Hymen's TRIUMPH.  
A Pastoral Tragicomedy.  
Presented at the queen's Court in the Strand at her majesties magnificent entertainment of the Kings most excellent Majesty, being at the Nuptials of the Lord Roxborough.  
By SAMVEL DANIEL.  
LONDON  
Imprinted for Francis Constable, and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's Churchyard at the sign of the white Lion. 1615.   

TO THE MOST EXCELLENT majesty OF THE highest-born princess, ANNE of Denmark, Queen of England, Scotland, France and Ireland  

HEre, what your sacred influence begat  
(Most loved, and most respected Majesty)  
With humble heart, and hand, I consecrate  
Unto the glory of your memory:  
As being a piece of that solemnity,  
Which your Magnificence did celebrate  
In hallowing of those roofs (you reared of late)  
With fires and cheerful hospitality  
Whereby, and by your splendent Worthiness  
Your name shall longer live then shall your walls,  
For, that fair structure goodness finishes,  
Bears off all change of times, and never falls.  
And that is it hath let you in so far  
Into the heart of England as you are.  
And worthily, for, never yet was Queen  
That more a people's love hath merited  
By all good graces, and by having been  
The means our State stands fast established  
And blessed by your blessed womb, who are this day  
The highest borne Queen of Europe, and alone  
Have brought this land more blessings every way,  
Than all the daughters of strange Kings have done.  
For, we by you no claims, no quarrels have,  
No factions, no betraying of affairs:  
You do not spend our blood, nor states, but save:  
You strength us by alliance, and your hairs.  
Not like those fatal marriages of France,  
For whom this kingdom hath so dearly paid,  
Which only our afflictions did advance:  
And brought us far more miseries, than aid.  
Renowned Denmark, that hast furnished  
The world with Princes, how much do we owe  
To thee for this great good thou dist bestow,  
Whereby we are both blessed, and honoured?  
Thou didst not so much hurt us heretofore  
But now thou hast rewarded us far more.  
But what do I on this high subject fall  
Here, in the front of this low Pastoral?  
This a more grave, and spacious room requires  
To show your glory, and my deep desires.   
Your majesties most humble servant SAMVEL DANIEL.   

The Prologue.  Hymen opposed by Avarice, Envy, and jealousy the disturbers of quiet marriage, first enters. Hym. 

IN this disguise and Pastoral attire,  
Without my saffron rob, without my torch,  
Or other ensigns of my duty:  
I Hymen am come hither secretly,  
To make Arcadia see a work of glory,  
That shall deserve an everlasting story.   

Here, shall I bring you two the most entire  
And constant lovers that were ever seen,  
From out the greatest sufferings of annoy  
That fortune could inflict, to their full joy:  
Wherein no wild, no rude, no antic sport,  
But tender passions, motions soft, and grave,  
The still spectators must expect to have.   

For, these are only Cynthia's recreatives  
Made unto Phoebus, and are feminine;  
And therefore must be gentle like to her,  
Whose sweet affections mildly move and stir.   

And here, with this white wand, will I effect  
As much, as with my flaming torch of Love:  
And with the power thereof, affections move  
In these fair nymphs, and shepherds round about.   Envy. 
Stay Hymen, stay;  
you shall not have the day  
Of this great glory, as you make account:  
We will herein, as we were ever wont,  
Oppose you in the matches you address,  
And undermine them with disturbances.  Hym. 
Now, do thy worst, base Envy, thou canst do,  
Thou shalt not disappoint my purposes.  Avarice. 
Then will I, Hymen, in despite of thee,  
I will make Parents cross desires of love,  
With those respects of wealth, as shall dissolve  
The strongest knots of kindest faithfulness.  Hym. 
Hence, greedy Avarice; I know thou art  
A hag, that dost bewitch the minds of men:  
Yet shalt thou have no power at all herein.  jealousy. 
Then will I, Hymen, do thou what thou canst;  
I will steal closely into linked hearts;  
And shake their veins with cold distrustfulness;  
And ever keep them waking in their fears,  
With spirits, which their imagination rears.  Hym. 

Disquiet jealousy, vile fury, thou  
That art the ugly monster of the mind,  
avant, be gone, thou shalt have nought to do  
In this fair work of ours, nor evermore  
Canst enter there, where honour keeps the door.   

And therefore hideous furies, get you hence,  
This place is sacred to integrity,  
And clean desires: your sight most loathsome is  
Unto so well disposed a company.  
Therefore be gone, I charge you by my power,  
We must have nothing in Arcadia, sour.   Envy. 
Hymen, thou canst not chase us so away,  
For, look how long as thou mak'st marriages,  
So long will we produce encumbrances.  
And we will in the same disguise, as thou,  
Mix us among these shepherds, that we may  
Effect our work the better, being unknown;  
For, ills show other faces then their own.   

The Speakers.  

Thyrsis.  
Palaemon, friend to Thyrsis.  
Clarindo, Silvia disguised, the beloved of Thyrsis, supposed to be slain by wild beasts.  
Cloris, a Nymph whom Clarindo served, and in love with Thyrsis.  
Phillis, in love with Clarindo.  
Montanus, in love with Phillis.  
Lidia, Nurse to Phillis.  


Foresters.  
Dorcas.  
Silvanus.    
Medorus, father to Silvia.  
Charinus, father to Thyrsis.  
Chorus of Shepherds.    


ACT. I. SCEN. I.  Thirsis. Palaemon. 
SO to be reft of all the joys of life,  
How is it possible Palaemon, I  
Should ever more a thought retain  
Of the least comfort upon earth again?  
No, I would hate this heart, that hath received  
So deep a wound, if it should ever come  
To be recured, or would permit a room  
To let in any other thing than grief.  Pal. 
But Thirsis you must tell me what is the cause?  Thi. 
Think but what cause I have; when having passed  
The heats, the colds, the trembling agonies  
Of fears, and hopes, and all the strange assaults  
Of passion, that a tender heart could feel  
In the attempt, and pursuit of his love.  
And then to be undone, when all was done,  
To perish in the haven, after all  
Those Ocean sufferings, and even then to have  
My hopeful Nuptial bed, turned to a grave.  Pal. 
Good Thirsis by what means, I pray thee tell  Thi. 
Tell thee? alas Palaemon, how can I tell  
And live? dost thou not see these fields have lost  
Their glory, since that time Silvia was lost?  
Silvia, that only decked, that only made  
Arcadia shine; Silvia who was (ah woe the while)  
So miserably rent from off the world.  
So rapt away, as that no sign of her,  
No piece was left to tell us by what means:  
Safe only this poor remnant of her vail,  
All torn, and this dear lock of her rent hair;  
Which holy relics here I keep with me,  
The sad memorials of her dismal fate.  
Who sure devoured was upon the shore  
By ravenous beasts, as she was walking there  
Alone, it seems; perhaps in seeking me  
Or else retired to meditate apart  
The story of our loves, and heavy smart.  Pal. 
This is no news, you tell, of Sylvia's death.  
That was long since: why should you wail her now?  Thi. 
Long since Palaemon? think you any length  
Of time can ever have a power to make  
A heart of flesh not mourn, not grieve, not pine?  
That knows, that feels, that thinks as much as mine  Pal. 
But Thirsis, you know how her father meant  
To match her with Alexis, and a day  
To celebrate the nuptials was prefixed.  Thi. 
True, he had such a purpose, but in vain,  
As oh it was best known unto us twain.  
And hence it grew that gave us both our fears,  
That made our meeting stealth, our parting tears.  
Hence was it, that with many a secret wile,  
we robbed our looks th'onlookers to beguile  
This was the cause, oh miserable cause,  
That made her by herself to stray alone,  
Which else God knows, she never should have done.  
For had our liberty as open been,  
As was our loves, Silvia had not been seen  
Without her Thirsis, never had we gone  
But hand in hand, nor ever had mischance  
Took us asunder; she had always had  
My body interposed betwixt all harms  
And her. But ah we had our liberty  
Laid fast in prison when our loves were free.  Pa. 
But how know'st thou her love was such to thee?  Thi. 
How do I know the Sun, the day from night?  Pal. 
Women's affections do like flashes prove,  
They oft show passion when they feel small love.  Thir. 

Ah do not so profane that precious sex,  
Which I must ever reverence for her sake,  
Who was the glory of her kind; whose heart  
In all her actions so transparent was  
As I might see it clear and wholly mine,  
Always observing truth in one right line.   

How oft hath she been urged by father's threats,  
By friends persuasions, and Alexis sighs,  
And tears and prayers, to admit his love,  
Yet never could be won? how oft have I  
Beheld the bravest herdsmen of these plains,  
(As what brave herdsman was there in the plains  
Of all Arcadia, that had not his heart  
Warmed with her beams) to seek to win her love.   

Ah I remember well (and how can I  
But ever more remember well) when first  
Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was  
The flame we felt, whenas we sat and sighed  
And look'dupon each other, and conceived  
Not what we ailed, yet something we did ail.  
And yet were well, and yet we were not well,  
And what was our disease we could not tell.  
Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look: & thus  
In that first garden of our simpleness  
we spent our childhood: but when years began  
To reap the fruit of knowledge; ah how then  
Would she with graver looks, with sweet stern brow,  
Check my presumption and my forwardness,  
Yet still would give me flowers, still would me show  
What she would have me, yet not have me know.   Pal. 
Alas with what poor Coin are lovers paid,  
And taken with the smallest bait is laid?  Thi. 
And when in sports with other company,  
Of nymphs and shepherds we have met abroad  
How would she steal a look: and watch mine eye  
Which way it went? and when at Barley break  
It came unto my turn to rescue her,  
With what an earnest, swift, and nimble pace  
Would her affection make her feet to run  
And farther run then to my hand? her race  
Had no stop but my bosom where to end.  
And when we were to break again, how late  
And loath her trembling hand would part with mine,  
And with how slow a pace would she set forth  
To meet th'encountering party, who contends  
T'attain her, scarce affording him her finger's ends?  Pal. 
Fie Thirsis, with what fond remembrances  
Dost thou these idle passions entertain?  
For shame leave off to waste your youth in vain,  
And feed on shadows: make your choice anew.  
You other nymphs shall find, no doubt will be  
As lovely, and as fair: and sweet as she.  Thi. 
As fair and sweet as she? Palaemon peace:  
Ah what can pictures be unto the life,  
What sweetness can be found in Images?  
Which all nymphs else besides her seems to me.  
She only was a real creature, she,  
Whose memory must take up all of me.  
Should I another love, then must I have,  
Another heart, for this is full of her,  
And evermore shallbe: here is she drawn  
At length, and whole, and more, this table is  
A story, and is all of her; and all  
Wrought in the liveliest colours of my blood;  
And can there be a room for others here?  
Should I disfigure such a piece, and blot  
The perfectest workmanship love ever wrought.  
Palaemon no, ah no, it cost too dear,  
It must remain entire whilst life remains,  
The monument of her and of my pains.  Pal. 
Thou mayest be such a fond Idolater  
To die for love; though that were very strange.  
Love hath few Saints, but many confessors.  
And time no doubt will raze out all these notes,  
And leave a room at length for other thoughts.  Thi. 

