thyrsis, Montanus. 

HEre in this Grove I left her, here amongst  
These Poplars, Laurels, and these Sycamores,  
Guilty of her sad loss: And yet behold  
They do appear as fresh and full of verdure,  
As when my Love clothed in her clearest looks,  
Did give them grace and lustre: Why do we  
Poor silly men bred up in cares, and fear,  
The Nurse of our Religion, stoop to Nature,  
That only knows to form, not to preserve  
What she has made, since careless of her work,  
She leaves to giddy Fortune the whole power  
Of ruling us: These senseless Trees stand still,  
And flourish too, and in their pride upbraid  
My loss to me; but my dear Sylvia being  
Nature's best piece, made to excuse the rest  
Of all her vulgar forms, ay me! was left  
To desolation, till some horrid satire  
Bred in these Woods, and furious in his lusts  
Made her his prey, and now has carried her  
Into his dark retirings, or some Cave  
Where her poor Thyrsis never more shall see her.   

But I will be revenged, this Wood that now  
Is so bedecked with leaves and fresh array,  
I'll level with the ground, until it be  
As desolate as I.   Mon. 
Alas poor shepherd!  Thy. 
It shall afford no shade to any thing  
That hither used to come for its relief;  
But henceforth be for ever infamous:  
That when some gentle shepherd passes by,  
And sees this ground rent with the crooked plough,  
Here, he may say, here 'twas that Sylvia  
Was lost, and then shall turn another way.  Mon. 
Good Thyrsis, do not make so much of grief,  
Y'have fed it with too many tears already,  
Take comfort now.  Thy. 
What has my present state  
To do with comfort? if you see the trees  
Widowed of leaves, the earth grown hard, and spoilt  
Of the green mantles which she wont to wear,  
You wonder not if winter then appear.  Mon. 
By these we know that season.  Thy. 
And must I,  
When she is gone, whose Sunlike eyes did cherish  
An everlasting Summer in my life,  
Feel any spring of joy to comfort me?  
No father, grief with me is best in season.  Mon. 
But whilst you mourn thus, who looks to your flock?  Thy. 
All as the shepherd is, such be his flocks,  
So pine and languish, they, as in despair  
He pines and languishes, their fleecy locks  
Let hang disordered, as their Master's hair,  
Since she is gone that decked both him, and them.  
And now what beauty can there be to live  
When she is lost that did all beauty give?  Mon. 
But yet, methinks, for one that is a stranger,  
Scarce known to any here, but by her name,  
These plaints are overmuch: beside there are  
In fruitful Arcady as fair as she,  
I'm sure more rich and wise, make out of them  
A choice. Nerina is as fair as she,  
Dorinda's flocks are more than Silvia's,  
And carry on their backs more wool than hers.  Thy. 
Let such base Peasants, as the Gods, do hate,  
Admire their wealth, and them, for what they have,  
Their bodies, and their souls material  
Alike, of drossy substance are compounded,  
And can contemplate nothing but the earth.  
No, Silvia, whom some better God (perhaps  
For the reward of my well tuned pipe)  
Sent down to me made up of air, and fire,  
Though since, because I knew not how to use  
With fair respect a gift so great as she,  
Has justly reft her from me, is so much,  
So great a part of me, that in her absence,  
Amidst my grief I feel some little joy,  
To see how much of me each minute wasteth,  
And gives me hope that when I shall dissolve  
This earthly substance, and be pure as she  
(For sure the Gods have taken her undefiled)  
I may enjoy her looks, and though it be  
Profane to touch a hallowed thing like her,  
I may adore her yet, and recompense  
With my religion the proud thoughts I had  
once to enjoy her.  Mo. 
See how fond you are  
T'embrace a shadow, and to leave the substance.  
The love of Hylas to Nerina has  
More hopes than yours; though she be young and coy  
Yet whilst Nerina is, and Hylas too,  
One time or other, they may both have joy  Thy. 
May they prove happy in each others love,  
And nothing please, but what each other do,  
For so lived Thirsis and his Silvia,  
Whilst Silvia was, and Thirsis was her love,  
whatever Thirsis piped pleased Silvia,  
Thirsis admired whatever Sylvia sung  
And both their joys were equal, or but one,  
Well I can now remember (and it is  
Some comfort to remember what I moan)  
That when our loves began, how first I gazed  
On her, and she was pleased that I should look  
Till greedily I had devoured the hook.  
Love gave me courage then to speak my thoughts,  
And gave her pity to receive my words,  
They linked our hearts together: from that time  
When ere she saw me strike the furious Boar,  
(Though then my case she rued, and sighed full oft)  
Yet was she pleased to see my victory,  
And I received my vigour from her eye.  
Then would she make me Chaplets of the best  
And choicest flowers to adorn my head:  
Which when I wore, methought I then did grasp  
The Empire of the world; but what of that?  
The more I then enjoyed of heavenly bliss,  
The more my present grief and passion is.  Mon. 
Well Thyrsis, since my words do but renew  
The story of your grief, I'll leave to use  
Persuasions to you; for 'tis time I see,  
And not my words, must cure your malady  Exit. Thy. 
That time must put a period to my life,  
Or else it never will unto my grief:  
Come Boy, and under this same hanging bow,  
The note which thou attempered to my words,  
Sing, and be happier than thy Master, Boy.  Boy. 


1.  
SHall I because my Love is gone,  
Accuse those golden darts  
Which to a blessed union  
Struck our two loving hearts,  
Since Fortune, and not Love hath caused my moan?   

2.  
No, her pure Image I shall prize,  
Imprinted in my breast,  
More than the fairest Mistress eyes  
That ever Swain possessed,  
Which in eternal bonds my fancy ties.   

3.  
Come then you sharpest griefs, and try  
If you can pierce my heart,  
But use, if you would have me die,  
The best you can of Art,  
To wound a breast so armed with constancy.    Thy. 
Enough: I'll sigh the rest out: Go my boy,  
Be careful of thy tender Lambs, whilst I  
Seek out some hidden place to pine and die.   

SCENA SECUNDA.  Hylas, Mirtillus. 
Believe Mirtillus, never any love  
Was bought with other price then love alone,  
Since nothing is more precious than itself.  
It being the purest abstract of that fire,  
Which wise Prometheus first endued us with;  
And he must love that would be loved again.  Mi. 
Why? who can say Mirtillus does not love,  
Mirtillus, he who has employed his youth  
Ever in service of the fairest Nymphs.  Hy. 
Mirtillus cannot love.  Mi. 
No, gentle Hylas?  
This Ribbon, and this hair you see me wear  
Are they not ensigns of a lover? say  
What shepherdess whom ever Swain thought fair,  
Has not Mirtillus courted, and obtained  
Some favour from? but you will think because  
I do not fold my arms, and sigh, and spend  
The days the Gods have given me to rejoice,  
In whining passion, walking still alone,  
Now proud with hopes, then cast down with despair,  
Unequal to myself in every thing,  
I cannot love. No, Hylas, know I love  
Dorinda, Cloris, Amarillis, all  
Whom ever love did to his Altars call:  
And when this Mistress frowns, I am content  
To take another, when that flame is spent  
By time, or put out by a Rival, straight  
A third supplies her place, perhaps more worthy,  
If less, because she loves, I'll think her so.  Hy. 
Alas, Mirtillus, I do pity thee,  
Pity the error which thou wanderest in,  
That thinkst thou lov'st, and know'st not what it is,  Mi. 
Why what is love say you, if mine be not?  Hy. 
I know Mirtillus, that no lover yet  
Purchased a lasting pleasure without grief;  
For love has gall in it, as well as honey,  
And so compounded, that whosoe'er will taste  
The sweets of it, must take the bitter too,  
Out of both which is made our constancy,  
You that embrace the false delights alone,  
Are a feigned lover, or more truly none.  Mi. 
I know not what you mean by constancy,  
I'm sure I love the fairest.  Hy. 
Still you err,  
For if you loved the fairest, none had been  
The object of your choice but my Nerina,  
Nerina, she the glory of these woods  
The only subject of all Shepherd's song.  Mi. 
She has her share of beauty with the rest,  
And I confess she's fit for love as any;  
But why she only should take up your breast,  
And shut out all that have a right as good,  
Whose equal, or transcendent beauty pleads  
As just a title to't, as hers can do,  
I cannot reach the reason, but admire  
Your faith, and what you praise, your constancy.  Hy. 
Mirtillus, though I know your stubborn heart  
Could never entertain a lover's thought,  
Yet did I think you would have been more tender  
How you profaned a name so sacred as  
Nerina's is, whom never any Swain  
Nor rural God, nor satire, though he be  
Of savage kind would ever violate;  
Nerina in whose form love ever dwells  
Attended by the Graces, which do range  
Themselves in order 'bout her comely face,  
Whose breasts without are hills of whitest snow,  
Within the seat of blameless modesty,  
Regard of honour, and pure chastity  
Nor may a loose thought ever harbour there  
To tempt such lovers as you seem to be.  
Is it for that you slight her?  Mi. 
No, I love her  
As I do others, with whom I compare her.  
But you that love with such intemperance,  
Make of your love a glass, wherein you see  
Each thing much greater than indeed it is:  
My loves too cold you say, but I am sure  
Yours is too hot for any to endure:  
A mean perhaps twixt these I might approve  Hy. 
You might, if there were any mean in love.  Mi. 
But whilst we talk thus, see, the flame has caught you,  
your beauteous flame Nerina is at hand  
Dorinda with her, dare you stay th'encounter.  Hy. 
No let's with draw, and watch her where she goes.   

SCENA III.  Merina, Dorinda. 
DOrinda, I have missed the chase today,  
Such is my chance, and he that lodged the dear,  
Told me it was the fairest in these Woods.  Do. 
The Gods do love you sure, that have left  
Your thoughts so free for sport; mine are not so.  Ne. 
Thou art in love, I warrant, art thou not?  Do. 
That angry God pursues me in his fury,  
And forces me to love where I am scorned.  
Hapless Dorinda, why should he despise thee?  
Many a Swain, and many a rural God  
Have sought thy favours, and have sought in vain,  
Now thou art justly punished with disdain.  Ne. 
Trust me Sweetheart, I cannot choose but wonder,  
To think that one of such a comely grace  
(I do not flatter you) could sue to any  
For love, who are much fitter to be loved:  
Scorn him as much as he does thee, for men  
Love us no more, when we love them again.  Do. 
Ah good Nerina, you have spoken truth:  
It may warn other Nymphs by my example  
How they profess their loves to any man:  
I'm past the cure, he that wounded me,  
Has left me quite disarmed, and robbed me of  
All those defensive arts which men will say  
Are natural and proper to our sex:  
I cannot change a face, or weep one tear,  
Or laugh against my will, so violently  
My Fate hath thrust me to this love, that all  
My faculties confess their weakness, and  
My flame is got so much above my reach,  
I can not put it out, nor smother it.  Me. 
Alas poor wench, tell me who is the man  
Made up of so much rigid cruelty,  
That I may shun him wheresoever I go.  Do. 
Do not you know him?  Me. 
No.  Do. 
I hear he boasts  
To every shepherd, and to every Nymph,  
How much I love him.  Me. 
Then it must be Daphnis.  Do. 
Venus forgive me, if I do disclose him,  
But he will do't himself: 'tis he Nerina.  Me. 
Daphnis, that woes my father to win me,  
He is my daily suitor, now I know  
How much he owes to pity, and to thee:  
Until he pay that debt, I shall despise him.  Do. 
Why, do not you love him as much as I?  Me. 
Love him? I know no greater misery,  
Then to love one that's not of humane race,  
A Tiger rather, but a Tiger is  
More mild than he.  Do. 
For love's sake say not so.  
He has a manly feature, and does show  
As much of grace in his comportment, as  
The best of shepherds can him Titan made  
Of better clay, than he did other men:  
Although his heart be flint, and hardest rock.  
Yet is his heart so hard, or are my parts  
Rather unequal to his high deserts?  
For he can love I see, since you he loves,  
And you deserve it: had he thought me worthy,  
He would have loved me too; but as I am  
Worthless Dorinda, I am made his scorn,  
And I had rather be so, than Nerina  
Should want a servant such as Daphnis is.  Me, 
Prithee no more of him, I hate his name  
As much, as I would do the loss of honour,  
Which he injuriously would rob me off,  
No, no, Dorinda, if by love I be  
enthralled to any, Daphnis is not he.  Do. 
Why, is there any can deserve you more?  Me. 
Yes many, that I could tell how to love  
Rather than him: for why should I love him  
Whilst Hylas lives and languishes for me?  
Hylas who loved me in my infancy,  
And being then a boy was never well  
If I was absent, nor indeed was I  
Content with any but his company.  
Our flocks still fed together, I on him,  
And he on me did feed his greedy eyes.  
Since though his years have styled him man, he has  
Continued that first love with such respects,  
So full of innocence and simple truth,  
That howsoe'er my outward coyness is,  
My heart within tells me, 'tis only his:  
Ay me! my father! prithee let's away.  Do. 
But Daphnis comes with him, for loves sake stay.   

