FILLI DI SCIRO. OR Phillis of Scyros. An Excellent pastoral.  
Written in Italian By C. Guidubaldo de' Bonarelli. AND Translated into English, BY I. S. Gent.  
LONDON, Printed by I. M. for Andrew Crook, and are to be sold at his shop at the sign of the Green Dragon in St Paul's Church yard. 1655.   

GENTLE READER,  
THe 
* Pastor Fido, Translated by some Author before this: And both of them near twenty years agone.  Elder Sister of this Blushing Maid,  
Long kept in darkness, and severely stayed  
From looking forth, by him who thought the dress  
He clothed her in, too homely to express  
That native Beauty, which by birth she drew,  
From her first Parent, who exactly knew  
How to attire her in so rich a Trim,  
As might win honour both to her, and him:  
Grieving perhaps to be so coursely used,  
So long penned up, and as she thought abused:  
Resolved to try if yet her ancient Fame,  
Could raise her up to a more glorious Name:  
And guided by the Star which ruled her Fate,  
At last she met with one more fortunate,  
Then her old Foster Father was: And he  
( Fraught with the store of rich ability.)  
Bravely adorned her, 
Translated by Mr. Rich. Fans●aw, and dedicated to the Prince that then wa●.  taught her how to speak  
A Courtly Language, and thereby to break  
Through all the Mists of dark obscurity,  
As one now fitted for a Prince's Eye.  
This rare adventure, wrought a strange conceit  
In this more lowly Minion, that my strait,  
And rigid resolution held so long,  
To Coop them up, had done them both some wrong  
For whilst I gave her Sister leave to walk,  
From hand to hand by stealth, she heard men talk  
Of gracious Favours, and Aspects, cast on her  
By Noble persons, and by men of Honour;  
And thence concludes, 'twas only want of scope  
To fly abroad which thus destroyed her hope.  
And that herself( though meanly prised by me)  
Might have attained the same felicity:  
These fond ambitious Thoughts; and sad Laments  
Grounded upon her groundless discontents,  
Have forced me yield unto her mournful plaint  
And lose the Fetters of her hard restraint.  
Granting her leave to roam abroad at large,  
Yet not without this strict, and serious charge  
That she should not presume to think her Name  
Could purchase her, or me, a lasting Fame;  
Nor yet expect, that her best industry  
Could raise her up unto the least degree  
Of Grace and Favour, with judicious men,  
Who know the failings of my erring Pen;  
But rather that she should conform her mind  
To my mean fortune, as unlike to find  
A way to better hopes, as I am free  
From those aspiring thoughts, which use to be  
In men of greater Parts, whose merits may,  
Challenge a due respect, where worth bears sway:  
And since she could not be content to dwell  
In my poor quiet, though but homely Cell,  
Where she might have been free from all the wrongs  
Of envious hearts, and of malicious tongues,  
That yet she would put on an humble guise  
A modest garb, without desire to rise  
Unto an higher pitch than well may suit  
With the bare purchase of a fair Repute.   

To my much Honoured Friend, Mr. I. S. upon his Translation of Filli di Sciro.  
HOw hath thy cruel modesty betrayed  
To dark Imprisonment this beauteous Maid:  
And robbed thy Country of so rich a piece.  
As honoured Italy, and out did Greece,  
While in obedience to thy strict command  
She silent languished, 
* This Comes was Translated long 〈◊〉 go by M. 〈◊〉 S. and layd by, as also ● was Pastor Fido, wh● was ●●n●e ● Translated and set fo● by Mr. R● Fanshaw●  yet could understand  
And speak our Language perfect, as her own:  
A virtue not o'th' Sex, but hers alone.  
Her Sister in Imprisonment got ●ree  
But owed to other hands her Liberty,  
And had such taking airs, that she was grown  
The Courted Beauty here as soon as known:  
Nor needst thou fear, this meets unequal grace,  
Being her equal both in birth and Face:  
She's no exposed Issue, but as we  
When Pictures shown, done by great ●ands, do see  
Without severe ●xamining apart  
The Colours, Postures▪ symmetry and Art.  
Cry a rare piece, so much to Fame we owe  
Of th' author's skill confirmed long ago;  
So when her father's name as great as theirs,  
For Lim●ing souls, and paintin● loves and fears  
Is read upon her Front the Noble piece  
Hath double estimate, that's Go●d, and His.  
Break forth then Innocent sweetness, and shine bright  
As the fair Morn, 
* The No supposed ●mediately pr●cede to opening o● Scene, 〈◊〉 the Morn immedia● succeedi● in which Pastoral ●gins, b●i 〈◊〉 one full 〈◊〉 horror, 〈◊〉 other of 〈◊〉 light, be describe● the first ● Scene.  which a●● succeed that Night  
So dark and hideous, that men thought the Sun  
And Nature at a stand, their last course run;  
When taught by fear th' amazed world did say  
There needed new Creation to make day,  
Which yet sprang with such sweetness and delight  
They wished there never would succeed a night  
Shine forth so fair; and teach our wanton youth  
To hate their perjuries, and honour truth.  
That the soft Virgins may no more complain,  
Men's falsehood, and their wronged loves made vain;  
But let thy great example strike an awe  
Into their souls, as binding as the Law.  
Which may into both Sexes still dispense  
In Love, success; in wisdom, innocence.  
Taught by thy virtues thus, they both will pray  
No Night may ere ore● take thy glorious day.  
Which long and fair I as a Prophet could  
Foretell should last, and as a Poet would  
Create new Fate for thee, were thine not great.  
But thou hast perfect temper, and thy heat  
Drawn from the Sun and purer part o'th' Sky  
Predicts, and causes immortality.  
And not to be by lines described and shown  
Less Artful and Immortal than thine own.  
I. H.   

The actor's Names.  

NIGHT. Speaks the Prologue.  
Melisso. A shepherd of Smyrna, and the supposed Father of Cloris.  
Sireno. Father of Phillis, and Amyntas.  
Cloris. Phillis, under the name of Cloris, espoused to Thirsis.  
Celia. The Daughter of Ormino, in love with Niso and Amyntas.  
Amyntas. The Son of Sireno, and in love with Celia.  
Niso. Thirsis, under the name of Niso, in love with Celia, but espoused to Phillis.  
Ormino. Father of Thirsis, and Celia.  
Oronte. A Captain of the Grand Signiors.  
Perindo. One of Orontes soldiers.  
Serpilla. Aged Nymph.  
Nerea. Aged Nymph.  
Fillino. A Boy that keeps Ormino's Flocks.  
Narete. An old shepherd.   
The Scene lies in the Isle of SCYROS.   

The Prologue.  
NIGHT.  
STay now my quick winged Coursers, stay your flight  
So long at least as till I may find out  
What strange unusual wonder hath possessed  
This earthly Globe, and what rare virtue lives  
Which hath the power, within so short a space,  
Thus to transform the world.  
And in the interim let th' Antipodes,  
Th●se strange unknown inhabitants which dwell,  
Below this Sphere, enjoy the pleasing light  
Of the day's burning Lamp, beyond their wont;  
And you swift-winged Damsels that attend  
Still on my person, for a time suspend  
Your hasty flight( as once before you did,  
When the renowned Alcides was conceived)  
And let the restless Spokes, and whirling Nathes,  
Of my Eternal Chariot on the proud  
Aspiring back of towering A●las rest;  
Nor let the shining God which by his beams,  
Makes such a difference in your borrowed lights,  
Seem discontent that I usurp a while,  
Upon the time prescribed for my reign,  
In our divided Empire; for himself  
Whilst once he needs would stay, to be a kind  
Spectator of another's Victory,  
Held in his hand his burning torch beyond  
The limits of his hours, so to befriend  
That brave heroic Hebrew in the fight▪  
He made against the opposers of his might:  
But least perhaps the kn●wledge who I am,  
Should seem as dark to any, as my looks,  
And this my gloomy visage seems obscure,  
Let them that do desire to know my name,  
And what the truth of my condition is,  
Behold this Sable Chariot and observe,  
These golden trappings, and from thence collect,  
Both who, and what I am: The heedless rout  
Of the self-heady multitude, do call  
Me impious Nurse of Error, mother of  
Enchantments, and foul horror, and a friend  
To Vice, and wickedness: But I am she,  
That do produce true Mirth and ●ollity,  
The quaint allayer of unquiet thoughts,  
The sole dispenser of sweet pleasing dreams,  
And universal rest.  
Great Queen of Shades, Eternal Warrior,  
That lead under the Colours which I bear,  
Adorned with silver spangles, Legions of  
Bright shining Stars, which do incamp me round;  
Whilst I armed all in darkness do destroy,  
The glorious day, and after crowned with lights,  
And carried through this spacious Hemisphere,  
In this eternal Chariot do triumph,  
Over the day so foiled.  
'Tis I, that to you Mortals show the Mines  
Of precious Saphires, and the treasure of  
Immortal Carbuncles, and so divide  
Into a world of sparks, one fire alone,  
As shows a thousand shining Suns for one.  
Night, night, the daughter of the earth I am,  
Do you not know me you blessed lovers? Can  
You now forget her? whom you oft have called,  
The faithful Secretary of your close,  
And amorous thefts? how many times have I  
Concealed you under my black gloomy shades,  
Whilst you have s●cretly past free from sight,  
To reap your stolen delights?  
And you young Damsels, what sweet hidden joys,  
What private pleasures have you of't enjoyed  
Under the shadow of my dusky rays?  
How often by the gentle virtue of  
This my sweet gentle son, although he be  
Deaths elder brother; have I cheered your faint  
And wearied spirits, and restor'd you to  
The powers of life again: and shutting up  
Your dull dim eyes, have let your fancies see  
Those pleasing Images of Loves best joys,  
Which rapt your souls into a paradise  
O● amorous delights.  
To you at least, I cannot but be dear,  
( If I b not deceived) Magnanimous  
Brave Heroes, since I alone am she  
By whom your everlasting monuments,  
Described in glist ring characters of gold,  
And written in the spacious volume of  
The vast celestial sphere, amongst my clear,  
Bright shining signs, do live eternally:  
Environed there, with troops of glorious Stars,  
Amongst a thousand others clearly shines  
He that so many cruel Monsters quelled:  
Nor can I doubt, but I shall be as dear  
To you my amorous spectators, who  
Within your sweet aspects, do sweetly bear  
Beauty and Love, since all my care is how  
To imitate in my bright shining Lamps,  
The glorious beams which shine out of your eyes,  
And since the goddess of rich beauty, and  
That lovely Star, which gently doth inspire  
Into your gentle hearts the flames of Love,  
Is not the least of those bright Sisters, which  
Attend upon my train.  
From you I therefore do desire to know,  
The cause of this so rare an accident:  
What is it I behold here? is not this,  
The Isle of Scyros, this the River where,  
Led by the power of Fate, the Thracian ship,  
All rent and torn, so lately furled up  
Her weather-beaten sails? It is not long since  
I saw the brinish Waves, fall swollen with pride,  
So raise their fierce aspiring rage, against  
High Heaven itself, as that together with  
Those other Fishes which instead of Scales,  
Are all adorned with bright shining stars,  
The swift Celestial Dolphin might have swum,  
Within the neighbouring Sea.  
It is not long since I saw those flashing beams,  
With blazing Ensigns of hot burning flames,  
Run through the spacious Region of the Air,  
And every minute threaten this whole Isle,  
With endless battles of confounding blasts,  
And ever showering Rain.  
Loud claps of Thunder, with their roaring noise,  
As Trumpets of the universe were heard,  
Now here, now there, in those confused wars,  
Of all the troubled Elements to sound  
The bold defiance of the winds.  
Impetuous whirlwinds, with most horrid flaws,  
Those blustering Combatants might then be seen,  
With fearful Shocks to just and Tourney both  
In a fierce Duel 'twixt them two fought here,  
Within the circuit of this Hemisphere:  
Then tell me Mortals, tell me who is he,  
To whom high Heaven hath vouchsafed that Grace,  
To reconcile the disagreeing jars,  
Of such fierce enemies, and settle them  
Thus in a friendly peace.  
Who is it that clears up my dusky looks?  
Dries my now humid Mantle? and thus gilds  
My sable hair? that was so lately hung,  
With dangling Pearls of cold congealed hail,  
And moistened in the fogs of cloudy mists?  
What new create light thus forceth me  
To change my innate quality? Behold  
The late distempered Heavens seem to smile,  
The water's smile, the earth adorned with flowers  
Opens her fruitful bosom, and displays  
Her various store, in emulation of  
My brighter April stars.  
I see no more now of a Tempest here,  
But flashing beams of Honour, blazing lights,  
Of Love and Beauty: O rare Miracle,  
What cannot the all powerful virtue of  
Divine Celestial beauty bring to pass?  
Yours be the thanks blessed eyes, in whose Serene  
Triumphant Arches, still so clearly shines  
A gentle Rainbow, which can pacify,  
Not winds and storms alone, but all the Gusts  
Of a disturbed Soul.  
But Oh! what glorious rays now dart their light  
Upon my gloomy visage? What bright Lamp,  
With too much splendour blinds my feeble sight?  
Though like an immense Peacock I do bear,  
Within my train the sparkling glory of  
A thousand glittering eyes, yet all come short  
Of this so bright an object, and as one  
That still desires to gaze upon so clear,  
So rich a paradise of beauty; now  
I wish I had a thousand more.  
But stay! for there methinks I see the Sun,  
Eternal Painter, now begin to rise,  
And Limn the Heavens, in vermilion die,  
And having dipped his Pencil, aptly framed  
Already in the colour of the Morn,  
With various temper, he doth mix in one,  
Darkn●sse and light: And drawing curiously,  
Straight golden lines, quite thwart the dusky sky,  
A rough draught of the day he seems to yield,  
With Red and Tawny in an Azure Field.  
Already by the clattering of their Bits,  
Their gingling harness, and their neighing sound,  
I hear Eous, and fierce Pirous,  
Come panting at my back: and therefore I,  
Must fly away, and yet I do not fly.  
But follow on my regulated course,  
And those eternal Ordors I received  
From the first mover of the universe,  
I do not fly the dawning of the day,  
For envy of the light, or those bright rays,  
Which deck the beauty of the blushing morn;  
I do not fly the Sun, because I think  
It any shame to me, that he should thus  
Follow, and drive me now away from hence;  
No, no, I fly( white snowy foreheads) from  
Your clearer morning light, I fly, I fly.  
( Fair beauteous eyes) from your bright shining beams;  
Not that I scorn to be o'ercome by them,  
By whom the Sun is proud to be out-shined,  
And dazzled with their light: but I am loath  
To break the laws of Love, and 'tis Loves law,  
That all the turns of Nature should subject  
Themselves to change; and I should not retard  
My quick return too long, to them that live  
Beyond this Sphere, and now expect me there.  
Thou then kind sleep, free those dull eyes that lie,  
Oppressed with slumber; and thou silence tie,  
Men's busy tongues, that this day all the world,  
May with kind looks, and tacit thoughts behold,  
The admirable fortune and rare fate,  
Of Thirsis and fair Phillis those two blessed,  
Procurers of this Islands happy rest,  
And you dear daughters of the humid air,  
Begotten by the influence of the Moon,  
You fruitful nourishers of herbs and flowers,  
Fresh morning Dews, now shut your silver urns;  
For now the fields have satisfied their thirst,  
And meads have drunk their fill: fly you swift hours  
And lightly hasten to the latest step,  
Of that large scale, by which I use to pass,  
Beyond the bounds of this Horizon, Flie.  
And you bright followers of Cynthia, now  
Pursue the dance which to the Harmony,  
Of the Celestial Spheres, you use to tread  
Upon the Airs vast theatre, and whilst  
Sweet pleasing music fills the courteous ears,  
Of all these beautiful Spectators here.  
Put out your Lights, for now the night is done,  
And leave your places to th' approaching Sun.   

Filli di Sciro, OR PHLLIS of SCYROS:  

ACT. 1.  

SCENA 1.  MELISSO, SIRENO. Mel. 
BEhold the dawning light, give ear unto  
The gentle murmurings of the morning Air,  
Which is high Heavens sacring Bell, that calls  
The drowsy birds, to pay their homage to  
The rising Sun.  
And tell me then, if ever man yet saw,  
So fair a morning, breath so sweet a gale,  
Out of the gloomy bosom of so foul a night?  
See with what dear delight it seems to steal  
The Stars from Heaven, and store the earth with Flowers,  
O blessed Banks! do not these Roses look,  
Like stars sent from their sphere to adorn this Brook?  Sir. 
It seems a dream Melisso, for of late  
The world was out of course; the troubled Clouds  
Laboured, as overwhelmed with the Sea;  
And the bright Heavens as darkened with her Waves,  
Thunderbolts shot themselves through furious Gusts,  
Which threatened nothing but a boisterous storm,  
And ever now, and then, a fearful light,  
Blazed from the skies; which by those flashing beams,  
Seemed in a triumph to show forth their power.  
The blustering winds strove by their whirling blasts,  
To shake the deep foundations of the earth:  
Instead of rain, the rivers swollen with pride,  
And scorning to be kept within the Banks,  
Of muddy clay, seemed to outface the Air;  
And I amazed cried, shall then the earth,  
Be by another Sea from Heaven overwhelmed?  
To tell the truth, I durst not then presume,  
To stir out of my Cell surprised with fear,  
To look upon the Weather-beaten fields:  
Or see these flowers all torn up by the roots,  
And view the Corn lie shaken with the storm,  
Here boughs torn from the trees, there trees rent up,  
And everywhere th' unhappy Trophies then  
Of Heaven warring against sinful men.  
And yet, behold I see these gentle Plants  
Adorned, and decked, with their green tresses still.  
There's not a leaf, which fallen from off a Bow,  
Lies withered by the tree, from which it fell.  
Each Valley, Meadow, and each fertile field,  
More fruitful now then ever, do I see,  
Enamelled with fair flowers, mixed with green herbs,  
And bragging as it were, of heavens high Grace.  
O wonderful! shall than the injuries  
Of heaven, become earth's greatest happiness?  
And such foul storms produce such fruitfulness?  Mel. 
Sireno, heaven never varies from these Laws,  
And these eternal bounds, to which it's tied;  
But it foretells some fearful prodigy;  
For 'tis the Master of all future chance.  
And all the lights, and all the turns it brings,  
Are tongues which talk in a celestial tone:  
And if it Thunder, or send lightning forth,  
Even that's a muttering language, which it speaks.  
And haply, this vain terror, which the night  
Brought upon us fond men, to which succeeds,  
Beyond all human hope, so blithe a morn,  
Is sent from thence, to tell us that we may,  
After a short tempestuous storm of sad annoy,  
Hope for the cheerful beams of unexpected joy.  Sir. 
Alas, Melisso, can it be believed?  
If Heaven had care of us, the Sun would sure;  
Rather than thus display his glorious beams,  
Conceal himself under those watery clouds,  
From looking on these certain miseries,  
Which now attend us.  
Know'st thou not then, that on this woeful shore,  
Oronte is arrived, the Minister  
Of the Great King, and of our endless Woe?  Mel. 
I know it not, who came but yesternight,  
Just at the setting of the evening Sun,  
With Cloris my dear daughter from the holy Isle,  
Whither we went, as you know very well,  
At the beginning of the youthful spring:  
And since in Scyros I have made abode,  
Where I already have beheld the fields,  
Three times wax yellow with the summer's heat  
And thrice grow hoary with the winter's Frost.  
I cannot call to mind, that ere I saw,  
Any such man come here.  Sir. 
'Tis true he comes not, but each fifteen years,  
Yet leaves a sad remembrance here behind  
Of an eternal Woe.  
O Melisso, Melisso, ere thou seeest  
Th' unlucky bat, fly through the dusky air,  
Or hearest the night Owl shriek, thou yet shalt hear,  
The woeful plaints of silly Infants, sound  
The deep laments of Scyros.  
But I must go, for time calls me, to haste  
Unto the Temple, to adore the Gods.  Mel. 
The Temple is yet shut; and is not far  
Distant from hence, here we may stay a while,  
Under this bright and spacious Hemisphere,  
Until the Sun send out his golden rays,  
To guild the silver skies, and so extract  
The morning beams, out of this dawning light:  
Then with the rising Sun, and not before,  
The sacred Priest sets open the Temple door:  
And in the interim, thou Mayest here inform  
Me, who this man is, what those ills he brings,  
From whence and wherefore he arrived here.  
For loves-sake, let me know, our common grieves,  
That whilst all others mourn, I may not be  
Careless alone to wail our misery.  Sir. 
I'll tell thee then Meliss' and thou shalt hear,  
In two short sighs, our long continue woes;  
Thou canst not but already understand,  
That when the Thracian bold, Grand Signior first  Mel. 
O sad beginning from a tyrant's name!  Sir. 
Subdued unto his barbarous Empire all,  
The Towns and Cities seated round the Coasts  
Of the Aegean Sea.  
He a most cruel tribute then imposed.  
Not of fine Wool, nor of our woolly flocks,  
Not of our horned herds, of Gold or Gems,  
The base offspring, of Dame nature's Womb;  
But of our proper Children, which to us  
Are the dear gifts of Heaven, of those sweet Imps,  
And tender Infants, which from two years old  
Had not yet breathed out five years of their Age.  Mel. 
I know it well.  Sir. 
He than doth every fifteen years employ  
A Captain, from these Coasts, to bear away  
Those pretty little slaves, who from each place,  
Some ten, a hundred, or a thousand takes;  
According as the place abounds in store.  
And from this most unhappy Island here,  
Great only in the sorrows which it feels,  
Twenty, and twenty, he exacts by course,  
Such as amongst a thousand chosen first  
By his own will, shall by a cursed lot,  
Be destined to his power:  
That cursed lot, which fifteen years agone  
Made poor Ormino, and myself, become,  
Above all forlorn Parents, most forlorn;  
( Alas I cannot hold from sad laments,  
Each minute that I think on't.)  
Then, then, I say, this self same man, this same  
Oronte, snatched from him Thirsis his son,  
From me my daughter Phillis, and from both  
Our very hearts; O me most wretched man!  Mel. 
Could not the children of Ormino then,  
And of Siren, which are descended from  
The great Achilles, those young Imps of love  
Through whom all Scyros is so famous grown  
Be spared in Scyros? Is there no regard  
In Kings, to those that are derived from Kings?  Sir. 
O no Melisso, no; Kings Royal blood,  
Without a Royal sceptre brings small good:  
And who dost thou believe, would think to find  
Under a lowly Hut, a shepherd's Weed  
Amidst our simple manners, Royal Seed?  Mel. 
If men cannot, Sireno, yet Heaven should,  
Bright Heaven, which sees, what yet the Sun ne'er saw  
And Heaven may one day yet some pity take,  
And some Compassion of our Misery:  
But tell me then, is he that's here arrived,  
A Thracian Captain, and a Thracian born?  Sir. 
A Thracian of Bisantium, and the great  
Servant, and favourite of the Thracian King  
( If all be true, which when his fatal foot  
Last trod in Scyros, I was made believe)  
And his great charge it is to take a care,  
Of all these tributes upon which his thoughts  
Are so intentive, as he hath not past  
One day of his due time since fifteen years  
Are this day just complete, and he returned  
Hither again, to re●ovate our woes.  
As if both Winds and Waters had conspired,  
To bring him flying hither.  Mel. 
No more, new cares even now suggest themselves  
Unto my thoughts, and bid me hast away.  Sir. 
Go, and be happy, as thy heart can wish,  
And I will to the Temple bend my steps:  
And thence unto the place, where under Tents  
Oronte lies lodged by the Ocean shore,  
To learn at least, if my poor Phillis came  
Alive unto the Thracian strand.   