Yes when there is no spring, no tree, no grove  
In all Arcadia to record our love:  
And tell me where we were (the time we were)  
How we did meet together, what we said;  
Where we did joy, and where we sat dismayed.  
And then I may forget her, not before.  
Till then I must remember one so dear,  
When every thing I see tells me of her.   

And you dear Relics of that martred Saint,  
My heart adores, you the perpetual books  
Whereon when tears permit, mine eye still looks:  
Ah you were with her last, and till my last  
You must remain with me; you were reserved  
To tell me she was lost, but yet alas,  
You cannot tell me how: I would you could.   

White spotless vail, clean, like her womanhood,  
Which whilom coveredst the most lovely face  
That ever eye beheld. Was there no message sent  
From her by thee? Ah yes, there seems it was;  
Here is a T made with her blood, as if  
She would have written, Thirsis, I am slain  
In seeking thee; sure so it should have been,  
And so I read it, and shall ever so.   

And thou sweet remnant of the fairest hair,  
That ever waved with wind. Ah thee I found  
When her I hoped to find, wrapped in a round,  
Like to an O, the character of woe;  
As if to say, O Thirsis, I die thine.  
This much you tell me yet, dumb messengers,  
Of her last mind; and what you cannot tell  
That I must think, which is the most extreme  
Of woefulness, that any heart can think.   Pal. 
There is no dealing with this man, I see,  
This humour must be let to spend itself  
Unto a lesser substance, ere that we  
Can any way apply a remedy.  
But I lament his case, and so I know  
Do all that see him in this woeful plight:  
And therefore will I leave him to himself,  
For sorrow that is full, hates others sight.  Thir. 

Come boy, whilst I contemplate these remains  
Of my lost love, under this myrtle tree,  
Record the doleful'st song, the sighingst notes,  
That music hath to entertain bad thoughts.  
Let it be all at flats my boy, all grave,  
The tone that best befits the grief I have.   

The Song.  
Had sorrow ever fitter place  
To act his part,  
Then is my heart,  
Where it takes up all the space?  
Where is no vein  
To entertain  
A thought that wears another face.  
Nor will I sorrow ever have,  
Therein to be,  
But only thee,  
To whom I full possession gave:  
Thou in thy name  
Must hold the same,  
Until thou bring it to the grave.   

So boy, now leave me to myself, that I  
May be alone to grief, entire to misery.    

SCEN. II.  Cloris. Clarindo. 
NOw gentle boy Clarindo, hast thou brought  
My flocks into the field?  Cla. 
Mistress I have.  Clo. 
And hast thou told them?  Cla. 
Yes.  Clo. 
And are there all?  Cla. 
All.  Clo. 
And hast thou left them safe my boy?  Cla. 
Safe.  Clo. 
Then whilst they feed, Clarindo, I must use  
Thy service in a serious business.  
But thou must do it well my boy.  Cla. 
The best I can.  Clo. 
Dost thou know Thirsis?  Cla. 
Yes.  Clo. 
But know'st him well?  Cla. 
I have good reason to know Thirsis well.  Clo. 
What reason boy?  Cla. 
I oft have seen the man.  Clo. 
Why then he knows thee too?  Cla. 
Yes I suppose, unless he hath forgotten me of late.  Clo. 
But hath he heard thee sing my boy?  Cla. 
He hath.  Clo. 

Then doubtless he doth well remember thee.  
Well, unto him thou must a message do  
From thy sad mistress Cloris; but thou must  
do it exactly well, with thy best grace,  
Best choice of language, and best countenance.  
I know thou canst do well, and haste a speech  
And fashion pleasing to perform the same.  
Nor can I have a fitter messenger  
In this employment than thyself my boy.  
For sure methinks, noting thy form and grace,  
That thou hast much of Silvia in thy face:  
Which if he shall perceive as well as I,  
Sure, he will give thee audience willingly.  
And for her sake, if not for mine, hear out  
Thy message; for he still (though she be dead)  
Holds sparkles of her extinguish.  
And that is death to me: for though sometimes  
Silvia and I most dear companions were,  
Yet when I saw he did so much prefer  
Her before me, I deadly hated her;  
And was not sorry for her death, and yet  
Was sorry she should come to such a death.   

But to the purpose, go to Thirsis, boy:  
Say, thou art Cloris servant, sent to be  
The messenger of her distressed tears:  
Who languishes for him and never shall  
Have comfort more, unless he give it her.   Cla. 
I will.  Clo. 
Nay but stay boy, there's something else.  
Tell him, his cruelty makes me undo  
My modesty, and to put on that part  
Which appertains to him, that is to woo:  
And to disgrace my Sex, to show my heart,  
Which no man else could have had power to do.  
And that unless he do restore me back  
Unto myself, by his like love to me,  
I cannot live.  Cla. 
All this I'll tell him too.  Clo. 
Nay but stay boy, there is yet more:  
Tell him, it will no honour be to him,  
whenever it shall come to be made known,  
That he hath been her death that was his own.  
And how his love hath fatal been to two  
Distressed nymphs.  Cla. 
This will I tell him too.  Clo. 
Nay but stay boy, wilt thou say nothing else,  
As of thyself, to waken up his love?  
Thou mayst say something which I may not say,  
And tell him how thou hold'st me full as fair,  
Yea and more fair, more lovely, more complete  
Than ever Silvia was. More wise, more staid,  
How she was but a light and wavering maid.  Cla. 
Nay there I leave you, that I cannot say.  Clo. 
What sayst thou boy?  Cla. 
Nothing, but that I will  
Endeavour all I can to work his love.  Clo. 

Do good my boy: but thou must yet add more,  
As from thyself, & say, what an unkind  
And barbarous part it is to suffer thus  
So beauteous and so rare a nymph to pine  
And perish for his love; and such a one,  
As if she would have stooped to other's flame,  
Hath had the gallantest herdsmen of these fields  
Fall at her feet: all which she hath despised,  
Having her heart before by thee surprised.  
And now doth nothing else, but sit and mourn:  
Speak Thirsis, weep Thirsis, sigh Thirsis, and  
Sleep Thirsis when she sleeps, which is but rare  
Besides, good boy thou must not stick to swear,  
Thou oft hast seen me sown, & sink to ground  
In these deep passions, wherein I abound.  
For something thou mayst say beyond the truth,  
By reason of my love, and of thy youth.   

Do, good Clarindo swear, and vow thus much.  
But dost thou now remember all I say,   

Dost thou forget no parcel of my speech,  
Shall I repeat the same again to thee?  
Or else wilt thou rehearse it unto me?  
That I may know thou hast it perfect, boy.   Cla. 
It shall not need: be sure I will report,  
What you enjoin me, in most earnest sort.  Clo. 
Ah do good boy. Although I fear it will,  
Avail me little: for I doubt his heart  
Is repossessed with another love.  Cla. 
Another love? Who may that be, I pray?  Clo. 
With Amarillis, I have heard: for they  
Are thought, will in the end make up a match.  Cla. 
With Amarillis? Well, yet will I go,  
And try his humour whether it be so?  Clo. 
Go good Clarindo, but thou must not fail  
To work effectually for my avail.  
And do not stay, return with speed good boy,  
My passions are to great t'endure delay.   

ACT. I. SCEN. III.  Clarindo sol. 

THirsis in love with Amarillis? then  
In what a case am I? what doth avail,  
This altered habit, that bellies my Sex?  
What boots it t'have escaped from pirates hands  
And with such wiles to have deceived their wills,  
If I return to fall on worser ills?  
In love with Amarillis? is that so?  
Is Silvia then forgot? that hath endured  
So much for him? do all these miseries  
(Caused by his means) deserve no better hire?  
Was it the greatest comfort of my life,  
To have returned that I might comfort him?  
And am I welcomed thus? ah did mine eyes  
Take never rest, after I was arrived  
Till I had seen him, though unknown to him?  
Being hidden thus, and covered with disguise  
And masculine attire, to temporize  
Until Alexis marriage day be passed,  
Which shortly as I hear will be: and which  
Would free me wholly from my father's fear:  
Who if he knew I were returned, would yet  
Undo I doubt that match, to match me there.  
Which would be more than all my sufferings were.   

Indeed methought when I beheld the face  
Of my dear Thirsis, I beheld a face  
Confounded all with passion, which did much  
Afflict my heart: but yet I little thought  
It could have been for any other's love.  
I did suppose the memory of me,  
And of my rapture, had possessed him so,  
As made him show that countenance of woe.  
And much ado had I then to forbear  
From casting me into his arms, and yield  
What comfort my poor self could yield, but that  
I thought our joys would not have been complete,  
But might have yielded us annoys as great,  
Unless I could come wholly his, and cleared  
From all those former dangers which we feared:  
Which now a little stay (though any stay  
Be death to me) would wholly take away.   

And therefore I resolved myself to bear  
This burden of our sufferings yet a while,  
And to become a servant in this guise,  
To her I would have scorned otherwise:  
And be at all commands, to go, and come,  
To trudge into the fields, early, and late.  
Which though I know, it misbecomes my state:  
Yet it becomes my fortune, which is that,  
Not Phillis whom I serve: but since I serve,  
I will do what I do most faithfully.   

But Thirsis, is it possible that thou  
Shouldst so forget me, and forego thy vow;  
Or is it but a flying vain report,  
That slanders thine affection in this sort?  
It may be so, and God grant it may be so:  
I shall soon find if thou be false or no:  
But ah here comes my Fury, I must fly.    