SCENA QVARTA.  Hylas, Mirtillus, Charinus, Daphnis. 
PAn be as cruel to his flocks and him,  
As he has been to me.  Mi. 
Go, leave your cursing,  
And follow her, let me alone with him.  Cha. 
Ha! have I found you? Hoh! Nerina, stay,  
Your father calls you; was not that my daughter  
That made away so fast?  Mi. 
Who, she that's gone?  
believe your eyes no more, they are false to you.  
Could you take one for her, that's nothing like her.  
'twas Cloris went from us.  Cha. 
Is't possible?  Mi. 
'tis true.  Da. 
I thought, that it had been my love.  Cha. 
I durst have sworn that she had been my daughter,  
What made she here? 'Twill ne'er be otherwise;  
Young women will be chatting with young men,  
whate'er their father say. It was not so  
When I was young, a boy, as you are, shepherds.  Mi. 
we are not men with him, till after fifty.  Cha. 
We never durst keep company with women,  
Nor they with us, each one did carefully  
Attend his charge: And when the time was come  
That we grew ripe in years, and were stayed youths,  
Our Fathers would provide us wives: we did not  
Carve for ourselves, as now a day's they do:  
But now our children think themselves as wise,  
Nay wiser than their Fathers, and will rule 'em:  
They can no sooner peep out of the shell,  
But they must love forsooth; I would fain know,  
Whether 'twere fit a Maid should be in love,  
(I speak now of that skittish girl my daughter  
Before she ask her Father's leave and liking?  Da. 
'tis true Charinus, 'twere not fit indeed:  
Who should bestow the daughter, but the Father?  Mi. 
But Shepherds did you never hear, that once  
There was an Age, the nearest to the Gods:  
An age we rather praise than imitate;  
When no man's will, nor woman's was enforced,  
To any bent, but its own motion:  
Each followed Nature's laws, and by instinct  
Did love the fairest, and enjoyed their wishes;  
Love than not tied to any interest  
Of blood or fortune, hastened to his end,  
Without control, nor did the Shepherd number  
Her sheep that was his choice, but every grace  
That did adorn her beauteous mind or face;  
Riches with love then were not valued,  
Pure uncompounded love, that could despise  
The whole world's riches for a Mistress eyes.  
Pray tell me Daphnis, you are young and handsome,  
The lover of our fairest Nymph Nerina:  
Would you for all that fruitful sicily  
Can yield, or all the wealth of Persia,  
Change one poor lock of your fair Mistress hair,  
Whilst she is yours, and you her shepherd are.  Da. 
Would she were mine, I'd ask no portion.  Mi. 
Spoke like a Lover of the ancient stamp.  Cha. 
Son, son, she shall be yours: why? am not I  
Her Father, she my daughter; may not I  
Bestow her where I please?  Mi. 
Yes if she like  
The man, she will bestow herself, ne'er fear it.  Cha. 
What? she bestow herself without my leave?  
No, no, Mirtillus, you mistake my daughter.  
I cannot get her once to think of marriage,  
And truly I do muse to see a wench,  
That in all other things (although I say it)  
Has wit at will, can pin her sheep in fold  
As well as any, knows when to drive them home:  
And there she can do twenty things as well:  
Yet when I speak to her of marriage,  
She turns the head, she'll be a Dryad, she  
Or one of those fond Nymphs of Diane's train.  Mi. 
Old man, believe her not, she means not so,  
She loves to keep the thing for which she is  
So much beloved, I mean her Maidenhead;  
Which, whilst she has, she knows to play the Tyrant,  
And make us slaves unto her scornful looks:  
For beauty then itself most justifies,  
When it is courted, if not loved, it dies.  Cha. 
Well, we will think of this: Come Daphnis, come,  
I see you love my daughter, and you only  
Shall have her, it is I that tell you so,  
That am her Father.  Da. 
Thank you good Charinus:  
But I had rather she had told me so.    

ACTUS SECUND.  

SCENA PRIM.  Thyrsis, Montanus. To them Mirtillus. 
THis day the Sun shot forth his beams as fair  
As ere he did, and through the trembling air  
Cool Zephyrus with gentle murmuring  
Breathed a new freshness on each Tree and Plant:  
My Kids as game some too, as ere they were;  
All show a face of gladness but myself.  Mon. 
And why not you as well by their example?  Thy. 
Not in this life, here joy would be untimely:  
The Gods reserve for me their comforts in  
Th' Elyzian fields, or else they mock my sorrows.  Mon. 
O say not so, they're just and pitiful.  Thyr. 
They are, but Father, (so I still must call you)  
When in the sadness of my soul I asked  
Before the Altar of our great Apollo,  
What should become of me, or where my love  
Bright Silvia was, whether alive or dead,  
Why should the Oracle reply, Go home,  
Thou shalt enjoy thy Silvia?  Mon. 
What more could you  
Desire to hear?  Th. 
ay, but when greedily  
I asked the time, the answer was, That day  
Thou art not Thirsis, nor she Silvia.  
Then in this life I'm sure it must not be,  
For I was Thyrsis ever called, and she  
Known by no other name then Sylvia.  Mon. 
It may be for your importunity  
You might deserve this answer, or else is it  
Because the Gods speak not their mysteries  
To be conceived by every vulgar sense?  
I now remember what Acrisius,  
The wise and virtuous Acrisius  
Was wont to say.  Th. 
Why? what said he?  
Does it concern me aught?  Mon. 
It may do son,  
He bid us fly all curiosity.  
Seeking to know what future time may bring  
To us, which only Gods above do know,  
And if at any time they do impart  
This knowledge unto us, it is enwrapped  
In such a mist, as we shall ne'er see through it:  
Because, said he, we have enough to do  
With what is present: the celestial powers  
Would not cut of our hopes, nor multiply  
Our cares, by showing us our destiny.  Thy. 
Oh this discourse to a despairing lover,  
What comfort does it bring? for heaven's sake leave it,  
And me; for I am best, I find, alone:  
Yet stay, there's something that I fain would ask you:  
You said this Circle here about my neck  
Has so continued from my infancy,  
When first you took me up.  Mon. 
'tis true, that Circle  
Hung loosely then about your neck, which since  
Is filled with it. I left it there, because  
I saw some letters that were wrought about it.  Thy. 
And may they not be read?  Mon. 
I think they may:  
But I could never find so great a Clerk,  
As could tell how t'expound the meaning of them.  Thy. 
My life is nothing but a Mystery;  
That which I was, and that which I shall be,  
Is equally unknown. Now, if you'll leave me  
Unto my thoughts, they'll keep me company.  Mon. 
I will, but here is one come to supply me.  Enter to him Mirtillus. Mi. 
ay, let me alone.  Sings. 

HE that mourns for a mistress,  
When he knows not where she is,  
Let him kiss her shadow fair,  
Or engender with the air;  
Or see if with his tears he can  
Swell at an ebb the Ocean:  
Then, if he had not rather die,  
Let him love none, or all as I.   
This is the doctrine that I ever taught you,  
And yet you profit not; these scurvy passions  
Hang on you still: You that are young and active,  
That may have all our Nymphs at your devotion,  
To live a whining kind of life as this,  
How ill it does become you?  Th. 
True Mirtillus.  
And yet I do not envy thee the pleasure,  
Thou hast in thy dispersed affections.  M. 
You would, if your head were right once; but love,  
Your love does make an Ass of all your reason.  Th. 
Sure, a true lover is more rational  
Than you, that love at random everywhere.  Mi. 
I do not think so; all the reason love  
Has left you, to employ in this discourse,  
Will hardly bring me to confess it to you.  Th. 
Why? all men's actions have some proper end,  
Whereto their means and strict endeavours tend:  
Else there would be nought but perplexity  
In humane life, and all uncertainty.  Mi. 
Well, what will you infer on this?  Thy. 
That you,  
Who know no end at all of wild desire,  
Must in your wandering fancy see this way  
Leads unto madness, when too late you find  
That nothing satisfies a boundless mind.  Mi. 
ay, but I do confine myself to two,  
Or three at most; in this variety  
I please myself, for what is wanting in  
One, I may find it in another.  Th. 
No.  
Not in another, one is the only Centre  
The line of love is drawn to, must have all  
Perfections in her, all that's good and fair,  
Or else her Lover must believe her so.  Mi. 
ay, there's your error, that's the ground of all  
Your tears, and sighs, your fruitless hopes and fears,  
When she perhaps has not so much t'adorn her  
As the least grace your thoughts bestow upon her.  Th. 
Well, be it so; and yet this fair Idea  
Which I have framed unto myself, does argue  
Virtue in me; so that if she be lost,  
Or dead, (ay me! the sad remembrance of  
My Sylvia causes this) yet I must love,  
Because the Character is indelible,  
Writ in my heart, and heaven is witness to it.  Mi. 
Well, I'll no more of this, I'll be converted,  
Rather than call this grief to your remembrance.  Th. 
Why? dost thou think I ever shall forget her?  
Or that where ere I set my careful foot,  
As in this place, will it not tell me, that  
Here Sylvia and I walked hand in hand,  
And here she plucked a flower, and anon  
She gave it me; and than we kissed, and here  
We mutually did vow each other's love?  Mi. 
Nay leave good Thyrsis, I did come to tell you,  
This holiday our Royal Prince Euarchus  
Being removed to his house here near adjoining,  
Sent to command us to attend his person,  
With all our sports and wonted merriment,  
Wherein you always bore the chiefest part.  
And I have heard, ('tis not to make you blush)  
The Princess has commended your rare Art  
And handsome graces, which you gave your Music.  
Come, you must go with us, for Hylas is  
So far engaged in love, and near his hopes,  
He will not stir unless his Mistress go.  Thy. 
Alas Mirtillus, I have broke my Pipe,  
My sighs are all the music which I now  
Can make, and how unfit I am t'attend  
So great an expectation, you may see.  
Yet give me leave to think on it, at night  
Perhaps I'll go with you.  Mi. 
Till then farewell.  
The gentlest youth that ever played on Pipe:  
But see, who's here? oh, 'tis my other Lover,  
His Mistress with him, I will not disturb him.   

SCENA SECUNDA.  Nerina, Hylas, Mirtillus. 
shepherd, I would you'd leave to follow me.  Hy. 
How can I sweetest, when my heart is with you?  Ne. 
With me? then tell me where, and see how soon  
I shall restore it you. Aside.  Mi. 
Oh, this is fine.  Hy. 
It hangs upon your eyes, where being scorched  
With their disdain, and dazzled with their lustre,  
It flies for ease unto your rosy lips.  
But beaten thence with many a harsh denial,  
Fain would it come for better harbour here,  
But here for ever it must be an Exile:  
For pity then fair Nymph, receive it you;  
And if you can, teach it the hardness of  
Your own, and make it marble as yours is.  Mi. 
I see he is not such a Novice as Aside.  
I took him for; he can tell how to speak.  Ne. 
Well, if my heart be such as you will make it,  
I am so much the gladder; that it is  
Of strength to be a fence unto my honour.  Hy. 
In vain a fence is made to guard the sheep,  
Where no wolf ever came.  Ne. 
What if within  
It keep a dog of prey, would they be safe?  
For my part I'll not cherish in my breast,  
The man that would undo my chastity.  Hy. 
Then cherish me, for you best know, I never  
Attempted any thing to cast a spot  
On that white Innocence, to which I am  
A most religious votary.  Mi 
More fool you; Aside.  
It may be if you had, it needed not  
Ha' come to this.  Ne. 
Yes, yes, you may remember,  
I blush to tell it you, when first my thoughts  
Were pure and simple, (as I hope they are  
Still, and will so continue, whilst I fly  
Such company as you) I thought you one  
Whom never any flame impure had touched:  
Then we conversed without suspect together.  Hy. 
And am I not so still? why do you now  
Fly from me thus?  Ne. 
The cause I shall tell you,  
Since you will not remember; though it be  
Unfit for me to speak, yet you shall know  
How just my anger is.  Hy 
Ay me! most wretched!  
What have I done?  Ne. 
When tending of my flocks  
Under the shade of yonder Myrtle tree.  
(Which bears the guilt of your soul misdemeanour)  
My maid Corisca cried out for my help,  
Because a bee had stung her in the face:  
You heard me speak in pity of her smart,  
A charm, my mother taught me, (that being said  
Close to the place affected, takes away  
The pain) which gave her ease, but you uncivil,  
Turning my courtesy to your vile ends,  
Feigned you were stung too, and cried out, your lips  
Had from the same sharp point received a wound;  
Prayed me to say the same charm over there.  
I charitably lent my help to you,  
Mistrusting nothing of your purposes,  
When with ungentle hands you held me fast,  
And for my thanks gave me a lustful kiss,  
Canst thou remember this, and yet not blush?  
O impudence!  Hy. 
You will excuse the heat  
Of my desires; still I feel that sting  
But dare not ask the cure, nor did I then  
Do any hurt, but since you think it was  
A fault, I do repent it, and am sorry  
I did offend you so.  Mi. 
Better, and better  
He'll cry anon, he has already asked  
Forgiveness of her. Aside.  Ne. 
Well shepherd look  
You never see me more, I cannot love  
At all, or if at all, not you: let this  
Settle your thoughts.  Hy. 
Oh, it distracts them more:  
But since my presence is offensive to you,  
I must obey, yet if I thought you would,  
When I am dead, the Martyr of your beauty,  
Shed one poor tear on my untimely grave,  
And say that Hylas was unfortunate  
To love, where he might not be loved again,  
My ashes would find rest, and so farewell  
The fairest, but the cruelest Nymph alive.  Mi. 
What will you leave her thus?  Hy. 
I prithee, come,  
The sentence of my banishment is past,  
Never to be recalled.  Mi. 
Are these the hopes  
You fed upon? O what a thing in Nature  
Is a coy woman! or how great a fool  
The man is, that will give her leave to rule.   