Act. 1 scene 2.  Cloris. Melisso. Clo 
Celia, my Celia:  
But she's not here, nor answers to my call.  Mel. 
Ah daughter Cloris!  Clo. 
Alas my father! whither now so fast?  
Why with so sad a look?  Mel. 
To thee I come my child.  Clo. 
To me so troubled? woes me what's the cause?  
What is the sad misfortune that you bring?  Mel. 
Thracians arrived in Scyros: to this shore,  
Death comes conducted by thine enemies:  
Thou know'st too well, how that great Tyrant seeks,  
And thirsteth for thy blood.  Clo. 
Ah me Thirsis, o Thirsis!  
Ah my dearest Soul!  Mel. 
But fear not daughter; and yet prithee fear,  
Fear, yea and tremble too; a surer Guard,  
Then fear is, cannot now preserve thee safe;  
In thine own hands thy welfare then consists;  
And to a tender maiden's heart, and easier help  
Cannot be well prescribed then fear.  Clo. 
You are deceived Sir: Heaven yet denies  
To grant me such a favour, as to fear:  
Whilst I am unresolved, and cannot learn,  
Whether my Thirsis be alive or dead.  
I cannot well tell whether I should fear,  
Or rather seek mine end,  
O Thirsis, Thirsis!  
If I a thousand times on thy loud name  
Have called in vain, at least in this so great,  
So sudden danger, answer me, and say,  
Art thou alive or dead?  
Dead or alive my Thirsis, tell me, Dear  
Where must I seek thee out, amongst the cold  
And naked shadows of unclothed souls,  
Or amongst living Men?  Mel. 
Poor silly fool; See how her fancy raves  
Still upon love: Dost thou believe that death  
Bears such an Amorous look, that thou dar'st play  
Thus with thy love, whilst he sits on thy Brow?  Clo. 
If my loved Thrisis be amongst the dead,  
Death cannot but seem lovely then to me.  
And if perhaps( dear Father) you have sought  
Out of a needless pity to my woe,  
Still to conceal his death:  
High Heaven then( I know not which to say)  
Reward, or pardon, this your pious fraud,  
For what is past already: But since Fate  
By these rude Thracians hands, doth open now,  
So large a Path unto my wished end;  
Cease then at last that merciful deceit,  
Which is to me so cruel: For if death  
Have seized upon my Thirsis, than I know  
That Death and He expect me both below.  
And since he sees me now so near the Bark  
That may transport me thither, lo methinks  
I see him come to meet me: and whilst he  
Kind loving soul, puts forth his hand to me,  
Shall I turn back from him? Ay me!  Mel. 
With those deep sighs, let all thy fancy's end,  
Thy Thirsis lives, I say, thy Thirsis lives;  
But thou art too incredulous: I oft  
Have sworn by Heaven and Earth 'tis true; yet thou  
Wilt not believe it; see I swear again,  
Again he lives, and to thy love he lives,  
And to thy Spousal Rites, and to thy Life  
His Life he still preserves.  Clo. 
Is it then true, and may it be believed?  
Lives yet my Thirsis? shall I ever see  
That day, when I may see him once again?  Mel. 
Thou shalt, if thou wilt but attend the time:  Clo. 
But when, how long, how long shall that time be?  Mel. 
Not long: Dost thou not see that Heaven which brings  
And Marshals all our days, is restless still,  
And in continual motion hastens on  
With all the speed it can?  
Suffer the Fates then to produce their Will  
In their appointed time, and force them not  
By an abortive Birth to bring thy Hopes,  
To an untimely end.  Clo. 
What shall I do then, where, which way shall I  
Defend my Life from cruel Thracians Hands,  
Already I do fear and tremble.  Mel. 
Even Hope itself, hath taught thee now to fear.  Clo. 
Will you that in the Fields, the Woods, the Caves  
I hide myself, or seek remoter parts?  Mel. 
But what remoter Parts can be found out,  
Where thou mayst follow either Beasts or herds,  
And not a Thracian trace thee by thy steps.  
A Fair young Maid, if she remain alone  
In secret places, cannot be secure  
Where Thracians walk the Round.  Clo. 
Will you that then I Sail unto the Rocks?  
Thither 'tis certain neither Beasts nor herds  
Can draw the greedy Thracians to pursue me,  
I'll go, and if I cannot find a bark  
Ready to wast me from this luckless Shore,  
Though yet the troubled Sea, be not at rest  
I'll Swim to save my Life.  Mel. 
Fear makes thee now too bold: shall a weak Maid  
By swimming, dare to press the angry Waves  
Of a tumultuous Sea? Swim to the Rocks?  
No, no, my Child, not in a well rigged Boat.  
The Coast is full of People, on the Shore  
The Thracian Captain, keeps his Residence.  Clo. 
Is there no way left for me to escape?  Mel. 
I with my Hooks and Nets, will towards the Sea,  
Direct my steps pretending there to fish,  
And so shall spy which way the Thracians tend,  
And' er't be long return to thee again  
With a more sure advice.  Clo. 
And wretched I, what shall I do the while?  Mel. 
Wait here about's, in open view of all,  
Th' art yet secure, and till I shall return  
Leave all the care to me: Let none perceive  
That either flight or fear, sits on thy Brow:  
If nymphs come here for shade, doubt not to put  
Thyself into their company, discourse,  
And laugh, and play, and pass the time away.  
If thus the Thracians find thee with thy fears,  
Thou mayst perhaps pass unregarded.  
And yet I know not how those eyes of thine  
Send forth a sparkling light, which cannot shine,  
In any eyes besides; it shows itself  
But too too glorious, such resplendent beams  
Cannot remain concealed.  
Let fall thy hair in some quaint wanton guise  
Over thy forehead, that in part it may  
Cover those darting looks: The less thou showst,  
Fair as thou art the less thou shalt appear  
Like to thyself.  Clo. 
See not my hair alone disheveled, but  
My veil let loose; Oh me I'm too too rude.  Mel. 
And yet thou'rt not less fair, but thy best guard  
Consists in the discretion of thy words.  
Dost thou remember what was taught thee, when  
Thou wert a little prattling girl: Canst thou  
Answer to him shall ask thee who thou art?  Clo. 
Yes, very well.  Mel. 
Answer me then. What is thy name?  Clo. 
Cloris, Mel. Where wert thou born?  Clo. 
In Smyrna. Mel. Who begot thee there?  Clo. 
Melisso of Armilla.  Mel. 
Thirsis? Clo. I know not who you mean.  Mel. 
Eillis? Clo. I understand you not.  Mel. 
Thracia? Clo. I never yet was there.  Mel. 
Right, right, 'tis right, such thy Answers be  
Beware of faltering if thou love thy life.  
Does no man here us? See there comes a Nymph  
Down from the Wood.  Clo. 
Oh, oh 'tis Celia, she that hath my heart,  
She whom I wandered up and down to find.  Mel. 
Stay then with her.   

Act. 1 Scen. 3.  Cloris. Celia. Clo. 
O My sweet Celia, Scarce had I robbed  
The Fertile Earth of a few fragrant Flowers.  
Before I lost the sight of the: But why  
Turnest thou away those eyes, and why those steps  
In such a troubled guise? dost thou disdain  
That I should look upon thee once again?  
What sudden change is this? when first I came,  
This morning to thy lodge, scarce didst thou deign  
To entertain me with a seeming smile:  
Which yet discovered plainly that thy Heart  
Answered not to thy looks: and when thou then  
With thy neglecting Arms didst make a show,  
As if thou wouldst embrace me, thou didst not  
Hug me close in thy bosom: but at last  
From thy cold frozen Lips, thou didst let fall;  
Not dart a kiss at me and with a soft  
Dull fainting voice, I knew not if thou saidst  
thou'rt welcome Cloris, but 'tis sure enough,  
I could not hear thee say, as thou wert wont,  
( Whilst I was dear to thee) my life, my heart,  
My gentle Cloris welcome.  
After all this thou gav'st thyself to stray,  
And wander up and down, troubled and sad,  
I follow thee, thou fliest,  
I speak, thou wilt not answer me,  
I look upon thy lovely Face, thou weepest,  
And dost thou hate me then ingrateful Wench  
What have I done, that could deserve thy hate?  
Or rather, what' Is't that I have not done  
To make thee love me? Are we still the same  
That we were wont to be?  
Am I still Cloris, art thou Celia?  Celia. 
O grief that Wounds my Heart, Ah grant me but  
So short a respite as may give me leave  
To answer her, and yet conceal my grief.  Clo. 
And wilt thou thou then discourteous as thou art,  
Deny to me a part of these lost words  
which thou so freely spendest in the air?  
Who must I speak to now, since thou deniest  
To give me Answer? What' Is't I must do?  
Aim, since thou, who only heretofore,'  
Wert wont to lessen my tormenting pains,  
Art now she that torments me? but alas,  
This happily is some prodigious sign,  
Of my more desperate ruin, and perhaps  
High Heaven hath decreed, my tears shall be  
Eternal, since it now denies to stay  
Her that was wont to wipe them all away.  Celia. 
Ah Cloris, Ah my Life!  Clo. 
That same, my Life, comes from thy mouth per force.  
I know it well enough, 'twas not thy Heart  
That sent it thither.  Celia. 
Let them dissemble then that can, my Tongue  
Cannot tell how to give my heart the lie;  
Hear me then Cloris, and I do not say  
Life, of my Life, because my Life to me,  
Is now a burden; but thou art not so.  
I am no more that Celia, that I was.  
'tis true: but what so ere I am, I fly,  
And hate myself, not thee:  
Thus far thou mayst know of me, but no more;  
Permit me then to wander still alone,  
In secret horrors of the savage Woods,  
Where through obscurity of darksome shades  
I may not see myself.  Clo. 
Ahyme, what new malignant Star  
Hath Heaven produced that can compel thy grief,  
Thus to neglect itself? and shall I then  
Forsake thee too? Not till I know thy ill.  
Yet what but love, and his most intricate  
turmoils, can trouble thus thy happy state?  
I oft have heard the wisest lovers say  
He knows no grief, that knows not loves delay.  
For else what can it be? unless perhaps,  
( And can that bring so great a misery?  
Mongst other nymphs upon some solemn day;  
Thy Darts or Arrows, have not cleft the Mark;  
Or by misfortune, happily thou hast lost  
Thy goodly Ivory Bow: I see it not  
Hang by thy side: Or is thy gentle Kid  
Thy dearest dear delight( and this 'tis true  
Is the most sad mishap ill luck can send)  
Is he, I say, come to untimely end?  Celia. 
He was at least the cause of all my woe  
For by his means I did become the prey  
Of Eurito the Centaur: whence arose  
The spring and source of all my misery,  Clo. 
Wert thou the Centaurs prey? and how? and when?  
Do not conceal so strange an accident.  Colia. 
I'll tell it thee, but ask me then no more.  Clo. 
Be it as thou wilt have it.  Celia. 
Hear then, and when I have declared,  
The mournful story of my ravishment  
Be thou content to leave me here alone.  Clo. 
Go on I prithee.  Celia. 
That very day when thou( about to take  
Thy journey to those Solemn Festivals,  
Which in the Holy Isle they celebrate  
To the great Goddess) camest to take thy leave,  
Of me at my poor Cell: I to restrain  
Those Tears which thy departure forced me to,  
( As if I had foreseen( Woos me) that soon,  
I should have have far more urgent cause to give  
Full scope to their impetuous Torrent)  
I gave myself the liberty to sport  
And dally with that nimble frisking Kid:  
Whose gentle Gamesomeness, was wont to cheer  
All my sad froward thoughts; whilst they were such,  
As could admit of any gamesomeness.  
That harmless Beast, or in his harmless shape  
My perverse fortune, by a thousand trains●  
Of wanton sports, enticed me to that Shore  
Where the proud Sea hath wrought itself so near  
Unto the Woods, that shadows seem to swim,  
And floods repose themselves under the shade.  
There whilst I spent some time to gather up  
Such Cockle shells, as Nature had adorned  
With various pride, that I might weave them straight,  
Into a colour for my pretty Kid,  
Behind me I could hear the rushing noise  
Of a rude boisterous creature, and ere scarce  
I well could turn mine eyes, I might perceive  
Close at my back, I know not which to say  
A man or beast: Whose fury came so fast,  
As flung the smaller Sands into my face,  
And forced me shut mine eyes:  
Thus neither seeing how, nor yet by whom,  
I felt myself snatched up and born away.  
Fain would I have cried out, but my weak voice,  
Not daring to put forth itself, retired  
And fled in silence to my throbbing Heart.  
Whilst I, as one half dead, could not recall  
My straggling senses back, till I was brought  
Into the inmost parts of those thick Woods.  
And found myself become the wretched prey,  
Of a most horrid Monster.  
I found myself( and tremble yet to think  
What then I found) close grasped within the Arms  
Of that misshapen Cent aur, that foul fiend,  
Whom thou mayst yet if thou hast so much heart,  
Lodged in thine eyes, behold and wonder at  
Thyself, within the Temple.  Clo. 
Alas my hair stands upright on an end  
To hear him but described.  Celia. 
There, to a sturdy Oak, he bound me fast  
And re-enforct his base inhuman bonds  
With the than danglinst Tresses of my hair,  
Ingrateful hair, ill-nurtured wicked Locks!  
The cruel wretch than took up from the foot  
Both my loose tender garments, and at once  
Rent them from end to end: Imagine then  
Whether my crimson red, through shame was changed  
Into a pale wan tincture, yea or no.  
I that was looking towards Heaven then,  
And with my cries imploring aid from thence,  
Upon a sudden to the Earth let fall  
My shamefaced eyes, and shut them close, as if  
Under mine eyelids, I could cover all  
My naked Members, but considering well  
His fell intent, with a deep groaning sigh,  
To him I said, behold me ready now  
Fit for thy ravenous throat, come quickly, come,  
And satiate thy beastly hunger.  Clo. 
And why his hunger, say, poor silly wretch?  Celia. 
That being once devoured, I might at least  
Within his paunch conceal my nakedness.  Clo. 
And dost thou then believe, that Centaurs use  
To feed upon young tender Maids?  Celia. 
Nerea believes it not, but laughed aloud  
When first I told it her; but prithee say,  
Why should he so desire to have me bound,  
And naked as I was but that he might  
Swallow me up alive, and with more ease  
Convey me piecemeal gliding down his throat?  
And even then he came with open Arms,  
And snatched to gripe me by the naked breast,  
When, lo, two Shepheads running fast for haste  
Came in unto my rescue.  Clo. 
Oh! how my heart's revived! and who were those  
Whom Heaven in pity chose out for thine aid?  Celia. 
Amyntas, old Sirenos Son, whose joy  
And whole delights in Hunting, with his friend  
Niso, a stranger, whom thou dost not know.  
Ay me poor soul!  Clo. 
What! art thou sighing still?  Celia. 
I have good cause.  Clo. 
But how came it to pass that in a place  
So far remote, two Shepherds should arrive  
Both at one instance?  Celia. 
Amyntas, was within the Valley where  
He stood to Watch his toils, and Niso came  
From the Sea shore, whither but then the Winds  
Had brought him from a Country far away,  
And both brought thither by my shrieking cries:  
They both arrived together; where the one  
Lets fly his Dart, the other shoots a Shaft,  
And neither one nor other missed his aim.  
The cruel Centaur thus but lightly hurt  
In his left shoulder, and in his right arm  
Lost some small blood, which was supplied with rage:  
And so betwixt them three, there soon begun  
A fierce and bloody fight, till that proud beast  
Scorning that two such Stripling should have power  
So to withstand his fury, thought at once  
To strike a deadly blow, by which he meant  
To speed them both, and brandashing his Beam,  
The Tree which happily some pity felt  
Of my sad state, did so involve it in  
The knotty intricacies of his boughs,  
As it fell from his hand:  
And he that found his arm thus without arms,  
And without heart, his heart betook him straight  
To a most shameful slight, and from the Woods  
whilst he up towards the Mountains took his way  
It was his fortune to fall in those toils  
Which to catch other beasts, Amyntas had  
Before placed in the Yale.  Clo. 
And so the insolent proud villain was  
Himself made now their prey.  Celia. 
The Shepherds followed him; but yet not far  
Ere they fell to the Earth, through loss of blood,  
Which from their wounds did like a Torrent flow,  
And ran even to my feet, sad Messenger  
Of their approaching ends, to crave mine aid.  
I shall now tell thee Cloris, what will seem  
A wonder to thee, yet it is most true:  
Pity to see their case, made me to strain  
Myself with so much force, as I got free  
From all my bonds, even from those self same bonds  
I freed myself, to give another aid,  
Which I a thousand times had tried before  
For mine own safety, and could not unloose.  
When I was free, I had almost for haste  
Run to them naked; but consider now  
A strange affection.  Clo. 
And what hast thou told yet, that is not strange?  Celia. 
When I was got where those two Shepherds lay  
Half dead, half living, and in reason should  
Have stopped their bleeding wounds up with my veil,  
I first beheld the one, and then the other,  
To this I went and afterwards to that,  
Desiring still to help them both at once,  
And yet gave help to neither, as not well  
Resolved to whom I first should lend my help;  
At last I did begin, but knew not where,  
And whilst my hand, was busy about one  
My heart ran to the other, so that I  
Could not well know to which I wished more ease.  Clo. 
What didst thou do at last?  Celia. 
All that I could, yet all was nothing worth:  
Till those same fearful howlings, which against Heaven,  
That horrid Monster sent up from the Toils  
Made all the Valleys far and near to Ring,  
And drew both nymphs and Sheapherds to those parts,  
Where when they came, too soon to them appears  
Two overwhelmed in blood, and one in tears.  
They speedily conveyed the wounded pair  
To old Sirenos House, the Father of  
Poor young Amyntas.  Clo. 
And live they yet? yet their strength restored?  Celia. 
I cannot tell.  Clo. 
And canst thou take so little care for those  
Who for thy safety thus engaged their lives?  
Sure thou art too ingrate.  Celia. 
Cloris, no more, this is the Period, when  
I must enjoin thee silence, thou hast heard  
All that thou didst demand, now let me part;  
Ay me, what do I see?  Clo. 
What hath she espied out there? why did she turn  
Her steps so suddenly another way?  
Ho! Celia, it is a Shepherd, and I think,  
It be Amyntas.   

Act. 1. Scen. 4.  AMYNTAS. 
THanks be to Heaven, I am now returned  
Once more to solace in these fertile Fields  
To breath in open air, and to behold  
This glorious Sun again; Ye Sacred Gods,  
If when to you I sent my humble prayers,  
You did restore life to my liveless Limbs,  
Give now a lively spirit to my soul  
Whilst I with true devotion pay my vows,  
And lowly thus adore this blessed Sun.  
I do adore the Sun; but where alas,  
Where is the sun's fair Idol, which above  
This Sun I must adore? I pay my vows  
Unto the Sun that hath restored my life?  
But woes me, where is she that is my life?  
I cannot see thee my sweet Celia, and yet  
Thou art alone the life I must implore  
And thou the Idol which I must adore.  
Where art thou then, where dost thou hide thyself?  
Celia that art the brightness of the Spheres,  
Sent like a flash of lightning, first to smite  
My tender heart, and then to vanish quite,  
Thou fleddest from me then, when I could not  
Remove my foot from deaths infernal snare:  
But into what part canst thou wander now  
Whither I will not follow thee, through Woods  
Through lowly Valleys, and o'er Mountains Tops:  
I will pursue the still, though still in vain,  
I hunt thy footsteps with Eternal pain.  
It shall be my delight to lick the Earth,  
Where thy fair foot hath trod; it may be known,  
By the sweet Flowers, where they do thickest grow.  
It shall be my delight to suck the air,  
Which once hath kissed thy Face; it may be known  
By the calm blasts where they do sweetest blow.  
It shall be my delight still to admire,  
And still admiring, seek thy beauteous Rays  
Amongst vermilion Roses, and amongst  
The whitest lilies, and the fairest Flowers;  
Amongst the glittering Stars, and in that Shpere,  
Where the bright Sun most glorious doth appear.  
But yet fond fool in vain mine eyes do gaze  
First up to Heaven, and then down on Earth;  
I see the Sun, Roses and gillyflowers,  
But cannot see my Celia, without whom  
The Sun in all his glory gives no light,  
Nor the best coloured flowers can please my sight.  
O you dead semblances of lively worth,  
You are too dull displayers of her rich,  
Of her diviner beauty; come my dear,  
My dearest Celia come, for thou alone  
Art to mine eyes, thine own true Paragon:  
But hear I not one whistle here hard by,  
Is it not Niso? sure it must be he:  
And then he's in pursuit to find me out;  
My dear beloved Niso, he cannot  
Without me well stay long in any place:  
For since he lately came to make abode  
With us in Scyros here, the Sun by day,  
Nor yet the Stars by night have never seen  
Him far off from my side.  
What then shall I do now, or how can I  
Conceal from him, what turns love hath produced  
Within my amorous Soul? I yet am but  
Young in loves school; but he hath learned to love  
From his first infancy, and now he bears  
Grave ancient love, in lusty youthful years;  
I may do well then to disclose myself  
To him, whose long experience is fit  
To give me good advice, and so procure,  
Some help to ease me in my misery.  
But shall Amyntas then, Amyntas who  
Hath ever been a hunter, and professed  
Himself an open enemy to love,  
Confess himself to be a lover now?  
I am in love, but shame to say I am;  
I therefore will take her advice that was  
The Mistress of loves School, I will make known  
The love, but not the lover, and so frame  
Means to conceal myself, yet show my flame.   