ACT. I. SCEN. IIII.  Phillis. Clarindo. 
Ah cruel youth, whither away so fast?  Cla. 
Good Phillis do not stay me, I have haste.  Phi. 
What haste shouldst thou have but to comfort me,  
Who hath no other comfort but in thee?  Cla. 
Alas thou dost but trouble me in vain,  
I cannot help thee: 'tis not in my power.  Phi. 
Not in thy power Clarindo? ah if thou  
Hadst any thing of manliness, thou wouldst.  Cla. 
But if I have not, what doth it avail  
In this sort to torment thyself and me?  
And therefore pray thee Phillis let me go.  Phi. 
Ah whither canst thou go, where thou shalt be  
More dearly loved and cherished then with me?  Cla. 
But that my purpose cannot satisfy,  
I must be gone, there is no remedy.  Phi. 
O cruel youth, will thy heart nothing move?  
Show me yet pity, if thou show not love.  Cla. 
Believe me Phillis I do pity thee;  
And more, lament thy error, so farewell.  Phi. 

And art thou gone hard-hearted youth? hast thou  
Thus disappointed my desires, and left  
My shame t'afflict me worser than my love?  
Now in what case am I, that neither can  
Recall my modesty, nor thee again?   

Ah were it now to do again, my passions should  
Have smothered me to death, before I would  
Have show'd the smallest sparkle of my flame.  
But it is done, and I am now undone.   

Ah hadst thou been a man, and had that part  
Of understanding of a woman's heart,  
My words had been unborn, only mine eyes  
Had been a tongue enough to one were wise.  
But this it is, to love a boy, whose years  
Conceives not his own good, nor weighs my tears:  
But this disgrace I justly have deserved    

SCEN. V.  Lidia. Phillis. 

SO Phillis have you, and you're rightly served.  
Have you disdained the gallant'st Foresters,  
And bravest herdsmen all Arcadia hath,  
And now in love with one is not a man?  
Assure yourself this is a just revenge  
Love takes, for your misprision of his power.  
I told you often there would come a time,  
When you would sure be plagued for such a crime:  
But you would laugh at me, as one you thought  
Conceived not of what metal you were wrought.   

Is this you, who would wonder any nymphs  
Could ever be so foolish as to love?  
Who is so foolish now?   Phil. 
Peace Lidia, peace,  
Add not more grief t'a heart that hath too much,  
Do not insult upon her misery,  
Whose flame, God wot, needs water, and not oil.  
Thou seest I am undone, caught in the Toil  
Of an entangling mischief: tell me how  
I may recover, and unwind me now.  Lid. 
That doth require more time, we will apart  
Consult thereof, be you but ruled by me,  
And you shall find, ay, yet, will set you free.  Exeunt. 

The song of the first Chorus.  

Love is a sickness full of woes,  
All remedies refusing:  
A plant that with most cutting grows,  
Most barren with best using.  
Why so?  
More we enjoy it, more it dies,  
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,  
heigh ho.   

Love is a torment of the mind,  
A tempest everlasting;  
And jove hath made it of a kind,  
Not well, nor full nor fasting.  
Why so?  
More we enjoy it, more it dies,  
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,  
heigh ho.      


ACT. II. SCEN. I.  Siluanus. Dorcas. Montanus. 
IN what a mean regard are we now held,  
We active and laborious foresters?  
Who though our living rural be and rough,  
Yet heretofore were we for valour prized,  
And well esteemed in all good companies:  
Nor would the daintiest nymphs that valleys haunt  
Or fields inhabit, ever have despised  
Our sylvan songs, nor yet our plain discourse;  
But gracefully accepted of our skill,  
And often of our loves, when they have seen  
How faithful and how constant we have been.  Dor. 
It's true Silvanus, but you see the times  
Are altered now, and they so dainty grown,  
By being adored, and wooed, and followed so  
Of those unsinewed amorous herdsmen, who  
By reason of their rich and mighty flocks,  
Supply their pleasures with that plenteousness,  
As they disdain our plainness, and do scorn  
Our company, as men rude and ill borne.  Sil. 
Well, so they do; but Dorcas if you mark  
How oft they do miscarry in their love,  
And how disloyal these fine herdsmen prove;  
You shall perceive how their abundant store  
Pays not their expectation, nor desires.  
Witness these groves wherein they oft deplore  
The miserable passions they sustain:  
And how perfidious, wayward, and unkind,  
They find their loves to be; which we, who are  
The eyes, and ears of woods, oft see and hear.  
For hither to these groves they much resort,  
And here one wails apart the usage hard  
Of her disordered, wild, and wilful mate:  
There mourns another her unhappy state,  
Held ever in restraint, and in suspect:  
Another to her trusty confident,  
Laments how she is matched to such a one  
As cannot give a woman her content.  
Another grieves how she hath got a fool,  
Whose bed although she loathe, she must endure.  
And thus they all unhappy by that means  
Which they account would bring all happiness;  
Most wealthily are plagued, with rich distress.  Dor. 

And so they are, but yet this was not wont  
To be the fashion here; there was a time  
Before Arcadia came to be diseased  
With thes corrupted humours reigning now,  
That choice was made of virtue and desert,  
Without respect of any other ends:  
When love was only master of their hearts,  
And ruled alone: when simple thoughts produced  
Plain honest deeds, and every one contends  
To have his fame to follow his deserts,  
And not his shows; to be the same he was,  
Not seemed to be: and then were no such parts  
Of false deceivings played, as now we see.   

But after that accursed greediness  
Of wealth began to enter and possess  
The hearts of men, integrity was lost,  
And with it they themselves, for never more;  
Came they to be in their own power again.  
That Tyrant vanquished them, made them all slaves,  
That brought base servitude into the world,  
Which else had never been; that only made  
Them to endure all whatsoever weights  
power could devise to lay upon their neck.  
For rather than they would not have, they would not be  
But miserable. So that no device  
Needs else to keep them under, they themselves  
Will bear far more than they are made, themselves  
Will add unto their fetters, rather than  
They would not be, or held to be great men.   Sil. 
Then Dorcas, how much more are we to prize  
Our mean estate, which they so much despise?  
Considering that we do enjoy thereby,  
The dearest thing in nature, Liberty.  
And are not tortured with those hopes and fears,  
Th'affliction laid on superfluities,  
Which make them to obscure, and serve the times:  
But are content with what the earth, the woods  
And rivers near do readily afford  
And therewithal furnish our homely board.  
Those unbought cates please our unlearned throats  
That understand not dainties, even as well  
As all their delicates, which do but stuff  
And not sustain the stomach: and indeed  
A well observing belly doth make much  
For liberty; for he that can but live,  
Although with roots, and have no hopes, is free  
Without the verge of any sovereignty.  
And is a Lord at home, commands the day  
As his till night, and then reposes him  
At his own hours. thinks on no stratagem  
But how to take his game, hath no design  
To cross next day: no plots to undermine.  Dor. 
But why Montanus do you look so sad?  
What is the cause your mind is not as free  
As your estate? what, have you had of late  
Some coy repulse of your disdainful nymph,  
To whom love hath subdued you? who indeed  
Our only master is, and no Lord else  
But he, hath any power to vex us here;  
Which had he not, we too too happy were.  Mon. 

In troth I must confess, when now you two  
Found me in yonder thicket, I had lost  
myself, by having seen that which I would  
I had not had these eyes to see; and judge  
If I great reason have not to complain:  
You see I am a man, though not so gay  
And delicately clad, as are your fine  
And amorous dainty herdsmen; yet a man,  
And that not base, not unallied to Pan;  
And of a spirit doth not degenerate  
From my robustious manly ancestors,  
Being never foiled in any wrestling game,  
But still have borne away the chiefest prize  
In every brave and active exercise.  
Yet notwithstanding that disdainful maid,  
Proud Phillis, doth despise me and my love,  
And will not deign so much as hear me speak,  
But doth abjure, forsooth, the thought of love.   

Yet shall I tell you (yet ashamed to tell;)  
This coy unloving soul, I saw ere while  
Soliciting a youth, a smooth faced boy,  
Whom in her arms she held (as seemed to me,  
Being closely bushed a pretty distance off,)  
Against his will; and with strange passion urged  
His stay, who seemed, struggled to get away,  
And yet she stayed him, yet entreats his stay.   

At which strange sight, imagine I that stood  
Spectator, how confoundedly I stood,  
And hardly could forbear from running in  
To claim for mine, if ever love had right,  
Those her embraces cast away in sight:  
But staying to behold the end, I stayed  
Too long; the boy gets loose, herself retires,  
And you came in; but if I live, that boy  
Shall dearly pay for his misfortune, that  
He was beloved of her, of whom I would  
Have none on earth beloved, but myself.   Dor. 
That were to bite the stone, a thing unjust,  
To punish him for her conceived lust.  Mon. 
Tush, many in this world we see are caught,  
And suffer for misfortune, not their fault.  Sil. 
But that would not become your manliness,  
Montanus, it were shame for valiant men  
To do unworthily.  Mon. 
Speak not of that, Silvanus, if my rage  
Irregular be made, it must work like effects.  Dor. 
These are but billows, tumbling after storms,  
They last not long, come let some exercise  
Divert that humour, and convert your thoughts  
To know yourself; scorn her who scorneth you;  
Idolatrize not so that Sex, but hold  
A man of straw, more than a wife of gold.  Exeunt.  

ACT. II. SCEN. II.  Lidia. Phillis. 
YOu must not, Phillis, be so sensible  
Of these small touches which your passion makes.  Phi. 
Small touches Lidia, do you count the small?  
Can there unto a woman worse befall  
Then hath to me? what? have not I lost all  
That is most dear to us, love and my fame?  
Is there a third thing Lidia you can name  
That is so precious as to match with these?  Lid. 
Now silly girl, how fondly do you talk?  
How have you lost your fame; what for a few  
Ill-favoured loving words, uttered in jest  
Unto a foolish youth? Cannot you say  
You did but to make trial how you could,  
If such a peevish qualm of passion should  
(As never shall) oppress your tender heart,  
Frame your conceit to speak, to look, to sigh  
Like to a heartstruck lover; and that you  
Perceiving him to be a bashful youth,  
Thought to put spirit in him, and make you sport.  Phi. 
Ah Lidia, but he saw I did not sport,  
He saw my tears, and more, what shall I say?  
He saw too much, and that which never man  
Shall ever see again whilst I have breath.  Lid. 

Are you so simple as you make yourself?  
What did he see? a counterfeited show  
Of passion, which you may, if you were wise,  
Make him as easily to unbelieve,  
As what he never saw; and think his eyes  
Conspired his understanding to deceive.   