SCENA TERTIA.  Nerina. 
ALas my Hylas, my beloved soul,  
Durst she, whom thou hast called cruel Nerina,  
But speak her thoughts, thou wouldst not think her so,  
To thee she is not cruel, but to herself:  
That law which Nature hath writ in my heart,  
Taught me to love thee, Hylas, and obey  
My father too; who says I must not love thee?  
Oh disproportiond love and duty, how  
Do you distract me? if I love my choice,  
I must be disobedient; if obedient  
I must be linked to one I cannot love.  
Then either love give me my liberty,  
Or nature from my duty set me free. Exit.   

SCENA QUARTA.  Daphnis. 
NErina, since nor tears nor prayers can move  
Thy stubborn heart, I'll see what gifts can do:  
They of my rank, whom most do deem unworthy  
Of any virgin's love, being rough, and bred  
To manage the estates our fathers left us,  
Unskilled in those hid mysteries, which loves  
Professors only know, have yet a way  
To gain our wishes: first we get the father,  
He knows our pleasures, and gives his consent:  
The daughter's eyes being blinded with our gifts  
Cannot so soon spy our deformities,  
But we may catch her to: This Alcon says,  
A man whom age and observation taught  
What I must learn; yet though most women be  
Such as he has delivered, my Nerina  
Seems not to have regard to what I give,  
But holds me and my gifts both at one rate.  
What can I hope then out of this poor present,  
A lookingglass, which though within our Plains  
'Tis seldom seen; yet I have heard in Cities,  
They are as common as a lock of wool:  
However, if she take it, I am happy,  
So Alcon tells me; and he knows full well,  
(He gave it me) that whosoever shall look  
Her face in it, shall be at my dispose:  
In confidence of this I will present it,  
And see my Fortune; sure I must needs speed:  
My friend, her father comes along with her.  
But oh my Fate! is not that Nymph Dorinda  
Which keeps them company? Yes, sure 'tis she;  
A curse light on her importunity.  
Her father urges something, and I hope  
On my behalf; let me observe a little.   

SCENA QUINTA.  Charinus, Nerina, Dorinda, Daphnis. 
ANd as I oft have told you, I do wish  
To see you wise.  Do. 
Is she not so Charinus?  
Does she say any thing that's out of reason?  Cha. 
Do not tell me of reason; I would hear  
Of her obedience, therefore I say, be wise,  
And do as I would have you.  Do. 
What would you  
Have her to do? you see she answers not  
To contradict you.  Cha. 
I will have her answer  
To what I now demand, that is, to marry  
Daphnis, and I will have her love him too.  Do. 
Love him Charinus? that you cannot do.  
Her body you may link i'th' rights of Hymen,  
Her will she must bestow herself, not you.  Da. 
Oh, she was borne to be a plague unto me. Aside.  Cha. 
Why should she wish or hope for any thing,  
But what I'd have her wish or hope for only?  
Come, to be short, answer me, and directly;  
Are you content to marry Daphnis, say?  Ne. 
What is your pleasure Father?  Cha. 
You do not hear  
It seems, but what you list; I ask you once  
Again, if you will marry Daphnis, speak?  Ne. 
Sir, I would marry whom you please to give me:  
I neither can, nor ought to make my choice,  
I would refer that to you: But you know  
My inclination never lay to marry.  Cha. 
I know you shall do that which I command.  Ne. 
Now heaven forbid, that I who have thus long  
Vowed to Diana my Virginity,  
To follow her a Huntress in these Woods,  
Should yield myself to the impure delights  
Of Hymen, and so violate my faith.  Cha. 
A fine devotion, is it not? to make  
A vow, and never ask your Father leave;  
The Laws will not permit it to be so.  Do. 
The vow Charinus, is not made to men:  
The Laws have not to do with that which is  
Sealed and recorded in the Court of Heaven.  Cha. 
Do not tell me of vows, I'll have her marry;  
And marry Daphnis: Is he not rich and handsome?  Do. 
Ay me! I would he were nor rich, nor handsome,  
It may be then he would regard my sufferings. Aside.  Cha. 
No, Daughter, do not you believe, you can  
Catch me with shifts and tricks: I see, I tell you,  
Into your heart.  Ne. 
Alas, I would you did,  
Than your discourse would tend another way.  Cha. 
Yes, you have made a vow I know, which is,  
Whilst you are young, you will have all the Youth  
To follow you with lies and flatteries.  
Fool, they'll deceive you, when this colour fades,  
Which will not always last, and you go crooked,  
As if you sought your beauty lost i'th' ground:  
Then they will laugh at you, and find some other  
Fit for their love; where if you do as I  
Command you, I have one will make you happy.  Ne. 
Ay me most miserable!  Da. 
Now I'll come in,  
And see what I can do with this my gift.  Cha. 
Look now, as if the Fates would have it so,  
He comes just in the nick of my discourse:  
Come, use him kindly now, and than you shall  
Redeem what you have lost, my good opinion.  Ne. 
O most ungrateful chance! how I do hate  
The sight of him!  Do. 
Were it to me he came,  
How happy would this fair encounter be!  Cha. 
Daphnis, you're welcome, very welcome to me,  
And to my Daughter: what is that you have there?  Da. 
A present, which I mean to give my love.  Cha. 
See but how true a lover Daphnis is;  
His hand is never empty when he comes:  
Welcome him Daughter, look what he has for you.  Da. 
O good Charinus, none must look in it,  
But she herself to whom it is presented.  Cha. 
I am an old man, ay, and therefore care not  
To see my withered face, and hoary hair:  
Give it that young thing, she knows what to do with it.  
Daughter, come hither, use him courteously,  
And kindly too: (Be sure you take his gift.)  
Daphnis, I'll leave you both together here;  
My sheep are shearing, I can stay no longer.  Da. 
Farewell old man; health to my dearest Mistress  Ne. 
And to you shepherd.  Do. 
Daphnis am not I  
Worthy to have a share in your salute?  Do. 
How can I give thee part of that, whereof  
I have no share myself?  Do. 
If you would love  
There, where you are beloved again, you might  
Make your content such, as you would yourself.  Da. 
If you, Nerina, would vouchsafe to love  
Him that loves you, and ever will, you might  
Make your content such as you would yourself.  Ne. 
Shepherd, I oft have wished you not to trouble  
Me and yourself with words: I cannot love you.  Da. 
As oft Dorinda have I spoke to you,  
To leave to trouble me: I cannot love you.  Do. 
Will you then slight my love, because 'tis offered?  Da. 
Will you then slight my love, because 'tis offered?  Ne. 
somebody else may love you, I cannot.  Da. 
somebody else may love you, I cannot.  Do. 
O cruel words; how they do pierce my heart!  Da. 
O cruel words, how they do pierce my heart!  Ne. 
How can I help it, if your destiny  
Lead you to love, where you may not obtain?  Da. 
How can I help it, if your destiny  
Lead you to love, where you may not obtain.  Do. 
It is not destiny that injures me,  
It is thy cruel will, and marble heart.  Da. 
It is not destiny that injures me,  
It is thy cruel will, and marble heart.  Ne. 
No Daphnis, 'tis not hardness of my heart,  
Nor any cruelty that causes this.  Da. 
Then 'tis disdain of me.  Ne. 
Nor is it that:  
I do not see in Daphnis any thing  
To cause disdain.  Do. 
Why do you not reply  
In those same words to me, malicious Echo?  Da. 
Pray leave me, I have other business now  
To trouble me; if you disdain me not,  
Fair Nymph, as you pretend, receive my offer.  Ne. 
What's that?  Da. 
My heart.  Do. 
I will gentle Daphnis.  Da. 
O importunity!  Ne. 
Give her thy heart,  
She has deserved it, for she loves thee, Daphnis.  Da. 
First I would tear it piecemeal here before you.  Do. 
O me unfortunate! O cruel man!  Ne. 
Stay good Dorinda, I'll go with thee, stay.  Da. 
Let her go where she will, behold sweet saint  
This Mirror here, the faithful representer  
Of that which I adore, your beauteous form,  
When you do see in that how how lovely are  
your looks, you will not blame my love.  Ne. 
If I refuse it,  
My father will be angry, let me see it:  
Here take thy glass again: what ails my head?  
I know not where I am, it is so giddy:  
And something like a drowsiness has seized  
My vital spirits.  Da. 
How do you love? not well?  Ne. 
Heavy o'th' sudden; I'll go home, & sleep.  Da. 
So, let her go, and let this work awhile.  
she cast an eye upon me as she went,  
That by its languishing did seem to say,  
Daphnis I'm thine, thou hast o'ercome at last:  
Alcon, thouhast made me happy by thy art.    

ACTUS, 3.  

SCENA 1.  Sylvia, Delia. 


Q. TEll me what you think on earth  
The greatest bliss?  
A. Riches, honour, and high birth.  
Q. Ah, what is this?  
If love be banished the heart,  
The joy of Nature, not of Art?   

2.  
What's honour worth, or high descent?  
Or ample wealth,  
If cares do breed us discontent,  
Or want of health?  
A. It is the order of the Fates,  
That these should wait on highest states.   

3.  
Cho. Love only does our souls refine,  
And by his skill  
Turns humane things into divine,  
And guides our will.  
Then let us of his praises sing,  
Of love, that sweetens every thing.    Del. 
Madam, you're overheard.  Sy. 
I care not Delia.  
Although my liberty, and free discourse  
Be here denied me, yet the Air is common:  
To it then will I utter my complaints,  
Or to thee, friend, to whom my love will dare  
To show the secrets of my heart, for others  
I do not care, nor fear; so thou be faithful.  Del. 
Madam, I have no life, but what I wish  
May be employed to do your beauty's service;  
My tongue is ruled by yours: what you would have  
It speak, it shall; else further than my thoughts  
Nothing shall venture, that you leave to me:  
And those my thoughts, I'll keep to such restraint,  
As they shall never come within my dreams,  
Lest they betray your counsels: this I vow  
Religiously by—  Syl. 
Hold, I will not  
Have thee to swear, nor would I thou shouldst think,  
That I so much suspect thee, as to urge  
An Oath; I know thou hast too much of goodness  
(That's bred within thee) to betray a trust:  
And therefore without further circumstance,  
I'll let thee know my fortunes, part of which  
I'm sure th' haste heard already.  Del. 
Madam, I have,  
And wished that they had sorted to your wishes.  Syl. 
I thank thee Delia, but my evil Genius,  
That has pursued my innocence with hate,  
Brought me from thence where I had set my heart,  
Unto this cursed Court, which, though it be  
My place of birth and breeding, I do find  
Nothing but torment, and affliction in it.  Del. 
I guess the cause sweet Madam, but that's past  
And now forgotten: if you clear your looks,  
Your Father will enlarge you, and ne'er think  
On what you did, but that you are his daughter.  Syl. 
Alas my Delia, thou dost mistake,  
My liberty is of no worth to me,  
Since that my love, I fear, will ne'er be free:  
Nor do I care what idle Ladies talk  
Of my departure, or my strange disguise,  
To colour my intents; I am above  
Their envy or their malice:  
But for th' unlucky chance that sent to me  
The overcurious eyes of him I hate,  
Thou know'st the man.  De. 
Yes, you mean Cleander,  
Son to Eubulus, who is now your keeper:  
What Star directed him to find you out?  Syl. 
His love forsooth, for so he coloured his  
Unseasoned boldness, told me, he was not able  
To want my sight: and so, when every one  
Had given o'er their strict enquiry of me,  
He only with too much officiousness,  
Observed me in the Woods, walking alone:  
And when I would have shunned him (which perhaps  
Had I not done, he had not so well known me)  
He came, and uttered, as his manner was,  
His tedious complaints; until at length  
He brought me with him, making no resistance:  
And to ingratiate himself the more,  
He said he would convey me where my Father  
Should have no knowledge of me: I refused it;  
Willing however to be rid of him.  
And now you know, it is a full Month since  
I did return to Court, but left my heart  
Behind me in those fields, wherein I joyed.  Del. 
Madam, has not the Court more pleasure in it,  
Than the dull Country, which can represent  
Nothing, but what does taste of solitude?  
'Twas something else that carried you away.  Syl. 
'tis true my Delia; for though thou wert  
Privy to my departure, yet the cause  
Thou couldst not tell, which I will now unfold,  
And think I trust my honour in thy hands,  
And maiden modesty: 'twas love that did it.  Del. 
Love Madam? sure it is impossible  
You should find any thing there worth your love.  Syl. 
Thou know'st the shepherds, that do dwell about  
This place (which for their entertainments only  
The King my father built) did use to come,  
As now they do, being sent for unto Court:  
I ever liked their sports, their harmless mirth,  
And their contentions, which were void of malice,  
And wished I had been borne just such a one.  Del. 
Your state is better Madam as you are.  Syl. 
But I confess the rather, cause there was  
One amongst them, of a more comely grace  
(Though none of them did seem uncomely to me)  
Called Thyrsis; and with him methought I could  
Draw out my life, rather than any other,  
Such things my fancy then suggested to me:  
So well he sung, so passionate his love  
Showed in his verse, thereto so well expressed,  
As any one would judge it natural:  
Yet never felt he flame, till this of me:  
Often he came, and oftener was desired  
Of me, nor did I shame in public there  
Before my father, to commend his graces;  
Which when I did, the whole Court, as they use,  
Consented with me, and did strive to make them  
Greater than I, or any else could think them:  
At last I was surprised, I could not help it;  
My Fate with love consenting, so would have it.  
Then did I leave the Court, I've told thee all.  Del. 
'tis strange, but Madam, though in that disguise,  
How could you hope, a stranger, to be loved  
Of him you held so dear?  Syl. 
I feigned myself  
Of Smyrna, and from thence some Goats I had,  
And Sheep, with them a rich commodity.  
Near him I bought me land to feed them; he  
Seemed glad of it, and thinking me a stranger,  
Used me with such civility and friendship,  
As one would little look for of a shepherd;  
And did defend me from the avarice  
Of the old shepherds, which did think to make  
A prey of what I had. At length I saw,  
He did address himself with fear to me,  
Still gazing on me: knowing my love to him,  
I easily believed he loved me too:  
For love, alas, is ever credulous.  
And though I was resolved, having my end,  
(Which was no more, than to discourse with him)  
Never to let him know what flame I felt:  
Yet when I saw his tears, and heard his vows,  
(Persuasive speakers for affection)  
I could not choose but open to his view  
My loving heart; yet with this caution,  
That he should ever bear respect unto  
My honour, and my virgin chastity:  
Which than he vowed, and his ambition  
Never was more than to attain a kiss,  
Which yet he hardly got: thou seest, sweet Delia,  
How willingly I dwell upon this Theme.  
But canst thou help me now, that I have opened  
My wound unto thee.  Del. 
Alas, I would I could  
Invent the way to cure you; I should soon  
Apply my help: yet stay, this day it is  
The shepherds come to Court.  Syl. 
'Tis true, they come;  
But what is that to me, if Thyrsis come not?  
Or if he come, how shall he know me his,  
Or I enjoy his company?  Del. 
Let me alone  
To work out that.  Syl. 
Thou dreamest, thou canst not do it.  Del. 
I'll undertake it, but how shall I know him  
Without inquiring, which must breed suspicion.  Syl. 
True, and beware thou ask; the Majesty  
Which sits upon his brow, will say 'tis he,  
Thyrsis my love; but yet perhaps at this time,  
If I myself not flatter, thou shalt know him,  
By his eyes cast down, and folding of his arms,  
And often sighs, that interrupt his words.  
For if his sorrow wears the liveries,  
Which mine does for his absence, by these signs  
Thou shalt descry him.  Del. 
These are silent marks:  
Yet will I not despair to find him out.  Syl. 
But when thou hast, what wilt thou say to him?  Del. 
Give me but leave to use my mother wit,  
You would be gone together, would you not?  Syl. 
Thou speak'st my thoughts: do this, and I will crown  
Thy faith, thou shalt be Queen instead of me.  Del. 
If you could crown me with your virtue's Madam,  
I should be a Queen indeed; in the mean time,  
As I am Delia, I'll do this business.  Sil. 
Do it, and when th' hast done, the God of love  
Reward thee with thine own desires for this.  Del. 
Madam withdraw, I hear your keepers coming.   