Act. 1. Scen. 5.  AMYNTAS. NISO. AMyntas. 
Whether Oh Niso? Nis'. To Amyntas, but  
Whether without his Niso, doth Amyntas go?  Amyn. 
Unto the Temple, I:  Niso. 
And thither I will bear thee company.  
But let me here Amyntas breathe a while,  
For I begin to faint; my hurt is cured,  
But yet my feet tread not a steady pace:  
They tremble still, and still my dazzling eyes  
Deceive my sight, so that it seems my heart  
Dare not rest confident on either part.  Amynt. 
No marvel, since we scarcely yet have left  
Those beds of sloth, wherein we both have lain  
Wounded, and kept in dark obscurity  
So long, that thrice the love-sick Moon hath wooed  
The Sun to reinforce her borrowed light.  Niso. 
Yet thou so lightly o'er these rugged fields  
Dost haste away, as I can scarce pursue  
Thy footsteps with mine eyes.  Amynt. 
O Niso! such a sweetness seems to breath  
Of late, methinks, from earth and heaven both,  
As 'tis no wonder if it do deceive  
My trembling limbs, though faint with loss of blood,  
Since it already hath deceived my heart;  
Which, as if I had never touched the ground,  
Hath brought me flying hither.  Niso. 
Some woody Deity perhaps hath caught  
My gentle young Amyntas in his arms,  
To waft him o'er the Plains.  Amynt. 
Mock not, dear Nisis, no, it was a God,  
Believe't it was, but a celestial God;  
No Godhead of the Woods, a God with wings,  
That without wings can teach us men to fly.  
But I disclose myself too far.  Niso. 
Some jest or other now thou fain wouldst put  
Upon poor love, to laugh him still to scorn:  
But do not jest too far, Love is no Boy,  
●●leeve me, Friend, that will be jested with.  Amynt. 
Niso, thou dost me wrong, I'm no such man;  
Or if I be, 'tis thou ledest me the way.  Niso. 
Who I? no, no, whilst we lay wounded both,  
Nor Nymph, nor shepherd came to visit us,  
In whose discourse I found not something still  
That did not point at thy neglect of love,  
They told me that thou never mentionedst him  
Without contempt and scorn, that in disdain  
Of his great power, as Trophies of thy pride;  
When other shepherds in the long lived Oak,  
Or in the tender bark of some young sprout  
Had graved the marks of their eternal flame,  
Thou there wouldst carve thy name, inlaced with  
Th' inhuman title which proclaims the still  
To be Amyntas the young Hunter, and to Love  
An Enemy professed. And wilt thou now  
Profess thyself a Lover?  Amynt. 
This did I never do; but say I did,  
Am I the first of Loves professed foes  
Whom he hath overcome?  Niso. 
I would thou wert, so I might see thee once  
By Love in triumph brought into the troops  
Of his sworn servants; then perhaps I might  
With confidence unfold the wound that now  
Lies hid within, and grates my bleeding heart,  
Whereas I yet dare scarce let go a sigh,  
Lest thou shouldst once take notice when it breathes.  
Woes me, how many have I forced back,  
Even from my lips into my heart again!  
And if at unawares one hath stolen out,  
How have I feared lest while thou shouldst deride  
My feeling passion, Love should in his rage  
Let sly his Dart at me, for having spent  
His treasures so profusely before those  
Who do despise his power.  Amynt. 
Niso, thou art deceived; for even I  
Can pity others sighs, O that I could  
As soon give ease to him that sighs for love!  
Perhaps I might a shepherd then restore  
To life again, who now lies at death's door.  
But thou that long hast learned to know Loves wiles,  
Hear but his case, and tell me then if yet  
In all Loves kingdom there may be found out  
A means to cure his ill.  Niso. 
I in loves Kingdom nothing know, but how  
With art to drop Salt tears upon the flame  
That burns within my heart.  
To weep and burn is all I know of love:  
But is that Shepherd one whom I have seen?  Amyn. 
Yes, thou hast seen him, and dost love him too,  
As dearly as thy life.  Niso. 
What's she for whom he mourns?  Amyn. 
The fairest nymph that ere these fruitful fields  
Of Scyros here, have yet beheld display  
The dangling Tresses of her golden Hair,  
That every gentle blast might therein weave  
A net to catch poor loving souls withal:  
But more of her anon. Thou first shalt hear  
The mournful story of her dying love:  
Mournful indeed it is, and yet but short,  
Since one short hour, brought him to misery:  
Yet even he did once profess himself  
Loves open enemy, till at the last,  
His fate would have it so that by mischance  
He too was wounded in his nymph's defence:  Niso. 
But for what cause?  Amyn. 
That thou shalt know hereafter; now observe  
The nymph thus far took pity of his hurt  
That many a time and oft, she bathed his wounds  
In the distilled floods of lukewarm tears,  
And sweetly breathing on them with her sighs  
She seemed to murmur out some powerful charm,  
With which she hoped to mitigate his pain,  
But whilst his tender hearted Surgeon thus  
Applied her salves of pity to his wounds  
She struck him to the heart, when he poor soul,  
Finding he had received a mortal blow,  
Sued for relief, but in an instance she  
Turned all her pity into cruelty,  
And flying thence, as from a Basilisque,  
Could never since be drawn to see him more.  Niso. 
Oh my beloved Amyntas, I must needs  
Hug thee within these arms, and kiss thee for  
This pretty quaint disguise.  Amynt. 
Canst thou imagine then who 'tis I mean?  Niso. 
And canst thou think, I can be ignorant  
Of him thou wouldst decipher, though his name  
Be locked up still in silence?  Amyn. 
Do thou pronounce it then, for I confess  
I blush so for him, that I dare not do't.  Niso. 
I will, and( if thou dost desire it) in a voice  
That's audible to all the world.  
'Tis Niso, Niso, do not blush for me,  
For I shall bless my fates that it is so.  
Go thou that livest free from loves command,  
And from his amorous bonds, lift up thy proud  
Untamed Crest, to me this yoke is sweet,  
And Niso doth profess himself to be  
The shepherd thus subdued to loves behest.  
She that with pity wounded him at first,  
And kills him now with cruelty, is called,  
The fairest Celia, for Celia, alas  
For Celia I burn, for her I sigh  
It cannot be denied.  Amyn. 
Though sigh for Celia? sure it cannot be,  
Nor can I yet believe it can be so;  
It is another fuel feeds thy flame,  
And all thy sighs sound out another name.  Niso. 
Wilt thou not then believe me? or is this  
A gentle Artifice for my new love  
To tax my fault, blame mine inconstancy?  
If I have other fuel to my fire,  
Or other heat to warm my fainting soul  
That fuel is to Ashes burnt by this.  
And all that heat extinguished by this flame.  
If any other name sound in my sighs,  
'Tis barely then a name, a shadow void  
Of any subject, or a beauty spent  
And long agone extinct,  
But now for Celia in lively flames  
I burn indeed, and so shall burning die,  
Unless Amyntas help me speedily:  Amyn. 
See, see, alas, he seeks to me for help  
That gives me my death's wound:  
But I cannot believe thee yet; say how,  
And when did Love possess thee thus?  Niso. 
Whilst wounded there I lay, almost extinct,  
Within the arms of death, the gentle gale  
Of her sweet breathing sighs, under th' aspect  
Of two heart-killing Stars( O fatal birth!)  
My love at first took life,  
And Love becoming thus the Son of Death,  
In imitation of his mother's power,  
Kills me, and yet remains himself alive.  
And thus I die, yet even after death  
My love must live, and love eternally.  Amynt. 
Thus Love hath in one strait, and by one toil  
Within in one instant gained a double spoil.  Niso. 
As well then as thou feignest, thou dost know  
That under other shadows thou hast now  
From point to point declared my malady:  
Nor can I tell how long my silence should  
Thus blazon forth my woe.  
Unless perhaps I told it in a dream,  
Or talking idly at the point of death,  
The Soul which then doth commonly reflect  
More truly on herself, and so becomes  
Far wiser than she was, hath published it  
Of purpose, so to free herself from pain.  
Or else, perhaps, to glory in the pride  
Of that fierce cruelty that vanquished me,  
Fair Celia herself hath made it known.  
Wilt thou not answer me, Amyntas, is't not so?  
Amyntas, whither art thou gone out of thyself?  
Thou seemest stupefied, dost thou not hear?  
What strong imagination thus transports  
Thy senses from their sense?  Amynt. 
Doth Niso burn in love for Celia?  
And is it true that he dissembles not?  
But tell me then, what if another should  
For love of Celia burn as well as he?  
What saith thy heart, could it then leave to love?  Niso. 
No, rather leave to live; ah me!  
Thou strickest my through, and through, if this be so  
There is no way but death.  Amynt. 
No, I'll die first myself; clear up thy brow,  
I spoke it but in jest.  Niso. 
I prithee good Amyntas leave to use  
Such bitter jests as these, they come too near:  
I'll pardon thee this once, because thou hast  
So little sense of Love.  Amynt. 
What now is in my power shall be employed  
To work thee some relief; but time goes on,  
The Sun already from our Zenith bends  
His course, to view the lowly Vales again,  
And near the Temple old Narete stays  
Attending, there to celebrate the pomp,  
And solemn ceremonies of our Vow.  
Come let's away, perhaps already he  
Blames us for this delay.  Niso. 
Go on, I'll follow thee: But if thou dost  
Desire indeed here to prolong my days,  
Defer not then a speedy remedy.  
He that already hath shaked hands with death,  
Hath little time to draw an idle breath.    

Act. 2.  

Scen. 1.  Oronte, Perindo, Sireno, Ormino. Oront. 
LEt all the rest stay there:  
And thou Perindo follow me, and see  
Those two old shepherds come along with thee.  Siren. 
Quickly Ormino come, dost thou not hear?  Orm. 
Where fear of danger wounds a trembling soul  
The foot goes slowly on.  Perin. 
Great Sir, we all are ready, but will you  
Without attendance, or without your Guard  
Thus wander here alone?  Cronte. 
In such sweet fields, amidst a sort of men  
So harmless as these are, we have no need  
With armed Squadrons to secure our Guard.  
I left my Tents that here I might enjoy  
The fresh delightful air, which in these fields  
Breathes with a gentle gale, and so allays  
The horror of the rough tempestuous blasts  
Which did infest the Sea  
And he that will enjoy the pleasure of  
Such pleasant fields must not be troubled with  
The State and Pomp with which we use to grace  
Our City: Train.  
O blessed meadow! O delightful Grove!  
See with what pleasing shadows it doth shield  
The flowers from withering in the scorching heat  
Of the sun's burning beams. Behold a true,  
A perfect Pastoral Scene, wherein we see  
The Sea on this hand, and the Hills on that;  
And round about us, Flowers, and springing Plants,  
Fresh Rivers, Shades, and the bright Heavens above  
Have framed a glorious theatre.  
Come forward friends, and whilst the gentle air  
Thus sweetly breathes, I will pursue at length  
The sad relation of your children's Fate.  Orm. 
For pities sake, great Sir, tell me, doth yet  
My Thirsis live? tell me but that, and then  
T●e rest tell at your leisure.  Oron. 
Give ear I say;  
When I within the spacious Hall had placed  
Those Troops of little Infants, so to be  
Presented there to the grand signior's view,  
As if the World had then grown young again:  
Whilst he beheld them all attentively,  
And viewed them severally one by one;  
Amongst the rest who seemed more rudely bred,  
Saucy and bold: Your children gave themselves  
With such a comely wantonness to play  
The little momes, and with such activeness,  
To beautify their harmless innocence;  
That his great spirit mollifide therewith,  
Seemed with a smile somewhat to qualify  
The terror of his more severe aspect;  
And reaching forth his hand( that hand which used  
Only to manage sceptres, and rude Arms)  
Gently he stroked them underneath the chin:  
And though he kissed them not, yet men might see  
Upon his lips th' affection of his heart,  
And that to me he said, Mark me Oronte,  
Methinks I see in these two little Imps  
The signs of two such admirable souls,  
As that it seems( if in the outward shape  
Of human visage, heaven use to write  
The marks of Fate, or I ought understand)  
( And more than he doth no man understand)  
That these two children are by destiny  
Designed to more than ordinary ends,  
And to some great atchivements; therefore see  
They be not with the rest conducted to  
The Grand Serraglo; but be it thy care  
To see them Educated by themselves;  
And here in Court, instructed in more free,  
And generous Arts, and taught to spend their time  
In studies, fit for their Genius.  
I undertook the charge, and they became  
So dear to me, as though I never saw,  
Child of mine own, nor had the joy to know  
A father's happiness, yet did I feel,  
My heart possessed with a father's care.  
And fraught with as much love to your young babes  
As they had been mine own.  
And whilst your children thus increased in years,  
Above their years in them did still increase  
Beauty and judgement: but beyond all this,  
I'll tell you now a wonder: That quaint boy  
The little God of love, as it should seem,  
And as I verily believe it true,  
Playing with them as children use to play:  
By chance did hurt them both, and with his darts.  
Made large wide wounds, in their small tender hearts,  
Oh what a dear delight it was to see,  
Two little pretty loving souls express,  
Their pretty childish loves, with tongues which yet  
Could hardly mutter either Pap or Mam,  
For scarcely could they draw their vital breath,  
Before they both had learned to breathe out  
Deep sighs of love: and scarcely were their eyes,  
Open to see the sun's bright shining beams,  
Before they knew with sweet delight to gaze  
And dart forth amorous looks.  
Sometimes you might behold those tender hands,  
Which scarcely yet knew how to smooth the Tears  
Of their beloved Nurse, already grown,  
So pompt and nimble in loves gentle art;  
As they had learned to struck each others cheeks  
And frame unto themselves Rings quaintly wreathed  
Within their curled Locks.  
And if at any time that native grace  
Which decked their lovely faces did appear,  
More beautiful than other, they would then  
As if it were by stealth run to embrace,  
And hug each other with delightful kisses:  
So that whilst they thus wantonly did woe,  
Love seemed himself to play the wanton too.  
And hence the King enamoured with their wiles,  
One day called to me, and bespoke me thus:  
So ripe a love as this cannot be held  
The mere effect of such young tender years.  
It must proceed from Heaven, and heaven's power  
Doth never work in vain: It is decreed.  
These two must one day be made man and wife  
And I am pleased with what the Heavens will.  
But ah the Heavens are too far esloigned,  
Above our reach, nor can our human sense.  
Attain to see what is decreed above:  
For long it was not, ere a sickness seized  
The bold grand signior, and possessed him so,  
As he already thought his fatal hour  
Approaching near, already he disposed  
Himself to take his last farewell on Earth.  
And yet among his greater cares, and when  
His heart was thus encumbered with thoughts:  
He could not then forget to think upon  
His two beloved lovers, whom he caused,  
To be conducted to his Royal view,  
And placed there, where he thus unto them spoke.  
My little children, I must shortly pay  
The debt I owe to nature, nor shall I,  
Live here to see you both enjoined in one.  
I am too old, and you of too young years,  
Yet I will see you both betrothed; this knot  
Doth neither pass your judgement, nor your age.  
Reach each your hand to other, and let Heaven  
Prosper the plighting of so pure a faith,  
Confirmed with hands of so much innocence:  
●hus they twixt joy and grief, joined both their hands  
And weeping sealed their promise with a kiss.  
Whilst that great King drew forth a Hoop of Gold.  
Which underneath his Pillow, he had placed.  
In whose round Circle were engraved by art  
Certain Egyptian Characters, and to confirm  
What there was writ, with more authority:  
His Sacred Image, was cut out thereon:  
The Hoop was double, so that either part  
When it divided was, made one entire  
And perfect circle, but the characters  
Were then defaced, and cut off in the midst.  
Whose half on this part was, and half on that.  
The King divided them, and then begirt  
With either parts the naked tender necks  
Of his two spoused Imps: And to them said  
This one day shall be witness of your Love  
And of the favour which I bear you both.  
Which said he turned his face as it appears  
Or to restrain, or to conceal his tears,  
And I removed your children straight from thence  
And with such goods as then most precious were  
Conveyed them to my Castle, as afraid,  
( Oh fond and foolish human providence!)  
Of those foul broils and rapines, which are wont  
Most commonly to wait upon our funerals,  
At such great Princes falls.  
In this mean space a false alarm spread  
As false a rumour that the King was dead:  
And those that wished it did believe it true.  
Amongst whom the King of Smyrna past for one,  
Who thus emboldened on a sudden flew,  
Upon the Thracian confines, and advanced  
His arms so far, till at the last he came  
Unto that Castle and begirt it round  
By night, took, sacked, and burned it to the ground.  Orm. 
And were our children there,( Ay consumed)  
In that so fatal flame?  Oron. 
One of my servants whom the darksome shade  
Of gloomy night befriended to escape  
The enemies fierce hand, assured me that  
One of the Smyrna soldiers snatched them both  
Alive out of the flames.  Orm. 
And live they prisoners then in Smyrna still?  Oron. 
I fear it much. For mark,  
The news of all this barbarous excess  
Arrived soon at Court, when yet the King  
Had only so much sense and livelihood  
As served to hear it told: He heard the wrong  
And injuries he suffered, and his heart  
Inflamed therewith. Just anger did so warm  
His frozen blood, as that it soon recaled  
His flitting soul, that it might once more prove,  
A trusty Minister to execute,  
His just revenging wrath:  
But his faint enemy when once he heard  
That he yet lived, the rumour of whose death  
Had only given courage to his fears.  
Betook him quickly to a shameful flight,  
And to appease the King's just anger first,  
And next, that with more ease he might escape.  
Unto Bisantium, he sent the spoils;  
And all the prisoners he had.  Orm. 
And our poor children too?  Oront. 
Those only wanted, those were only they  
Were missing whom alone the King desired,  
And for this cause, a far more mortal war,  
And a more deadly hatred he proclaimed  
Against the King of Smyrna, if ere long  
Untouched uncharmed; he did not send him back  
Those pretty slaves, whom he alone did lack.  
The one denies to have them in his power,  
The other will by no means give belief  
To such a lean excuse: but needs will have  
His children or a most severe revenge:  
Thus both sides vow themselves to arms again.  
And by the fierceness of a cruel War,  
The fruitful fields of Smyrna are laid wast  
And buried in destruction, so that now,  
Small hope remains that ever we shall see  
Your children more whom we have thus in vain  
Laboured to find under the ruins of  
That poor decaying Kingdom.  Orm. 
O most unhappy children!  Sir. 
But parents more unhappy far than they.  Oront. 
Unhappy children, and unhappy Sires.  
But yet in this more happy than the rest,  
That their unhappiness hath been bewailed  
With floods of tears sent from his sacred eyes,  
And blood of thousand shed in their revenge.  Orm. 
Unhappy tears, unhappy blood so shed,  
Unable to restore life to the dead.  Per. 
These poor old Shepherds weep, and at their plaint,  
Oronte seems a little troubled.  
'Twere not amiss then to divert them: Sir,  
The Sun already mounts the highest tract,  
Of his most glorious Sphere, that to the West  
He may descend with a more swift career,  
And yet( as you know well) no choice is made  
Of such young Infants as we come to find.  
No Trumpet yet accustomed to proclaim  
Your safe arrival here, hath summoned them  
To meet you in the Temple.  Oront. 
Let us return then to our Tents, and you  
Sad Shepherds ● ā● us to some shady path,  
Towards the Sea, and let this comfort you.  
Dead or alive, where e'er your children be,  
In Heaven or Earth, they needs must win the love  
Of men below, or of the gods above.  Sir. 
Kind, gentle, Sir, The gods above vouchsafe  
To you that comfort which cannot be found,  
For us on this uncomfortable ground.   

Act. 2. Scen. 2.  Serpilla. Celia. Serp. 
WHat ho! Celia.  Celia. 
Woes me, speak softly.  Serp. 
Why what is't that thou fear'st?  Celia. 
Dost thou not see my Father there?  Serp. 
he's going hence, and cannot hear us speak,  
But thou in vain dost hide thyself from me:  
Those very sighs which now thou breathest forth.  
Into the air,( whilst yet thou dost believe  
That nothing in these Woods can hear thy plaints,  
But Heaven itself) have told me thy distress.  
And courage Wench, 'tis a disease of love,  
Which is not mortal, 'tis a pleasing ill,  
Which generates increase, but doth not kill.  
But whereon dost thou look, turn, turn again,  
Thy face this way, alas poor silly soul  
Thy blushing cheeks speak what thy tongue for shame  
Dares not profess; and in that language which  
Nature permits them, tells me that their part,  
Lies in the flame which doth consume thy heart.  
If thou dost love, then why dost thou for shame  
Conceal thy love? Why dost thou keep it closed  
Within thy breast? and bear a rugged brow:  
A fair smooth cheek, is a rich Theatre  
On which true love ascending from the heart.  
Glories to such his power.  
Even I myself once loved Ergasto well,  
And thy fair Mother loved Ormino too:  
Yet neither of us both are now ashamed  
That still the valleys echo out our loves.  
Aegeria, burns in young Armillo's flame.  
Vrinda loves Licandor, and thy dear  
Beloved Cloris: that fair lovely Maid.  
Cloris that once professed herself to love  
So great a stranger; if thou know'st it not,  
Lives only now, and only sucks in air,  
To breathe it out in sighs of sad despare.  
And though from thee she doth conceal her flame,  
Because she thinks thee so insensible,  
Of loves kind heat, yet unto me she tells  
Her amorous thoughts: And whilst I with disdain,  
Reprooved her once for too much cruelty  
In living without love, she sadly said,  
Oh no, Serpilla no, poor Cloris lives  
Without a lover, but not without love.  
I love a Shepherd in another world.  
And such an one as though for aught I know,  
He now lies buried in an earthen Urn.  
Yet I resolve the ashes of his bones,  
Shall be the only fuel to my flame,  
Oh happy maid whom fate hath so far blessed  
To burn in one love, and no more:  Celia. 
Oh me most wretched then!  Serp. 
What doth afflict thee, is the falsehood of  
Thy faithless lover cause of this despair?  Celia. 
Oh peace Serpilla, peace, press me no more  
To tell the horror of my deadly sore.  Serp. 
Wilt thou not apprehend me then?  
The world goes so( dear Daughter) that thou seeest,  
Young tender loves breeding in youthful hearts,  
Like to young harmless Doves, whilst one hath wings  
And dares to fly; another's downy plain:  
But even then buds forth:  
Whilst one swollen up with pride, bears out his breast,  
And in a murmuring tone, breathes out his love  
Expressing by the circles which he makes,  
The endless Labyrinths of loves great maze.  
Another with his belly on the ground  
Goes creeping on, and by his whining noise  
Sets out the passions of a childish love;  
One peeps but even now out of the shell,  
Whilst others sit to hatch their tender Chicks.  
Do not then, do not cruel maid conceal  
Thy passion still, though late, yet at the last  
Heaven showers down vengeance on a faithless love:  
Know'st thou not what Pelorus, that Pelore,  
Then whom yet never nymph in Scyros knew  
A faithfuller true lover; used to say?  
Faith is a Deity by which true love  
At first possessed a place in Heaven above.  
Love void of faith( quoth he) is neither love  
Nor yet a God, but an infernal spirit  
Which having in the foul sulphureous Lake  
Of burning Phlegeton, kindled black flames,  
Doth counterfeit therewith loves glorious light,  
And so goes breathing forth his feigned fries:  
For whose most horrible and wicked sin,  
( Oh just and most deserved punishment!)  
Which in the bottomless infernal Pit,  
Disloyal lovers are tormented still  
By those infernal Monsters in the shape,  
Of their betrayed loves.  
Do not then still delay to tell thy woe,  
And if from grief I cannot set thee free,  
Pity at least shall bear thee company.  Celia. 
What's that to me, that neither hope for help  
Nor wish for pity in my misery.  Serp. 
At least, yet let me know thine enemy,  
And I will never leave thee till he leave,  
Either his life, or else that faithless love  
Wherewith he thus torments thee.  Celia. 
Life if thou wilt, but love must ne'er be left.  Serp. 
Wouldst thou then have him die.  Celia. 
By all means possible, and if I find,  
No other hand to execute my just  
And lawful vengeance, reason then persuades,  
That mine own hand should take the due revenge  
Of mine oppressed soul.  Serp. 
Oh cruel jealousy, can then thy fierce  
And poisonous bait possess a maiden's heart:  
( But if I mean to mollify her rage,  
I then must soothe her in her own desires.)  
Take courage Celia, for if there be need  
Even I myself will with these hands pull out  
That faithless heart of his: But tell me then,  
Who is that false disloyal man, and how  
Hath he disturbed thus thy quiet thoughts?  Celia. 
Now that I find thee bent to my desires,  
I'll tell thee all, but see thou do not change.  Serp. 
Thou sooner shalt observe me change my soul,  
Then any thing that I have now professed.  Celia. 
And whosoever it be, see that thou take  
No pity to thy heart.  Serp. 
I would be cruel to my very self,  
Were I myself unfaithful to my Love.  Celia. 
Hear then, and I will tell thee now,  
What rests concealed from all the world besides  
How shall I find a tongue to utter it  
But yet it boots not to refrain my tongue  
When I want power still to restrain my heart:  
Look here Serpilla, look, here is that foul  
That impious wretch, even here within me rests  
My horrid enemy, lo, I am she  
Even I am she that carry in my breast  
A faithless love, a foul infernal spirit.  
Burnt in a twofold flame.  Ser. 
As sure as can be, this unhappy nymph  
Carries two youthful loves within her breast  
It was long ere she conceived, and now brings Twins.  
Oh just revenge of love, and could he not  
Make one shaft serve as able to subdue  
Unto his Laws thy stiff rebllious heart?  
But tell me then who are those fatal loves?  Celia. 
To what end should I now conceal their names?  
Know'st thou not Niso, and Amyntas yet.  Serp. 
Who they that lay for thy delivery,  
Wounded almost to death?  Celia. 
Those very men.  Serp. 
But how could love inflict a double wound,  
Just in an instant, in thy stubborn heart?  Celia. 
I'll tell thee now a wonder.  
Love that before had ever found me armed,  
Against his shafts and all his subtle trains.  
By others wounds; and through another's heart,  
Found passage into mine. And whilst that they,  
Wounded to death lay breathing forth their souls,  
Love all besmeared with their gory blood,  
Usurped the shape of pity, and then armed  
Under this quaint disguise, the traitorous boy  
Found means to wound my heart: and after that  
Neglecting both mine Arrows, and my Bow,  
Despising, Earth, the Sea, and Heaven itself,  
I found no rest to my tormented soul,  
Longer than I stood languishing, besides  
Those wounded Shepherds, and with weeping eyes  
Mixing my plaints with theirs.  
There from their fainting foreheads, I did wipe,  
The cold distilled sweat, there with these hands  
Did I still dress their wounds, Oh cruel wounds  
That whilst I dressed them, could thus wound my soul,  
Yet had I then some Truce with sorrow, when  
I said within myself unhappy Maid,  
What new found sighs are these, whence can proceed  
This unaccustomed heat which boileth thus  
In thine inflamed heart? Ah silly fool  
( Said then my heart to me) this is nought elese  
But pity; well deserved pity: canst thou be  
So ignorant, as not to know it then?  
Or dost thou grudge them pity, who to save  
Thee from a fearful death, lie dying now?  
Thus whilst I thought it pity, and not love  
Flattering my passion, I still nourished it,  
And still increased my unknown desire,  
But when I after came to know it well,  
( Oh too too late discovery) when once,  
I found them lovers, than too late I found  
I was myself a woeful lover too:  
And by the light of their bright burning flame.  
I saw mine own heart burning in the same.  Serp. 
And art thou then with equal love beloved?  
By both of them again, this may abate  
The wounding sorrows of thy troubled soul,  
But how didst thou discover their desires?  Celia. 
By many, many, tokens, for me thought  
I heard within myself a murmuring sound  
Which echoed out their love, and then my heart  
Answered that sound again, and yet deceit  
I know not how, did so obscure my sense  
As I could not at first believe it true,  
Till one day it fell out, that whilst the poor  
Amyntas lying in tormenting pain,  
Which day and night afflicted him so sore,  
That he could hardly find an hour to rest,  
Pity so wrought, as I obtained Truce,  
Sometime with sorrow, that I might invite  
With the soft accents of my slender voice  
His heavy eyes to sleep.  
When he with a sad sigh sent from his heart,  
Darted a look at me, and to me said,  
Ah my dear Celia, when I see thee not  
I am, but as one dead, and canst thou think?  
That when I see thee then, 'tis possible  
For me to sleep, before those glorious beams  
Which shine out of thine eyes? I thus surprised,  
Straight fled feom him, and ran unto the place  
Where wounded Niso lay, oppressed with pain,  
And calling for mine aid.  
Where whilst I gently did unbind his wound,  
A stream of blood, I know not how gushed forth.  
And stained my naked breast; which seen he said  
Oh Celia, do not disdain the blood  
Which by instinct of Nature flies to thee,  
Thou art my heart, and when man dies 'tis known  
That to his heart his blood descendeth down:  
Thus in an instant both their loving souls  
Lay open to my view, and I who then  
Scarce knew that I did live, felt in my heart  
( Which yet could not be angry at their love)  
Those Maiden thoughts, which laboured to awake  
That usual disdain, which Maidens use  
Against loves first assault: but then, alas,  
I could not use it, but instead thereof,  
Found that in spite of me those amorous plaints  
Made in my soul an amorous echo sound:  
Yet did I fly with speed, but all too late,  
For all the speed that I could seem to make,  
I then fled from them, and will never see  
Again my hearts desired felicity:  
But though I fly them, 'tis impossible  
To fly from love, who traces still my steps  
By the cold drops of my distilling tears,  
Even through most darksome shades, whereof I hide  
Myself from all besides, and sure I think  
He knows me by my voice, and groaning sighs:  
But to shun love, I yet can fly to death,  
Why then Serpilla dost thou still delay  
To ease me of this sad tormenting grief?  
As ever thou didst pity one distressed,  
Pluck thou this faithless heart out of my breast.  Serp. 
Poor miserable Maid, ah Celia!  
My dearest Celia, dry up those tears.  
Take comfort my sweet heart. although thy wound  
Put thee to pain, it may be cured again:  
Art thou ashamed that double love infests  
Thy wounded soul? Love thou but one alone,  
And let thy future faith take vengeance so  
Of all thy former infidelity.  Celia. 
Thy counsels vain Serpilla, for my wound  
Is every way incurable, shall I,  
Love only one, and which, Ahme! and which  
Shall I then leave to love?  Serp. 
Love him of both, who best deserves thy love.  
Desert in love, hath an attractive power.  Celia. 
But I cannot discern a difference:  
For in mine eyes their merits which exceed  
All oaths men's, saem equal in themselves.  Serp. 
Love him then whom thou first didst love thyself:  
Time gives the privilege to elder love.  Celia. 
Both at a time, and in one instant both  
My twinlike loves were born, and gathered strength.  Serp. 
Love him alone then, who best loveth thee,  
For love must ever give the Law to love.  Celia. 
With equal freedom I have seen them both  
For me shed tears, and breath heart wounding sighs  
Yea both for me have spent their dearest blood.  Serp. 
And yet it cannot be but that sometimes  
Thy amorous thoughts like waves tossed to and fro,  
Must needs bend this way, rather than to that,  
Pursue then him that conquers, love him best  
To whom thy heart seems oftest to incline.  Celia. 
In vain, I tell thee, still in vain thou tryest  
To alter what the heavens have decreed.  
'Tis true indeed that whilst I seem to stray  
Out of myself, amidst my troubled thoughts  
Methinks by stealth, Amyntas, or perhaps  
Niso persuades me wholly to himself:  
But scarce then can I say, Love I am thine,  
When suddenly the other shows himself  
All torn and wounded in my just defence,  
And forceth me to pity his distress.  
Thus in perpetual Wars the victory  
Still flies from one to other, and remains  
So small a while with either, as I doubt,  
And know not unto whom to give the Crown,  
But leave them both far short of their desert,  
A poor reward, the conquest of my heart.  Serp. 
I am convinced, and therefore must give way.  
What can be urged more? If needs thou must  
Be still unfaithful, yet high heaven hath  
For thy discharge made infidelity  
Itself seem innocent; nor can I find  
Another refuge, thou canst fly unto,  
Since thou mayst not love one still love them both.  
And let this be thy comfort, thou mayst find  
Within these fertile fields, others that feed  
More than one sucking Infant at their breasts:  
And see where Nerea comes just in the nick:  
She that whilst any would believe her vows  
Had both her hands full, and her lap of loves:  
And with her comes Amyntas.  Celia. 
Or stay, or follow me, for I must go  
Like to the Bird of night, which still doth shun  
The gladsome rays of the bright shining Sun.  Serp. 
Turn, turn again my Celia, hark a word.  
But she nor turns, nor hearkens what I say,  
And therefore I will follow her.   