How many women, think you, being espied  
In nearer-touching cases by mischance,  
Have yet not only faced their lovers down  
For what they saw, but brought them to believe  
They had not seen the thing which they had seen,  
Yea and to swear it too; and to condemn  
Themselves? such means can wit devise  
To make men's minds uncredit their own eyes.   

And therefore let not such a toy as this  
Disease your thoughts: and for your loss of love,  
It is as much as nothing. I would turn  
A passion upon that should overturn  
It clean, and that is wrath; one heat  
Expels another. I would make my thoughts of scorn  
To be in height so much above my love,  
As they should ease and please me more by far.  
I would disdain to cast a look that way  
Where he should stand, unless it were in scorn,  
Or think a thought of him, but how to work  
Him all disgrace that possibly I could.   Phi. 
That Lidia can I never do, let him  
Do what he will to me: report my shame,  
And vaunt his fortune, and my weakness blame.  Lid. 
Nay as for that he shall be so well charmed  
Ere I have done, as you shall fear no tales.  Phi. 
Ah Lidia, could that he without his harm,  
How blessed should I be? But see where comes  
My great tormentor, hat rude Forester.  
Good Lidia let us fly, I hate his sight  
Next to the ill I suffer: let us fly,  
We shall be troubled with him woefully.  Lid. 
Content you Phillis, stay & hear him speak:  
We may make use of him more than you think.  Phil. 
What use can of so gross a piece be made?  Lid. 
The better use be sure, for being gross,  
Your subtler spirits full of their finesses,  
Serve their own turns in others' businesses.   

ACT. II. SCEN. III.  Montanus. Lidia. Phillis. 

What pleasure can I take to chase wild beasts,  
When I myself am chased more eager  
By mine own passions, and can find no rest?  
Let them who have their heart at liberty,  
Attend those sports. I cannot be from hence,  
Where I received my hurt, here must I tread  
The maze of my perplexed misery.   

And here see where she is the cause of all?  
And now, what shall I do? what shall I say?  
How shall I look? how stand? which utter first?  
My love or wrath? Alas I know not which.  
Now were it not as good have been away,  
As thus to come, and not tell what to say?   Phil. 
See Lidia see, how savagely he looks,  
Good let us go, I never shall endure  
To hear him bellow.  Lid. 
Prithee Phillis stay  
And give him yet the hearing, in respect  
He loves you, otherwise you show yourself  
A savage more than he.  Phil. 
Well, it I hear,  
I will not answer him a word, you shall reply,  
And prithee Lidia do, reply for me.  Lid. 
For that we shall, Phillis, do well enough  
When he begins, who seems is very long  
To give the onset, sure the man is much  
Perplexed, or he studies what to say.  Phil. 
Good Lidia see how he hath tricked himself,  
Now sure this gay fresh suit as seems to me  
Hangs like green ivy on a rotten tree.  Lid. 
Some beasts do wear grey beards beside your goats:  
And bear with him, this suit bewrays young thoughts  Mon. 

Ah was it not enough to be oppressed  
With that confounding passion of my love  
And her disdain, but that I must be torn  
With wrath and envy too, and have no vein  
Free from the rack of sufferings, that I can  
Nor speak nor think but most distractedly?   

How shall I now begin, that have no way  
To let out any passion by itself,  
But that they all will thrust together so  
As none will be expressed as they ought?  
But something I must say now I am here.  
And be it what it will, love, envy wrath,  
Or all together in a cumberment,  
My words must be like me, perplexed and rent,  
And so I'll to her. Phi. Lidia, see he comes.   Lid. 
He comes indeed, and as methinks doth  
More trouble in his face by far, than love.  Mon. 
Fair Phillis, and too fair for such a one, show  
Unless you kinder were, or better than  
I know you are: how much I have endured  
For you, although you scorn to know, I feel,  
And did imagine, that in being a man  
Who might deserve regard, I should have been  
Preferred before a boy. But well, I see  
Your seeming and your being disagree.  Phi. 
What Lidia, doth he brawl? what means he thus  
To speak and look in this strange sort on me?  Mon. 
Well modest Phillis, never look so coy,  
These eyes beheld you dallying with a boy.  Phi. 
Me with a boy, Montanus? when? where? how?  Mon. 
Today, here, in most lascivious sort.  Lid. 

Ah, ha, belike he saw you Phillis, when  
This morning you did strive with Cloris boy  
To have your garland, which he snatched away,  
And kept it from you by strong force and might:  
And you again laid hold upon the same,  
And held it fast until with much ado  
He wrung it from your hands, and got away.  
And this is that great matter which he saw.   

Now fie Montanus fie, are you so gross,  
T'imagine such a worthy nymph as she  
Would be in love with such a youth as he?  
Why now you have undone your credit quite,  
You never can make her amends for this  
So impious a surmise, nor ever can  
She, as she reason hath, but must despise  
your grossness; who should rather have come in  
And righted her, then suffer such a one  
To offer an indignity so vile,  
And you stand prying in a bush the while.   Mon. 
What do I hear? what, am I not myself?  
How? have mine eyes double undone me then?  
First seeing Phillis face, and now her fact,  
Or else the fact I saw, I did not see?  
And since thou hast my understanding wronged,  
And traitorlike given false intelligence,  
Whereby my judgement comes to pass amiss.  
And yet I think my sense was in the right:  
And yet in this amaze I cannot tell,  
But howsoe'er, I in an error am,  
In loving, or believing, or in both.  
And therefore Phillis, at thy feet I fall,  
And pardon crave for this my gross surmise.  Lid. 
But this, Montanus, will not now suffice.  
You quite have lost her, and your hopes and all.  Mon. 
Good Lidia yet entreat her to relent,  
And let her but command me any thing  
That is within the power of man to do,  
And you shall find Montanus will perform  
More than a Giant, and will stead her more  
Than all the herdsmen in Arcadia can.  Lia. 
She will command you nothing; but I wish  
You would a little terrify that boy  
As he may never dare to use her name  
But in all reverence as is fit for her.  
But do not you examine him a word;  
For that were neither for your dignity,  
Nor hers, that such a boy as he should stand  
And justify himself in such a case,  
Who would but feign untruths unto your face.  
And herein you some service shall perform,  
As may perhaps make her to think on you.  Mon. 
Alas, this is a work so far, so low  
Beneath my worth, as I account it none,  
Were it t'encounter some fierce mountain beast  
Or monster, it were something fitting me.  
But yet this will I do, and do it home,  
Assure you Lidia: as I live I will.  Phi. 
But yet I would not have you hurt the youth,  
For that were neither grace for you nor me.  Mon. 
That as my rage will tolerate must be.   

ACT. II. SCEN. IV.  Cloris. Clarindo. 
Here comes my long expected messenger,  
God grant the news he brings may make amends  
For his long stay; and sure, I hope it will.  
methinks his face bewrays more jollity  
In his returning then in going hence.  Cla. 
Well, all is well; no Amarillis hath  
Supplanted Sylvia's love in Thirsis heart,  
Nor any shall: but see where Cloris looks  
For what I shall not bring her at this time.  Clo. 
Clarindo though my longing would be fain  
Dispatched at once, & hear my doom pronounced  
All in a word of either life or death,  
Yet do not tell it but by circumstance.  
Tell me the manner where, and how thou foundst  
My Thirsis, what he said, how looked, how fared,  
How he received my message, used thee;  
And all in brief, but yet be sure tell all.  Cla. 

All will I tell as near as I can tell.  
First after tedious searching up and down,  
I found him all alone, like a hurt dear,  
Got under cover in a shady grove,  
Hard by a little crystal purling spring,  
Which but one sullen note of murmur held;  
And where no sun could see him, where no eye  
Might overlook his lovely primacy.  
There in a path of his own making, trod  
Bare as a common way, yet led no way  
Beyond the turns he made (which were but short)  
With arms across, his hat down on his eyes  
(As if those shades yielded not shade enough,  
To darken them) he walks with often stops,  
Uneven pace, like motions to his thoughts.   

And when he heard me coming, for his ears  
Were quicker watches than his eyes, it seemed;  
He suddenly looks up, stays suddenly,  
And with a brow that told how much the sight  
Of any interrupter troubled him,  
Beheld me, without speaking any word,  
As if expecting what I had to say.  
I finding him in this confused dismay,  
(Who heretofore had seen him otherwise:  
I must confess, (for tell you all I must,)  
A trembling passion overwhelmed my breast,  
So that I likewise stood confused and dumb,  
And only looked on him, as he on me.  
In this strange posture like two statues we  
Remained a while; but with this difference set:  
He blushed, and I looked pale; my face did show  
joy to see him, his trouble to be seen.   

At length bethinking me for what I came,  
What part I had to act, I roused my spirits,  
And set myself to speak; although I wished  
He would have first begun; and yet before  
A word would issue, twice I bowed my knee,  
Twice kissed my hand; my action so much was  
More ready than my tongue: at last I told  
Whose messenger I was, and how I came  
To intimate the sad distressed case  
Of an afflicted nymph, whose only help  
Remained in him: he when he heard the name  
of Cloris, turns away his head, and shrinks,  
As if he grieved that you should grieve for him.   Clo. 
No, no, it troubled him to hear my name,  
Which he despises, is he so perverse  
And way ward still? ah then I see no hope.  
Clarindo, would to God thou hadst not gone,  
I could be, but as now, I am undone.  Cla. 
Have patience Mistress, & but hear the rest.  
When I perceived his suffering, with the touch  
And sudden stop it gauc him, presently  
I laid on all the weights that motion might  
Procure, and him besought, adjured, invoked,  
By all the rights of Nature, piety,  
And manliness, to hear my message out.  
Told him how much the matter did import  
Your safety and his fame. How he was bound  
In all humanity to right the same.  Clo. 
That was well done my boy, what said he then?  Cla. 
He turns about, and fixed his eyes on me,  
Content to give his ears a quiet leave,  
To hear me. when I failed not to relate  
All what I had in charge, and all he hears,  
And looks directly on me all the while.  Clo. 
I doubt he noted thee more than thy words,  
But now Clarindo, what was his reply?  Cla. 
Thus. Tell fair Cloris, my good boy, how that  
I am not so disnatured a man,  
Or so ill borne, to disesteem her love,  
Or not to grieve, (as I protest I do)  
That she should so afflict herself for me.  
But.  Clo. 
Ah now comes that bitter word of But  
Which makes all nothing, that was said before.  
That smooths & wounds, that strokes and dashes more  
Than flat denials, or a plain disgrace.  
But tell me yet what followed on that But?  Cla. 
Tell her (said he) that I desire she would  
Redeem herself at any price she could,  
And never let her think on me, who am  
But even the bark, and outside of a man,  
That trades not with the living, neither can  
Nor ever will keep other company.  
Then with the dead. My Sylvia's memory  
Is all that I must ever live withal.  
With that his tears, which likewise forced mine,  
Set me again upon another rack  
Of passion so, that of myself I sought  
To comfort him the best I could devise.  
And I besought him that he would not be  
Transported thus. But know that with the dead  
He should no more converse: and how his love  
Was living, that would give him all content,  
And was all his entire, and pure, and wished  
To live no longer than she should be so.  
When more I would have said, he shook his head  
And wild me speak no further at that time,  
But leave him to himself, and to return  
Again anon, and he would tell me more;  
Commending me for having done the part  
Both of a true and moving messenger.  
And so I took my leave, and came my way.  Clo. 