SCENA 2.  Cleander, Eubulus. 
SIr you have put a bridle on my passions,  
And given my soul the liberty it wished:  
I now entreat your pardon, for beginning  
A thing of so great consequence without  
Leave and advice from you.  Eu. 
'tis well Cleander,  
It will behoove you then to be reserved,  
And lock this secret up: for 'tis no jesting  
With Kings that may command our lives and fortunes:  
You now perceive her whom we call the Princess,  
To be your sister, and the love you bear her,  
Must be a brother's friendship, not a lover's  
Passionate heat; but yet she must not know,  
That I her father am, and you her brother:  
And trust me son, had I not seen despair  
Of life in you, which this love brought you too,  
I should not have revealed, what now you know.  Cle. 
It was a comfort Sir, I do confess,  
That came in time to rescue me from death,  
So great her scorn was, and my love so violent.  Eu. 
Now you're at peace, I hope.  Cle. 
I am: but if  
I be too curious in asking where  
The king's son is, I shall desire your pardon:  
For sure it were injustice to deprive  
So great a Prince, of that which he was borne too.  Eu. 
You are too far inquisitive; yet because  
I have engaged you in a secret of  
As great importance, this I will not hide.  
The King, I told you, when his wife grew near  
The time of her delivery, sent to know  
Of our great Oracle, whether the child should be  
Female, or Male, and what should be their fortune.  Cle. 
What said the Oracle? have you the answer?  Eu. 
It only was imparted unto me,  
And this it is which I have never shown  
To any but the Queen: here take and read it.  
If ere thy issue male thou live to see,  
The child thou thinkst is thine, thine shall not be,  
His life shall be obscure: twice shall thy hate  
Doom him to death. Yet shall he scape that Fate:  
And thou shalt live to see that not long after,  
Thy only son shall wed thy only daughter.  
This Oracle is full of mystery.  Eu. 
It is; and yet the King would needs interpret  
That should it prove a man-child, 'twas a Bastard:  
And being loath that one not of his blood  
(As he conceived by this) should be his heir,  
Told me in private, that if it were Male,  
He would not have it live, yet fearing most  
To publish his dishonour, and his wives,  
He charged me not reveal it unto any,  
But take the child, and see it made away,  
And make the world believe it was still borne.  Cle. 
And did you so?  Eu. 
No, for indeed I durst not  
For any thing, become a murderer.  Cle. 
How did you then?  Eu. 
I went unto the Queen,  
Showed her the state she was in, and besought her  
To be as careful of me, as I was  
Of her, and we would work a better end  
Than she expected, so we both agreed;  
That if the Child she then did labour with,  
Proved to be Male, I should with care conceal  
The birth of it, and put a female child  
Instead of it, which I was to look out.  
It fortuned that your Mother then was ready  
To be delivered of your sister, and  
Time and good fortune did conspire to save  
The king's child, and to make my daughter Princess.  Cle. 
But what did then become of the young Prince?  Eu. 
The Queen protesting to me, that it was  
The king's own Child, conjured me to preserve it,  
Which as mine own I could not; for already  
Many took notice that my child was female:  
And therefore I was fain to publish her  
As dead, and buried an empty coffin.  
I rode forth with the child a full night's journey,  
With purpose to deliver it to some  
Plain honest man, that would be careful of it,  
And not inquisitive to know whose child  
It was, but give it breeding as his own:  
When being frighted with the noise of Arms  
Of some outlawed thieves, that did infest  
The place, I made all haste I could to scape 'em,  
Considering my charge; for that I knew  
If I were taken, though they spared my life,  
The charge I had, must needs betray me to  
The King, and then I could not hope for mercy:  
I laid it down there covered closely o'er,  
A circle 'bout his neck, wherein was writ,  Archigenes Son of Euarchus and Eudora, 
In characters known only to myself,  
And to the King; in which I used to clothe  
Secret dispatches, when I writ to him  
From foreign States, and within the Circle  
I graved the Kings less Seal, which then I kept.  
Some Gold beside, and Jewels there I left,  
That whosoever should find him, might with that  
Defray the charge of his education;  
howe'er, next day I purposed to return  
With speed, and carry it to some abode.  Cle. 
But did the Queen know this?  Eu. 
She did not,  
Till my return next day: then when I told her,  
The child was thence removed where I had left him,  Cle. 
Belike those thieves had carried him away.  Eu. 
'Tis probable.  Cle. 
How could the Queen take this  
So sad a story?  Eu. 
With such impatience,  
That being weak before, she shortly died.  Cle. 
But yet sir, with your favour might you not  
Have made inquiry after him?  Eu. 
I durst not,  
For fear of being discovered; on your life  
Take heed how you reveal this.  Cle. 
I am charmed.  Eu. 
Then let us watch my daughter, for I fear  
The flight she made was for some other end,  
Then for retirement which she does pretend.  Cle. 
Henceforth I shall obey her as my Princess,  
And love her as my sister, not my Mistress.  Eu. 
You shall do well: Come, let us to the King.   

SCENA 3.  Hylas, Mirtillus, Chorus of Shepherds and shepherdess, representing Paris, Oenone, Venus, and the Graces. 
IT was my dream, and I will send it to her;  
Though I myself by her too cruel sentence,  
Must never see her face.  Mi. 
What paper's that?  
Love-verses, as I live; what's here, a Dream?  
Nay, I will read 'em, therefore stand aside.  Mirtillus reads. 

sleep, thou be calmer of a troubled sprîte,  
Which lead'st my fancy to that sweet delight,  
Wherein my soul found rest, when thou didst show  
Her shadow mine, whose substance is not so:  
Wrap up mine eyes in an eternal night.  
For since my day springs only from that light  
Which she denies me; I account the best  
Part of my life is that which gives me rest.   

And thou more hard to be entreated, then  
Sleep to the heated eyes of frantic men;  
Thou that canst make my joys essential,  
Which are but shadows now, be liberal,  
And outdo sleep, let me not dream in vain,  
unless thou mean'st I ne'er shall sleep again.   
Alas poor fool! will she not let thee sleep?  Hy. 
I knew I should be mocked, but I'll divert him;  
What are these thou hast brought along with thee?  Mi. 
The Masquers, Hylas, these are they must trip it  
Before the King: dost like their properties?  Hy. 
What Paris, and Oenone, the old story?  Mi. 
But newly made, and fashioned to my purpose;  
Brought hither to make good my own positions  
Against the company of puling lovers;  
Which if I do not, and with good effect,  
Let me be one myself; and that's a torture  
Worse than Apollo laid upon the satire,  
When the rude villain durst contend with him:  
Look this way Hylas, see Oenone here,  
The fairest Nymph that ever Ida blessed,  
Court her departing shepherd, who is now  
Turning his love unto a fairer object;  
And for his judgement in variety  
See how the seaborn Goddess, and the Graces  
Present their darling Helena to him.  
Be happy in thy choice, and draw a war  
On thee, and thine, rather than set thy heart  
Upon a stale delight: Do, let her weep,  
And say thou art inconstant. Be so still;  
The Queen of love commands it: you that are  
The old companions of your Paris here,  
Move in a well paced measure, that may show  
The Goddess, how you are content for her  
Fair sake to leave the honour of your woods:  
But first let her, and all the Graces sing  
The Invitation to your offering.  Venus, and the Graces sing. 


COme lovely boy unto my Court,  
And leave these uncouth woods, and all  
That feed thy fancy with love's gall,  
But keep away the honey, and the sport.  
Cho. Come unto me,  
And with variety  
Thou shalt be fed, which Nature loves, and I.   

2.  
There is no Music in a voice,  
That is but one, and still the same.  
Inconstancy is but a name,  
To fright poor lovers from a better choice.  
Cho. Come then to me, &c.   

3  
Orpheus, that on Eurydice  
Spent all his love, on others scorn,  
Now on the banks of Heber torn,  
Finds the reward of foolish constancy.  
Cho. Come then to me, &c.   

4  
And sigh no more for one love lost,  
I have a thousand Cupids here,  
Shall recompense with better cheer  
Thy misspent labours, and thy bitter cost.  
Cho. Come then to me, &c.    The Dance ended. Enter a Messenger. Nun. 
shepherds, if you have any pity, come,  
And see a woeful spectacle.  Mi. 
What is't  
That can be worth the breaking of our sports?  Nun. 
The gentle Nymph Nerina.  Hy. 
What of her?  Nun. 
The last of her I think, she lies a dying,  
And calls to speak with you.  Hy. 
Curse of your follies;  
Do I live here whilst she is dying there?  Mi. 
But shepherd, what disease is't that so soon  
Could spend his force upon her? she was well  
This morning, when she made poor Hylas' sick.  Mun. 
I know not, I am sent unto the well  
Of Aesculapius to fetch some water  
For her recovery. I must be gone.  Mi. 
Shepherd's here let us end. I think we are  
Perfect in all the rest: This night the King  
Must see't, resolve on that.  Cho. 
We are all ready.  Mi. 
Then let's away, and see what will betide  
This gentle Nymph Nerina.  Cho. 
We'll go with you.   