Act. 2. Scen. 3.  NEREA. Amyntas. Ner. 
ANd wouldst thou then that I should speak of love  
To Celia, and that for Niso too?  
A hard employment to persuade a heart  
Estranged from love, to love a stranger straight.  Amynt 
O gentle Nerea, full well I know  
No enterprise in Love can seem too hard  
For thee to undertake, who canst dispose  
Of Loves great Empire as it pleaseth thee.  Ner. 
Courteous Amyntas, time once was, 'tis true,  
I could do much, when in these lips I bore  
Vermillion Roses, and in these curled locks  
A golden treasure; but when beauty fades  
All force of love decays.  Amynt. 
What then thy beauty for thyself could do  
Thy wit can now procure for others too,  
Amongst those locks where gold then glittering shone,  
Love hath sown judgements now, and on those lips  
Where formerly Vermilan Roses grew  
He hath placed honey, and the pleasing sound  
Of sweet persuasive words, for where thou goest,  
The most ingenuous Bee brings to the hive  
The honey sweets of love.  Ner. 
O true, but yet unpleasing Simile,  
I am the Bee, which now to others bring  
That honey which myself must never taste.  
Such is the will of love, great love, who frees  
No age from love, but hath decreed that those  
Who in their younger years themselves did love  
Shall in their age be others instruments,  
To win their loves, that so all Ages may,  
And all men living serve his powerful will,  
Either as tinder to endure his fire,  
Or steels which send out sparkles to raise that fire,  
Either as burning flames of love to all,  
Or bellows to increase those flames withal.  
O what soft, delicate, and tender things  
In things of love, did Nature shower on me!  
In fine, I never brooked, nor ever shall  
To be entreated in a case of love,  
And to deny my help.  
Behold me then Amyntas ready pressed  
To do whatever thou canst ask of me.  
But yet( my Son) how much more willingly  
Should I receive those prayers which now thou mak'st  
To me for others, were they for thyself.  
Fond youth( I needs must call thee so,  
Though I am sure I speak but to the air)  
How canst thou without shame, without disdain  
And just displeasure against thyself behold  
A new come stranger, one who scarce arrived  
E'er yesterday within our native soil,  
And one that never looked since he came  
But with his eyes still rolling in the dark  
And gloomy shades of his approaching death?  
Who yet could know how with delight to gaze  
Upon that beauty, and desire it too.  
Which thou, who first were born here, and bred up  
Still in her sight, wouldst never look upon.  Amynt. 
O Nerea I am not blind.  Ner. 
But at the least thou'rt purblind, so is he,  
And looks on all a squint that can behold  
So rich a beauty, and yet knows not how  
Or which way to convey it to his heart.  
For thee, Amyntas, O against thy will,  
Happy Amyntas, yea for thee alone,  
And yet thou know'st it not, dost not care for't,  
For thee the heavens sent fair Celia,  
Dost not believe me? Look on her fair eyes,  
Look on thine own, love gave them to you both,  
That both of you might still admire and gaze  
Upon your native beauties.  
Those her fair curled locks, these crisped hairs.  
Seem only framed that each of you might tie  
Each other's soul in them eternally.  
Her fair plump rising cheeks, thy downy chin,  
Were made that each on other might repose,  
After the stormy blasts of loves sad woes,  
Her rosy mouth, and thy vermilion lips,  
Invite you both with mouth to mouth to taste  
Those purple Strawberries which there are placed:  
Seest thou not how in her white bosom rests,  
Those tender swelling, and well raised breasts,  
Which challenge thee into the lists of love.  
And thou like a Coward dost refuse  
To answer to their call? discourteous youth  
Canst thou invited thus, refuse to try  
Their loving force? and so in love withstand,  
Eternal Fate which all things can command.  Amyn. 
Ah me most miserable!  Nerea. 
What's that thou sayest?  Amyn. 
Nothing: Ah me! I scarce can breathe a sigh.  Nerea. 
And dost thou sigh? alas wherefore?  
Thy heart devoid of love, deceived perhaps,  
Borrows those sighs, that sighing thou Mayst seem  
To be in love, why do I call them sighs?  
Thine are no sighs: he that sighs not for love,  
Sighs not but Yawns, such sighs no love can move.  Amyn. 
But if those sighs be too too truly sighs,  
Which issue from the bottom of my heart,  
And such as I need seek no other where,  
They then perhaps break out only to show  
The secret grief enclosed within my breast;  
O Nerea, Nerea!  
Perhaps the very rocks perceive ere this  
That heart which thou deceived thus dost call.  
A heart divided? of Love, so set on fire  
And burning in the lively flames it feels,  
As without other help, it may find out  
Cause in itself to spend these sighs about.  Nerea. 
Behold a new Amyntas lately come  
Out of the bosom of his Silvia,  
And from beyond th' Arcadian Hills arrived  
Newly in Scyros here,  
How feelingly he can discourse of love.  
A breast, a heart, love, flames, and burning fire:  
Sighs and Ah me's, all these are proper words  
Taken from loves best language, and thus all  
True lovers speak which are Inhabitants  
Of loves great Empire: But when were't thou there?  
Or where Amyntas didst thou learn so well  
To speak their mother Tongue?  Amyn. 
Even in the very centre of that blessed  
And happy Kingdom, where loves Septer rules,  
There have I been, and so that country air.  
Pleaseth my sense, as though it seems to me,  
Still turbulent and cloudy, yet no other sky  
Can ever be more welcome to my eye.  Nerea. 
Thou speakest in such a tone Amyntas, and so well  
Dost mix thy sighs together with thy words,  
A●d make sad looks accompany thy sighs,  
As I could almost swear thou wert in love.  Amyn. 
True love cannot be feigned: 'tis true that once  
I fled from love, but since he overtook  
Me in my flight, I follow him as fast.  Nerea. 
Oh admirable power against whose will  
Nor flight nor policy can aught avail.  
Now blessed be loved, great love that thus can give  
Unto thy stony heart a lively sense:  
But wilt thou not then tell me who she is  
Whom love hath chosen for a worthy means  
To do so great a work?  Amyn. 
No I have told too much already, but  
The tears which spring out of my heart, do cause  
My tongue to glide so fast: and now 'tis time  
To teach it silence.  Nerea. 
Silence to me? well then be silent still.  
But yet if I be she, which can dispose  
Of loves great Empire, as it pleaseth me;  
Perhaps one day thou wilt entreat me hear  
The story of thy love, and lend thee help,  
When I will be as deaf unto thy prayers,  
As thou art silent to me now.  Amyn. 
Good Nerea, let us talk of somewhat else,  
Let us discourse of Niso, and for him  
Employ thy care, for as for me, I yet,  
Nor seek, nor hope, nor can desire thy help.  Nerea. 
What a rude rustic lover have we here?  
If love be lodged in a rough savage heart,  
Poor love himself becomes a savage too,  
And so hath neither hope nor yet desire:  
But be it as thou wilt, for Niso than  
I will employ my cure, and if or will,  
Or Art, have any power to win a love  
In his content thou shalt learn first to see,  
And then repent thine error, when thou shalt  
See that cold Celia, that Mass of stone,  
By my endeavours, and but easy cure,  
All burning in loves flame, and in these fields.  
In these same very fields wherein she now,  
Like a unwearyed huntress beats the ground  
With her still erring foot, when thou shalt see  
Her in the Arms of lovely Niso. Print  
Upon these flowery banks more tender steps,  
And gentler signs, of a more pleasing choice:  
What then alas, what will become of thee?  
I know too well that then I shall thee see,  
Crying Oh help me Nerea, Oh help:  
But all in vain, for than I will not help,  
But laughing scorn thee for thy foolery.  Amyn. 
And dost thou then ahme, with Celia hope:  
Dost thou with Celia hope to do so much.  
And that for Niso too?  Nerea. 
Hope? Yes with Celia, or with any else,  
More out of love, with love than she can be,  
And that for Niso, or for any else,  
Unhappier in love than he can be.  
This I can do, and this I will do too,  
Make Niso to enjoy his Celia.  Amyn. 
Ah me! I'm dead.  Nerea. 
And I will make her thine, who e'er she be  
Whom thou desirest so, if thou wilt but  
Disclose thy love to me.  Amyn. 
That Niso my enjoy his Celia,  
That's all I ask.  Nerea. 
But wherefore dost thou then lament? in time  
Demand my help, and thou shalt have it.  Nerea. 
he's much perplexed, and certainly this man  
Deceives me yet, and wisheth somewhat else,  
Then he seems to desire: He found his thought  
Which very hardly can conceal itself;  
Thou troubled soul, what is't that grieves thee now?  
Celia shall be for Niso, as thou dost desire.  
Though it be true, that with less pains I could  
Procure her for Amyntas, if Amyntas would  
As Niso doth, burn for fair Celia's love.  
I know well what I say, but 'tis not fit  
I should so easily discover yet,  
The secret thoughts of a young virgin maid,  
To him that cannot apprehend them.  Amyn. 
Dost hear me Nerea? tempt me no more,  
For Niso 'tis I speak, and 'tis for him  
That I would have thee speak.  Nerea. 
He shakes already, and will quickly fall;  
Well I will do't, but if she shall be found  
To him inexorable, milt thou then  
Permit me try what I can do for thee?  
All women are not cruel to all men?  Amyn. 
She moves my very soul, nor can I tell  
How to withstand it: But poor Niso then,  
What will poor Niso say?  Nerea. 
Amyntas did for me more than he would  
Do for himself, and therefore I rejoice,  
His bliss can rise out of my misery,  
This will he say: But whereon dost thou think?  
Why dost thou scratch thy head, when all the itch  
Thou feel'st is in thy heart?  Amyn. 
Mercy, Oh Mercy, I am overcome,  
And hear me Nerea: Yet peace,  
Peace tender lover, but unfaithful friend:  
But I were best be gone: Nerea adieu,  
Thou know'st what I desire:  
I speak for Niso, dost thou conceive me?   

Act. 2. Scen. 4.  NEREA. 
EIther I nothing understand in love,  
Or else Amyntas loves fair Celia:  
But wherefore speaks he then for Niso thus?  
It is perhaps a lover's folly that  
Under a feigned affection seeks to prove  
The faithful heart of his beloved love:  
Oh ill advised youth, how dar'st thou tempt  
A woman's faith by forging new loves still?  
Dar'st thou trust fuel in a burning flame?  
Or feathers to the wind? full ill thou know'st,  
How many I have seen these trials cause  
Soon to repent them of their former love;  
But it may be the pity of a friend,  
Perhaps it may be so, and Niso doth,  
Himself too burn for love of Celia.  
And yet the simple soul Amyntas speaks  
Only for him, and doth not know that love,  
Values no friend when once his force doth move:  
But be it as it will, I'm glad to see  
Them both sad frequent lovers yet, that so  
I may be double armed and with more force  
Give on a brave assault to that hard heart  
Of pitiless, but lovely Celia.  
For I will kindle in her virgin breast,  
Both these hot flames, that one at least may take:  
And pitifully paint before her eyes  
Them both for love of her, brought to death's door,  
And both from love, and from her father too.  
I mean to tell her that in her own hands  
The power of choice doth lie.  
thou'rt but a fool my Celia, if thou starve  
For want of love, when to such lovers bring  
Such dishes to the feast: Oh that I could,  
But change, change fortunes with thee cruel nymph.  
Change and take thou my hot inflamed breast,  
Or send one thy soft golden glittering hair,  
White snowy locks, with an heart all on fire.  
Soft golden hairs, with an heard Iron heart,  
Are Monsters too too cruel, but I'll go  
And seek her out, sure I shall conquer her,  
For I never knew a fair young maid deny,  
To love at last, if su'd to constantly.    

Act. 3.  

Scen. 1.  Celia. 
OH Nerea, thou hast killed my woeful heart,  
And from thy lips death shot his fatal dart.  
Woes me, 'twas long ere I did burn, but now  
I am all fire, nor can there be ahme!  
A way to quench the fury of my flame,  
Love be my guide Amyntas!  
To thee my dear Amyntas, unto thee  
I do submit myself, I will be thine,  
And thou shalt be my love, my life, my all;  
ahme: what did I say?  
And can I then without my Niso live?  
No, No, but for Amyntas, I can die  
And dow behold me given over quite  
Unto my wont fury,  
Oh Celia!  
Unhappy Celia, still dost thou rave  
What dost thou think, and whether dost thou tend,  
In this estate, deprived of all my bliss.  
It cannot be I should continue long.  
Enjoy but one? Love will not give me leave  
To enjoy both, both Heaven and Earth forbid.  
Then I must die, for other remedy  
Then death this death cannot invent.  
Must I then die?  
But lately born and must I die so soon?  
Sad mourning eyes, the time is short which fate,  
Allotted to you, to behold this Sun,  
And yet alas I have but seen too much.  
Fool that I am, what is't I grieve for for thus?  
Loss of my life? and what can I expect  
To gain by living here? nought else but woe  
Nothing but grief: and doth it grieve thee then  
To part with grief? Oh no, let death, kind death  
Come then, and with his hand close up mine eyes,  
And dry up all my tears: And yet alas,  
Those tears, nor all my sad despairs cannot  
Call out so loud for death in my poor foul,  
As others torments do,  
Oh Nerea, Nerea.  
For love of me than doth Amyntas burn?  
And Niso too? for me doth Niso die?  
Yea and Amyntas too? and I who love you both.  
Unhappy lovers, is it I whom love  
Too cruel love hath set against you both?  
And is it I that kill you? then 'tis I,  
'Tis I must die, and fear not, I will die,  
That so my death may either give you ease,  
Or else revenge your cruel sufferings.  
Oh direful voice! And yet base Coward heart,  
Fear'st thou one death, that dost not fear two loves?  
No, no, vain pity! pity pittyless  
Base trembling fear, and you cold frozen thoughts,  
You can no longer lodge within this breast.  
Behold my hand full armed for the deed,  
Oh vile and cowardly hand! what trembling thus  
Dost thou discharge thy darts? Woes me, I want  
Force that will second this my just revenge:  
Let then my feet do what my hands deny,  
Oh my sad furies! Oh despairing grief!  
Be you my faithful guide, lead on, lead on,  
Show me another way to find out death.  
Conduct me to a Precipice where I  
Shall need no force to press me to my fall:  
But if a bush, or any stub should stop  
My fatal fall? for so Amyntas was  
Saved when he would have died for Silvia:  
That would be my misfortune then, that was to him  
A happy blessing: What then shall I do?  
Oh you Celestial Gods! and you sad powers,  
That govern in the deep infernal Lake.  
You that inspired me with desire to die,  
Show one the way to do it speedily.   

Act. 3. Scen. 2.  Filino. Celia. FElino. 
Oh me most miserable.  
Oh my dear precious, and my lovely joy!  
Oh my lost treasure!  Celia. 
What mournful voice thus sounds within mine ears?  
Is not this Filino?  Filino. 
Oh Celia weep, weep gentle Celia,  
Do not so much as stay, till I have told  
What cause thou hast to weep.  Celia. 
And to what new misfortune can the Gods,  
Preserve me yet in this small hour of life.  
What can there be that can disturb me more?  
Speak quickly Filino, for well I know  
The grief which hath already seized my heart  
Can leave no place for any new supply.  Fil. 
Distressed Filino, unhappy Celia!  
Thy joy, and all my wont bliss,  
The beauty of the meads, flower of the fields,  
The love of all thy flock, thy gentle kid  
( O me! my heart will break to tell it out)  
Thy gentle Kid is dead.  Cel. 
O happy boy, since all thy sorrows are  
Comprised within so poor a loss as this.  
But say who was't that killed him?  Fil. 
Believe 'twas neither shepherd nor wild beast:  
For I would then have died in his defence.  Cel. 
What was it then?  Fil. 
The noisome feeding of a poisonous herb.  
Ah me, was the cause of all.  Cel. 
What of a poisonous herb? then this way sure  
The heavens have showed me now a means to die.  
O all ye gracious Gods can it be true  
That any pity to my lasting woes  
Should then ascend to heaven?  Fil. 
The Kid ascend to heaven? what butting then  
Will there be seen 'twixt him and Capricorn?  Cel. 
But let me yet beware lest the mistake  
Of a poor siily boy should bring my thoughts  
Of death into a byword and a scorn.  
Tell me, my boy, how dost thou know the Kid  
Died by a poisonous herb?  Fil. 
I'll tell thee. When the sun's hot burning beams  
About the mid time of the day 'gan rage,  
I led thy flocks unto those shady meads  
Not far from hence, dost thou not know them? those  
Which 'twixt the Rivers and the Woods are fraught  
With such fresh springing grass, and ever green,  
Where being once arrived, observe me Celia,  
And whilst the bellowing of the herds applied  
Unto the sound of my small Oaten-pipe,  
Seemed to salute the fresh green pasture there,  
Thy pretty Kid, Ah my dear precious joy!  
Thy pretty little Kid, all full of play,  
Running and Skipping, with such wanton frisks.  
Played with the grass; in such a pleasing way  
As that, I do not say myself, no, no,  
But to say true, even all thy gentle flock  
Left off their feeding, and stood gazing on  
The pretty sport he made.  Celia. 
Be brief, be brief, my Filino, I have no time  
To tattle now, tell quickly what I ask,  Filino. 
Softly! give ear,  
Within the twinkling of an eye, he ran  
Quite cross the Meadow, till at the last he came  
Unto that little streaming Brook which runs,  
Next to the Hill, and there began to feed  
Upon an herb, which yet I never saw,  
Grow any other where, and there did graze,  
With such an Appetite, and eat so fast,  
As it did fatten me to see him taste,  
And relish it so well.  
But on a sudden, Oh sad heavy chance,  
I saw him trembling fall, and think you not,  
That in an Instant, I flew to him straight?  
I looked upon him, called him, pressed his Limbs:  
He looked on me again, and seemed to moan  
His sad estate, and trembling seemed to say,  
Ah Filino I die.  
Thus did I see his eyes grow dark and dim,  
Those pretty eyes of his, I saw retire,  
Into his head, his eyelids closed up.  
And thus alas I saw him die:  Celia. 
But yet I am not satisfied perhaps,  
He did but saint, and only seemed to die:  
Perhaps it came too by some other means,  
Then by the herb he fed on: thou'rt a child,  
Poor Filino as yet, and little know'st  
What doth belong to cattle or their food.  Filino. 
Well! but Nerete, that grave hoary Beard,  
That reverend piece of age, is he a child?  
And knows he nothing too, what doth belong  
To herbs and beasts?  Celia. 
What did Nerete say?  Filino. 
He at my cries came running in, and found  
Me standing by the Kid with weeping eyes,  
To whom when I related had the cause,  
Of all my moan, Oh wicked herb, quoth he:  
Drive Felino, go drive thy flock from hence,  
Unto some other place: which said he straight  
Ran to the Kid, and drew him from the place  
Where then he lay, unto the river's side:  
But I had not the heart to see him thrown  
Into the water so: But wailing ran  
To find thee out.  Celia. 
Nerete doth deserve to be believed,  
The death then of my Kid is certain now,  
And so's the cause thereof, come Filino,  
Come let's away.  Filino. 
And whether?  Celia. 
To find out that same herb.  Filino. 
And what to do?  Celia. 
Let not that trouble thee.  Filino. 
Ah! with what eyes shall ever I behold  
That Meade again?  Celia. 
Come quickly Felino, what is't thou dost?  Filino. 
I look at Nerea, that's coming here?  
Ah let me stay a while, for she is wont,  
For every kiss I give her to bestow  
An Apple on me.  Celia. 
Nerea? follow me quickly and take heed,  
Thou dost not anger me.  Filino. 
I come, I come, see if she fly not hence,  
Like to an arrow from a Bow.   