Return again? no, to what end,  
If he be so conceited, and so fond  
To entertain a shadow; I have done,  
And wish, that I had never done so much.  
Shall I descend below myself, to send  
To one is not himself? Let him alone  
With his dead image: you shall go no more  
Have I here framed with all the art I could  
This garland decked with all the various flowers,  
Arcadia yields, in hope he would send back  
Some comfort, that I might therewith have crowned  
His love, and witnessed mine, in th'endless round  
Of this fair ring, the Character of faith?   

But now he shall have none of it, I rather will  
Rend it in pieces, and dishatter all  
Into a Chaos, like his formless thoughts.   

But yet thou saist he wild thee to return,  
And he would tell thee more.   Cla. 
Yes so he said.  Clo. 

Perhaps thy words might yet so work with him  
As that he takes this time to think on them,  
And then I should do wrong to keep thee back.  
Well thou shalt go, and carry him from me  
This garland, work it what effect it will.   

But yet I know it will do nothing. Stay  
Thou shalt not go, for sure he said but that  
To put thee off, that he might be alone  
At his idolatry, in worshipping  
A nothing, but his self made images.  
But yet he may be wearied with those thoughts  
As having worn them long, and end they must:  
And this my message coming in fit time,  
And movingly delivered, may take hold:  
He said thou wert a moving messenger  
Clarindo, did he not?   Cla. 
Yes so he said.  Clo. 
Well, thou shalt go; and yet if any thought  
Of me should move him, he knows well my mind  
(if not too well) and where he may me find.  
Thou shalt not go Clarindo, nor will I  
Disgrace me more with importunity:  
And yet if such a motion should take fire,  
And find no matter ready, it would out,  
And opportunities must not be slacked  
Clarindo, thou shalt go, and as thou goest,  
Look to my flock, and so God speed thee well.   

SCEN. V.  Clarindo, alias Silvia sol. 

WEll, this employment makes for my avail,  
For hereby have I means to see my love;  
Who likewise sees me, though he sees me not;  
Nor do I see him as I would I did.  
But I must by some means or other make  
Him know I live; and yet not so as he  
May know that I am I, for fear we might  
Miscarry in our joys by over haste.  
But it is more than time his sufferings were  
Relieved in some close sort; and that can I devise  
No way to do, but by relating how  
I heard of an escape a nymph did make  
From pirates lately, and was safe returned.  
And so to tell some story that contains  
Our fortunes and our loves, in other names;  
And wish him to expect the like event;   

For I perceive him very well content  
To hear me speak; and sure he hath some note,  
Although so darkly drawn, as that his eyes  
Cannot expressly read it; yet it shows  
Him something, which he rather feels, then knows.   

The song of the second Chorus.  
Desire that is of things ungot,  
See what travail it procureth,  
And how much the mind endureth,  
To gain what yet it gaineth not:  
For never was it paid,  
The charge defrayed,  
According to the price of thought.     


ACT. III. SCEN. I.  Charinus, the father of Thirsis. Palaemon. 
PAlaemon, you methinks might something work  
With Thirsis my aggrieved son, and sound  
His humour what it is: and why he thus  
Afflicts himself in solitariness.  
You two were wont to be most inward friends,  
And glad I was to see it; knowing you  
To be a man well tempered, fit to sort  
With his raw youth; can you do nothing now,  
To win him from this vile captivity  
Of passion, that withholds him from the world?  Pal. 
In troth, Charinus, I have oftentimes,  
As one that suffered for his grievances,  
Assayed to find a way into the cause  
Of his so strange dismay; and by all means  
Advised him make redemption of himself,  
And come to life again, and be a man  
With men: but all serves not, I find him locked  
Fast to his will, allege I what I can.  Char. 
But will he not impart to you the cause?  Pal. 
The cause is love; but it is such a love,  
As is not to be had.  Cha. 
Not to be had?  
Palaemon, if his love be regular,  
Is there in all Arcadia any she,  
Whom his ability, his shape, and worth  
May not attain, he being my only son?  Pal. 
she is not in Arcadia whom he loves,  
Nor in the world, and yet he dearly loves.  Cha. 
How may that be, Palaemon? tell me plain.  Pal. 
Thus plainly; he's in love with a dead woman,  
And that so far, as with the thought of her  
Which hath shut out all other, he alone  
Lives, and abhors to be, or seen, or known.  Cha. 
What was this creature could possess him so?  Pal. 
Fair Silvia, old Medorus' daughter, who  
Was two years past reported to be slain  
By savage beasts upon our country shore.  Cha. 

Is that his grief? alas, I rather thought  
It appertained unto another's part  
To wail her death: Alexis should do that  
To whom her father had disposed her,  
And she esteemed only to be his.  
Why should my son afflict him more for her,  
Then doth Alexis, who this day doth wed  
Fair Galatea, and forgets the dead?  
And here the shepherds come to celebrate  
His joyful nuptials with all merriment,  
Which doth increase my cares, considering  
The comforts other parents do receive:  
And therefore good Palaemon work all means  
You can to win him from his peevish will,  
And draw him to these shows, to companies,  
That others pleasures may enkindle his.   

And tell him what a sin he doth commit,  
To waste his youth in solitariness,  
And take a course to end us all in him.   Pal. 
Assure yourself Charinus, as I have  
So will I still employ my utmost power,  
To save him; for methinks it pity were,  
So rare a piece of worth should so be lost,  
That aught to be preserved at any cost.   

ACT. III. SCEN. II.  Charinus. Medorus. 
MEdorus come, we two must sit, and mourn  
Whilst others revel. We are not for sports,  
Or nuptial shows, which will but show us more  
Our miseries, in being both deprived,  
The comforts of our issue, which might have  
(And was as like to have) made our hearts  
As joyful now, as others are in theirs.  Med. 
In deed Charinus, I for my part have  
Just cause to grieve amidst these festivals,  
For they should have been mine. This day I should  
Have seen my daughter Silvia how she would  
Have woman it; these rites had been her grace,  
And she had sat in Galateas place.  
And now had warmed my heart to see my blood  
Preserved in her; had she not been so rapt  
And rent from off the living as she was.  
But your case is not parallel with mine,  
You have a son, Charinus, that doth live,  
And may one day to you like comforts give.  Cha. 
Indeed I have a son; but yet to say he lives,  
I cannot; for who lives not to the world,  
Nor to himself, cannot be said to live:  
For ever since that you your daughter lost,  
I lost my son: for from that day he hath  
Embraced in shades and solitariness,  
Shut himself up from sight or company  
Of any living: and as now I heard,  
By good Palaemon, vows still so to do.  Med. 

And did your son, my daughter love so dear?  
Now good Charinus, I must grieve the more,  
If more my heart could suffer than it doth;  
For now I feel the horror of my deed,  
In having crossed the worthiest match on earth.  
Now I perceive why Silvia did refuse  
To marry with Alexis, having made  
A worthier choice; which oh had I had grace  
To have foreseen, perhaps this dismal chance  
Never had been, and now they both had had  
joy of their loves, and we the like of them.   

But ah my greedy eye, viewing the large  
And spacious sheep-walks joining unto mine,  
Whereof Alexis was possessed, made me,  
As worldlings do, desire to marry grounds,  
And not affections, which have other bounds.  
How oft have I with threats, with promises,  
With all persuasions, sought to win her mind  
To fancy him, yet all would not prevail?  
How oft hath she again upon her knees  
With tears besought me; Oh dear father mine  
Do not enforce me to accept a man  
I cannot fancy: rather take from me,  
The life you gave me, then afflict it so.   

Yet all this would not alter mine intent,  
This was the man she must affect or none.  
But ah what sin was this to torture so  
A heart forevowed unto a better choice,  
Where goodness met in one the self same point,  
And virtues answered in an equal joint?  
Sure, sure, Charinus, for this sin of mine  
The gods bereft me of my child, and would  
Not have her be, to be without her heart,  
Nor me take joy where I did none impart.   Cha. 
Medorus, thus we see man's wretchedness  
That learns his errors but by their success,  
And when there is no remedy; and now  
we can but wish it had been otherwise.  Med. 

And in that wish Charinus we are racked;  
But I remember now I often have  
Had shadows in my sleep that figures bare  
Of some such liking twixt your child and mine.  
And this last night a pleasing dream I had  
(Though dreams of joy makes wakers minds more sad)  
methought my daughter Silvia was returned  
In most strange fashion, and upon her knees  
Craves my good will for Thirsis, otherwise  
She would be gone again and seen no more.   

I at the sight of my dear child, was rapt  
With that excess of joy, as gave no time  
Either for me to answer her request,  
Or leave for sleep to figure out the rest.   Cha. 

Alas Medorus, dreams are vapours, which  
Engendered with day thoughts, fall in the night  
And vanish with the morning; are but made  
Afflictions unto man, to th' end he might  
Not rest in rest, but toil both day and night.   

But see here comes my solitary son:  
Let us stand close Medorus out of sight,  
And note how he behaves himself in this  
Affliction, and distressed case of his.    

SCEN. III.  Thirsis solus. 

THis is the day, the day, the lamentable day  
Of my destruction, which the Sun hath twice  
Returned unto my grief, which keep one course  
Continually with it in motion like.  
But that they never set: this day doth claim  
Th'especial tribute of my sighs and tears,  
Though every day I duly pay my tears  
Unto that soul which this day left the world.   