SCENA. 4.  Charinus, Nerina, Dorinda, Hylas, Mirtillus, Nuntius. 
HOld up thy head good child, see he is come;  
Bring me the water quickly, whilst there is  
Some life in her: now chafe her good Dorinda.  Ne. 
All is in vain, I cannot live; dear father  
Farewell: what shepherd's that lies on the ground?  
Is it not Hylas?  Do. 
Yes, it is he, Nerina.  Ne. 
Alas poor shepherd, 'tis my greatest grief,  
That I have grieved him, I would beg life  
For nothing but to make him satisfaction.  Mi. 
Hylas, what on the ground? look up and speak  
Alas, he's dead.  Ne. 
It cannot be: good father  
Let me go to him, and but touch his ear,  
It may be that my voice may have more virtue.  Cha. 
Do what thou wilt sweet heart: see my poor child  
How charitable she is, being half dead  
herself, she pities others.  Ni. 
Mark her fineness,  
Now at the brim of death: she kisses him:  
And took this way to mock her simple father;  
O fine invention! sure a woman's wit,  
Does never fail her.  Ne. 
Hylas, Hylas, speak,  
Nerina calls thee; speak to thy Nerina.  Mi. 
What cannot love do? It revives the dead,  
He's come to himself again.  Hy. 
What God is it,  
That has the power to return my soul  
From the Elysian fields?  Mi. 
It is no God,  
A Goddess rather, Hylas. 'Tis Nerina,  
Look where she is.  Hy. 
Ah then I do not wonder  
I cannot die, when my best soul comes to me:  
Shall we live ever thus?  Ne. 
How fain I would  
forty sake, Hylas, but it cannot be:  
I feel a heavy sleep sit on my head,  
And my strength fails me, help me sweet Dorinda,  
Farewell for ever: oh I die, I die.  Hy. 
And must I then be called to life again,  
To see my life expire before my face?  
You Fates, if you will take a ransom for her,  
Then take my life: but you are sure of that  
You'll say already: for in her one death  
Two lives are forfeit: Nerina, gentle Nymph,  
The cause why now I live, open these eyes  
Once more, and I shall flourish like those plants  
The sun gives life to: else I fall, and wither,  
Leaving behind nought but a worthless stem:  
Speak to thy Hylas, sweet Nerina, speak.  Cha. 
Ay me! my daughter, hadst thou lived, perhaps,  
I might have seen thee married to Daphnis,  
Now we must see thee buried: Ay me!  Ne. 
Hylas.  Hy. 
She lives, give me some more of that,  
That water there, see now she comes again:  
O gentle destinies, but spare this thread,  
And cut a thousand courser, speak Nerina,  
Give me some comfort, give thy father some,  
Or else behold three lives fall in thy death.  Ne. 
You Fates, that keep th' account of all our days,  
Add but one minute to my life, that I  
May quit my soul of those two heavy burdens  
Which now oppress it: Dry your eyes good father,  
Remember that the Gods do send us nothing  
But for our good; and if my journey be  
Shorter than yours, the less will be my trouble:  
Will you forgive me father, that I have not  
Paid so much duty to you; as I owed you:  
Take my good will, I pray, instead of it.  Cha. 
See her good Nature: I child, 'tis enough,  
Thou always wert obedient.  Ne. 
Shall I dare  
To speak my thoughts, and so discharge my soul  
Of one load yet?  Cha. 
ay, do my child, speak freely.  Ne. 
I've heard you say, that no sin was so heavy  
As is ingratitude.  Cha. 
'Tis true, Nerina,  
How she remembers what her father said!  Ne. 
Then be not angry, if I now must tell you,  
That this poor shepherd, whose swollen eyes you see  
Covered with tears, for many years now passed  
Has courted me: but still with such a love,  
So full of truth and gentle services,  
That should I not requite him with my love,  
I should be guilty of ingratitude:  
Therefore before I die, spray give leave  
That he may have my dying heart, which living,  
I still debarred him of. Hylas, thy hand.  
O stay a little death: here, take thou mine,  
And since I cannot live the wife of Hylas,  
Yet let me die so: Sir, are you content?  Cha. 
I am, with any thing that pleaseth thee.  Ne. 
Tell me, are you so Hylas?  Hy. 
O my love,  
Ask me if I would live amongst the Gods,  
But ask not this: Sir, have we your consent?  Cha. 
You have, it is in vain now to deny it:  
You see, Dorinda, what her vow's come to.  Ne. 
Then let me die, take me into thy Arms,  
Sweet love, you'll see my coffin strewed with flowers,  
And you Dorinda, will you make a garland?  
I die a virgin, though I die his wife.  Do. 
Alas, she's gone.  Hy. 
She's dead, and do I live?  Cha. 
Look to the shepherd there: oh my Nerina!  Do. 
Vex not her soul, I pray, with often calling,  
You see she's dead.  Cha. 
Then there is no hope left:  
Pray help us shepherds now to bear her hence;  
You'll come I hope to see her in her grave.    

ACT. 4.  

SCENA 1.  Thyrsis, Delia. 
HEre I am come unto a place, where grief  
They say has no abode. In PRINCE's Courts,  
I've heard there is no room for loves laments:  
For either they enjoy, or else forget,  
Thrice happy men, to whom love gives such leave:  
It may be that this place, or people may  
Work so with me, and melt this frozen heart:  
Ah fool, that canst believe the change of place,  
Or air, can change thy mind; the love thou bear'st,  
Is woven so within thy thoughts, that as  
Out of this piece thy Sylvia wrought for thee,  
Thou canst not take her name forth, but withal  
Thou must deface the whole: so Thyrsis think  
The wind that here may rise, or heat, or rain  
Thou mayst avoid, thy love will still remain,  
And when thou diest, then may it die with thee;  
Till then resolve to endure thy misery.  Del. 
This is the garden, which I saw him go to,  
And that is he, for all the marks she gave me  
To know him by, he bears.  Thy. 
A heaviness  
Weighs down my head, and would invite me to  
Repose myself; I'll take the offer, here  
I'll rest awhile, for I have need of it.  Del. 
How if I be deceived, and this should prove  
Another man: what then? I can excuse it;  
He's laid already, and I fear, asleep,  
I'll stay until he wake, but then suppose  
That anybody come, and take me here,  
What will they think of me? Best wake him: shepherd:  
It is a handsome youth, see what a grace  
Shows itself in his feature, such a face  
Might take the heart of any Lady living,  
ay, though she were a Princess: shepherd: what  
Not yet? his sleeps are sound.  Thy. 
Ah Sylvia,  
Preserve thy life, oh let me die; Alas  
I do but dream; methought I saw myself  
Condemned to die, and Sylvia to save me,  
Offered herself, and would needs die for me:  
'Twas a sweet shadow, let me court this dream.  Del. 
He must not sleep again: shepherd look up.  Thy. 
Who envies me this small repose, indeed  
I do not often sleep; ha, who are you?  Del. 
Sent to thee, from thy Sylvia, shepherd rise  
And follow me.  Thy. 
Do I dream still? what are you?  
Came you from heaven where my Sylvia is,  
And must I thither? whoso ere you are,  
An Angel, or a fiend, in such a name  
You come, as I'm conjured to follow you:  
But I must die first: Here is to be with thee.  Del. 
Stay, hold thy hand, I live, thy Sylvia lives  
To make thee happy, if thou wilt go to her.  Thy. 
You're habited like those I've seen at Court,  
And courtesy they say is ever there,  
Yet mingled with deceit: if you do mean  
T'abuse me for your sport, this way will prove  
Too sad to raise mirth out of. There's no ill  
That I have done to you, or any else,  
Unless my constancy be here a sin.  Del. 
His griefs have made him wild, I have no time  
Left me to use persuasions, or to make  
This truth apparent to you; on my word  
You shall be safe, and if you dare believe me,  
I'll bring you where your love is; follow me.  Thy. 
Why should I doubt, or fear to go with her?  
Ill does he call for physic, whom the Law  
Has doomed to die: There's no condition  
Can prove worse to me than my present one.  
Pray lead me where you please, I'm sure of this,  
To one that's desperate, no way's amiss.   

SCENA 2.  Euarchus, Eubulus, Cleander, Attendants. Ev. 
ALl leave the room. Eubulus, I'm resolved  
To hold an easier hand over my daughter  
Then I was wont: Therefore I sent Cleander  
To bring her to my presence, though she have  
Wronged her great birth and breeding by her follies,  
Yet I consider that she is my daughter,  
And this restraint cannot but harden her  
In her fond resolutions: have you sought  
By all the means you can to sift the cause  
Of her departure?  Eub. 
Sir, I have tried,  
By all the ways that fit a subject, to  
inquire a truth of one that is his Princess.  Eu. 
And what have you discovered?  Eub. 
Nothing more  
Than what my son Cleander did before.  Eu. 
I have heard his relation: but I wonder  
How for a whole months' time, she should abide  
Within our confines, when so great a search,  
Through all our Countries, and loud proclamations  
Were made for her recovery.  Eub. 
'tis true.  
She herein was ingenuous, and confessed,  
That she foresaw what search would be made for her,  
Therefore with some about her she had plotted,  
To hire a bark, that might convey her hence,  
In a disguise to Smyrna, where she stayed,  
Till time did fit her; that with safety  
She might return in habit of a Nymph,  
Unto the place, where then Cleander found her:  
But why she left the Court, she will not tell.  Eu. 
I will not force her to't: some little time  
Perhaps may make discovery of that secret:  
But unto thee my faithful Counsellor.  
(As unto one my heart hath still been open)  
I will discover what my purpose is,  
In sending for these shepherds to my Court.  Eub. 
I should believe, they 'resent for to delight  
Your Majesty, as they were wont.  Eu. 
No Eubulus,  
But for a greater end; I fear my daughter,  
And therefore I have sent for her to see  
These sports, with purpose to observe her looks,  
For I suspect she loves some shepherd there.  Eub. 
It cannot be: she will not stain her birth  
With such ignoble love; yet I confess,  
Revolving all the causes of her strange  
Departure, I could fix on none but that.  Eub. 
Well, if she do so, I will let her forth,  
Forth of my blood, and whosoe'er he be  
Whose fortune marked him out to be the object  
Of this her love, shall find Ixion's Fate,  
He shall embrace a shadow; by my life  
They both shall die.  Eub. 
O my gracious Lord,  
Remember she's your daughter.  Eu. 
ay, thou still  
Dost plead for her, but yet am I her King  
As well as father, private men respect  
Their profits, and their private interests  
Of kindred, but the actions of a King,  
To honour, and renown must be directed: Cleander enters.  
Consider that, and than thou wilt forget her.  
Cleander, welcome, how does Calligone?  
Is she not glad to come unto our presence?  
Why dost not answer? art thou frighted man?  Cle. 
I know not how to answer any thing,  
Unless your Majesty will sign my pardon.  Eu. 
Why what's the matter, speak, and speak it freely  Cle. 
Then know great sovereign that when I went  
As full of joy, as speed, with your glad message,  
I found the Princess.  Eu. 
What, not dead, I hope?  Cle. 
Dead to her honour.  Eu. 
Ha!  Cle. 
In short my Lord,  
I found her walking in the garden with  
A shepherd, (more of him I cannot tell)  
But she was habited in that attire  
She wore, when from the woods I brought her home,  
I slipped away, not being seen by them,  
And if you please to go, perhaps great Sir,  
You still may find them there.  Eu. 
How now Eubulus,  
Are my presages true? shall I then sleep  
With this disgrace, and let my neighbour Princes  
Mock at my humble fortunes, when they hear  
The daughter of Euarchus matched herself  
With a base shepherd? Go Eubulus quickly,  
Here take my signet, let this be your warrant  
To put them both to death.  Eub. 
How? both my Lord?  Eu. 
ay, both.  Eub. 
Your daughter too?  Eu. 
Why do you question me?  
Have I not said they both shall die: dispatch.  
Let me not see thee, till they both be dead. Exit.  Eub. 
What hast thou done? thou rash inhuman boy?  
Deprived thy father of a child, thyself  
Of thine own sister, whom but now thou knewst.  
Well may the King take that dear life away,  
Which he did never give: I will go tell him,  
I am her father: but I lose my life  
If I do that, as guilty of a treason.  
Go Murderer, hadst thou no pity in thee?  Cle. 
Sir I do feel so much of grief within me,  
For this my act, that if my blood will serve  
To save her life, I'll make no price of it:  
Yet could I not imagine, that the King  
Would have been so enraged; or if he would,  
I had no time to think of it before.  Eu. 
No time? who bid thee hasten to the ruin  
Of thy poor father, and thy family?  
The messages which come to do us hurt,  
Are speedy: but the good come slowly on,  Cle. 
But Sir, remember what a strait we're in:  
It will concern us, to invent some way  
To save my sister, though the shepherd die;  
He will deserve it for his bold attempt.  Eub. 
Go take thy way, whither thou wilt thyself,  
That way is best, which leads me to my grave. Exit.  Cle. 
What luck is this? This is more haste than speed:  
I am resolved (though my life lie at stake)  
To stand the fury of th'enraged King:  
Who knows but he may be as sorry for  
His sudden act, as I for mine. 'Tis here  
To save her, though it cost her lover dear.   