Act. 3. Scen. 3.  NISO. NEREA. Niso. 
AH were but now Amyntas here  
That he might know the story of my death,  
And of her cruelty.  Ner. 
He hath already heard, and grieved to hear it.  
I met with him when Celia went from me,  
And told him all the suit that I had made  
To her, and how unkindly she refused  
To give an ear thereto, and him I left  
Close by the River, mourning like a friend  
For thy misfortune.  Niso. 
Go on then, tell me, what didst thou reply?  Ner. 
Ah cruel Nymph, said I then to her straight,  
And wilt thou not admit a loving soul  
Unhappy in his love, at least to tell  
The nature of his grief?  Niso. 
And she?  Ner. 
There's not a shepherd, she made answer then,  
Whether a strange or a native born,  
There's not a shepherd that dares be so bold  
As to importune Celia for her love,  
Each man flies from me, every man that's wise  
Locks up his words in silence, and if yet  
There be a man that suffers for my sake  
Let him relate his sorrows to the trees,  
And be assured that trees and plants will prove  
Less deaf than Celia, and more apt to love.  Niso. 
O cruel and most savage heart!  Ner. 
Tush this was nothing, her fierce angry looks  
Spoke more than did her tongue; for all her speech  
Was full of such obscurity, as I  
Could hardly understand her what she meant;  
But than I saw her cheeks grow pale as death,  
Her ruby lips too lost their colour quite,  
I did not see her weep, but yet I saw  
Her eyes full fraught with grief, though free from tears.  
And then as if she had disdained herself,  
And such fond looks as those, she shaked her head,  
And suddenly her eyes grew red with rage,  
And shot out flames of anger, till at last  
I could perceive her in a threatening wise  
Brandish her dart; I know not well at whom.  Niso. 
At me without all doubt, and I myself,  
Even I myself will straight present her with  
This naked breast, and with this hand tear up  
This wound again, which is but newly closed,  
That so her Shaft may find a shorter way,  
Yea and a wider passage to my heart:  
And since that cruel she denies to hear  
The story of my woes, she yet shall hear  
The sad relation of my fatal death:  
And so perhaps in that same point of time  
When her fair hand shall fling her dart at me,  
In that same happy point of time I may,  
At least before I die, say that I die.  Ner. 
Unhappy shepherd! ah! alas, those eyes,  
Those lovely eyes of thine must not alone  
Drop brimsh tears, but even I must needs  
Myself weep with thee too for company.  
But Niso, my sweet youth( 'tis fit I should  
Give him some comfort) I will not deny  
But it is true that Celia showed herself  
Beyond all measure cruel, yet who knows  
But that she may for all this counterfeit?  
For my part I'll not swear she doth not so.  
The art of feigning is by nature taught  
To women, so said one, and she said true:  
For from their very birth they can conceal  
Their inward thoughts, and though but children, yet  
Under a frowning brow they have the art  
In secret to conceal a loving heart.  
But be she as she will, who yet can say  
She may not change her mind? For women are  
Like to the Moon, and vary both their looks  
And shapes as well as she, if then they love,  
Yet trust them not, despair not though they hate,  
But give them time at least to change their thoughts.  
Dost thou not see the heavens in a trice  
Both burn and freeze? It was but yesterday  
When thou beganst to love, and scarce hast yet  
Learned to breathe forth a sigh, 'tis not then time  
Already to despair; a short breathed sigh  
Cannot through Loves vast ocean drive a soul  
Into the port of rest, and full content:  
Thou didst but now begin, and canst thou then  
Despair already to attain thy wish?  Niso. 
'Tis true, alas, my love but now begins,  
But yet my life's already at an end:  
For this confounding flame scarce kindled yet  
Already hath consumed my heart.  Ner. 
But yet take heart again, and live by hope:  
For be assured, no art that can be found  
To rouse up love where most he lies asleep,  
Shall be left unattempted for thy sake.  
Let's search out all Loves engines then, and try  
The utmost of their forces one by one.  
Tell me then, didst thou never yet make known  
Thy love to her by any other means?  
Didst thou not yet so much as in thy looks,  
Or in thy sighs send to her frozen heart  
The first embassages of love?  Niso. 
Yes! but what profit have I gained?  
When all my sighs breathed through the empty air,  
Were by the wind dispersed ere they could come  
Unto the breast to which I sent them forth?  
And Looks, the messengers which lovers send  
To them they love, are ever strucken dumb,  
When only he that sends them looks in vain,  
And she to whom they're sent looks not again.  Ner. 
Didst thou say nothing to her when thou layest  
Wounded, and hadst her ever by the side?  Niso. 
Ah me! would death had shackled up my tongue,  
Which love unhappily did then let loose:  
For than it was she fled away so fast  
As I could never see her since.  Ner. 
And didst thou never since present her with  
Some amorous token, pretty loving gift?  Niso. 
Gift? heaven defend, tempt Celia with gifts?  
To use a gentle Nymph as one would use  
A covetous base crone? I should believe  
With gifts to make a well bred heart become  
Sooner an enemy than yield to love.  Ner. 
If thou believe so, thou believest amiss.  
The heavens themselves are pleased with our gifts,  
And hell is pacified, nor canst thou think  
Women less covetous than heaven, nor yet  
Less cruel than the deep infernal pit,  
A gift, believe me, Niso, a rich gift  
Is the great instrument of love, or tyrant rather,  
Which doth command and rule love as it please.  
Know'st thou not what Elpino, wise Elpino said?  
That in the world's first infancy when truth,  
And pure simplicity made heart and tongue  
Speak both one language: Nymphs that were in love  
Could sing no other song but dona, dona,  
Which in our later language sounds give, give;  
And therefore since, with double N( because  
One gift will not suffice) a Woman is  
In the Italian tongue, called Donna now.  
And if there be such wand'ring beggars still,  
As think it no disgrace unto their kind  
To beg Love as an Alms: Then say not thou  
That none but covetous base women will  
Beg or receive a gift.  Niso. 
Thou tellest me wondrous things.  Ner. 
But yet as clear as is the Sun, and know  
That man is covetous that in his love  
Spends, though by thousands, nothing else but sighs,  
And looks, and words, and prayers, and trickling tears.  
Yea though he join some little lies to boot,  
And make no conscience to be perjured too,  
Let him but give a poor lean sucking lamb,  
And he shall give therewith a greater proof  
Of this true love then all the rest can bring:  
For women now adays can only trust  
A giving love, all else are but deceit,  
And 'tis but reason that his love who gives  
Should conquer all, their greatest cruelty,  
Since it hath conquered his base covetise,  
A monster far more cruel.  Niso. 
Alas, if it be true then that a gift  
Contains that power in it to overcome  
Her yet untamed, unconquered cruelty,  
This heart, this soul, this all, what e'er I am,  
Even all myself, I give unto her will.  Ner. 
Alas, poor man, this is the gift which all  
Poor Lovers give their loves with open hands,  
A heart, a soul, are of too great a price,  
I would not for a world( my Son) no, no,  
I would not have thee be so prodigal;  
Keep them( love) for thyself, and let thy gift  
Be of less value, but yet more desired.  Niso. 
Ay, a poor stranger in these parts, devoid  
Of lands and flocks, from whence shall I obtain  
A gift that's worth the sending? here,  
Give her this dart, 'tis not to be despised;  
Mark both the pile and shaft.  Ner. 
The pile is sharp and piercing, and the shaft  
Pithy and straight, fitted as they should be,  
To dart at savage beasts in the wild woods,  
But for fair Celia's hand( to speak the truth)  
For her soft tender hand it seems too big,  
And sure she cannot wield it.  Niso. 
What thinkst thou of this horn?  Never 
Oh! I of horns am a great Mistress too,  
And did present her one the other day;  
And with your patience be it spoke, perhaps  
Farier than that.  Niso. 
Then now I have bethought me of a gift,  
May happily seem not unworthy of  
Fair Celia herself.  Ner. 
Is it about thy neck?  Niso. 
Is't not a fair one Nirea? see.  Ner. 
What's this that shines so? take it off, that so  
I may the better view it.  Niso. 
Have patience; so, 'tis now undone.  Ner. 
Ah, what a pure white neck he hath! I scarce  
Could hold from kissing it.  Niso. 
O sad remembrance of my former love,  
And of my by-past happiness: Go now,  
For heaven ordains thee to a better fate:  
Behold it Nerea.  Ner. 
Ah! who did ever see a braver thing?  
It looks, as 'twere all gold.  Niso. 
And 'tis all gold: But go and see if thou  
With it canst purchase me my life again:  
Defer no time, what dost thou muse upon?  Ner. 
Niso, to tell thee true, she went from me  
So troubled, and so full of high disdain  
As I have cause to fear she never will  
Give ear to me again; or if she do  
That, yet I'shall not have the power to win  
A favour from her, therefore it were fit  
Some other should present this gift to her.  Niso. 
If Nerea thou forsake me, I am lost.  Ner. 
Have patience, heaven itself is on our side:  
Seest thou that Nympy that yonder comes that way?  
If the bright glistering of her scattered hair  
With too much beauty dazzle not mine eyes  
'Tis Cloris, or 'tis rather she, because  
Mine eyes do dazzle, and from thence I know  
'Tis she indeed; for there is none that can  
Display such golden locks before the Sun.  
It must be Cloris, who alone is she  
That hath fair Celia's heart: Cloris it is,  
Than whom in Scyros Celia never knew  
A true friend: Oh happy thou if she  
Will but convey thy gift.  Niso. 
But I am no way known to her, do thou  
Do thou speak for me, and entreat her help.   

Act. 3. Scen. 4.  CLORIS, NISO, NEREA. 
HE comes not yet, and I must here attend  
The old man's leisure.  Niso. 
Why dost thou stay?  Ner. 
For loves sake peace.  Clor. 
But what shall I do here alone the while?  
Sigh out my love? then let us turn again  
Unhappy love unto our wont pains,  
And sighing still breath out my luckless woe  
Into this amorous air.  Niso. 
Go yet at last, what dost thou fear?  Ner. 
She plays the wily wench, I know her well  
By many proofs: be still a while.  Clo. 
But where, alas, O where are you lost sighs?  
And whether do you wander through the air?  
If yet you know not where to find the heart  
To which love sends you erring messengers  
Of most unhappy news?  Niso. 
Woes me! go on, and try her though my case  
Be ne'er so desperate; for whatsoever befall,  
I can but die.  Clo. 
Ah! shall I never live to see the day  
When once before I die I may behold  
My beauteous Sun again?  
'Tis but a look I beg, and then I'll die,  
And die consent; for one look and no more  
I would give up my life, and its worth that.  Niso. 
Ah Nerea!  Ner. 
Have patience, now I go.  Clo. 
O heavens!  Ner. 
The gracious heavens satisfy. Clo. Ah me!  Ner. 
Thy just desires, my gentle Cloris?  Clo. 
Thy unexpected voice made me afraid.  Ner. 
But pity then another's just desires,  
Use thou that pity which thou dost implore  
Thyself from heaven.  Clo. 
What should I say? I doubt she hath heard all:  
Thou seest me, Nerea, here all alone,  
Sighing for that blessed day, when I shall once  
Behold again in heaven above that Sun  
Which I in Smyrna saw.  
But what dost thou desire of me? what is't?  Ner. 
The life of a poor shepherd.  Clo. 
Farewell, I'm gone:  
Thou know'st I never lend an ear to those  
That speak to me of Love.  Ner. 
O spiteful soul! dost hear? fly not away.  
The thing whereof I speak, 'tis true, is love,  
But such as thou wilt not deny to hear,  
Believe't it is, and by this hand I swear,  
This fair, th' is tender hand which now I grasp.  Clo. 
What's that? for loves sake give it me.  Ner. 
Sh'hath snatched it from my hand. Cloris look on't,  
Is't not a fair one? but thou shalt have time  
Hereafter to look on it long enough.  
Now hear what I would say.  Clo. 
'Tis none of mine, for that's about my neck.  
It must be that of Thirsis: O ye Gods!  
What's this I see?  Ner. 
Bear up my Niso, and resume again  
Thy late lost courage, see she's pleased beyond  
All measure with thy gift, and she will bring  
Fair Celia to like it too  
If she but take in hand to give it her.  
See how she looks upon't.  Niso. 
Follow it then, Nerea, O follow it.  
Thou only canst revive my hope again.  
If yet my hope can ere revive again.  Clo. 
But if my Thirsis should be dead and so  
The Ring be fallen into some others hands:  
Who gave thee, Nerea, this golden ring?  Ner. 
A gentle shepherd gave it me.  Clo. 
A shepherd here of Scyros?  Ner. 
No, but a stranger born.  Clo. 
And to what end then did he give it thee?  Ner. 
He gave it as a token of his love,  
And his eternal faith.  Clo. 
Of love to thee?  Ner. 
To me?  
Look I like one' whose love is to be bought  
With others gifts? O no I am too old:  
'Tis not for me to sell my Merchandise,  
She that is rich in years must buy, not sell,  
If she intend to please herself in love.  
But thou dost know this, and dissemble it:  
His love is of a higher nature framed,  
Unhappy he loves a despairing hope,  
Saving that fortune in this hooped ring  
( But mark in what a narrow space) still moves  
And turns his fainting hopes to her he loves.  Clo 
I prithee ease my pain, and let me know  
What name that shepherd bears, where he abides,  
Or let me see, or let me speak with him.  Ner. 
'Tis that which he desires, Niso stand forth:  
Behold the shepherd here for whom I plead,  
It cannot be but he is known to thee,  
As one of those( whom if thou didst attend  
The solemn pomp which was this morning held  
In payment of his vow) thou needs must see  
Triumphing in the Temple.  Niso. 
Yes I am he fair Nymph, who did triumph  
This morning, and this very night must die,  
If love be not my help.  Clo. 
Both name, and voice, and look all different,  
But yet what doth not time and fortune change?  
And still methinks he doth resemble him:  
But yet my heart goes faster than mine eyes,  
And therefore I am fearful lest desire,  
Too much desire should mock my fawning hopes.  
Say gentle shepherd is this ring thine own?  Niso. 
It is mine own, save only in as much  
As I am vowed unto another's will.  Clo. 
When, where, or how didst thou come by it? or  
Who gave it to thee? excuse my bold demand.  
The thing itself deserves it, as a rare  
And unseen jewel in this Isle before.  Niso. 
For loves sake do not press me to relate  
So long a story now, when I have left  
So short a time to live.  
I had it when I was a child, and when  
My better fates made me live happily,  
I had it from a hand that sways the rule  
Of something else than beasts, or horned herds,  
I had it( nor will I deny it to be true)  
I had it as a pledge of love,  
Of faithful love, which I long since have lost,  
And now within these fields( Ah me! fond hope)  
Go still pursuing the recovery.  
Of my old wont pains.  Clo. 
'Tis Thirsis, it is he,  
'Tis Thirsis without doubt, and to this hour  
Lamenting still my loss, he rangeth thus  
These fields to find me out:  
O faithful heart! O me above all else  
Most happy lover! This is that blessed day  
Which I have sighed for long, and this the bliss  
The want whereof I have lamented so,  
Now sighs and tears adieu, here ends my woe.  Niso. 
Seest thou not Nerea, how she( Woos me)  
At every pause still turns herself about,  
And reasons all alone?  
And now if I mistake her not, she seems  
Strangely confounded, and I know not why.  Cl●ris. 
As yet he knows me not, is not assured,  
And therefore takes advice of Nerea.  Nerea. 
Perhaps she yet suspects, and is in fear,  
The gift is meant to her, thou never lawest  
A more reserved Wench.  Clor. 
How can it be that love doth not ere this,  
At least in secret tell it to his heart?  Nerea. 
Or else perhaps delighted with the fair:  
Rich beauty of the gold( as who can tell)  
Perhaps she may desire it for herself;  
For old in those that are the nicest, can  
Both blear their eyes, and dazzle too their hearts.  Niso. 
What ere it be, 'tis more than time my soul,  
Should be resolved at last.  Clo. 
But foolish I, why do I thus retard  
My happiness? too long, too long, alas!  
My torments have endured:  Nerea. 
Stand off, a while, I'll put her out of doubt.  Clo. 
I will disclose myself.  Nerea. Cloris. Clo. 
Do not disturb me Nerea, for my heart  
Calls me another way.  Nerea. 
Yet stay a while, thou art too squeamish now.  
What is't thou fear'st?  
That in this ring some train of love is laid  
Against thyself? be confident there's none:  
This gentle Shepherd here for Celia.  
And not for thee, for Celia, I say.  
And not for thee; dost thou conceive me?  
For Celia he sighs, and burns, and dies:  
To Celia to whom he gives his heart,  
To her this gift is sent, but yet thou mayst  
In pity be a means to give it her.  
This is a small request, and more than this  
Is not desired of thee; do thou but grant,  
To be the Messenger, and then let love  
Himself work out the rest.  Cloris. 
Thersis, Thersis for Celia?  Nerea. 
Niso, not Thersis:  Cloris. 
Ahme.  
For Celia doth he sigh, and burn, and die?  
To Celia doth he send the Ring? and I,  
Must I convey his sacrilegious gift?  Niso. 
Cloris is troubled, and undoubtedly  
Will nocon sent.  Nerea. 
Ah! though thou still be cruel to thyself,  
At least to others, yet be pitiful.  
One gentle word to do another good,  
Cannot, it cannot sure impeach the height  
And Majesty of thy just rigor.  Niso. 
I hear Amyntas' voice, but see him not,  
Amyntas.  Cloris. 
Oh false perfidious love! Oh faith betrayed,  
Oh perjured Heaven! Oh most wretched I!  Nerea. 
Ah me! and why so troubled? wherefore thus  
Distracted dost thou look? and Cloris whether,  
Whether away so fast? at least restore  
The Ring again, hark, stay awhile:   

Act. 3. Scen. 5.  Niso. Amyntas. Celia. Niso. 
THou com'st in time, in time, Amyntas, sure  
The Heavens did conduct thee to this place,  
My life's in question here, Amyntas, see,  
But whether,( Woos me) whether are they gone?  
Vanished so soon? What Cloris, Nerea?  
Cloris I say! they have abused me both.  
Follow, Amyntas, follow.  Amyn. 
Which way shall I follow? Niso, That,  
And I will follow them about this Hill.  Celia. 
Oh most delicious drink sweet to this taste  
Which thirsted after death.  Amyn. 
They do not keep the path, and if they chance,  
To take into the Wood, I gaze in vain.  Celia. 
I am here all alone, now in the hands  
Of death, why do not I then die?  Niso. 
This way they are not gone, is there left yet  
Another way to find?  Celia. 
Ah me! what do I see?  Niso. 
Amyntas look! look there's my Sun.  Amyn. 
Ah peace, if she perceive us, she will straight  
Vanish out of our sight, and then those rays  
Will rather seem a flash of lightning, than  
The cheerful beams of this bright shining Sun.  Niso. 
Already she hath spied us, and it seems  
That even very now, she looks this way,  
But yet with high disdain: And seeest thou not!  
Me thinks she looks as she were full of woe:  
I see in that fair face, the gillyflowers,  
And Roses withered, and look wondrous pale.  Celia. 
They go not hence, nor I cannot remove  
Nor yet doth death come to deliver.  Amyn. 
She reasons with herself, and happily,  
she's angry that she finds us here.  Niso. 
But yet amidst those woes, there may be seen,  
A smiling beauty and a flour●shing  
Amidst those withered flowers: Oh heavenly!  
Oh thou diviner beauty! can it be  
That other fair ones, have the fairness of  
The richest colours, and the fairest flowers?  
But she not as from them, but from herself is fair.  Celia. 
Unhappy eyes, what ere the world hath fair  
May there be seen but not by you, and then  
What more than death, can you desire to see?  Niso. 
Ah me! before so fair a fire I burn,  
And fry in scorching heat, and canst thou then  
Look on it and be mute? and look again,  
And yet not burn? Ah! I cannot contain  
Myself within this heat  Amyn. 
Stay, whether wilt thou go?  Niso. 
I must perforce, I will speak to her straight,  
And at the least, I'll tell her that I die.  Amynt. 
Speak to her man? and dost thou not then fear  
The force of her reproach? hast thou forgot  
The cruel prohibition which she sent,  
Did Nereas not tell it thee? if than thou lov'st  
Beware thou do not move her to disdan.  Cel. 
But from a sight so pleasing( Woe is me)  
Mine eyes do drink new po yson, and perhaps  
That may retard the operation of  
The drink I drunk before.  Niso. 
Shall I then die in silence? shall I die  
Without a breathing fit? noed shall not be,  
The Plants at least shall hear, the Plants shall hear  
The mournsull accents of my sad laments,  
For they will be less deaf unto my moan  
Than Celia is, to them hard hearted she  
Forbids me not to speak.  Celia. 
What dost thou death, what dar'st thou not close up  
These eyes of mine, which love keeps open thus:  
Yet I must die, and though mine eyes delay,  
My heart makes haste to go that dismal way.  
Shepherd's do you remove unto some other place,  
Or I of force must fly from this.  Niso. 
Ah! thou most cruel Nymph!  Amynt. 
Peace Niso, peace, dost thou not see  
That with her foot already in the air  
She threatens to be gone? let's leave her then,  
Let's leave her here in peace, and go our way,  
The Woods do not want trees to which thou mayst  
As well as to these Beeches here complain,  
And in thy depth of sorrow sigh in vain.  Niso. 
Let's go, O cruel Nymph!  Amynt. 
Ah me! most miserable!   

Act. 3. Scen. 6.  CELIA. Cel. 
SOuls of my soul, away from me you fly,  
And 'tis but reason, since I needs must die:  
And now I die, but you dear lovely sights  
Which even now gave light unto mine eyes,  
If ever you by chance on earth behold  
These most unhappy limbs here lie extinct,  
Deprived of heat and motion, not so much  
As one poor sigh, no nor a tear I crave.  
This only I entreat, that your proud feet  
As just revengers of your injured hearts,  
Would kick these bones unto the savage beasts,  
And fling the dust thereof into the air,  
But with that dust let then the air convey  
Into the den of deep forgetfulness  
All memory of my black sin. O happy death,  
If with my life my faults may vanish too!  
But I still live, and 'tis perhaps because  
A few small herbs cannot prevail with death,  
He must have more, and therefore I have here  
My lap full of them, and I will renew  
Their poison once again. Ah me! I die,  
Amyntas'! Niso! Ah I die, O love,  
Betrayed love! O falsified faith!  
Come now behold, and see the just revenge,  
See and triumph, behold the vengeance due  
Unto my fatal error, see the end  
Of all my torturing pain. Come gentle plant  
And stay the ruins of this falling bulk,  
And since under thy shadow I must die,  
Ah! with those leaves, those withered leaves at lest  
Which with the wind are tossed too and fro,  
For pity cover these unburied limbs:  
But thou dost fly me, and so doth the earth,  
The heavens hide themselves, and wretched I  
Since neither earth nor heaven will receive  
This woeful soul, where shall I then remain?  
See, see, behold th' infernal deep there placed;  
You borrid furies whereon do you gaze?  
And thou black Cerberus why bark'st thou so?  
Make room, I come to bear a share in all  
The torments you endure, or rather leave,  
Leave all your pains to me, begone and tell  
That I alone will here alone make hell.  
Ah me! ah me!    