And yet I know not why? methinks the Sun  
Arose this day with far more cheerful rays  
With brighter beams, then usually it did  
As if it would bring something of release  
Unto my cares, or else my spirit hath had  
Some manner of intelligence with hope  
Wherewith my heart is unacquainted yet:  
And that might cause mine eye with quicker sense,  
To note th'appearing of the eye of heaven;  
But something sure I feel which doth bear up  
The weight of sorrow easier than before.    

SCEN. IV.  Palaemon. Thirsis. 
WHat Thirsis still in passion? still one man?  
For shame show not yourself so weakly set,  
So feebly jointed that you cannot bear  
The fortunes of the world like other men.  
Believe me Thirsis you much wrong your worth:  
This is to be no man, to have no powers.  
Passions are women's parts, actions ours.  
I was in hope t'have found you otherwise.  Thir. 

How? otherwise Palaemon? do not you  
Hold it to be a most heroic thing  
To act one man, and do that part exact?  
Can there be in the world more worthiness change?  
Then to be constant? is there any thing  
Shows more a man? What, would you have me  
That were to have me base, that were indeed  
To show a feeble heart, and weakly set.   

No no Palaemon, I should think myself  
The most unworthy man of men, should I  
But let a thought into this heart of mine  
That might disturb or shake my constancy.   

And think Palaemon I have combats too,  
To be the man I am, being built of flesh,  
And having round about me traitors too  
That seek to undermine my powers, and steal  
Into my weaknesses, but that I keep  
Continual watch and ward upon myself,  
lest I should be surprised at unawares  
And taken from my vows with other snares.   

And even now at this instant I confess,  
Palaemon, I do feel a certain touch  
Of comfort, which I fear to entertain,  
lest it should be some spy, sent as a train  
To make discovery of what strength I am.   Pal. 
Ah worthy Thirsis, entertain that spirit  
whatever else thou do: set all the doors  
Of thine affections open thereunto.  Thir. 
Palaemon no. Comfort and I have been  
So long time strangers, as that now I fear  
To let it in. I know not how t'acquaint  
myself therewith, being used to converse  
With other humours, that affect me best.  
Nor do I love to have mixed company  
Whereto I must of force myself apply.  Pal. 
But Thirsis think that this must have an end,  
And more it would approve your worth to make  
The same your work, than time should make it his.  Thir. 

End sure it must Palamon, but with me:  
For so I by the Oracle was told  
That very day wherein I lost the day  
And light of comfort that can never rise  
Again to me: when I the saddest man  
That ever breathed before those Altars fell,  
And there besought to know what was become  
Of my dear Silvia, whether dead, or how  
rest from the world: but that I could not learn.  
Yet thus much did that voice divine return:  
Go youth, reserve thyself, the day will come  
Thou shalt be happy, and return again.  
But when shall be that day demanded I,  
The day thou diest, replied the Oracle.   

So that you see, it will not be in these  
But in th'elysian fields, where I shall joy,  
The day of death must bring me happiness.   Pal. 

You may mistake the meaning of those words  
Which is not known before it be fulfilled.  
Yield you to what the gods command, if not  
Unto your friends desires: reserve yourself  
For better days, and think the Oracle  
Is not untrue, although not understood.   

But howsoever, let it not be said  
That Thirsis being a man of so rare parts,  
So understanding and discreet, should pine in love  
And languish for a silly woman thus:  
To be the fable of the vulgar, made  
ascorn, and laughed at, by inferior wits.   Thir. 

In love Palaemon? know you what you say?  
Do you esteem it light to be in love?  
How have I been mistaken in the choice  
Of such a friend, as I held you to be,  
That seems not, or else doth not understand  
The noblest portion of humanity,  
The worthiest piece of nature set in man?  
Ah know that when you mention love, you name  
A sacred mystery, a Deity,  
Not understood of creatures built of mud,  
But of the purest and refined clay  
Whereto th'eternal fires their spirits convey.   

And for a woman, which you prize so low,  
Like men that do forget whence they are men;  
Know her to be th'especial creature, made  
By the Creator of the complement  
Of this great Architect the world; to hold  
The same together, which would otherwise  
Fall all asunder: and is nature's chief  
Vicegerent upon earth, supplies her state.   

And do you hold it weakness then to love?  
And love so excellent a miracle  
As is a worthy woman, ah then let me  
Still be so weak, still let me love and pine  
In contemplation of that clean, clear soul,  
That made mine see that nothing in the world  
Is so supremely beautiful as it.   

Think not it was those colours white and red  
Laid but on flesh, that could affect me so.  
But something else, which thought holds under lock  
And hath no key of words to open it.  
They are the smallest pieces of the mind  
That pass this narrow organ of the voice.  
The great remain behind in that vast orb  
Of apprehension, and are never borne.   

And therefore if your judge cannot reach  
Unto the understanding of my Case,  
You do not well to put yourself into  
My jury, to condemn me as you do.  
Let th'ignorant out of their dullness laugh  
At these my sufferings, I will pity them  
To have been so ill borne, so miscomposed  
As not to know what thing it is to love.   

And I to great Apollo here appeal  
The sovereign of the Muses, and of all  
Well tuned affections, and to Cinthia bright,  
And glorious Lady of clear faithfulness;  
Who from above look down with blissful beams  
Upon our humble groves, and joy the hearts  
Of all the world, to see their mutual loves;  
They can judge what worthiness there is  
In worthy love. Therefore Palaemon peace,  
Unless you did know better what it were.   

And this be sure, whenas that fire goes out  
In man, he is the miserablest thing  
On earth, his daylight sets, and is all dark  
And dull within; no motions of delight,  
But all oppressed, lies struggling with the weight  
Of worldly cares: and this old Damon says,  
Who well had felt what love was in his days.   Pal. 
Well Thirsis, well, however you do guild  
Your passions, to endear them to yourself,  
You never shall induce me to believe,  
That sicknesses can be of such effect.  
And so farewell, until you shall be well.   

SCEN. V  Medorus. Charinus. 
O Gods, Charinus, what a man is this?  
whoever heard of such a constancy?  
Had I but known him in enjoying him,  
As now I do, too late, in losing him,  
How blessed had been mine age? but ah I was  
Unworthy of so great a blessedness.  Cha. 

You see, Medorus, how no counsel can  
Prevail to turn the current of his will,  
To make it run in any other course  
Then what it doth; so that I see I must  
Esteem him irrevocably lost.   

But hark, the shepherds festivals begin,  
Let us from hence, where sadness were a sin.   
Here was presented a rural marriage, conducted with this Song.  

From the Temple to the Board,  
From the Board unto the Bed,  
We conduct your maidenhead:  
Wishing Hymen to afford  
All the pleasures that he can,  
Twixt a woman and a man.     


ACT. IV. SCEN. I.  Thirsis solus 

I Thought these simple woods, these gentle trees  
Would, in regard I am their daily guest,  
And harbour underneath their shady roofs,  
Not have consented to delude my griefs;  
And mock my miseries with false reports:  
But now I see they will afflict me too.   

For as I came by yonder spreading Beech  
Which often hath the Secretary been  
To my sad thoughts, while I have rested me  
(if love had ever rest) under his gentle shade,  
I found encarved, and fair encarved, these words:  
Thy Silvia, Thirsis, lives; and is returned.  
Ah me, that any hand would thus add scorn  
Unto affliction; and a hand so fair  
As this may seem to be; which were more fit,  
methinks, for good, than to do injury;  
For sure no virtue should be ill employed.   

And which is more; the name of Silvia was  
Carved in the self same kind of character  
Which she alive did use, and where with all  
Subscribed her vows to me, who knows it best;  
Which shows the fraud the more, & more the wrong.  
Therefore you stars of that high court of heaven,  
Which do reveal deceits, and punish them,  
Let not this crime, to feit a hand  
To cousin my desires, escape your doom.  
Nor let these riots of intrusion, made  
Upon my loneness, by strange company  
Afflict me thus, but let me have some rest.   

Come then, refresher of all living things,  
Soft sleep, come gently, and take truce with these  
Oppressors, but come simple and alone,  
Without these images of fantasy,  
Which hurt me more than thou canst do me good:  
Let me not sleep, unless I could sleep all.    

SCEN. II.  Palaemon. Thirsis. 
ALas, he here hath laid him down to rest,  
It were now sin his quiet to molest;  
And God forbid I should; I will retire  
And leave him, for I know his griefs require  
This poor relievement of a little sleep.  Thi. 
What spirit here haunts me? what no time free?  
Ah, is it you Palaemon? would to God  
You would forbear me but a little while:  
You show your care of me too much in this:  
Unseasonable love, scarce kindness is.  Pal. 
Good Thirsis, I am sorry I should give  
The least occasion of disease to you;  
I will be gone and leave you to your rest.  Thi. 
Do good Palaemon, go your way, farewell;  
And yet Palaemon stay, perhaps you may  
By charms you have, cause sleep to close mine eyes;  
For you were wont, I do remember well,  
To sing me Sonnets, which in passion I  
Composed in my happier days, whenas  
Her beams inflamed my spirits, which now are set.  
And if you can remember it, I pray  
Sing me the song, which thus begins: Eyes hide my love,  
Which I did write upon the earnest charge  
She gave unto me, to conceal our love.  

The Song.  
Eyes hide my love, and do not show  
To any but to her my notes,  
Who only doth that cipher know,  
Wherewith we pass our secret thoughts:  
bely your looks in other's sight;  
And wrong yourselves to do her right.   Pal. 
So now he sleeps, or else doth seem to sleep;  
But howsoever, I will not trouble him.   

SCEN. III.  Clarindo. Thirsis 

SEe where he lies, whom I so long to see;  
Ah my dear Thirsis, take thy quiet rest,  
I know thou needst it, sleep thy fill, sweet love  
Let nothing trouble thee: be calm oh winds,  
Be still you herds, chirp not so loud sweet birds,  
Lest you should wake my love: thou gentle bank  
That thus art blessed to bear so dear a weight,  
Be soft unto those dainty limbs of his,  
Ply tender grass, and render sweet refresh  
Unto his weary senses, whilst he rests.   