SCENA 3.  Sylvia, Thyrsis, Cleander. 
NAy stay a little Thyrsis, we are safe,  
My wary keepers now are with the King.  Thy. 
Madam, for my poor self I do not fear,  
But when I think on you, and how your name,  
And state that is so eminent, must needs  
Receive a certain scandal, and foul blot,  
If we be seen together, blame me not,  
Though I do fear or doubt: What cruel fate  
Angry with men, that gave us hearts alike,  
And fortunes so asunder; you're a Cedar,  
I a poor shrub, that may look up unto you  
With adoration, but ne'er reach your height.  Syl. 
But Thyrsis I do love you; love and death  
Do not much differ, they make all things equal:  
The Monuments of Kings may show for them  
What they have been, but look upon their dust,  
The colour, and the weight of theirs, and beggars,  
You'll find the same: and if 'mongst living men  
Nature has printed in the face of many,  
The characters of nobleness and worth,  
Whose fortune envies them a worthy place,  
In birth, or honour. When the greatest men  
Whom she has courted, bear the marks of slaves,  
Love sure will look on those, and lay aside  
The Accidents of wealth and noble blood,  
And in our thoughts will equal them with Kings.  Thy. 
'Tis true divinest Lady, that the souls  
Of all men are alike, of the same substance  
By the same maker into all infused,  
But yet the several matters which they work on,  
How different they are I need not tell you:  
And as these outward Organs give our souls  
Or more, or less room, as they are contrived,  
To show their lustre; so again comes fortune,  
And darkens them, to whom the Gods have given  
A soul divine, and body capable  
Of that divinity, and excellence:  
But 'tis the order of the Fates, whose causes  
We must not look into: But you dear Madam,  
Nature, and fortune have conspired to make  
The happiest alive.  Syl. 
Ay me most wretched!  
What pleasure can there be in highest state,  
Which is so crossed in love, the greatest good,  
The Gods can tell how to bestow on men?  Thy. 
Yet some do reckon it the greatest ill,  
A passion of the mind, formed in the fancy,  
And bred to be the worst disease of reason.  Syl. 
They that think so, are such as love excludes,  
Men full of age, or foul deformity.  
No Thyrsis, let not us profane that deity:  
Love is divine, the seed of every thing,  
The cause why now we live, and all the world.  Thy. 
Love is divine, for if religion  
Binds us to love, the Gods who never yet  
Revealed themselves in any thing to us  
But their bright Images, the fairest creatures,  
Who are our daily objects; loving them,  
we exercise religion: let us not  
Be scrupulous, or fear; the Gods have care  
Of us, and of our piety.  Syl. 
But take heed,  
We cannot be too wary: many things  
Oppose our wills, yet if you think it fit,  
And this night's silence will so favour us,  
we'll go together: if we quit this Country,  
It is no matter, all the world to me  
Will be Arcadia, if I may enjoy  
Thy company, my love.  Thy. 
No Sylvia,  
(Pardon me dear, if still I call you so)  
Enjoy your fortunes, think how much your honour  
Must suffer in this act: For me I find,  
It is enough that I have ever loved you:  
Now let me at the light of your bright eye,  
Burn like the bird whose fires renew her nest,  
I shall leave you behind me to the world,  
The Phoenix of true love and constancy:  
Nor is that bird more glorious in her flames,  
Than I shall be in mine, though they consume me.  Syl. 
It must not be, for know my dearest shepherd,  
I shall not tell one minute after thee;  
I find my soul so linked to thine, that death  
Cannot divide us.  Thy. 
What then shall we do?  
Shall we resolve to live thus, till we gaze  
Our eyes out first, and then lose all our senses  
In their succession? shall we strive to leave  
Our souls breathed forth upon each others lips?  
Come let us practise: this our envious Fates  
Cannot deny us. Cleander enters.  Cle. 
What a sight were this  
To meet her father? This would make him mad  
Indeed, and execute his rage himself.  
Madam, your father's here.  Syl. 
Ha Delia!  
Cleander, is it thou? than I'm betrayed  
The second time, but must thy fortune make thee  
The instrument of my undoing still?  Cla. 
Shepherd, I will not honour thee so much  
As to inquire thy name) thou hast done that  
Thou wilt pay dear for: And I hope thy death  
Will take away the blot of this disgrace  
thouhast laid upon the Princess.  Thy. 
If you do this,  
You'll make me happy, it was this I looked for,  
My trivial acts of life, this of my death  
Will recompense with glory; I shall die  
To save my Princess, and what's more, to save  
The life of her life, her unspotted honour.  
Blessed Lady, though you are as innocent  
And chaste as purest Virgins, that have yet  
Seen nothing in a dream to warm their blood,  
Yet the malicious world, the censuring people,  
That haste to cast dirt on the fairest things,  
Will hardly spare you, if it once be known  
That we were here together: As for me,  
My life is nothing but variety  
Of grief and troubles, which with constancy  
I have borne yet: 'tis time that now I die,  
Before I do accuse the Gods that have  
Brought me to this, and so pull on my death  
A punishment. Will you be merciful,  
And end me quickly?  Cle. 
Shepherd, know for this  
Thy resolution, which in noble bloods  
I scarce have found, I willingly would grant  
What thou desir'st. But something must be known  
Before that time either from you, or you.  Syl. 
I know Cleander, it is me you aim at:  
I do confess this shepherd is my love;  
For his sake I did leave the Court, and thee,  
Unworthy as thou art, to be his Rival.  Cle. 
Madam, my duty bids me speak to you,  
Not as a lover now; but as you are  
My Princess, and the daughter of my King.  
I would not for the world have those desires  
Which I had then; for sure my bolder love  
Would have transgressed the limits of all duty,  
And would have dared to tell you, that this shepherd  
Was not a match for great Arcadia's heir,  
Nor yet one fit for my Competitor.  
'Tis not his outward feature, (which how fair  
It is I do not question) that can make him  
Noble, or wise: Whereas my birth, derived  
From ancient Kings, and years not far unsuiting  
Those of your own; to these my education  
(To you well known,) perhaps might make me worthy  
Of being your servant.  Syl. 
Canst thou look on this,  
This piece Cleander, and not blush to boast  
Thy follies thus, seeking to take away  
From his full virtue, if but this one act  
Of his appear unto the world? (as know  
It shall; for I'll not shame to publish him,  
Though I die for it) will it not devour  
Thy empty glories, and thy puffed up nothings,  
And like a grave will bury all thy honours?  
Do, take his life, and glory in that act,  
But be thou sure, in him thou shalt kill two.  Cle. 
What mean you, madam?  Syl. 
Not to live a minute,  
After his death.  Gle. 
That all the Gods forbid.  Syl. 
No, they command it rather, that have made  
Our souls but one: Cleander, thou wert wont  
To be more courteous; and I do see  
Some pity in thee: if not for pities sake,  
Yet for thine own good spare this life, and take  
Mine; for thou know'st, when I am dead, this kingdom  
Thy father will inherit, or thyself.  
'tis but the waiting of an old man's death,  
Who cannot long outlive me: will you do't?  Thy. 
Sir, you are noble, I do see you are,  
You loved this Lady once: by that dear love  
(With me it was a conjuration  
To draw my soul out, whilst I was so happy)  
I do beseech you spare her noble life,  
Her death will sit full heavy on your soul,  
And in your height of Kingly dignities  
Disturb that head, which crowns will give no rest to.  
To take my life is justice.  Syl. 
Rather mine;  
I have offended in first loving him,  
And now betraying him unto his end.  Thy. 
Be not so cruel madam to yourself  
And me, to envy me a death so noble.  
Sir, as you hope your love shall ever prosper,  
Your great designs, your fights,( whate'er they are)  
As you do hope for peace in your last hour,  
And that the earth may lightly cloth your ashes,  
Dispatch me quickly, send me to my death.  Cle. 
A strange contention! Madam will you please  
A little to retire: 'tis your honour  
That I do strive to save, as well as life:  
Pray do not cross my purpose, I shall do  
Something that you may thank me for.  Syl. 
Cleander,  
Save but the shepherd, and I'll crown thy merit.  Cle. 
Will you be pleased to enter here?  Syl. 
But swear  
That thou wilt save him.  Cle. 
I shall do my best,  
I dare not swear, for 'tis not in my power  
To do what you command.  Syl. 
But will you swear  
To let me know of it before he die?  Cle. 
I will by heaven.  Syl. 
Then I take my leave.  
And Thyrsis be thou sure, whatever Fate  
Attends thy life, the same does govern mine:  
One kiss I must not be denied.  Cle. 
Fie Madam,  
How low is this in you?  Syl. 
Then thus we part,  
To meet again, I hope.  Thy. 
Down stubborn heart,  
Wilt thou not break yet? In my death I find  
Nothing that's terrible, but this Farewell  
Presents my soul with all the pains of hell.   

SCENA 4.  Mirtillus, Chorus of shepherds. 1 shep. 
I'm sorry that this business went not forward.  2 shep. 
So am not I, we're rid of so much trouble.  2 shep. 
Yet it is strange the King should send for us,  
And when we were come, command us to return.  Mi. 
No, 'tis not strange, it was his will to do so:  
But if you have an itch of dancing, friends,  
Next holiday we'll ha''t amongst ourselves,  
And every man shall dance with his own sweetheart:  
What say you shepherds, will't not be as well?  1 shep. 
It will be very fine. But where is Thyrsis?  2. shep. 
ay, where is he! you went along with him,  
Where did you leave him?  Mi. 
Walking in a garden,  
Where when I came to call him, he was gone.  2 shep. 
It seems he cares not for our company.  Mi. 
Neither for yours nor any man's beside.  1 shep. 
He is much altered, since his love was lost;  
Methinks he is nothing like the man he was.  Mi. 
Well then beware my friends how you engage  
yourselves in love: He is a fair example,  
And Hylas too, he's drooping for his mistress;  
Daphnis is mad, they say; if you have a mind  
To die, or to run mad, then be in love.  2 shep. 
See where he comes, in what a fume he is.  Mi. 
I do not like his fumes: pray let's away.   

SCENA 5.  Daphnis, to him Dorinda. 
HE will not now be found the Traitor: but  
where'er he be, nor heaven, nor hell shall save him  
From my revenge. To take away the life  
Of that sweet innocent, without whose sight  
He knew I could not live, and to do this  
Under the name of friendship: O you Gods,  
What age can parallel so great a mischief?  
This is his Magic glass, which had the virtue  
To make her mine, but sent her to the Gods.  
Blessed soul, I will revenge thy death, and then  
I'll follow thee myself.  Do. 
Daphnis, my love,  
Whither so fast?  Da. 
Now love deliver me;  
And must you come to trouble me? Be gone;  
I cannot stay to hear thy tedious follies.  Do. 
Were all your vows then made but to abuse me?  
Are there not pains to punish perjured men?  
And will they not o'ertake you?  Da. 
'Las poor fool,  
The Gods do laugh at such slight perjuries  
As come from lovers.  Do. 
Yet it was no conquest  
To deceive one that would be credulous,  
A simple maid that loved you.  Da. 
Then I see.  
There is no end of women's reasoning;  
Or else this might suffice thee, that I cannot  
No nor I will not love thee.  Do. 
Never?  Da. 
Never.  Do. 
Go cruel man, and if the God of love  
Will hear my prayers, thou in thy love shalt thrive,  
As I in mine: that when thou art forlorn,  
Thou mayst remember her thou now dost scorn.    

ACT. 5.  

SCENA 1.  Hylas. 
IT was the cruel practice of my Fate,  
That lifted me unto the height of bliss,  
To make my fall the greater: for no sooner  
Did I enjoy the love of my Nerina,  
But in a moment she was taken from me:  
A love so dearly bought with sighs and tears,  
So many years spent in the gaining her,  
And lost in one poor minute: It is better  
Always to live a miserable life,  
Then once to have been happy: she is dead,  
And I alive that cannot live without her:  
'tis fit that I die too; but by what means?  
By violence? No, that the Gods forbid.  
A lingering grief, I need not fear, will kill me,  
When every day I shall repair, as now,  
Unto her tomb, and consecrate my tears,  
And tearing sighs unto her blessed Ghost,  
Some pitying God, when I'm dissolved away  
Upon her ashes, will congeal those tears,  
That they may cloth her dust: whilst some kind shepherd  
Passing this way does write this on her grave.  
See here Nerina, that from Hylas' eyes  
Fed her fair flame, now in their dew she lies.  
Thus I will have it, so the words shall run.   