Act. 4.  

Scen. 1.  SERPILLA. CLORIS. Serp. 
I Can no more, stay here a while, and give  
If not unto my legs, yet to my heart  
A poor short breathing fit.  Clo. 
Stay where it like thee best, for all vain  
Hither and thither I remove my steps,  
But cannot find nor hill, nor lowly plain,  
Nor open air, nor darksome shade that can  
Bring the least comfort to my wounding pain;  
No place can give me ease, but all alike  
Seems fitted to torment my wearied soul.  
In this same very place my woes begun,  
There first I viewed again my cruel foe,  
And here I first discovered it was he,  
Here was I glad, and here as suddenly,  
With the short sound of one sad killing word,  
Even in this very place, unhappy I  
Slipped back again into my former pain,  
And fell so swiftly down that precipice,  
As death to me cannot but now appear  
Tardy and slow.  Serp. 
Phillis! ah my dear daughter, mitigate  
This fierce tormenting grief which thus infests  
Thy soul with fury: for in fine, if thou  
Consider well, Thirsis is still thine own,  
Nor lives she can deprive thee of thy hopes:  
True faith betwixt your gentle hearts hath knit  
A lasting and indissoluble knot;  
And love sometimes perhaps may be forgot,  
But never a true faith, that faith which once  
Jove with his thundering hand hath firmly writ,  
And deep engraved in heaven.  Clo. 
But yet alas what can I gain thereby?  
For faith deprived of love ties up our hands,  
But fetters not our hearts, and thus fast bound  
The bonds are too too hard: For my part then  
Let them be loosed quite, and let me live  
Free from that hand that lives without a heart.  
No, no, Serpilla, no if he deny  
His love to me, his faith I do defy.  Serp. 
But thou dispairest yet before 'tis time,  
Thirsis believes thee dead, and justly may  
Within his youthful breast then entertain  
New flames of love, and yet therein be free  
From the least show of doing injury  
To that rich beauty which he thinks extinct,  
And happily hath mourned for long ago.  
But when he shall perceive thee here alive  
His old lost love will then with the revive.  Clo. 
That love Serpilla which can be removed  
With the light breath of an imagined death,  
Is but a faint weak love, nor care I much  
Whether it live again, or still lie dead.  
Even I myself believed him long ago  
Dead, and enclosed within an earthen Urn,  
And yet abhorring any other love,  
I only loved that pale-faced beauty still,  
And those dry bones dissolved into dust,  
And underneath their ashes kept alive,  
The lively flames of my still burning fire.  
Thou know'st it well, who oftentimes hast seen,  
And grieu'dst to see my miserable state,  
My misbeleeved death than cannot make  
His fault, or yet my sorrows seem the less:  
Ah me! it cannot; no but he is false,  
Alas he's false, and I most wretched am,  
Nor can his faithless error be excused,  
Or my sad grief admit the least relief.  
What shall I do then? who shall counsel me?  
Shall love? alas it cannot; when love meets  
With infidelity, it rests deprived  
Of all advice; then I must now repair  
For counsel to my fury and despair.  Serp. 
Come with me daughter, or at least consent  
That I may go and seek thy Thirsis out;  
I'll have him know thee once again, I must  
Once see you both confronted face to face,  
And thou shalt hear then what himself can say,  
And thence we'll take advice.  Clo. 
That ever he shall look on me again?  
No, I have not the heart, I know too well,  
That whilst I look upon his once loved eyes,  
Their beams will mitigate my just disdain,  
That just disdain, which I must keep entire  
For mine own safety, therefore peace no more,  
No more of that Serpilla.  Serp. 
Yes but I must, and he must once again  
See thee( my heart) I will not be denied,  
He shall come see thee, I will have it so,  
If not to ease thy sad perplexed thoughts,  
At least to aggravate his biting woe,  
And now I go, but Thirsis sojourns yet  
At young Amyntat house, and this the path  
That leadeth thither by the shortest way.  
Stay then at home, or for me there leave word,  
Where I may come to thee.  Clo. 
Yes, yes, go on, go on.  Serp. 
O! if I could now be so blessed to free  
Phillis and Celia both from misery.  Clo. 
I will leave word where thou mayst come to me.  
But thou must come then to deaths darksome Cell:  
For thither I perceive my sorrows will  
Bring me e'er long: Thirsis, thou ne'er must see  
This face again; for there remains no more  
Comfort for me; nor do I wish thy pain,  
For false and cruel though thou be to me,  
Yet I must love thee still: Ah me! I love,  
And if my love can for no other cause  
Be dear to thee, yet cruel! let it be  
Dear, as it will be cause of death to me:  
Oh my ingrateful Thirsis, Ah false man.  
Phillis for thee was born, lived by thine eyes,  
And now for thee forsaken Phillis dies.   

Act. 4. Scen. 2.  NISO. 
I Here the name of Phillis, and but now,  
Me thinks it echoed through the empty air,  
Unto my love-sick soul: but whence then comes  
This feigned voice, which thus recalls again,  
The cold dead ashes of my dying heart,  
Unto there wont flames? can it be thou?  
Or is't not rather the fair gentle shade,  
Of my lost Phillis? is it that which strays,  
Deprived of rest about these fields to draw  
My erring heart unto her love again?  
Alas what wouldst thou have of me? thou know'st  
That since thy death, no part of me remains,  
But tears and sighs, and if thou take delight  
To see me grieve, thou Mayest when e'er thou please.  
Whilst I live here, renew the funeral pomp,  
Of my sad tears, and heart consuming sighs;  
Take then these brinish drops, rest satisfied  
With these deep groans, which here I consecrate,  
Unto our love, and to thy sweet repose,  
And re●●, Ah me! poor soul, now rest in peace.   

Act. 4. Scen. 3.  Amyntas. Niso. Amyn. 
he's all alone: Niso, whom speakest thou to?  Niso. 
To empty shadows my Amyntas, Ah!  
I know not how the mournful memory,  
Of my first, earnest, but unhappy love  
Is even now, in midst of my new flames.  
When it should least have troubled my sad thoughts  
Renewed within my soul? and whilst now this,  
Now that, and each within an instant prefs  
Sighs from my heart, and tears out from mine eyes  
Tears overflow, and sighs confound me so,  
As my poor heart doth faint.  Amyn. 
And so thy heart amidst such ardent flames  
Such fervent heats, serves only now to be,  
The hot consuming furnace of true love:  
Oh miserable soul! when Celia darts  
One flashing beam, hath it not power enough  
To burn one silly heart? Unless love force  
New flames out of a beauty now extinct?  
Is she not dead( if I remember well  
What thou hast said) who now revives thy heart.  Niso. 
O yes she died a child, and in the East  
My rising Sun, declined to the West,  
She died a child, and if a beauty since,  
And such a beauty as perhaps did not  
Seem coy to me( such as thou seest me here)  
Offered me love, I in an instant turned  
Mine eyes another way, or dulled their sight  
With the full flowing streams of showering tears;  
Only the unkind beauty of my Celia,  
Had force to work that strange effect in me,  
Which the most loving beauty else could not:  
Nor can I tell how it was brought to pass.  
That I could neither fly, nor yet withstand  
Her all commanding power: and thus new flames  
Without confounding of my former heat,  
Incense my heart afresh, whence I am forced  
Still to bewail my Phillis, still to sigh.  
For Celia's love she is already lost,  
And her I cannot hope ere to enjoy.  
This then is all I can expect to gain,  
To lose my sighs, and spend my tears in vain,  Amynt. 
Whilst thou dost thus bemoan thy sad mishaps,  
Grief grows into excess: Let us discourse  
Upon some other subject: I can learn  
No news of Cloris, nor of Nerea,  
From that young Goatheard, with whom for that end  
I stayed behind thee talking in the wood.  Niso. 
Which way shall we pursue them then, deprived  
Of all the helps that may direct our course.  Amynt. 
Why should we follow thus their steps in vain?  
I am already weary, and 'twere best  
To rest us here in this large open plain.  
From whence we may discover round about  
What passeth too and fro, and underneath  
These spreading Beech es here we may attend  
In hope to meet them, and refresh ourselves  
In this cool breathing shade, where we may dry  
The trickling sweat from off our me thing brows,  
And take a sweet repose.  Niso. 
Agreed.  Amynt. 
But what is't I behold there in the skirts  
And entrance of the wood, betwixt those twigs  
And the round body of that tree?  Niso. 
It seems a Nymph sure by her clothes.  Amynt. 
Oh! 'Tis fair Celia, see her Azure gown,  
Those silver buskins, and that golden Bow  
Show it is Celia, which lies here retired  
Under this gentle shade: 'Tis she.  Niso. 
Lies Celia in the shade? behold then you  
That wish to see the Sun conceal his beams  
Under a shadow, here enjoy your wish.  Amynt. 
Speak softly, for I think she sleeps.  Niso. 
Sleeps she?  
O if some pitiful( I will not say  
Or God or man) but some kind gentle dream,  
Some wand'ring spirit would but whilst she sleep  
Securely thus present before that soul,  
That cruel soul, the lively image of  
The poor tormented Niso, with his cheeks  
Bedewed with tears; his grisly pale-faced looks,  
Brought to the very point of death, and beg  
Some spark of pity for me: Who can tell  
What hope it might produce? for sure I am  
That whilst I sleep I feel love waking still  
Even in the very shadow of my dreams:  
But wretched man! to what pass am I brought  
When dreams and fancies must sustain my hopes?  
Yet now at least I may for once behold  
That lovely visage, unsurprised with fear,  
To see her fly me straight.  Amynt. 
And I alas, must every moment hear  
Another's woes, and yet conceal mine own,  
But I am silent still, because I die  
Each minute that I breath, and no man cries  
At that same very instant when he dies.  Niso. 
I look on every side, yet cannot come  
To view her beauteous face. Amyntas, see,  
Me thinks that Bramble-bush still craving seems  
With too much love to stretch his thorny twigs  
Too near, as if he meant to kiss  
The sweet vermilion Roses of her lips;  
O impudent bold rival, thy base briers  
Though armed with spiny prickles, shall not thus  
Prevent me in my happiness.  Amynt. 
Softly, dear Niso, that thou wake her not.  Niso. 
Ah me! so near to my beloved fire,  
I am all Ice, and in a shaking fit:  
Wonder of men! Yet thus we ought to fear  
The beauty we adore: I dare not move,  
Me-thinks great love from thence darts forth at me  
Invisible, strong, powerful shafts, do thou,  
Do thou Amyntas, who art out of fear  
Of all his Darts, with freer boldness try  
To let me see her face.  Amyn. 
I will:  
But yet alas to me 'tis not a task,  
So easy as he deems.  Niso. 
Amyntas, Ah! Amyntas, dost not feel  
Thy trembling foot, march an uncertain pace?  
Stay, stay awhile, methinks thy palefaced looks  
Tell me thy fears: yet thou art not in love:  
From whence then come these frights?  Amyn. 
I cannot tell, perhaps some godhead sent  
From Heaven to guard these sleeping members, may  
Strike terror to my soul.  Niso. 
No, no, the beauty of that face can work  
Awe in the boldest heart.   

Act. 4. Scen. 4.  Narete. Amyntas. Niso. 
BUt go, Silvanus, go, and take a care  
The Kid escape not from thee, if thou meanest  
To keep poor Filino alive.  Amyn. 
It is Narete.  Narete. 
See then from him thou fly to Celia,  
And tell the happy tidings of her love.  Niso. 
Ah me! dost thou not hear Amyntas? Ha!  Amyn. 
Narete welcome, but what happy news  
Hast thou for Celia, that concerns her love?  Narete. 
That her beloved Kid is yet alive.  Niso. 
Thanks be to Heaven, I am restored again  Amyn. 
What that young Kid, which Filino, ere while  
Went all about Lamenting with such tears.  Narete. 
The simple boy, believed him surely dead,  
And he had surely died, had I not come,  
Led thither by his cries; for he had fed  
Upon a poisonous herb, whose mortal juice,  
First casts into a sleep, then sleeping kills,  
If ere the venom seize upon the heart,  
The visage be not bathed, or sprinkled with  
Some moistening drops, which may recall again  
From depth of sleep, the cold benumbed soul,  
And therefore I to whom the herb is known  
Straight ran unto the Brook, and therein bathed  
The dying Kid, and drew him forth alive.  
But what( my sons) were you beholding there  
Some beast within his den?  Niso. 
O my Narete, 'tis a savage beast,  
I dare tell thee, no will I keep it hid;  
For thou art old, yet with those snow white locks  
Know'st how to pity simple youthful love:  
Here lies a savage beast, more savage far  
Then is the Basilisk, more deadly too,  
For he doth only poison with his looks:  
But she doth kill whether she looks or no:  
For see Narete, see, she sleeps secure,  
Yet I stand dying here:  Narete. 
I see.  
And now both know the beast, and understand  
The poison that she brings: and my kind son,  
Would I were as well able to give help  
To thy disease, as I can pity thee,  
'Tis true, I'm old, but I remember yet  
Mine own young wanton joys, and envy not  
Another's youthful love.  Niso. 
If thou canst do nought else, yet prove at least  
If with thy hand though trembling thus for age:  
Thou hast the courage to remove those twigs,  
And let the beauty of her face appear:  
We both have tried in vain, so sweet a task,  
For thence I know not how, there still breathes forth,  
A secret virtue; which when once the foot,  
But tends that way, doth stupefy the hand,  
And numbs with cold the vigour of the soul,  
Even in the very centre of the heart.  Narete. 
Hear a bewitching beauty, and a work,  
Done by enchantments: women's beauty is  
( If yet you know it not) the magic power  
Of Heaven above, by which it works on Earth,  
Those stranger wonders which weak men admire:  
And that same heat and cold that courage, and  
That trembling fear, with which when Heaven is pleased  
To bridle and restrain a love-sick soul,  
Are bare effects of her great magic art;  
Against which, nor charm, nor herb, nor precious stone,  
Hath power to help, for scarce can it avail,  
To bear a rugged visage covered with,  
A wrinkled skin, which many years agone  
Was parched with heat of the sun's burning beams:  
Yet I that am thus armed, may perhaps,  
More boldly venture on this enterprise  
Than you can do, and bring to happy end  
What you see unsuccessfully begun.  Niso. 
Go on and prosper then.  Narete. 
And stay you there.  Niso. 
But hark Narete, hark, take heed thy noise  
Do not awake her, for thou then shalt see  
Her like a flash of lightning vanish straight,  
And after her my silly heart will run  
So hastily, as I shall not have time  
To say, poor heart adieu.  Narete. 
Stand you concealed then, for if she wake  
And see not you, she will not fly for me.  Amyn. 
Dost hear, dost hear.  Narete. 
Good Heavens guard me.  Amyn. 
Take heed lest whilst thou dost remove those thorns,  
No prick do race her gentle tender skin.  Narete. 
Thou seemest more tender far than she:  
Go back, and look, but yet be silent still.  Niso. 
Now he is there, and now he goes to work:  
But ah! methinks that hand whilst thus it moves,  
Afflicts my jealous heart.  Narete. 
Alas dear Shepherds, Oh! dear Shepherds run  
Run quick, Ah me! for Celia's either dead,  
Or will be by and by.  Amyn. 
Ah me!  Niso. 
O fates! fair Celia dead?  Narete. 
Here is no shadow, which can darken thus  
Her clearer coloured face.  Niso. 
Oh Celia! life of my life:  Amyn. 
But I have not the courage to behold  
Her dying looks.  Niso. 
Wilt thou not answer us? Ah me! sweet Celia.  Nar. 
Niso, break thou those boughs, from off that bramble Bush,  
And I will draw her forth upon the grass,  Amyn. 
Say good Narete, doth she live or no?  Narete. 
For all this motion, I cannot perceive  
That yet she breathes again:  
But let us lay her here.   

Act. 4. Scen. 5.  Niso. Narete, Amyntas. Celia. 
OH my sweet Celia, Oh my dearest soul!  Nar. 
Give way, that I may let her Bodice lose.  
And give ease to her breast.  Amyn. 
Lives she Narete? say?  Narete. 
Now I may feel her heart,  
What leaves are these which in her bosom thus  
Lie here concealed, as if they had of late  
Been gathered by her hand?  Amyn. 
Comes she not yet unto herself?  Niso. 
Oh sad discoulered Roses, mixed with  
This perfect snowy white: lo here the shape,  
Which death should take, if death could then be made  
Subject to love.  Narete. 
O miserable, strange unheard of case!  
O most unhappy Maid, unusual death!  
O most cruel homicide!  Amyn. 
Ah me! then is she dead?  Niso. 
And who was he that was the Homicide?  
Where is the wretch?  Amyn. 
●n what foul den, or in what horrid Cave  
May the most hateful tiger be found out?  Niso. 
Let us pursue him straight.  Amyn. 
Let's go,  
Already I have killed him in my thoughts,  
And now methinks I tear him with my teeth  
Down to the very heart,  Narete. 
Fond frantic men, what fury thus transports  
Your erring minds? or whither will you go?  Niso. 
To seek revenge.  Narete. 
Ah turn again blind men, the murderer,  
The Homicide is here.  Niso. 
Come back Amyntas, here's our enemy.  Amyn. 
And where?  Niso. 
Where good Narete, where?  Narete. 
See here at once, both she that did the deed,  
And she that suffers under it, extinct:  
Observe what here with her own proper hands  
The unhappy maid hath written in these leaves:  
For Niso and Amyntas, I did burn,  
But I was cruel, and a faithless love;  
And that I might not still be false to them,  
And cruel to myself: Lo thus I die.  
O thousand, thousand times, most woeful chance!  Amyn. 
Ah me!  Niso. 
Ah me! so loud that Heaven itself may hear  
Amyntas! ah Amyntas, was this fair?  Amyn. 
Niso, for loves-sake peace, by all the Gods  
Thou dost me wrong thus to complain of me:  
I loved by force, yet never made it known.  Niso. 
And this thy silence now brings death to me.  Amyn. 
Ah me! no more.  Niso. 
But since fair Celia's dead, 'tis fit I die,  
And yet alas my death's not worthy hers.  Amyn. 
Ah me!  Narete, 
Yet I would see at least, how 'twas she died.  Niso. 
Amyntas' ah! since thou didst help to make  
Me thus unhappy, help me now to mourn,  Narete. 
Her fair white neck carries no guilty sign,  
Of any strangling cord.  Amyn. 
Ah me, poor soul, my grief is all shut up  
Within my broken heart, and there it feeds  
Only on tears, and will not suffer one  
To spring out of mine eyes.  Narete. 
Nor is this place near any precipice.  Amyn. 
But cruel woe, insatiable grief,  
Do thou devour my heart, and let my tears,  
Distil out of mine eyes, give way at last  
To pity, that it may break up  
The deep abyssus of my sad laments.  Narete. 
Her dart is innocent of this offence.  Niso. 
Sweet Celia, wilt thou not hear me yet?  
Poor naked soul, to what place art thou fled?  
Couldst thou endure to leave this comely frame  
Here all alone, benumed, and frozen thus?  Narete. 
Her garments are untouched:  Niso. 
Come back, return, and look but once again  
Upon this lovely feature, and then fly  
From it, the second time, if thou hast power.  Narete. 
What herb is this wherewith her lap is filled?  
Niso, Amyntas, run, run, quickly run,  
Unto the nearest fountain:  Niso. 
What nearer Fountain can there be found out  
Then the fresh springing current of mine eyes?  
Let us lament, our office is to mourn,  
Let baths, and funeral piles, be others care:  Narete. 
Alas 'tis now no time to weep in vain,  
Go, go, I say, fetch me some water straight  
To bathe her face withal, leave off, begone.  Amyn. 
What other water needs there here to bathe  
Her face withal, which thou seest all bedewed.  
With our distilling tears?  Narete. 
Then I must go myself.  Amynt. 
Come, come, Narete, come, methinks she stirs.  Niso. 
Quickly, Narete, come, fair Celia lives,  
And begin to breathe again.  Nar. 
O blessed eternal providence!  
O happy tears! strange, powerful Antidote!  
Which trickling down upon her face, prevails  
Against this poisonous herb, and so recals  
Her wand'ring soul into her breast again.  Niso. 
Ah Celia!  Amynt. 
Celia!  Nar. 
Disturb her not, see, she makes show to rise;  
Lend her your help.  Cel. 
How hard and wearisom's the way to death?  
I am quite tired; all my visage melts  
Into faint drops of sweat.  Nar. 
Amazed yet she raves, and thinks your tears  
Are drops of sweat upon her fainting face.  Cel. 
I am arrived at last within the skirts  
Of the vast shady empire, and these are  
The baleful Stygian fields.  Nar. 
Go both of you and hold her up.  Cel. 
Who presseth on me thus? now out, alas,  
Behold th' infernal Monsters which are wont  
In form of their abused Lovers to torment  
False faithless souls,  Niso. 
Ah Celia!  C●l. 
Ah me!  Nar. 
Go from her shepherds, go, and silent stand  
Concealed apart, till I can undeceive  
Her poor distracted fancy thus abused.  Cel. 
And yet their looks renew within my soul  
The wont fire of love. Ah me, can then  
Th' infernal monster's breath out loving flames?  
O hell is too too cruel, if it burn  
With the hot flames of love.  Nar. 
O daughter!  Cel. 
But who is he with that white hoary beard?  
Perhaps 'tis aged Charon, am I not  
Yet past then to the other side?  Nar. 
Celia, thou talk'st idly, call again  
Thy wand'ring senses, thou art yet alive;  
And if thou wilt not credit what I say,  
Look up and see the heavens turning round,  
The Sun descending down into the West,  
Which not long since thou sawst rise in the East:  
Observe that with the motion of the air,  
These fading leaves do fall:  
In the infernal region of the deep  
The Sun doth never rise, nor never set,  
Nor doth a falling leaf there ere adorn  
Those black eternal plants:  
Thou still art on the earth amongst mortal men,  
And still thou livest: I am Narete, these  
Are the sweet fields of Scyros, know'st thou not  
The meadow where the Fountain springs? this wood?  
Euro's great mountain, and Ormino's hill?  
The hill where thou wert born? why dost thou look  
So wistly round about? thou know'st them all;  
Speak then, leave musing, art not yet awake?  Cel. 
I am alive then, it is too too true,  
Narete saith it, yet my fence of grief  
Makes me believe it rather true than he,  
But I was dead, and once I was below  
Within death's empire, and there one by one  
Saw all the hellish furies, horrid hags,  
And fearful torments which do there abide,  
Who then had power to draw me thus by force  
Out of th' infernal deep?  Nar. 
Thy woeful lovers mourning for thy death,  
Were able by their tears to give thee life.  Cel. 
'Twas ill for me, their tears had power to make  
Even hell itself seem pitiful; but sure  
'Twas not their tears; for I am well assured  
Where Hydra's hiss, and bawling Cerberus  
Sends out his howling noise, no other voice  
Can there be heard.  
It was the horror of this faithless soul  
Which horrid hell itself could not endure  
But sent it back: And woes me do I live?  
Do I live still? and is my hateful life  
The vomit of th' infernal pit?  Niso. 
Mark good Narete how she is involved  
In the chimeras still of hell and death.  Cel. 
Unhappy life, when even death itself  
Proves false to thy desires.  Nar. 
Do you without disturbing her take heed  
She do not come again to her despair,  
And act a second death.  C●l. 
But thou eternal justice of the heavens,  
Thou happily art pleased to decree  
That being doubly false, I should return  
Into this life again, that once again  
I might submit to death, and double death,  
Might, so revenge my double hearted sin.  Niso. 
But thou, Narete, whither dost thou go?  
Ah leave us not here all alone to act  
So hard a part as this.  Nar. 
I go into the valley of Alcander, and  
Will straight return with herbs to purge the brain,  
And free her from this ecstasy.  Cel. 
To death then let us go, to death.   