Oh could I now but put off this disguise,  
With those respects that fetter my desires:  
How closely could I neighbour that sweet side?  
But stay, he stirs; I fear my heart hath brought  
My feet too near, and I have wakened him.   Thi. 
It will not be, sleep is no friend of mine,  
Or such a friend, as leaves a man, when most  
He needs him. See a new assault: who now?  
Ah 'tis the boy that was with me erewhiles,  
That gentle boy; I am content to speak  
With him, he speaks so prettily, so sweet,  
And with so good respective modesty:  
And much resembles one I knew once well:  
Come hither gentle boy, what hast thou there?  Cla. 
A token sent you from the nymph I serve.  Thi. 
Keep it my boy, and wear it on thy head.  Cla. 
The gods forbid, that I, a servant, should  
Wear on my head, that which my mistress hath  
Prepared for yours: Sir, I beseech you urge  
No more a thing so ill becoming me.  Thi. 
Nay sure I think, it better will become  
Thy head than mine; and therefore boy, thou must  
Needs put it on.  Cla. 
I trust you loneness hath not so  
Civiled you, to force a messenger  
To do against good manners, and his will.  Thi. 
No, good my boy, but I entreat thee now  
Let me but put it on, hold still thy head,  
It shall not be thy act, but only mine:  
Let it alone good boy, for if thou sawst  
How well it did become thee, sure thou wouldst.  
Now, canst thou sing my boy some gentle song?  Cla. 
I cannot sing, but I could weep.  Thi. 
Weep, why?  Cla. 
Because I am not as I wish to be.  Thi. 
Why so are none; be not displeased for this;  
And if you cannot sing, tell me some tale  
To pass the time.  Cla. 
That can I do, did I but know what kind  
Of tale you liked.  Thi. 
No merry tale my boy, nor yet too sad,  
But mixed, like the tragic Comedies.  Cla. 

Then such a tale I have, and a true tale,  
Believe me Sir, although not written yet  
In any book, but sure it will, I know  
Some gentle shepherd, moved with passion, must  
Record it to the world, and well it will  
Become the world to understand the same.  
And this it is: There was sometimes a nymph,  
Isulia named, and an Arcadian borne;  
Fair can I not avouch she was, but chaste,  
And honest sure, as the event will prove;  
Whose mother dying, left her very young  
Unto her father's charge, who carefully  
Did breed her up, until she came to years  
Of womanhood, and then provides a match  
Both rich, and young, and fit enough for her.   

But she, who to another shepherd had  
Called Sirthis, vowed her love, as unto one  
Her heart esteemed more worthy of her love,  
Could not by all her father's means be wrought  
To leave her choice; and to forego her vow.   Thi. 
No more could my dear Silvia be from me.  Cla. 
Which caused much affliction to the both,  Thi. 
And so the self same cause did unto us.  Cla. 
This nymph one day, surcharged with love & grief,  
Which commonly (the more the pity) dwell  
As Inmates both together, walking forth  
With other maids, to fish upon the shore;  
Estrays apart, and leaves her company,  
To entertain herself with her own thoughts:  
And wanders on so far, and out of sight,  
As she at length was suddenly surprised  
By Pirates, who lay lurking underneath  
Those hollow rocks, expecting there some prize.  
And notwithstanding all her piteous cries,  
Entreaty, tears, and prays, those fierce men  
Rent hair, and vail, and carried her by force  
Into their ship, which in a little creak  
Hard by, at anchor lay, and presently hoist sail,  
And so away. Thy. Rent hair and vail? and so  
Both hair and vail of Silvia, I found rent,  
Which here I keep with me. But now alas  
What did she? what became of her my boy?  Cla. 
When she was thus in shipped, and woefully  
Had cast her eyes about to view that hell  
Of horror, whereinto she was so suddenly  
Implunged, she spies a women sitting with a child  
Sucking her breast, which was the captains wife.  
To her she creeps, down at her feet she lies;  
O woman, if that name of woman may  
Move you to pity, pity a poor maid,  
The most distressed soul that ever breathed.  
And save me from the hands of these fierce men,  
Let me not be defiled, and made unclean,  
Dear woman now: and I will be to you  
The faithfullest slave that ever mistress served;  
Never poor soul shall be more dutiful,  
To do whatever you command, than I.  
No toil will I refuse; so that I may  
Keep this poor body clean and undeflowered,  
Which is all I will ever seek. For know  
It is not fear of death lays me thus low,  
But of that stain will make my death to blush.  Thi. 
What, would not all this move the woman's heart?  Cla. 

All this would nothing move the woman's heart,  
Whom yet she would not leave, but still besought;  
Oh woman, by that infant at your breast,  
And by the pains it cost you in the birth,  
Save me, as ever you desire to have  
Your babe to joy and prosper in the world.  
Which will the better prosper sure, if you  
Shall mercy show, which is with mercy paid.   

Then kisses she her feet, then kisses too  
The infant's feet, and oh sweet babe (said she)  
Couldst thou but to thy mother speak for me,  
And crave her to have pity on my case;  
Thou mightst perhaps prevail with her so much  
Although I cannot; child, ah couldst thou speak.   

The infant, whether by her touching it  
Or by instinct of nature, seeing her weep,  
Looks earnestly upon her, and then looks  
Upon the mother, then on her again,  
And then it cries, and then on either looks:  
Which she perceiving, blessed child, said she,  
Although thou canst not speak, yet dost thou cry  
Unto thy mother for me. Hear thy child  
Dear mother, it's for me it cries,  
It's all the speech it hath: accept those cries,  
Save me at his request from being defiled;  
Let pity move thee, that thus moves thy child.   

The woman, though by birth and custom rude.  
Yet having veins of nature, could not be  
But piercible, did feel at length the point  
Of pity, enter so, as out gushed tears  
(Not usual to stern eyes) and she besought  
Her husband, to bestow on her that prize.  
With safeguard of her body, at her will.   

The captain seeing his wife, the child, the nymph,  
All crying to him in this piteous sort;  
Felt his rough nature shaken too, and grants  
His wives request, and seals his grant with tears;  
And so they wept all four for company,  
And some beholders stood not with dry eyes;  
Such passion wrought the passion of their prize.   Thi. 
In troth my boy, and even thy telling it  
Moves me likewise, thou dost so feelingly  
Report the same, as if thou hadst been by.  
But I imagine now how this poor nymph  
When she received that doom, was comforted?  Cla. 
Sir, never was there pardon, that did take  
Condemned from the block, more joyful than  
This grant to her. For all her misery  
Seemed nothing to the comfort she received.  
By being thus saved from impurity:  
And from the woman's feet she would not part,  
Nor trust her hand to be without some hold  
Of her, or of the child, so long as she remained  
Within the ship, which in few days arrives  
At Alexandria, whence these pirates were;  
And there this woeful maid for two years space  
Did serve, and truly serve this captain's wife,  
Who would not lose the benefit of her  
Attendance for all her profit otherwise.  
But daring not in such a place as that  
To trust herself in woman's habit, craved  
That she might be apparelled like a boy,  
And so she was, and as a boy she served.  Thi. 
And two years 'tis, since I my Silvia lost.  Cla. 

At two years end, her mistress sends her forth  
Unto the Port for some commodities,  
Which whilst she sought for, going up and down  
She heard some merchant men of Corinth talk,  
Who spoke that language the Arcadians did,  
And were next neighbours of one continent.   

To them all rapt with passion, down she kneels,  
Tells them she was a poor distressed boy,  
Borne in Arcadia, and by Pirates took  
And made a slave in Egypt, and besought  
Them, as they fathers were of children, or  
Did hold their native country dear, they would  
Take pity on her, and relieve her youth  
From that sad servitude wherein she lived:  
For which she hoped that she had friends alive  
Would thank them one day, & reward them too;  
If not, yet that, she knew the heavens would do.  
The merchants moved with pity of her case,  
Being ready to depart, took her with them,  
And landed her upon her country coast,  
Where when she found herself, she prostrate falls,  
Kisses the ground, thanks gives unto the Gods,  
Thanks them who had been her deliverers.   

And on she trudges through the desert woods,  
Climes over craggy rocks, and mountains steep,  
Wades through rivers, struggles through bogs,  
Sustained only by the force of love;  
Until she came unto the native plains,  
Unto the fields, where first she drew her breath.   

There lifts she up her eyes, salutes the air,  
Salutes the trees, the bushes, flowers, and all:  
And oh dear Sirthis, here I am, said she,  
Here, notwithstanding all my miseries.  
I am the same I was to thee; a pure,  
A chaste, and spotless maid: oh that I may  
Find thee the man, thou didst profess to be.   Thi. 
Or else no man; for boy who truly loves,  
Must ever so; that die will never out:  
And who but would love truly such a soul?  Cla. 
But now, the better to have notice how  
The state of things then stood, and not in haste  
To cast herself on new encumbrances,  
She kept her habit still, and put herself  
To serve a nymph, of whom she had made choice  
Till time were fitting to reveal herself.  Thi. 
This may be Sylvia's case; this may be she;  
But it is not: let me consider well:  
The teller, and the circumstance agree.   

SCEN. III.  Montanus. Thirsis. Chorus. 
AH sirrah, have I found you? are you here  
You princock boy? and with your garland on?  
Doth this attire become your peevish head?  
Come, I must teach you better manners, boy.  He stabs Clarindo, and rashes off his garland. 
So Phillis, I have done my task, and here  
I bring the Trophy to confirm the same.  Thi. 
Ah monster man, vile wretch, what hast thou done?  
Alas, in what a straight am I engaged here?  
If I pursue revenge, l leave to save.  
Help, help, you gentle swains, if any now be near, beast  
Help, help: ah hark even Echo helps me cry  Cho. 
What means this outcry? sure some savage  
Disturbs our herds, or else some wolf hath seized  
Upon a Lamb. Thi. A worse thing than a wolf,  
More bloody than a beast, hath murdered here  
A gentler creature than a lamb: therefore  
Good swains pursue, pursue the homicide.  
That ugly wretch, Montanus, who hath stabbed  
This silly creature here, at unawares.  Cho. 
Montanus? why, we met him but even now,  
Decked with a garland, grumbling to himself;  
We will attach that villain presently:  
Come sirs, make haste, and let us after him.   

SCEN. IIII.  Palaemon. Thirsis. 
ALas, what accident is here fallen out?  
My dear friend Thirsis, how comes this to pass?  Thi. 
That monster man Montanus, here hath stabbed  
A harmless youth, in message sent to me.  
Now good Palaemon help me hold him up,  
And see if that we can recover him.  Pal. 
It may be Thirsis, more his fear then hurt:  
Stay him a while, and I will haste and send  
For Lamia, who with ointments, oil and herbs  
If any help remain, will help him sure.  Thi. 