SCENA 2.  Daphnis, Alcon, Nerina: to them Hylas, Montanus, Carinus, Mirtillus. 
IT shall not serve thy turn, malicious shepherd,  
Though thou hast ta'en my love away by tricks,  
Yet all thy cunning, and thy practises  
Shall not secure thee from my revenge.  Al. 
Are these the thanks I have for that rich jewel  
Which I bestowed on thee, ungrateful man?  Da. 
Yes, for a poisoned glass, a precious jewel.  Al. 
I do confess 'twas poisoned.  Da. 
Do you so?  
And to do me a courtesy, you killed her.  Al. 
Yet hear me, she is not dead; and if she be,  
I'll pay my life for hers.  Da. 
Be sure thou shalt:  
But canst thou hope for such a strong illusion  
To mock my sense? did I not see her dead?  Al. 
She did appear so: what you thought was death,  
is but a lethargy: though I profess not  
To draw the Moon down from the sphere she is in,  
Or make the sun look bloody by my Art,  
Yet am I well informed in everything  
This glass is made of, and I know th'effects  
it works, and can discourse 'em.  Da. 
Let me hear them.  Al. 
Have patience, and you shall; the Glass you see  
Of this rare Mirror which I gave you, is  
Made of a Memphian stone, that has the power  
To bring a deadly sleep on all the senses:  
With it, to make th'effects more strong, is mingled  
The Quintessence, extracted in a Limbeck,  
Of the Torpedo, which has such a quality,  
That if the Fisher touch it with his hook,  
A poison straight will creep through all his veins,  
Till it benumb his senses: This compounded,  
And made into a glassy metal, soon  
Reflects upon the eyes of him that looks in't  
A sleepy poison, which will stupefy  
The vital parts. Yet, he that gave it me,  
Taught me the Cordial water, which he used  
To restore spirits and heat unto those vitals;  
And I have brought it with me for our purpose.  
What have I wronged you now? or is my present  
Worthy the thanks you give me?  Da. 
Yet you were  
Too blame, that you'd not tell me this before  
I gave it her.  Al. 
In that I showed my love;  
For I did fear your resolution,  
Though I were certain of recovering her.  Da. 
And what must now be done?  Al. 
Here, where you found me,  
I saw her laid, and buried in the clothes  
she wont to wear, her father so would have it:  
I waited on the funeral, with purpose  
To see the stone laid hollow on her grave,  
For fear of hurting her.  Da. 
It was well done.  Al. 
Here I'll apply my medicine; you shall see  
Whether I lie or no.  Da. 
Let's lose no time.  
I long to see my love alive again.  Al. 
Then help to lift this stone; see where she lies,  
The same Nerina?  Da. 
She is dead, I see.  Al. 
Love is still full of fears: give me the water.  Da. 
Here, but take heed it do not spoil her face.  Al. 
If she be dead, you need not fear the change  
Of any colour; what a child is love?  Da. 
The Gods, I see, will not let beauty die:  
She breathes, she stirs, her eyes begin to open  
As after sleep. O miracle!  Al. 
How now?  
Is she alive? will you believe your sense?  
Now I have put her in your hands, be sure  
You do not let her go, and lose no time.  
If you give credit to her words, you're lost.  
What cannot women's words and flatteries  
Effect with simple lovers? think on that,  
Be confident: I'll leave you to your Fate.  Ne. 
You Gods where am I now? what place is this?  
What light is this I see? are the same things  
Seen in this new world, as they are in th' other?  
Or in the grave do men see waters, trees,  
As I do now, and all things as I lived?  
But sure I live still: if I do, why then  
Was I here buried amongst these flowers?  
Sure I am dead; but yet I walk and speak,  
And I have heard that those who once are dead,  
Can never use their voice, or action:  
But who is this I see here? Daphnis, ha!  
Are you dead too, as well as I?  Da. 
No sweet,  
I live to be the servant of Nerina.  Ne. 
ay, so said Hylas, whilst I lived with him.  Da. 
She thinks of Hylas still, what shall I do?  Ne. 
But tell me Daphnis, in what place am I?  Da. 
In Daphnis heart you live, and ever did.  Ne. 
And so said Hylas, when we lived together.  Da. 
O Gods again? Nerina think not on him,  
You must love me.  Ne. 
Must they in this new world,  
As they have changed their lives, so change their loves,  
I never shall do that.  Da. 
You are deceived.  
You are not dead.  Ne. 
Not dead? how came I hither then?  Da. 
By my device to keep me company.  Ne. 
But will you not declare, how I came hither?  Da. 
Ask me not that, but go along with me.  Ne. 
Stay shepherd, whither would you have me go?  Da. 
Where love and silence shall befriend us best.  Ne. 
But tell me Daphnis, was not I once dead?  Da. 
You were, but I your servant changed that death into a sleep.  Ne. 
I know not what you mean,  
Can you change death into a sleep?  Da. 
I can,  
And did for love of you.  Ne. 
This is a riddle,  
Pray let me know what you do mean by it.  Da. 
Come with me, and you shall.  Ne. 
Nay, tell me first.  Da. 
Then know fair shepherdess, that when I saw  
My love, my services, my gifts, my vows,  
Did all return to me without your love,  
I had recourse unto this Artifice,  
A pleasant one of love's Invention,  
Which you may well remember.  Ne. 
What was that?  Da. 
I did present you with a looking glass.  Ne. 
You did, but what of that?  Da. 
Nothing at all.  
Pray go this way with me.  Ne. 
But tell me first.  Da. 
That cast you into this deep lethargy:  
Such was the Magic of it.  Ne. 
To what purpose  
Did you do this?  Da. 
To make you mine.  Ne. 
Yours, Daphnis?  
How could you hope that without my consent?  Da. 
My services I thought would merit it,  
Besides the world not dreaming but you were  
Dead, and here buried, we two might live  
Together without being known to any.  Ne. 
But could you practise tricks on those you love?  
Now you are paid with your own Artifice:  
For know, there's none that can dispose of me  
But Hylas, who has long preserved my heart,  
And now my father, (whom I did resolve  
For ever to obey) has made him mine,  
By giving his consent, which had not been  
But for this trick of yours.  Da. 
Why then it seems  
You do not love me.  Ne. 
Love you? know I had  
Rather embrace my death again, then thee.  Da. 
Then 'tis no time to dally, come along,  
Or I will force you.  Ne. 
Help me shepherds, help.  Da. 
Fool, stop your mouth, no humane help shall save thee  Enter Hylas. Hy. 
This is the place where I am come to pay  
My tears first sacrifice, upon this tomb  
That glories in the spoils of all my wealth.  Ne. 
Hylas, come help me, seest thou not that Daphnis  
Will ravish me?  Hy. 
Ha, what do I hear?  
The voice of my Nerina? so she spoke  
When she did live; but now, alas, she's dead:  
Some Devil mocks me with a vision,  
And voice unto it.  Ne. 
Will you see me ravished  
Before your face? O Hylas! oh my Love!  Hy. 
'tis she, it is no vision; hold Ravisher,  
My love thou canst not take without my life.  Enter Mirtillus, Montanus, Charinus. Mi. 
What noise is this?  Mo. 
Some shriek much like a woman's.  Ne. 
Oh help my love, Mirtillus.  Mi. 
Shepherd, hold,  
Let go this Nymph.  Da. 
Or death, or victory  
Shall crown my enterprise.  Cha. 
Who makes this outcry?  Mi. 
Sir, I shall cool you, if you be so hot.  Cha. 
My daughter here? was she not buried?  
Away foul spirit, away; let's part these shepherds.  Ne. 
O father, do you think that I am dead,  
I am alive, as you are; touch me, see.  Cha. 
She is alive indeed: how cam'st thou hither?  Ne. 
Daphnis, whom you would have to be my husband,  
Brought me to this supposed death and grave.  Cha. 
By what strange means, Nerina?  Ne. 
By the glass  
You bid me I should take: he has confessed  
To me that it was poisoned.  Cha. 
Can it be?  
Can Daphnis do this? he had little reason.  Da. 
She was a fool to cry, I should ha' pleased her  
Ere this perhaps.  Cha. 
Here Hylas, take my daughter,  
For she is thine: you Daphnis, I did further  
In all I could, till you would find a trick  
To put yourself beside her.  Ne. 
I forgive him:  
For though it was ill meant, yet did it sort  
By accident unto my good.  Mo. 
But will  
Our Laws permit a Ravisher to live?  Hy. 
No, no Montanus: let him live, and envy  
Our present happiness.  Da. 
Cover, you Gods,  
The world in public ruin, or else show me  
A way to hide my shame.  Mo. 
What will he do?  Mi. 
He will go hang himself: what plots he had  
To fool himself with!  Mo. 
They that practise tricks  
Find them as jades, that throw 'em first, then kick 'em  
As his has done.  Cha. 
Come shepherds, let's away,  
And solemnize these nuptials.  Mi. 
Stay Montanus,  
Did the King send for you?  Mo. 
He did.  Mi. 
And how?  Mo. 
The message came from Thyrsis.  Ni. 
I'll go with you:  
'Tis strange the King should send for you: pray heaven  
Thyrsis have done no mischief there, he's handsome,  
Of a good grace, and moving eloquence:  
Perhaps some Lady may have taken him  
Up for herself, and he, I'll lay a wager,  
Will be so squeamish, that if Sylvia  
Come in his mind, he ne'er will do her reason,  
And then her plot will be how to betray him:  
Would I were in his place.  Mo. 
I would thou wert,  
So he were safe.  Mi. 
I would comply, ne'er fear it;  
They live a heavenly life of love in Court,  
To that which we do here; a Mistress there  
Will satisfy the longings of her lover,  
And never trouble Hymen for the matter:  
Then if they like not, they may look elsewhere,  Mo. 
Thou wilt be punished one day for thy mischief.  Mi. 
The mischief's in my tongue, I ne'er do any.  Mo. 
No, I have heard that Stella was with child  
By thee, and thou must father it.  Mi. 
Who, I?  
Take me at that once, fathering of children,  
And make me common father of them all:  
A child's a pretty thing, and I should joy  
To see one of mine own. I'll tell thee truth  
Montanus, by this hand I never lay  
With any woman in my life.  Mo. 
How then?  
You 'have courted all; who is it that Mirtillus  
Has not professed to love?  Mi. 
I do confess it,  
And that is all I could do; for before  
I could get earnest of any one's love,  
To whom I made address; even she would say,  
You have another mistress, go to her,  
I will not be her stale: and so by this means,  
Nor this, nor that would do me any reason.  Mo. 
You had ill luck, it seems, 'twas not your fault.  Mi. 
No, for if they would believe me, I did swear  
I had no other. Pray, Montanus, tell me,  
For you have known the several ways of wooing,  
Which is the best, and safest?  Mo. 
O Mirtillus,  
Grey hairs have put the wilder thoughts of love  
Out of my head; cold blood and frozen limbs,  
Fright all those heats away, in place of which  
Discretion and sobriety should come.  Mi. 
But I have heard, old men do sometimes love.  Mo. 
They dote, Mirtillus, give it the right name;  
In old men's bloods Cupid does quench his flames.  
But as we go, I'll tell thee, not to love  
At all is best; but if you needs must love,  
Love one, and seek no further, thou wilt find  
Enough of her, if once she prove unkind.   

SCENA 3.  Daphnis, Alcon. To Daphnis, Dorinda. 
THere is no way to avoid the shame of this:  
Each Shepherd's boy that sings unto his flock,  
Will make me the scorned subject of his song.  Al. 
Had you been sudden as I counselled you,  
You had not failed: but you young men do never  
Go through with any thing.  Do. 
For heaven's sake,  
Call not that wicked deed to my remembrance.  
I do repent me, that I e'er began it:  
I would not for a world have ended it:  
Nerina's chaste, and fair, and I a villain.  
Leave me, I pray, for something tells me, you  
Did first advise me to this damned act.  Al. 
Nay, if you prize my friendship at this rate,  
I'll leave you to your penance. Exit.  Da. 
This old man  
Is full of malice, nothing troubles him;  
The ills that he has done, fly from his thoughts,  
And he rejoices that he did, them quaintly:  
I have begun my youth, as if I meant  
To have my age so punished as his is, Enter Dorinda.  
Who's this? Dorinda? I have done her wrong:  
I sued for love to her first, which obtained,  
I stuck disgraces on her; let me ask  
Forgiveness now, for 'twere too much to hope,  
That she should love one stained with such a deed  
As I have done, so foul and impious.  Do. 
Great love, if yet thou art not satisfied  
With all the wrongs I have sustained for thee:  
My blood, I hope thy anger will appease,  
Which thou mayst glut thyself with.  Da. 
Gentle Nymph.  Do. 
I've been too gentle, do not mock me with't:  
O Daphnis, is it you? this is not well,  
To mock me thus; your looks when armed with frowns,  
Gave not my heart so deep a wound as this.  Da. 
I mean no scorn, I come to ask your pardon  
For what I've done already, not to heap  
More sins upon my head.  Do. 
'Tis very strange.  Da. 
But true Dorinda, will you spit upon me?  
Take your revenge, for I have well deserved it.  Do. 
But is this serious Daphnis? oh take heed,  
Crack not my heart with such a load of grief  
And scorn, so pressed as this is; if you do,  
The Gods will punish it: for though they have  
Neglected me thus long, they will revenge  
Such injuries as these.  Da. 
My many ills  
Discredit my repentance: if my words  
Can find no faith with you, believe my tears,  
Indeed they are not feigned.  Do. 
Even so you looked  
When first you stole my heart: but I forgive you,  
whate'er become of me; I still must love you.  Da. 
Forgive me first, and then I will begin  
By my endeavours and true services  
To deserve something of you, if not love.  Do. 
There is not that hard heartedness in man  
Which I did think, for he repents I see:  
O Daphnis, if thou mean'st not this as scorn,  
Take me into thine arms, and I will be  
Thy slave.  Da. 
O say not so, let me  
Rather be thine; it will be pride in me  
To be ambitious of it.  Do. 
Oh my heart!  
What sudden joy thou strik'st into it now!  
But yet methinks I fear thou dost not love me.  Da. 
Why should you fear? by Pan you are to me  
whate'er you can imagine; equal, above  
All that I ere thought fair; and if you be  
Content to hide my faults, and take me to  
Your nuptial bed, (which yet I dare not hope)  
But if you will, when ere that day shall come,  
Th'embraces of my love and me, shall be  
Such as the Cyprian boy from our abundance,  
Shall take his fires to kindle other hearts,  
Yet leave with us a flame, which we will cherish,  
And keep alive unto eternity.  Do. 
Women are ever credulous most then,  
When knowledge of the truth would but afflict them:  
I dare not now distrust you, though I knew,  
What you have said, were false, it has a semblance  
Of such a pleasing truth: Give me thy hand,  
And take thou mine; whilst we walk thus entwined  
I shall think Daphnis never was unkind.   