Act. 4. Scen. 6.  Amyntas, Celia, Niso. Amynt. 
TO death my Celia? to death again?  
If thou wilt needs be dying, take this soul,  
This grieved soul of mine, and die with it,  
For thou canst never die unless it flit  
Out of this wounded breast.  Niso. 
He speaks to her, yet she flies not away.  Celia. 
Why art thou so unwilling I should die?  
Wilt thou deny me then a remedy  
Against my woe? wilt thou contend against  
The just decree of heaven?  Niso. 
Nay more, she hears him, and doth answer him.  Amynt. 
The heavens prescribe another remedy  
Now to thy woes, than by a second death.  Cel. 
What other remedy canst thou believe  
My woes can find, since even death itself,  
Which is the end of all man's ill, cannot  
Yet put an end unto my miseries?  Niso. 
But I will soon break off this their so sweet  
And amorous discourse.  Amynt. 
My death, not thine, and with my death the lo●●  
Of Niso, now the heavens have decreed  
To be the remedy for all thy ills.  Niso. 
But I will not disturb them, I will first  
With silence hear them speak.  Cel. 
Ah! ah!  Amynt. 
Do not disdain me, first with favour hear  
The reasons I can bring. Dear Celia,  
If thou dost love thy Niso—  Niso. 
He pleads against me now.  Amynt. 
With reason thou dost love thy Niso the,  
Niso deserves thy love, Niso that knew  
How to take fire so quickly from thy flame,  
Even than when dying he did open first  
His dazzled eyes to gaze upon thy light:  
And happy he, though late he saw the sun,  
Yet late it was not ere his fire begun.  
So that in Scyros he may rightly be  
Esteemed a new come guest, but cannot yet  
Be taxed for tardy love.  Niso. 
Where will he pitch? what is it he intends?  Amynt. 
In me, alas, what canst thou well discern?  
Which may deserve thy love? who every way  
Void of desert, do love and burn 'tis true;  
But like a senseless block that's good for nought,  
Such senseless blocks are long ere they take fire,  
But burn to ashes straight; and such am I,  
That could for many years behold those eyes,  
And never yet take fire: So late a love  
Cannot deserve such speedy pity then,  
I am not worth thy love, nor do I crave  
Thy smallest pity, such a blessedness  
Great love denies me, I do only beg  
That thou wouldst let me die▪ and that my death,  
Thrice happy death may so restore thee to  
Thy perfect health again: then mayst thou love  
Amyn: as and thy Niso too, and yet  
Be neither cruel, nor a faithless love;  
For loving one alive, the other dead,  
Him thou mayst love, enjoying love again.  
Me thou mayst love in mourning for my pain,  
Nor shalt thou mourn too long, one gentle tear  
Shed for my death, shall pay for all my sighs,  
And thou thyself shalt then with endless joy  
Enjoy thy Niso's love.  Niso. 
O unaccustomed piety both of a friend  
And of a faithful love, I did him wrong  
To doubt his truth, but now I do repent.  Amynt. 
Then live still both, and may you happy live  
Whilst I die for you both, and here I make  
A solemn vow to sacrifice my life  
To thee great love, and in thy Temple there  
Let this poor carcase rest.  Niso. 
There is no longer time for silence now,  
'Twere baseness to continue still reserved,  
I have a heart can die Amyntas, too  
Yea and a soul that can desire to die,  
Nay life itself is only dear to me,  
That I may live to die, and by my death  
Make both my love, and friend live happily.  Cel. 
Shepherds, forbear, be silent both, and both  
Content yourselves, 'tis I, 'tis only I  
That have transgressed, and only I must die,  
Live both, still live, and take no pity on  
A cruel, pitiless, and savage beast,  
Let not the love of a most faithless love  
Warm either of your hearts: Can you believe  
This face, these eyes, these hapless dangling locks  
Oregrown with grief, refused by palefaced death,  
Can ever now be worthy of your love?  
Or love still if you will, I'll not gain say't:  
But yet love so, that love may breathe disdain,  
No pity in your hearts:  
I love Amyntas, doth not Niso then  
Hate me therefore?  
And I love Niso, can Amyntas then  
Be free from jealous hate? Ah me! if both,  
If both of you hate not my falsehood now  
'Tis too too sure you do not love me then;  
Love is not there where when just cause doth move  
He breathes not fury 'gainst a faithless love:  
Woes me you injured lovers do not strive  
Betwixt yourselves, which of you dying now  
Should give me life; rather contend for this,  
Which of you both should be the first to strike  
Me dying to the heart; for 'tis high time  
That I myself should now conspire with you  
Against myself, and each of us should bring  
His talon to the work: you hands of wrath,  
And I my naked breast; you your just darts,  
And I my guilty soul; and when you first  
Have piercest my heart I will breathe out my life.  
Thus you by wounding, I by dying shall  
Revenge your wrongs, and crown my funeral.   

Act. 4. Scen. 4.  Filino, Celia, Amyntas, Niso. Fil. 
ANd art thou here? whom I had almost past  
Without perceiving thee, I ran so fast:  
Ah Celia! dost thou not know thy Cloris? ah!  
What heavy news of Cloris dost thou bring,  
Which may deserve these sighs?  
Say, doth she live or die?  Filino. 
Ah me, she dies.  Amyn. 
Unhappy fate.  Niso. 
What's that he saith?  Celia. 
Woes me! and where? and how?  Filino. 
Within the Vale.  Celia. 
Quickly dispatch.  Filino. 
Gently, for I can scarce recover breath.  
Within the Valley of Alcander, there  
I left her even now, and there she lies,  
Not in the shade, or on the new sprung grass,  
But in the parching heat, of the sun's beams,  
Amongst rude rugged stones: there with sad sighs,  
She took her leave of Heaven, and this fair light,  
And with a mournful voice, bad death make haste:  
But he was too too near, I saw him there,  
Where he already with his wings abroad,  
Had cast a gloomy shadow o'er her face.  Niso. 
O most unhappy day!  Celia. 
Ah me! what sad occasion wrought,  
This sad effect in her?  Amyn. 
Perhaps the rumour which is spread abroad  
Of thy late death, Oh Celia! was the cause:  
For if thou die, who would remain alive?  Niso. 
Amyntas'! is this Cloris, unto whom,  
I gave the Ring.  Amyn. 
The very same.  Celia. 
O sad misfortune! most unhappy chance!  Niso. 
Let us go thither Celia, and perhaps  
We may find some relief.  Celia. 
Filino, let's go.  Amyn. 
Where is it that thou sayst she lies?  Filino. 
Within the Valley of Alcandor, close  
Within the wood, and yet not far away,  
From the fresh springing fountain, there  
You cannot miss: but I will now return  
Unto my flocks, to play with my young Kid.  Celia. 
Ah! Cloris, my sweet soul, the Heavens grant,  
That I may find thee but alive, and then,  
I cannot doubt, but when thou hearest what cause  
I have to die, thou wilt approve of all,  
Give thy consent, and parting kindly say:  
Rest my dear heart in peace.  Filino. 
Ho! Niso, hark, a word with thee.  Niso. 
What is't?  Fil. 
'Twas almost quite forgot.  Niso. 
Speak quickly then for Celio flies away.  Folino. 
Stay, take it away thyself,  
She put it on, but I cannot undo't.  Niso. 
Yes, yes, this is my Ring, thanks to the Gods:  
But yet what's this I see? here is the part  
Which Phillis had to boot: 'tis certain true,  
For round about it plainly do appear,  
The figures now entire, which in mine own,  
Were but by halves before.  
My Filino where hadst thou this?  Filino. 
Cloris did give it me.  Niso. 
And where had she it then?  Filino. 
I know not that; but when I softly came  
Unto the place where she did mourning sit:  
I saw it lie before her on the ground,  
And with her weeping eyes still fixed thereon,  
She bathed it with her tears, and often cried,  
O false ungrateful Thirsis! O unhappy Phillis!  Amyn. 
Ah me, what can this be? go on, go on.  Filino. 
And whether wouldst thou have me go?  Niso. 
How did she give it thee? what did she say?  Filino, 
She saw me and called to me, I obeyed,  
And with her hand, but a faint trembling hand,  
Cold as a stone about my neck she clasped  
This hoop of gold, and weeping to me said,  
But in a tone that I could scarcely hear,  
So weak her voice was: gentle boy, quoth she,  
Go, and the Heavens guide thee, go with speed:  
Carry this Ring, that none my see it else,  
Unto the Shepherd whom men here do call  
Niso, and say to him,—  Niso. 
What shouldst thou say to him?  Filino. 
Disturb me not: Yes, yes 'twas even so,  
Say that in this entire round hoop of gold:  
He in Egyptian characters may read  
The falsified faith of Thirsis: say I wish  
That he may still live happy in his love,  
As I unhappy die.  Niso. 
Ah me, 'tis Phillis, out of doubt,  
What need I fear? yet see me now become  
In my best fortune, most unfortunate:  
O my sweet Phillis, is it then decreed,  
That I should find thee once again alive:  
Only to be th' occasion of thy death?  
Was not thy death sufficient in itself,  
To make me miserable every way,  
Unless myself became thy murderer?  Filino. 
If thou wilt nothing more with me, I'm gone▪  Niso. 
But thou unhappy Ring that all at once,  
Art both th'accuser, and the guilty cause,  
Of my foul fault, go thou into the depth  
Of dark oblivion.  Filino. 
Alas 'tis thrown into the stream.  Niso. 
There, there, accuse my fault, prepare my pains  
And thither ere't be long I'll follow thee.  Filino. 
He's grown so furious, and so without sense,  
As ● begin to be amazed with fear,  
And therefore I'll be gone.  Niso. 
Fool that I am, what have I done? I erred  
For happily my Phillis, is not dead,  
But say she be not yet, 'tis too too sure  
That I have given her a mortal wound,  
And what is't, I can hope for, can I think  
To hide the foul injustice of my Crime?  
Under a faint dismal? No: See then  
The just revenge of love that made me thus,  
With mine own tongue, and that before her face  
With thousand wicked sighs, and faithless tears,  
Accuse myself of infidelity:  
But be it as it will, alive or dead  
I will go seek her out, and so will die  
Just at her foot, that for my death at least  
If for nought else, I may seem dear to her.  
O Celia, Celia, love Amyntas now,  
Faithful Amyntas, live with him, and leave  
Me to die for my Phillis, if I can  
Do nothing else, yet I can die for her,  
I will die for my Phillis: lead the way,  
Where art thou Fillino? but he is gone,  
Who now shall be my guide? I'll take my chance.  
To him in whose vexed heart despair resides  
Fury and rage are the most certain guides.    

Act. 5.  

Scen. 1.  

PERINDO.  
O sacrilege! the royal image of  
Our mighty Lord, the King of mighty Kings,  
Before whose throne so many knees do bow  
His Image on the ground? See thou divine,  
Thou sacred Idol, low to thee I bend,  
And prostrate at thy foot thus lay my head;  
But thou whappy wretch who e'er thou art,  
Out of whose hand the sacred image fell:  
Who e'er thou art, thou diest, nor can he live  
Against whom high heaven is so far incensed  
As to permit him cast his life away  
With his own proper hands. But who was he  
Who was that impious wretch? how shall we learn  
A way to find him out? This Task must be  
Orontes care, within whose power doth rest  
The law itself, much more the punishment;  
To him I fly, and 'tis enough for me  
If I make him acquainted with the fact.  
But I may wander well out of my way.  
Yet I was here( if I mistake it not)  
This very morning with Oronte, yes,  
This is the very place, and this the path  
By which we came, by this we did return,  
And 'tis the shorter way. Shepherd, O ho!  
The ready way unto the tents?    

Act. 5. Scen. 2.  Narete, Cloris. Nar. 
DIrectly forward Sir: Though to such beasts  
Such barbarous beasts as thou, the better way  
Were that which leads unto the horrid den,  
Of an accursed death. I did believe  
I should come short of finding Celia here,  
But it imports not much, since she was left  
In so good hands, and now my care must be  
Employed here. Come on good daughter, come.  Clo. 
Courteous Narete let me now return  
Alone unto my wont solitude.  Nar. 
No, no, thy grief is such I will not trust  
Thy life in thine own hands: I'll see to that,  
High heaven for thy safety more than hers,  
Guided my steps to seek for wholesome herbs,  
There where I found thee dying in despair.  Clo. 
What a strange pity's this, Narete, know  
I am already dead, nor have I left  
Or heart, or soul, and whilst thou dost deny  
Me leave to die, thou only dost restrain  
This body from a tomb, not me from death,  
And canst thou take delight then thus to drag  
About the fields unburied carcases?  Nar. 
Thou shalt not have thy will, unless at least  
Thou tell me first the cause of thy despair.  Clo. 
See where he comes, ah me!  Nar. 
Who comes? why dost thou hide thyself?   

Act: 5. Scene: 3.  Narete, Niso, Cloris. 
LOok daughter it is Niso; Niso, ho!  
Where hast thou left thy Celia? what's become  
Of young Amyntas that I see him not?  Niso. 
O my Narete, in how short a space  
How great a change is wrought in me, 'tis strange  
That thou shouldst know me now, I am no more  
That Niso that I was, nor can I say  
That now I live: fair Celia's no more mine,  
Amyntas is with her, and they are gone  
To seek out Cloris; and 'tis Cloris I  
Am seeking too, canst thou then tell me where  
Alive or dead fair Cloris may be found?  Nar. 
She is alive, and is not far from hence;  
But what is this thou sayst? and what's the cause  
That thus doth trouble and perplex thy thoughts?  Niso. 
That thou shalt hear anon, but tell me first  
Where Cloris is; and is she then alive?  
Is she not far from hence?  Clo. 
And yet I cannot but behold his face:  
O with what sweetness under those fair locks  
Lies masked so false a heart?  Nar. 
See where she is:  
Cloris come forth, 'tis Niso, child, come forth.  Niso. 
Ah me, I'm dead!  Nar. 
Thou heardst but even now, that Celia, he,  
And young Amyntas ran from place to place  
To seek thee out, and thou from thence mayst see  
How Nymphs and shepherds are perplexed with  
The rumour of thy death.  Niso. 
And could I see the light of those fair eyes,  
Blind that I am, and yet not know them straight?  Clo. 
Thou dost not know this man, Narete, if  
The rumour of my death have troubled him,  
It is delight, not pity doth disturb  
His fancy then: 'Twas he that caused my death,  
And he but comes to glory in it now.  Nar. 
Caused he thy death? Niso dost thou not hear  
What 'tis she saith?  Niso. 
Alas, what shall become of me? can I  
Yet have the heart to speak to her? can she  
With patience hearken unto what I say?  Nar. 
He answers not, nor can I understand  
What 'tis he mutters to himself apart.  Niso. 
Love at so great a need inspire my heart,  
Grant me those looks are worthy of my grief,  
Do thou direct my words:  
Phillis! ah my dear Phillis! Ah me!  Nar. 
Phillis, art thou, or Cloris?  Niso. 
Ah me I cannot, sighs will stop my words.  Narete. 
she's so besides herself, she takes no care  
What 'tis I say: But tell me Niso, then.  Niso. 
Phillis, my dearest soul:  Narete. 
My dearest soul? this phrase too sounds of love,  
But sure my voice decays, and that's the cause,  
I am not understoop.  Niso. 
I was deceived, poor soul, I was deceived.  Narete. 
I may be yet a silent looker on,  
And see a wonder here.  Niso. 
O do not turn thy face another way,  
Perhaps thou thinkest by denying thus  
That lovely visage to these eyes of mine  
To punish my misdeeds, but think not so,  
Look on me still, and mark me what I say,  
For, if thou know'st it not, I'll tell thee then  
A more severe revenger of thy wrongs,  
Thou canst not have then those fair eyes of thine,  
Which by those shining beams that wound my heart,  
Punish me more than all the world can do.  
What greater pain canst thou inflict on me,  
Then still to keep as fire before my face  
That lovely beauty, which I have betrayed?  
That beauty I have lost? I have done ill,  
Wretch that I am, I have done very ill:  
And though I do complain, believe not yet  
I hope to purchase pardon by my plaints:  
I know too well, that from this breast of mine,  
And from these eyes, which could both sigh and weep  
For others love, No sigh, no tear can fall,  
Which can have power to purchase aught of thee  
And since that nothing but my death can please,  
Let then my death beg pardon for my fault,  
Such powerful suitors should not be denied.  
Deny not then the thing it only craves,  
For I will die, and do thou pardon me,  
That's all I beg, both for my wand'ring soul  
And for this frame when it is turned to dust.  Cloris. 
Shepherd the Heavens know, and love can tell  
Whether thou hast done ill, or no, he can  
Punish thy fault, and let him pardon thee,  
I a mean Silly Shepherdess, a poor  
Abused maid, forsaken, and forlorn.  
Have no●disdain, which he need to regard,  
Who did so slenderly regard my love.  Niso. 
Ah me!  Clo. 
Ah Thirsis! Thirsis!  Narete. 
Phillis was she before, now Thirsis he.  Clo. 
Thou falsifier of those amorous sighs,  
Can it be thou that mournest? can it be?  
And thou that hast already killed me thus;  
Can it be thou that with such fervent zeal,  
Desirest now to die, and die for me?  
Cannot thy stony heart rest satisfied  
With my tormenting pain, unless thou strive  
Even in thy pity to be cruel too?  
'Tis feigned pity, and those sighs are feigned:  
I know them too too well, feigned are thy tears,  
Thy grief is feigned, and feigned thy desire;  
Yet can I not endure to see thee grieve,  
Thou I am sure thou dost but feign to grieve,  
The very naming of thy death affrights  
My poor afflicted soul: be quiet then  
And live, since thou hast one will die for thee:  
Live and in peace enjoy thy new loved love,  
In which if thou hadst freedom by the bruit,  
Of my supposed( and perhaps, by thee  
Long wished for death) I do not now desire  
My life should be the accuser of thy faults,  
Or interrupt thy joys: No I will die,  
Take courage then, I'll die, and pray the Heavens  
They may not arm their fierce revengeful wrath,  
Against thy faults, for if thou didst offend  
This heart endures for thee such horrid pains  
That heaven may well accept my sufferings  
For all thy foul offence: Why say I mine?  
No they are thine I had them all from thee,  
And I endure them all to set thee free.   

Act 5. Scen. 4.  Melisso, Niso, Cloris, Narete. Mel. 
O Cloris! how I tremble yet!)  
Dost thou not know( my child) nor do not you  
Kind shepherds, know who is that woeful wight  
That most unhappy wight that on the ground  
Did cast the proud insulting image of  
The Thracian Emperor?  Niso. 
And why with so much fear dost thou desire  
To know the man?  Mel. 
Ah if thou know him, go and bid him fly,  
Fly swift away, or he's but a dead man;  
And shall we not be gone too daughter? for  
Here come the Thracians hard at hand: And now  
In greater rage than ever.  Clo. 
Why should I fly away from Thracians now  
When Thracians are to me my best beloved?  Niso. 
But why should that man die? and for what cause?  Mel. 
Their barbarous Law condemns him, that's enough.  
Cloris lets go; dost thou not know too well?  
Hast thou forgot? let's go.  Nar. 
I prithee stay and tell me what new woe  
Their barbarous fury brings us, which is still  
Fruitful in bringing forth our miseries.  Mel. 
I'll tell you then, but yet do you mean while  
Look well about lest any of them come.  
The Thracians have a Law, that wheresoever  
The royal image of their tyrant Lord  
Shall be by any seen, it shall be there  
By him adored.  
And 'tis no less than forfeit of his life,  
Who shall by chance on set purpose show  
The least contempt to it whoere he be.  Nar. 
Inhuman Law, see if proud man cannot  
Exhalt his horns so high, till towering up  
At last he doth confront even heaven itself.  Niso. 
Shepherd proceed.  Mel. 
The Captain with his troops was going up  
Unto the Temple there to see brought in  
The tribute of our children which we pay,  
And I concealed within the bushes sat  
To view them as they past, when one of them,  
Who sure did come this way, addressed himself  
Unto their Captain, and thus humbly said,  
Behold, great Sir( and gave him in his hand  
I know not what, but sure it was of Gold,  
For in those bushes I could see no more,  
And scarcely could perceive the gold to shine)  
Behold( quoth) he the sacred image here  
Which even now I found upon the bank  
Of a swift running stream, O sacrilege?  
I found it there cast down upon the ground  
Without respect to him whose shape it bears.  
At which the rest foaming with rage and ire,  
I know not whether out of custom, or  
As an effect of fury, rent their clothes:  
And then the Captain taking by the hand  
Him that had brought the news of that misdeed  
Withdrew aside, and talking with him there,  
I by a secret path thence stole away:  
And sure they cannot be far off; but see,  
See where they come: ah daughter let's away.  Nar. 
No, for by going thus, they may conceive  
Thee guilty of the fact.   