Do good Palaemon, make what haste you may  
Seek out for help, and be not long away.  
Alas sweet boy, that thou shouldst ever have  
So hard misfortune, coming unto me,  
And end thy tale with this sad tragedy;  
That tale which well resembled Sylvia's case,  
Which thou resemblest; for such brows had she.  
Such a proportioned face, and such a neck.   

What have we here, the mole of Silvia too?  
What and her breasts? what? and her hair? what all?  
All Silvia? yes, all Silvia, and all dead.  
And art thou thus returned again to me?  
Art thou thyself, that strange delivered nymph?  
And didst thou come to tell me thine escape  
From death to die before me? had I not  
Enough to do, to wail reported harms  
But thou must come to bleed within my arms?  
Was not one death sufficient for my griefs  
But that thou must die twice? why thou wert dead  
To me before. Why? must thou die again?  
Ah, better had it been still to be lost  
Then thus to have been found; yet better found  
Though thus, then so lost as was thought before.  
For howsoever, now I have thee yet  
Though in the saddest fashion that may be.  
Yet Silvia now I have thee, and will I  
No more for ever part with thee again:  
And we this benefit shall have thereby  
though fate would not permit us both to have  
One bed, yet Silvia we shall have one grave.  
And that is something, and much more than I  
Expected ever could have come to pass.   

And sure the gods but only sent thee thus  
To fetch me; and to take me hence with thee;  
And Silvia so thou shalt. I ready am  
T'accompany thy soul, and that with speed.  
The strings I feel, are all dissolved, that hold  
This woeful heart, reserved it seems for this:  
And well reserved, for this so dear an end.    

SCEN. V.  Chorus. Palaemon. 
SO, we have took the villain, and him bound  
Fast to an Oak, as rugged as himself.  
And there he stars and gapes in th'air, and raves  
Like a wild beast, that's taken in the toil:  
And so he shall remain, till time we see  
What will become of this his savage act.  Pa: 

Cheer Thirsis, Lamia will come presently  
And bring the best preservatives she hath.  
What now? Who lies discovered here? Ay me,  
A woman dead? Is this that boy transformed?  
Why, this is Silvia, O good Thirsis how  
Comes this to pass? Friend Thirsis, Thirsis speak.  
Good Thirsis tell me. Out alas he swoons,  
As well as she, and both seem gone alike.   

Come gentle herds men, come and carry them  
To yonder sheepcote quickly, that we may  
(If possible) recover them again.  
If not perform those rites that appertain  
Unto so rare a couple. Come my friends, make haste.   

The fourth Song of the Chorus.  

Qu. Were ever chaste and honest hearts  
Exposed unto so great distresses?  
Ans. Yes: they that act the worthiest parts,  
Most commonly have worst successes.  
Great fortunes follow not the best,  
It's virtue that is most distressed.   

Then fortune why do we admire  
The glory of thy great excesses?  
Since by thee what men acquire  
Thy work and not their worths expresses.  
Nor dost thou raise them for their good:  
But t'have their ills more understood.      


ACT. V. SCAEN. I.  Chorus. Palaemon. 
DId ever yet Arcadia hear before  
Of two so worthy lovers, as we find  
Thirsis and Silvia were? or ever had  
Clear truth, and simple constant honesty,  
So lamentable an event as this?  
But here comes forth Palaemon, we shall now  
Learn all of him, what hath been done within.  Pal. 

Go Pollio, summon all th' Arcadia youth  
Here, round about, and will them to prepare  
To celebrate with all delights they can  
This joyful hour, that hath restored to us  
The worthiest pair of hearts that ever were,   

Will them to show the height of music's art,  
And all the strains of cunning they can show:  
That we may make these rocks and hills about,  
Ring with the Echo of redoubled notes.   

And will Charinus and Medorus too,  
The aged parents of this worthy pair,  
To come with speed, whose joy, good souls, will be  
More than their speed; and yet their speed I know,  
Will be beyond th'allowance of their years,  
When they shall understand this happy news.   

And summon likewise all the train of nymphs  
That glorify our plains, and all that can  
Give honour to this day.  
Go Pollio haste away, and as you go  
Unbind Montanus that rude savage swain:  
And though he be unworthy to be here,  
Yet let him come. He hath been in his days  
Held a good fellow, howsoever now  
His rage and love transported him in this.   Cho. 
Palamon, we are glad to see you thus  
Delightful, now we hope there is good news.  Pal. 

Good news my friends, and I will tell it you,  
Silvia and Thirsis being to my cottage brought,  
The skilful Lamia comes and searched the wound  
Which Silvia had received of this rude swain,  
And finding it not deadly she applied  
Those remedies she knew of best effect.  
And binds it up, and powers into her mouth  
Such cordial waters as revive the spirits:  
And so much wrought, as she at length perceived  
Life was not quite gone out, but lay oppressed.   

With like endeavours we on Thirsis work,  
And ministered like Cordials unto him:  
At length we might hear Silvia fetch a groan,  
And there withal Thirsis perceived to move,  
Than Thirsis fet a groan, and Silvia moved  
As if their lives were made both of one piece.  
Whereat we joyed, and then removed 'and set  
Each before other, & held up their heads,  
And chafed their temples, rubbed and stroked their cheeks:   

Wherewith first Silvia casts up her dim eyes,  
And presently did Thirsis lift up his.  
And then again they both together sighed,  
And each on other fixed an unseeing eye:  
For yet 'twas scarce the twilight of their new  
Returning day, out of the night of death.  
And though they saw, they did not yet perceive  
Each other, and yet both turned to one point  
As touched alike, and held their looks direct.  
At length we might perceive, as life began  
T'appear; and make the morning in their eyes,  
Their beams were clearer, & their opener looks  
Did show as if they took some little note  
Of each the other: yet not so as they  
Could thoroughly discern who themselves were.   

And then we took and joined their hands in one,  
And held them so a while, until we fealt  
How even each others touch, the motion gave  
Unto their feeling, and they trembling wrung  
Their hands together, and so held them locked,  
Looked still upon each other, but no words at all.   

Then we called out to Thirsis Thirsis look,  
It is thy Silvia thou here hold'st, she is  
Returned reviv'd, and safe. Silvia, behold thou hast  
Thy Thirsis, and shalt ever have him thine.   

Then did we set them both upon their feet  
And there they stood in act, even as before  
Looking upon each other hand in hand:  
At last we saw a blushing red appear  
In both their cheeks, which sense sent as a lamp  
To light their understanding. And forthwith  
The tears gushed forth their eyes, which hindered them  
A while from seeing each other, till they had  
Cleared them again. And then as if new waked  
From out a fearful dream, they stand and doubt  
Whether they were awake indeed, or else  
Still in a dream, distrusting their own eyes.  
Their long endured miseries, would not  
Let them believe their sudden happiness,  
Although they saw it: till with much ado  
They had confirmed their credit, and had kissed  
Each other and embraced, and kissed again,  
And yet still dumb: their joy now seemed to be  
Too busy with their thoughts, t'allow them words.   

And then they walked a little, then stood still,  
Then walked again, and still held other fast  
As if they feared, they should be lost again.   

And when at last they spoke, it was but thus,  
O Silvia, and O Thirsis, and there stopped.   

We, lest our sight and presence  
So many) hinder might the passage of being there  
Their modest, simple, and unpractised love,  
Came all our way, and only Lamia left  
Whose spirit, and that sufficient skill she hath  
Will serve no doubt, to see they shall do well.   Cho. 
Well may they do dear couple, who have thus  
Graced our Arcadia with their faithfulness.   

SCAEN. II.  Phillis. Lidia. Cloris. 
WHat shall we now do Lidia? now am I  
Utterly shamed: this youth turned woman is,  
Clarindo, Silvia is become; how now?  
Can I for ever look on her again?  
Or come in any company for shame?  
Now must I needs be made a common jest  
And laughing stock to every one that shall  
But hear how grossly I behaved myself.  Lid. 
Faith Phillis as it is fallen out, your case  
Is very crazy, and to make it whole  
There is no way but even to laugh it out,  
And set as good a face, as you can do  
Upon the matter, and say thus: How you  
Knew well enough it was no man whom you  
Affected so, who never could love man,  
Nor ever would, and that by mere instinct  
And sympathy of Sex, you fancied him.  
So put it off, and turn it to a jest,  Phi. 
That shall I never do but ever blush  
At her, to think what she will think of me,  
Who did bewray myself so foolishly.  Lid. 
Are you here Cloris, you are blessed today  
For being mistress unto such a boy:  
You may rejoice that ever this fell out.  Clo. 
Rejoice? ah Lidia, never was there nymph  
Had more occasion to be sad than I,  
For I am quite undone and shamed hereby.  
For I employed this my supposed boy  
In message unto Thirsis, whom I loved  
I must confess, more dearly then my life:  
And told him all the secrets of my heart.  
And therefore with what face can ever I  
Look upon them that know thus much by me?  
No Lidia, I will now take Thirsis course:  
Hide me for ever in these desert woods,  
And never come in company again;  
They shall not laugh at me in their great joys.  Lid. 

But Cloris, I would laugh with them, were I as you,  
And howsoever felt myself within,  
Yet would I seem be otherwise without.  
Cannot you say, that you knew well enough  
How it was Silvia that you entertained,  
Although you would not seem to take such note;  
And thereupon employed her in that sort  
To Thirsis, knowing who it was would give  
To him the greatest comfort upon earth.   

And thus fair nymphs you fitly may excuse  
These simple slips, and know that they shall still  
Have crosses with their piles, who thus do play  
Their fortunes with their loves, as you two did:  
But you must frame your countenance thereto  
And look with other faces then their own.  
As many else do here, who in their parts  
Set shining looks upon their cloudy hearts,  
And let us mix us with this company  
That here appears with mirth and jollity.   

The Song of the fifth Chorus.  

whoever saw so fair a sight,  
Love and virtue met aright:  
And that wonder Constancy,  
Like a Comet to the eye  
Seldom ever seen so bright?  
Sound out aloud so rare a thing,  
That all the Hills and Vales may ring.   

Look, Lovers look, with passion see,  
If that any such there be:  
As there cannot but be such  
Who do feel that noble touch  
In this glorious company,  
Sound out aloud, etc.      
FINIS.  

Pag 51. line 24 & page 54. line 28. for loneness, read loneness. Ib. p. 54. l. 6. for descide r. desires p. 59. l. 23 put out, all. p. 62. l 7. at the verses end, add, help. p. 63. l. 6. r. oils.