SCENA 4.  Eubulus, Cleander: to them Thyrsis, Sylvia. 
WHat, are they dead? Is the king's will obeyed?  Cle. 
No Sir, they live, and Hymen in his bands  
Has tied them both; the happiest knot that ere  
Knit two such equal hearts, and loves together:  
Oh I am ravished with the news, my joy  
Is greater now, then if sh'had been the daughter  
Unto our King, and I had married her.  Eu. 
I am amazed; pray Jove thou be'st not mad.  Cle. 
Somewhat exalted, Sir, beyond my myself,  
But yet not mad: Go, Sir, unto the King,  
Tell him, Cleander lives to make him happy.  Eu. 
Sure thou wilt come unto thyself anon,  
Prithee bethink thee.  Cle. 
Yes Sir, I do think,  
And know that I have news to make him live,  
And you an age yet longer.  Eu. 
This is strange.  Cle. 
'tis true.  Eu. 
But what is true?  Cle. 
'tis true, my Sister  
Shall be a Queen.  Eu. 
If she do live, I think  
She will; but yet you know we were commanded  
To cut that life off.  Cle. 
But your hasty son,  
That came so speedy with a fatal message,  
Was not so forward now; they both do live,  
And both are married.  Eu. 
Jupiter forbid.  Cle. 
The Fates command it, 'tis their proper work:  
The Shepherd is a Prince, your Prince, and mine,  
And married to my Sister,  Eu. 
Ha! what's that?  
Prithee digest thy troubled thoughts, and tell me  
What Prince is this thou mean'st?  Cle. 
Archigenes.  Eu. 
Thou dreamest, it cannot be.  Cle. 
No, then come forth  
You royal pair, and testify yourselves. Enter Thyrsis and Sylvia.  Syl. 
Father, your blessing.  Eu. 
Ha!  Cle. 
Nay, I've told all.  
She knows she is your daughter: look Sir here;  
Here we must place our reverence.  Eu. 
Who's this?  Cle. 
Not yet? then look upon this Circle, that  
You know for certain, though you know not him.  Eu. 
'Tis it, it is the same: Archigenes  
Son of Euarchus and Eudora:  
This is my character, and this my seal.  Thy. 
Sir, I have heard that by your piety,  
My infant life was saved: now by the goodness  
Derived from you, unto your son, I have  
Not only found my life, but my content,  
The sum of all my hopes, this Lady here,  
Without whose love my life had been a torment.  Syl. 
And I the happiest maid that ever was  
Conducted by the power of simple love,  
Have found in place of him I thought a shepherd,  
A Princely lover.  Eu. 
Rise Calligone:  
The Gods are just I see, that favouring  
My innocence, have brought this match about.  
But say Cleander, what Fate guided thee  
To this discovery?  Cle. 
Sir, should I tell you,  
How many ways I cast to save my sister  
After the fatal message which I brought,  
I should be tedious, and keep you from  
What you do long to hear: In short I soon  
Resolved to make away this royal shepherd.  
And knowing that in this affair, to keep it  
Secret, dispatch was needful, I commanded  
A servant, of whose faith and courage I  
Was well assured, to kill him in my presence.  Eu. 
'Tis strange, thou shouldst be present at a murder.  Cle. 
'Twas a necessity was laid upon me,  
Because I would be sure to see him dead,  
I bade him choose his death, when manfully  
He said, he cared not how, so he might die.  
I knew to strangle him, was the readiest way,  
Which death himself was ready to embrace:  
This his so noble resolution,  
Did stand me from mine; my servants hands  
Trembled for fear,  
Presaging what a sin they were to act:  
He bade him be assured he would not start,  
And often called him to dispatch him quickly.  Syl. 
What man could have a heart for such a deed,  
And see his face.  Cle. 
The Prince, before he came  
To put the fatal twist about his neck,  
Besought me, as I ever hoped for peace,  
I should preserve the Princess: this I promised,  
And whatsoever else he would desire:  
He answered, nothing now, but hasty death,  
Then stripping off his doublet, I espied  
With a quick eye this golden Circle here,  
When hastily I bid my servant hold,  
And let him go. He asked me why I stayed,  
I told him that about his neck was Sacred,  
He would have rent it off, but I forbade it.  Eu. 
What did you then?  Cle. 
Sir, I did well remember  
What I had heard of th' Oracle and you,  
Which with the computation of his years,  
I found agreeing to make up a truth  
Which you before assured me; then I asked him,  
Whether he would be married to the Princess  
Before he died; he thought that I had mocked him,  
And said, I practised Tyranny upon him:  
Then went I to my sister, and desired  
The same of her; in fine, I saw them both  
Join hands and hearts together, but the Prince  
Thought this a dream of life, which certain death  
Would wake him from, until I did assure him  
Of his great State, and that his love, whom now  
He thought to be the Princess, was my Sister,  
All which I did refer unto your knowledge.  Eu. 
This day for ever let it holy be,  
And you whom love has brought through deep despair,  
Unto the haven of your happiness,  
Enjoy each other freely. Of you brave shepherd,  
(But now my Prince) I shall inquire anon  
Where, and with whom you lived.  Thy. 
Sir, the shepherd,  
Whom I call father, stays without; Montanus  
His name is, by whose gentle hands, (as he  
as often told me) I was rescued first  
From cold and death, since under his kind roof  
fostered, and bred as his.  Eu. 
Go call him in, Enter Montanus, Mirtillus.  
you're welcome both, you may applaud your fortune  
That brought you such a Shepherd: stay all here,  
Whilst I go to the King. This day will add  
More years unto his life, when he shall say,  
no day shone brighter on Arcadia. Exit.  Mon. 
We are both come to do our duties to you.  
as being sent for, and Mirtillus with me,  
To celebrate your joys: within a while  
The Shepherds and the Nymphs will all be here.  Thy. 
My old companions shall be welcome all,  
As you are now; I never shall forget  
Your courtesy, nor theirs.  Syl. 
Nor I the Nymphs  
Once my dear fellows; but you Mirtillus,  
Though you did scorn to love, yet could you sing  
Well, if you listed of it.  Cle. 
Can shepherds then  
despise that Deity which we adore?  Mi. 
Madam, I reverence it in you,  
The perfectest pattern of a constant lover,  
And in the honour of your Nuptials  
I have a Song, which if your Grace will hear,  
'Twill entertain the time.  Syl. 
Let it be sung.  

Song.  

Hymen, God of marriage bed,  
Be thou ever honoured:  
Thou, whose torches purer light,  
Death's sad tapers did affright,  
And instead of funeral fires,  
Kindled lovers chaste desires:  
May their love  
Ever prove  
True and constant: let not age  
Know their youthful heat t'assuage.   

2.  
Maids prepare the Genial bed,  
Then come night, and hide that red  
Which her cheeks, his heart does burn:  
Till the envious day return,  
And the lusty bridegroom say,  
I have chased her fears away,  
And instead  
Of virgin head,  
Given her a greater good,  
Perfection, and womanhood.    Thy. 
Thanks good Mirtillus, this indeed was proper  
Unto your subject.  Mi. 
Your thrice happy match,  
Being but now come to my knowledge, made me  
contract myself into a straiter room,  
Then the large subject might afford.  Cle. 
The King.  To these, Euarchus, Eubulus. Eu. 
Although I wonder, yet I do believe thee,  
My faithful Councillor.  Eub. 
Your Majesty  
Has found me always real, but this truth  
The Oracle's accomplishment will prove,  
That did foretell their match.  Eu. 
read it, Eubulus,  
Once more; and then call in my son and daughter.  Eub. 
If ere thy Issue Male thou liv'st to see,  
The child thou thinkst is thine, thine shall not be.  Eu. 
Calligone is not my child, proceed.  Eub. 
His life shall be obscure, twice shall thy hate  
Doom him to death, yet shall he scape that Fate.  Eu. 
'Tis true, that twice I did command his death,  
First thinking him a bastard, than a shepherd,  
For his offence; the Gods are just: Go on.  Eub. 
And thou shalt live to see that not long after  
Thy only son shall wed thy only daughter.  Eu. 
This was a riddle ever till this day,  
Their marriage has made it plain. Eubulus,  
Call in Archigenes, and call thy daughter  
The fair Calligone, that I may pour  
My blessings on them: And I long to see  
Those characters, thou writ'st about his neck,  
That I may call him mine.  Eub. 
See where they are.  Eu. 
Archigenes come nearer, for thou art  
A stranger yet, although thou be my son:  
The Character is plain, it is the same  
Eubulus writ to me: you heavenly powers  
Give me a heart that may be large enough  
T'express my joy for these, and thanks to you.  Thy. 
My royal father, (for I am instructed  
To call you so) If I have done amiss  
In hasting to this match, I ask your pardon.  Syl. 
And I for daring to aspire so high  
Without your leave.  Eu. 
Rise both, you have my blessing.  
But who are these?  Thy. 
This is the shepherd Sir,  
Who took me up first, whom till now I called  
Father, and he deserved it for his care.  Eu. 
Eubulus, this is he, Montanus, is't not?  Eub. 
He is delivered to me for the shepherd,  
Of whom your Majesty may if you please  
Be well informed of all those passages,  
I left untold.  Eu. 
Some other time we'll hear them.  
Let him be well rewarded.  Thy. 
Sir, these shepherds  
Are come to entertain your Majesty,  
With their devices, as their custom is,  
In which sometimes, until my fortune changed,  
I bore apart.  Eu. 
Let them be feasted all,  
And study something new to celebrate  
These Nuptials, which I will have proclaimed  
Throughout my kingdom: and Eubulus, see  
That every thing be fitted for their honour.  
Come let us to the Temple, that we may  
With holy sacrifice appease the Gods,  
Whose great decrees, though we did strive to hinder,  
Yet are they now fulfilled. It is in vain,  
T'oppose the Fates, whose laws do all constrain. Exeunt    
FINIS.   

The Epilogue to the KING and queen.  
TO you most royal pair, whose lives have brought  
Virtue in fashion, and the world have taught,  
That chaste innocuous sports become the stage  
No less than civil manners do the age:  
We dedicate this Piece, but yet with fears,  
To have displeased so chaste, so tender ears;  
Which, if you free us from, we'll call this play  
No more the Shepherds, but our Holiday.    

THYRSIS. A Pastoral Elegy in the person of Sir Kenelm Digby, on the Death of his Noble Lady, the Lady Venetia Digby.  

THe gentlest Swain that Arcady ere bred,  
Who Thyrsis hight, the saddest of that name,  
Close by a river's side his heavy head  
Laid down, as he with tears would fill the same,  
Regarding nought that might him pleasance give,  
Since what was his delight, had left to live.   

And whilst that other Shepherds of his rank,  
(If any Shepherd of his rank might be)  
played on their merry Pipes upon some bank,  
Making the hills resound their jollity,  
He in sad plight his woeful days did spend,  
Their joyous sports caring not to attend.   

There as he by that silent water lay,  
Regardless of his youth, and lusty head,   

His swelling grief in vain he did assay  
To vent in grievous plaints, which more it fed,  
Whilst to the ruthless waves he did relate  
The story of his loss, and heavy Fate.   

You Nymphs (if any do inhabit here)  
(And I have heard that Nymphs in waters dwell,)  
Lend to my careful Verse a gentle ear,  
Whilst I, the saddest wight that ere did tell  
His own mishaps, unfold to you my case  
In this your baleful place.  
If to the Sea, of which you branches are,  
I ever honour did, when list me change  
My Shepherd's staff, to seek adventures far  
In the wide Ocean, where I long did range,  
And brought renown home to my native soil,  
The glory of my toil.  
Do not mistake, nor offer to compare  
Those days with these, wherein my grief exceeds  
The joy, which once I had, to see my fair  
Welcome me home, and gratulate my deeds,  
Which to achieve, her grace as well did move,  
As did my country's love.  
But now with her those graces all are gone,  
Weep with me waters to make up my moan.  
Gone is my Love: and why then do I see  
Nature the same, as ere she was before,  
Since to her making all her forces she  
Wisely employed, and she could give no more?  
Though she should frame the most celestial mould  
That ere the Earth did hold,  
To draw from all the heads of noble blood  
The best, and to infuse it into one,  
To make a mixture of all fair and good.  
Rare Symmetry, and sweet proportion,  
Was it to show that such a thing might be  
Without eternity?  
It was, and we are taught how frail the trust  
Is, that we give unto mortality,  
How soon she is resolved into dust,  
Whom erst the world so beautiful did see.  
But you were just that took her, though unkind  
In leaving me behind:  
Alas! why was I left thus all alone?  
Weep with me waters to make up my moan.   

she's gone, and I am here; yet do I find  
With some small joy the languishing decay  
Of th'other half, which she has left behind;  
For half of me with her she bore away  
Unto those fields, where she immortal is,  
Heaped with heavenly bliss.  
I see her fair soul in that blessed place,  
Where joy for ever dwells: and now I know,  
How in a dream she saw an angel's face,  
And it admiring, wished she might be so:  
Which the celestial powers would not deny,  
So did she sleeping die.  
So did she break the bonds of heavy night,  
And when she waked, waked to eternal day:  
Where she in forms Angelic now is dight,  
And sees her maker, and shall see for aye.  
O happy soul, I will not thee envy,  
O let me rather fly  
Unto that blessed place, where thou art gone,  
Than waters, weep no more, but end your moan   

I come; yet something does retard me here,  
The pledges of our love thou left'st with me:  
Those whom thou living didst account so dear,  
Who still with me preserve thy memory;  
For their loved sakes yet must I longer stay,  
Then will I post away.  
Then to thy lasting name I have upreared  
A Monument, which time shall ne'er deface,  
And made the world, which as yet have not heard  
Of thy rare virtues, and thy honoured race,  
Know who thou wert, and that thou went'st from hence  
At Nature's great expense.  
Then world farewell, you I have seen enough,  
And know how to despise your vanity:  
Your painted glories are of baser stuff,  
Made to delude those that with half eyes see:  
He that's abstracted from you, stands much higher,  
And greater things admire.  
'Tis you I leave, to go where she is gone,  
Than waters weep no more, here end your moan.   

This to the empty winds and waters, he  
Alas, in vain, (they cared not for his tears)  
Did thus unfold to ease his misery:  
When lo, the Messenger of night appears;  
For the fall'n Sun (which warned him to be gone)  
Changed to the light uncertain of the Moon.    

DE TUMULO PER ILLVStrissimum Dominum Kenelmum Digby lectissimae conjugisuae structo, ejusque memoriae dicato EPIGRAMMA.  
HAc tua chara jacet Digbeie, Venetia terrâ,  
Quae pietate tuâ nobile marmor habet:  
En Parios lapides, atque hac in mole repertum  
Quod Phidiae potuit, Praxitelisve manus.  
Aspicis ut vivunt statuae, caelataque doctâ  
Aera manu, quin ut vertice & ipsa micat:  
Gloria defunctos si tangit, posse videtur  
Credibile hoc illam velle cubare modo,  
Quaerenti cineres respondent, corde jacebo  
Conjugis, & tumulo nobiliore tegar.  
Obijt 1. Maij, 1633.