Act. 5. Scen. 5.  Oronte, Niso, Cloris, Melisso, Narete, Perindo. Oront. 
FOr ceatain this is it, this is the Ring,  
I know't exceeding well: but yet the Law,  
The Law is plain against the faulty man,  
And he without all hope must lose his head  
Who cast the royal image on the ground.  Niso. 
Now Phillis thou shalt see whether my grief  
And my desire be feigned yea or no.  Oront. 
If I can find the wretch, if I can find  
But who it was that did possess this Ring.  Niso. 
He's found already, Sir, and comes to take  
At thy great hands deserved punishment.  
The Ring is mine, and I am he that threw  
The royal image here upon the ground:  
This is the faulty hand, and this the head  
Condemned for the fact to be cut off.  
Send for the sword then that it may revenge  
So capital a crime.  Mel. 
O desperate attempt! come let us fly,  
Let's fly, my dearest Cloris, hence from death.  Clo. 
Fly thou unto the place that likes thee best;  
For I must seek my life by meeting death.  
Sir, this man labours but to find the means  
To die for me.  
The Ring is mine, and this the neck which now  
It hath encompassed many years; for see  
It bears the fresh impressions of it still.  
The Ring is mine, and I—  Niso. 
Ah Cloris!  Nar. 
Ah me!  Perind. 
Shepherd's forbear, keep silence, and take he●d  
That no man dare to move his foot or tongue.  Oront. 
Thou Nymph go on.  Clo. 
The Ring is mine, and I was she that threw  
The royal image here upon the ground:  
And if by dying I may satisfy  
For such a foul offence, let no man else  
Pay for the forfeit I have made; for I,  
Even I too have a head, which once cut off,  
And separated from this liveless trunk  
Can find a way to fall, and drench in blood  
The fatal sword which shall revenge the wrong  
Offered unto this sacred image here.  Niso. 
O peace a while! great Sir she raves for love,  
And it will not become you to give ear  
Unto the dreams and fancies of a Soul  
Grown frantic in her Passion; it is true  
And I will not deny but that she hath  
Her part in that same fatal ring, but yet  
No share at all in the offence; for when,  
Or where was it she threw it, or who can  
Bear witness of the fact? I threw it there,  
Just there before you, on that craggy cliff  
Which to the River lends a rugged Path,  
I know the place full well.  Per. 
'Tis true, and there close by the River side  
I took it up.  Niso. 
Fillino saw me when I threw it there,  
Poor simple Fillino, who wants the wit  
To frame a Lie, and he will witness it.  Clo. 
Cruel! though thou hast robbed me of  
Both life and soul, permit me yet at least  
The liberty to die.  Oro. 
What dost thou say Perindo! methinks now  
In these their riper looks, I do perceive  
The lively semblance of that sweet aspect  
Their younger age did bear.  Niso. 
Dost thou my Phillis haply grieve to see  
That I that am thus guilty of thy death,  
Should die for any other cause but thine?  Per. 
See what a strife love works, sure these are they.  
These are those pretty little Lovers, mark  
How love himself is grown up with their age,  
And he that like a Child in Thracia, seemed  
To play the little wanton in affection, now  
Shows forth a perfect love, which draws them thus  
( Do you observe it) to contend and strive  
How death in one may th' other keep alive.  Oron. 
Tell me young maid thy name, where were't thou born●  
Who was thy father? tell me that.  Mel. 
Her name is Cloris, and Melisso mine,  
She is my daughter, and we both were born  
Within the fruitful fields of Smyrna.  Cloris. 
Cloris of Smyrna, and the daughter of  
Melisso, I was called, whilst I desired,  
Under these feigned names, to fly from death,  
But now I am no more that Cloris, no  
I now am Phillis, and in Thracia  
Some time I lived, that Phillis I am now,  
Whose death thy cruel Lord so much desires.  
More of myself I know not, this may serve  
If only now thou aymest at my death.  Oron. 
Cheating old dotard, dar'st thou then to me  
With such an impudent, and shameless face  
Vent thy pernicious lies?  Mel. 
Mercy great Sir, mercy I crave, my life,  
Lies now within your power.  
Arban of Smyrna, tursted to my care  
The charge of this young maid, and to avoid  
Both hers, and his, and mine own danger, thus  
I laboured to conceal the truth.  Oron. 
Thou speakest confusedly still, nor am I yet  
Well satisfied in what I did demand.  
Tell me in plainer terms, how first she came  
To live within thy power.  Mel. 
Sir, I will tell you, but restrain a while,  
Your just incensed rage: Ah me!  Oron. 
Leave off those sighs, and answer me with speed.  Mel. 
Then when the King of Smyrna did assault  
The Thracians confines with his armed Troops,  
One of his men( that Arban, whom but now  
I named to you) took as prisoners.  
This nymph then but a child, and with her too,  
A Boy about her age.  Niso. 
And lo.  Oron. 
Peace; not a word, but thou go on.  Mel. 
Their looks, their clothes, and their behaviour  
Seemed to declare their fortune was not mean:  
And therefore Arban much delighted with  
So rare a booty, fearing lest the King  
Might afterwards deprive him of his joy,  
Keeps them concealed: Nor cares he to obey  
A strict decree that every soldier should  
deposit in his Royal hands such spoils,  
And all such prisoners, as he had got.  
Mean while the King of Thracia, full of rage,  
With threatening terms, demands his children back▪  
Nor can I tell whether that strict demand  
Proceeded from desire to see them dead.  Clo. 
Oh? did not Arban, tell thee that it did?  
Hast thou not told me so a thousand times?  
From whence then on a sudden rise these doubts?  Mel. 
Arban 'tis true, did tell me so, but yet  
Perhaps with art he feigned it purposely,  
You Sir, are like to know.  Oro. 
I know full well, proceed  Mel. 
The King of Thracia, urgeth his demand.  
The King of Smyrna, hears no news of them,  
And yet desires to send them back to Thrace,  
So to appease the high displeasure of  
His now incensed enemy, and to obtain  
A speedy wished for peace.  
And therefore straight proclaims just punishment  
To him that should conceal, and large reward  
To him that should discover what he sought.  
Arban that feared his yet concealed theft,  
At last might come to light, conveys them both  
By night unto the neighbouring mountains, where  
He oft times used to hunt, and there ●e changed  
Their habit, and their names, fully resolved  
They should unknown lead a rude rustick life,  
In country base attire, and that the ●ne  
Might not be by the other sooner known:  
To me he gave this maiden and the boy,  
Unto Dametas, an inhabitant  
Of a remoter tract:  
Besides as one that knew 'twas ill to trust  
Two loving souls in two such tender breasts,  
He made the two young lovers each believe,  
The other surely dead.  Oron. 
And how from Smyrna then, art thou become  
A dweller here in Scyros?  Mel. 
The fury of the War increased still,  
And as if it intended to assault  
High heaven itself, it first ascended up  
Into those towering hills, and I,  
Poor I alas, when I beheld with grief,  
An inundation of fierce armed men,  
To break in round about, when I beheld  
Troops of proud furious horsemen swarm below,  
And fill the neighbouring Vales, when I did hear  
The shrill mouthed Trumpets echo from the hills,  
With fearful Birds, and harmless herds of Beasts,  
I took me to my flight, and hither came,  
Where my Progenitors at first did live,  
I flying came to Scyros, but Ay me!  
Where can we fly from that which Heaven will,  
Since the great power of Heaven all places fills?  Oro. 
And of the youth?  Mel. 
I can tell nothing more of him.  Niso. 
If for his death thou askest after him,  
Great sir, he is not far, behold me here,  
I am that Thirsis whom Arbano gave  
Unto Dametas, and with him I lived  
Until last April, when the warmer Sun,  
Returned again to melt the Icy snow,  
Than I alone within a steerlesse Bark,  
By an impetuous torrent far from help,  
Was driven off to sea, where only fate  
Provided me of Sails, and in short space  
I know not how, but I was safe conveyed,  
And cast upon this Shore.  Clo. 
Sir I begin to faint, grief breaks my heart,  
And if thou make not haste, it will deprive  
Thee of the honour of my death.  Niso. 
Give ear to me, Sir, and let her alone  
At least till I be dead.  Oro. 
I do both hear, and understand enough,  
I see that both of you desire to die,  
And I will give you both content.  Per. 
Alas, what will you do Sir?  Oro. 
Perindo peace.  Mel. 
Ay me, I go, for 'tis not possible  
That living I should here behold my death.  Oro. 
But let us go unto the Temple straight  
That in a place of greater eminence,  
And with more solemn pomp, th' Imperial will  
Of the Grand signior may be there fullfiled,  
And see you follow me▪ come on.  Niso. 
O Phillis!  Clo. 
O Thirsis, ay me!  Niso. 
Sir, if it be resolved that by your hand  
I shall receive my death, you must resolve  
To kill me then, before she dying, force  
My soul out of this breast.  Clo. 
No, no, if you kill him before I die,  
Your Pomp will be but short, for at one blow,  
We both shall fall to ground.  Nar. 
O cruel strife of love! where cursed death  
Leads him in triumph that proves Conqueror.   

Act. 5. Scen. 6.  Narete. 
ANd is it true? and am I not transformed  
With cold amazement yet unto a Stone?  
Have I a voice still, and yet do not send  
Loud exclamation up to Heaven above?  
O wretched offspring! Oh unfortunate  
Unhappy Lovers! you are carried now  
Unto the Temple, harmless innocent,  
There to be made a horrid sacrifice,  
And love that sees this, who would ere believe't?  
Even love himself doth put the fatal knife  
Into the tyrant's hand.  
Could not our own sad miseries suffice,  
Woes me! but strangers too must come  
From foreign parts, to add the mournful Pomp  
Of their sad ruin to our endless Woes?  
Why do the Heavens lend their glorious light  
Still to these Fields? And why about this shore  
Doth still the sea, contain his angry Waves?  
And neither heaven yet doth hide his light  
Nor yet the Sea o'erflow this wretched Isle  
alas for pity let these sinful fields  
Now made the horrid stage of wrath and ire  
Be overwhelmed by inundation,  
And so concealed under the raging waves  
Of a tumultuous Sea.   

Act. 5. Scen. 7.  Ormino, Sireno, Narete. Orm. 
WHence dost thou come Sireno?  Sir. 
From the Temple straight.  
But from that Temple dear Ormino which  
Is now become to us the theatre  
Of woe and misery, I fly from thence,  
From whence and from the sorrows which it brings.  
Pity itself, for pity flies away.  Nar. 
Dost thou Sireno from the Temple fly?  
And from the horrid spectacle it shows?  
But how couldst thou have notice with such speed  
Of that sad sight? have they then wings to fly  
So soon unto their death? It cannot be  
That when thou cam'st from thence, Oronte should  
Be with th' unhappy couple there arrived.  Sir. 
Oronte, no; but with their ill born babes  
The mournful mothers are already brought  
To pay their tribute in the temple,  
O sad sight!  
They there are drawn together in a troop,  
Like to feerful heard that stands amazed,  
Encompassed round with cruel foragers  
Ready to seize the spoil;  
They clasp their little children in their arms,  
And with sad weeping eyes behold them so,  
As whilst their sorrows sends distilling drops  
Down to their bosoms, the poor infants suck  
More tears than milk from their unhappy breasts:  
And that same troop of cruel hellish curs  
Encircle them about, and view their prey  
With devilish delight, impatient yet  
Of any small delay, since now the wind  
Sends prosperous bla●s to fill their wicked sails.  Orm. 
O most inhuman tribute! endless woe,  
And infinite misfortune, that men should  
Thus generate their children to become  
Slaves to their foes, and fathers be constrained  
To mourn more at the birth then at the death  
Of their unhappy offspring.  Nar. 
But I speak of another misery,  
The tribute is inhuman, 'tis most true,  
But yet a more inhuman cruelty  
Is like to make the temple now become  
A bloody theatre, whereto the fierce,  
The hellish Idol of a pitiless  
Inexorable Godhead, to th' incensed  
And raging fury of those snarling dogs,  
For having here despised the image of  
That proud insulting tyrant, even now  
Oronte is gone up to sacrifice  
Two young unhappy lovers.  Or. 
O you celestial powers shall then man's blood  
Thus guiltless shed, defile those altars which  
Are dedicated to your deities?  Sir. 
Alas, methinks I see the Temple shake,  
And totter under their revengeful hand,  
As too too weak to undergo their rage,  
It needs must fall to ruin, and the walls  
Must of necessity by tumbling down  
As from a precipice, upon their foul,  
Their wicked heads, revenge the lasting shame  
Of such a horrid fact.  Orm. 
But what occasion, or what wicked rite  
Doth move their impious sword to offer up  
So infamous a sacrifice?  Nar. 
'Twere too too long to tell, I scarcely have  
Breath left enough to sigh.  Orm. 
Yet tell me who those woeful wretches are.  Nar. 
Niso and Cloris, poor unhappy souls.  Orm. 
O cruel destiny!  Sir. 
Cloris the fair young daughter of Melisso here?  Nar. 
The very same, but Niso is no more  
That Niso that he was, nor Cloris now  
Is Cloris or Melisso's daughter but  
They both have other names, and both were born  
To other fortunes, other strange events.  Orm. 
What names? what fortunes? or what strange events?  Nar. 
The name of Niso now is Thirsis.  Orm. 
Ay me!  Nar. 
Of Cloris if I well remember it,  
Is Phillis.  Orm. 
Ay me! Sireno.  Sireno 
Ormino!  
Thirsis and Phillis were our children called,  
Whom in their infancy they took for Slaves  
And carried into Thrace.  
Who knows but they are they, for if they live  
Still to this hour, they must be of their age  
And like to them youthful and fair.  Nar. 
Your children these, fie fie, restrain your fears,  
Leave off so fond a thought, I blush for shame,  
Your children( mark me) those young Imps whom once  
They carried into Thracia for Slaves,  
Must now with in the grand Seraglio,  
If now they live, amongst those Troops of Slaves  
With shaved heads, lead a most slavish life,  
Disfigured so as they can scarce be known  
By those that gave them suck: where these  
Richly adorned, within the Thracian fields  
Were in the Wars there by a soldier  
Of Smyrna taken Prisoners; and are not then  
Poor shepherd's children, but of that descent,  
As that their fortunes have had power to move  
Cares, and disdains, desires, and fears, and wars  
And that in mighty Kings.  Sir. 
Ay me! no more Narete.  Orm. 
Ay me! they are the same.  Nar. 
Ay me! how can that be?   

Act. 5. Scen. 8.  Serpilla, Ormino, Sireno, Narete. Serp. 
WHat mournful Ay me's, what indiscreet  
Importunate laments, does thus per turb●,  
Our common joys, in which both earth & heaven  
Do seem to smile upon this happy Isle?  
Narete, Siren, and Ormino too.  
You happy shepherds of these happy fields,  
You blessed fathers of an issue blessed,  
Cease from your sad laments, and cheer again  
Those mournful voices now grown hoarse with cries,  
Dry up those eyes, and let them weep no more,  
Or if they weep let them weep tears of joy,  
And not of grief, for lo behold I come  
The cheerful messenger of happy news.  Orm. 
Siren' what can this be?  Sir. 
Alas I cannot see which way to hope  
For the least show of comfort.  Nar. 
O soul abased by excessive grief,  
Canst thou repose so little confidence  
In heaven which can do wonders?  Serp. 
Go presently unto the temple, go  
And there see Thirsis and his Phillis too,  
See both your children there, whom long ago  
You gave for lost, and mourn for now as dead.  
Go to the temple, and you there shall see  
Amyntas and his Celia, both of them  
Your children too, and enemies before,  
Professed to love, who yet were even now  
For love both hasting to a wilful death:  
Why do I hold you thus, and one by one  
Declare your joys? go to the temple straight,  
And there behold this Isle, this little Isle,  
Filled with as great a joy, as much content  
As such a little Isle can comprehend.  
The sad despairing lovers are espoused,  
This Island from an horrid tribute freed.  
The day is come, O thousand thousand times  
Most happy day, the day is come when once  
This little Isle is set at liberty.  Sir. 
O you supernal powers!  Orm. 
Serpilla!  Ser. 
But  
Why do you still delay the time, the hours,  
The flitting hours of man's quick fading life  
Are too too short, and too too long the woes  
That do attend it still, do not retard your bliss,  
Go to the temple straight, go you yourselves  
And their behold your joys.  Sir. 
Let's go Ormino, lets go, that once  
Yet ere we die these eyes of ours may be  
Blessed with this unexpected happiness.  Orm. 
Let's go but whither? thou Sireno guide  
My fainting steps, for I know not which way  
To move my trembling foot.   

Act: 5: scene: 9  Narete, Serpilla. Nar. 
HEre me Serpilla, stay, I held my peace  
With pain 'tis true, but yet I held my peace,  
Nor would I let my doubts disturb the joys  
O● these two good old shepherds here, but yet  
I understand them not, thou dost let loose  
With too too large a stream, the torrent of  
So many comforts on a narrow heart,  
Infuse it gently therefore drop by drop,  
And tell me first, that Thirsis, and that Phillis which  
Before were Niso, and fair Cloris called,  
Those whom but now the Thracian Captain led  
To a most certain death, shall they now live?  Serp. 
They both shall live, and are become withal  
The most contented happy lovers that  
Ere yet did sigh for love.  Nar. 
And was it not then true, that for desire,  
Cruel desire of their long wished for death,  
The Thracian Emperor did with such rage  
Demand them of the King of Smirna?  Serp. 
That I cannot tell, but sure I am that Thrace  
Is th' only author of their happiness.  Nar. 
Yet Cloris did affirm it here, but she  
Was certainly deceived by the fraud  
Of him in Smirna that concealed them both,  
And with good cause Melisso did suspect  
That he did but dissemble what he said,  
That so they both of them for fear of death  
Might labour with the greater art to keep  
Themselves from being known.  Serp. 
'Tis true Oronte saith it too.  Nar. 
O then how vain is human providence?  
He sought to cover that by fear of death  
Which now desire of death hath brought to light.  
But for the fault about the hoop of gold  
Which here was carelessly thrown on the ground  
For the contempt against the image shown,  
How could Oronte find a means to save  
The guilty person thus against the Law?  Serp. 
Their case was dangerous and for my part  
I gave them both for dead, and mourned for  
Their hard mishap; but see how it fell out,  
Wearied with following Niso whom I fought,  
I sat me down close by the temple side,  
Where straight a rumour was dispersed abroad,  
I know not well from whence, that all in haste  
Oronte then was coming, and did bring  
Unto the temple two unhappy wights,  
Before condemned to die for their contempt  
Unto the royal image of his Lord:  
At whose sad coming the proud Thracians seemed  
To laugh for joy, and so from thousand tongues  
Sent forth one cry that reached to heaven itself,  
Exclaiming let him die, O let him die:  
But presently Oronte darts about  
A fierce imperious look, at which they all  
Amazed in silence muttered not a word  
When he replied, Hear O you Thracians, hear  
The supreme Laws of Thrace have only force  
Within the Thracian Empire, and against  
Those that do serve the Thracian Emperor,  
But Scyros is not as you now believe  
Subject unto that Empire, hear yourselves  
Th' Imperial decree which in this Ring,  
This very Ring itself, in which engraved  
The royal Image stands, is written here  
In fair Egyptian characters, and then  
I'll read it with a voice so audible,  
And I with that attention heard it read,  
And have it fixed so within my heart,  
As I dare confidently swear I can  
Repeat it word for word.  Nar. 
O then repeat it as thou hopest for bliss.  Serp. 
" Phillis, and Thirsis, two descended from  
" Sireno, and Ormino, when they come,  
" Where ever Heaven shines, there let men know  
" Love made them lovers, faith combined them so  
" That they were both contracted: Destiny  
" Had made them slaves; the King hath set them free  
" And for their sakes, Scyros is from this day  
" freeed from the tribute which it used to pay,  
Thus he:( and casting then a look that way)  
These( he replied) these are those happy two  
Whom their more gracious stars could make so dear  
To Heaven, and to their King, these same are they  
I know them very well, let that suffice  
To you O Thracians: And do you two live  
( Quoth he) then turning with a gentle smile  
To those two happy lovers) live you still  
And live still to enjoy your constant love,  
By free possession of your spousal rites.  
Let these sad Mothers take into their Arms  
Again their little children, and let all  
With cheerful acclamations sound aloud,  
The liberty of Scyros.  Nar. 
O amongst all whom the blessed sun doth warm  
With his reviving heat, and when the Sea  
Baths with his quiet waves, dearly beloved,  
And by Celestial providence now made  
Most happy Isle! the winds shall now no more  
Convey thy mournful sighs, above the waves,  
After thy dear lost children: but the babes  
Whom thou dost generate, shall bless their birth,  
And be by thee sustained whilst they live,  
And when they die rest in thy graves in peace,  
That so thou mayst to thy dear issue be  
A fruitful Mother, and a careful Nurse,  
And left a tomb to free them from the curse,  
Of wand'ring souls, that find no sepulchres,  
But Phillis, then and Thirsis, what said they,  
Or how did they behave themselves?  Serp. 
Their first encounter was,( like such as seemed  
Retired for fear, and much perplexed with  
The sudden tremblings of a doubtful heart)  
Bashful and nice, and being thereto drawn  
Even by Orontes self, who joined their hands  
They seemed to embrace unwillingly,  
And kiss as 'twere by force;  
But having fuel thus put to their fire,  
It quickly then increased to a flame,  
And each hugged other so, as you may see,  
The twining Ivy when it seeks to clasp,  
A full grown elm, as if it seemed to say  
It could not well subsist without that stay.  
Then might you see from one to other's mouth  
A thousand kisses in an instant sent,  
And whilst their amorous lips as overcharged  
Stood sucking here, and there loves Nectar thus,  
That sweetness, followed, and that ruby Die,  
So graced those lips as that they seemed to me  
Flowers that did bear both honey, and the Bee,  
So that at last you might perceive the clear,  
And lively beams of their quick piercing eyes,  
Grow faint and dull, as overcome with sense  
Of too much pleasure, and extreme delight,  
And I that saw it, said within myself  
Ah me! 'twere to be feared these two would die,  
But that there's hope that in a skirmish of  
So many kisses, neither's soul can find  
A way to vanish, and leave them behind.  Narete. 
And could poor Phillis then so soon put off  
The thought of her disdain? could she so soon  
Forget the injury of that new flame  
Wherein her Thirsis burnt for Celia?  Serp. 
It seems that yet thou dost not understan  
The laws of loves kind duels, thou must know  
A veny of sweet kisses one to one is able to give satisfaction  
For any injury love can sustain:  
But if thou dost consider all things well  
Tirsis did her no wrong, he was deceived,  
And did believe her dead; and 'tis well known  
That loves great empire though't be vast and large,  
Doth not extend beyond the bounds of life,  
Love hath no jurisdiction o'er the dead,  
Nor can his fire raise any kindly heat  
Amongst those frozen relics, those cold bones:  
Besides all this, if any mark can rest  
Of fault in Thirsis, he hath shed those tears  
That may suffice to wash away the stain,  
And what can she have more? poor soul in deep  
Repentance for his error, he did here  
Submit himself to death, and happy was  
That error that could find a way to make  
So generous amends.  
Or rather happy was that error which  
By erring thus could find a way to make  
So many blessed, whom it did not offend.  
His love to Celia was the happy cause  
Of all our happiness, for thence it came  
That Thirsis was first known to Phillis, than  
Phillis to him, and last of all, that both  
Were to the Thracians known.  Nar. 
Thou sayst exceeding true, and now behold  
How full of windings and obscurity  
Those secret ways are, which the Gods do use.  
Who would have thought them so? in sum 'tis true  
That heaven is a labyrinth, in which  
Who seeks to spy out what th' eternal fates  
Have there decreed may easily lose himself.  
But than I fear lest Celia's fervent love  
Which yet is fuming hot, should still disturb  
If not young Thirsis with his late quenched heat,  
Yet Phillis with a jealous freezing cold,  
'Tis not a task of easy labour thus  
Within an instant to extinguish quite  
Both love and jealousy.  Serp. 
What is it thou dost dream? if Thirsis be  
Son to Ormino, must he not then be Brother to Celia too?  Nar. 
Forgetful that I am! these many strange  
And unexpected changes, have almost  
Deprived me of my sense: Thirsis it is true  
A brother unto Celia, and their love  
Must now be at an end. But what becomes  
Of Celia and of A●yntas the●?  
I cannot yet conceive a way to find  
A wished for end to their despairing grief.  Serp. 
In that same very point of time( behold  
A fatal point of time) they came unto  
The Temple: Where fair Celia sees fast tied  
Within the arms of Phillis her beloved,  
And yet believed Niso, guess you then  
What posture she was in: She straight grew pale  
With jealous rage, and cold as any stone  
And that she died not then, I think the cause  
Was only that her grief penned up her soul  
Within her frozen heart.  
Thirsis that saw it▪ quickly freed himself  
From those embraces wherewithal he held  
His Phillis in his Arms: And running straight  
Unto her said, O my dear Celia.  
My dearest Sister, but no more my love,  
I am Ormino's son, Thirsis, and so  
Become thy brother, our affections erred  
For nature should have guided them, not love,  
Let us submit then to a lawful love,  
And spend our erring flames, where they may find  
Fit objects for their heat.  
She whom I did believe dead long ago  
Is sister to Amyntas, and my spou●e,  
Espoused to me in her infancy,  
Thou that art now my Sister shalt enjoy  
Amyntas for thy husband, both your loves  
Deserve it well, and I am well content  
All that did hear him, smiled, and she that yet  
Amazed perhaps at such a sudden change  
Well understood it not, when more at large  
And more distinctly she had been informed,  
Her fancy freed her heart enlightened with  
The sense of truth, made her clear up her looks  
And give a cheerful smile.  Nar. 
But than what said she?  Serp. 
Nothing but half ashamed she did cast down  
Her eyes unto the ground, when yet her heart  
Sent through her eyes, two gentle tears that fell  
Like tears of joy and gladness, to declare  
The sweet content she found.  Nar. 
O thou most blessed Amyntas who hath kept  
The laws of love, and friendship so entire  
As that amongst friends and lovers thou Mayest raise  
Statues of joy, and of eternal praise.  
O thou most blessed Celia! see the Hervens  
Have hitherto been pious lookers on,  
And pitiful beholders of thy woes  
O heaven! O earth! O sea! O we most happy all!  
But you dear lovers above all the rest,  
Phillis and Thirsis, O for ever blessed!  Serp. 
Since thou art satisfied, I now will go  
And tell these joyful news in other parts.  Nar. 
See how the heavens in an instant have  
Dissolved the most intricate hard knots,  
That ever turning fortune yet did knit,  
And that when unto human reason they  
Appeared indissoluble: such the strange  
Eternal power is of high providence,  
And now may future ages fill their Scenes  
With stories of our unexpected joy  
Such is the Will of heaven, in disport,  
And in th' Abissus of his secret power,  
Thus to confound poor silly mortal men,  
You therefore that with high presumption think  
By human wisdom to discover all  
The secret workings of eternal fate.  
Learn from this wonderful success, to know  
That he alone can see these sacred things  
Who shuts his eyes, and trusts what heaven brings.  
FINIS