THE Constant Nymph: OR, THE Rambling Shepherd.  
A PASTORAL.  
As it is Acted at the DUKE's Theatre.  
Written by a Person of Quality.  

Licenced,  
August the 13th. 1677. Roger L'Estrange.   
LONDON, Printed for Langley Curtis in Goat-Court on Ludgate-Hill. 1678.   

THE DEDICATION.  
'tIs said; and none who are Gentile, as the Readers of Plays most undoubtedly are, but will yield it as Orthodox and Authentic, as any other of our Proverbial say; Better be out of the World, than out of the Fashion. Since, than this Pastoral takes the Confidence to come abroad; it is requisite, it should follow the Mode; and like other Plays of this Age, have a Preface: Though, Scene and Persons being Rural, this Punctilio, perhaps, may be unexpected, and would have been dispensed with.  
But having, (and who so Cautious to avoid a Rock, as the once Shipwrecked?) suffered so much through the defects of setting off, when it came on the Stage, it dares not now reject any Accommodation the Press can give it. For (with the theatres good leave to speak Truth,) it cannot receive greater Disadvantage in the Reading, than it met in the Presenting, The chief Parts Acted by Women; and, for their Ease, and somewhat of decorum, as was pretended, whole scenes left out, and scarcely any one Speech unmangled and entire. As for Adornments, in Habit, Music, and Scene-Work, it was Vacation-time, and the Company would not venture the Charge: Though they could not be ignorant, that without such Embellishments, they might, with as much hope to have it take, have presented a Masque as a Pastoral. For, as well the one as the other receives its Grace, more from Show then Plot; from Novel, and Sprightly Airs and Dances, then curious and busy Intrigues, borrowing more indeed of the Opera then Comedy. Wherefore, in regard of the great Cost in the Presentations of them, they are both of them made almost the peculiar divertisement of Courts, at the Celebration of Marriages, and the like Splendid Entertainments. But why all this? What avails it, if the Gallant likes not his Suit, to excuse the Stuff, and blame the Trimming? Let the Fault then, as to the late case of this Pastoral, be laid where it will; in the Meat, or the Seasoning. It was happy in having such Generous Guests, as could so civilly suppress their disgusts. Wherefore, to those most Noble Persons, as extremely obliged, it is gratefully Dedicated. And now, whether it be liked or disliked, they are sure of this, to be pleased with: 'Twill cost less to read, than it did, (when acted) to see it,   

PROLOGUE, Spoken by Mrs. Lee, in Man's .  
GAllants, to Night I'm to be one of you,  
As Brisk, as Amorous, as Inconstant too;  
A Spark that has Debauched e'en half the Town,  
Been kind to all the Sex, but true to none.  
And t' Act that part to th' life  
Suppose me now walking in Lumbarstreet:  
Here I an old cast City Mistress meet.  
Madam, your humble Slave; I can't express  
My joy for this surprising happiness:  
How does your Husband, the good Alderman?  
I wonder at your impudence; how can In a Woman's Voice.  
You ask that question, false, ungrateful Man, In a Woman's Voice.  
And know how much you have abused him? In a Woman's Voice.  
— I In his voice  
Abused him; Heaven forbidden— I hope your joy, In his voice  
My little Godson grows a dainty Boy. In his voice  
Yes Sir, I thank you, In her Voice.  
He grows a pace, a very precious Bud, In her Voice.  
But he's too like the Father to be good. In her Voice.  
Thanks t' Heaven, that Thunder clap is at an end,  
And now I meet a Covent-garden-Friend.  
Madam, my old Acquaintance— In his Voice.  
— Old, (cries she) In her Voice.  
Why Sir, is it so long ago since we— In her Voice.  
Oh Madam, no old stories: I must own, In his voice.  
I once was th' happy Man; but you are grown In his voice.  
Acquainted since with half the Blades o' th' Town. In his voice.  
Well, if I am: the greater Villain you, In her Voice.  
You are the first my frailty ever knew. In her Voice.  
And when In her Voice.  
Her honour's lost, her Fortunes, mind too. In her Voice.  
What would you have a poor weak Woman do?  
Another cries, you're a fine Gentleman!  
Well, if I ever trust a man again—  
Did you not Swear, and tell me you would die,  
Before you'd wrong me: Oh the more Fool I.  
'Tis well you tired me out, teased me whole days,  
Hurried, and haunted me from Park to th' Plays;  
Then kept me up whole Nights twixt sleep and waking,  
Or else, I am sure, I had ne'er been so o'ertaken.  
This is a man of Mode, and should I spin ye  
Your Crimes at length, lay all your sins again ' ye;  
Rail at ye, say how many Devils are in ye,  
T' abuse poor Womankind, the work were easy,  
But that I fear 'twould rather tyre than please ye:  
For how can that divert you in a Play,  
That's your old constant Music every day.   

Actor's Names.  

SYlvanus, chief Shepherd of Lycea, and Father of Traumatius and Astrea,— Mr. Sa●dford.  
Astatius, the rambling Shepherd— Mrs. Marry Lee.  
Philisides, a young Shepherd of Dipea, in Love with Astrea, and disguised in a Shepherdess' Habit, by the name of Euplaste,— Mrs. Barry.  
Traumatius, supposed dead, and disguised in the Habit of a Priest, under the name of Evander,— Mr. Medburn.  
Ismenius, a Priest,— Mr. Gillo.  
Melibeus, a Shepherd,— Mr. Jevon.  
Lilla, Mother to Alveria, & Aunt to Philisides,— Mrs. Norris.  
Astrea, Sylvanus' Daughter,— Mrs. Wyn.  
Alveria, Lilla's Daughter, in Love with Traumatius,— Mrs. Batterton.  
Lipomene, Shepherdesses.  
Cloris, Shepherdesses.  
Sylvia, Shepherdess's.  
Clinias a merry Shepherd and Servant to Astatius,— Mr. Richards.  
Darmetas, Servant to Sylvanus,— Mr. Pursevall.   
Priests, Shepherds, Shepherdess's.  
The SCENE Lycea, in Arcadia.   

ERRATA.  
PAge 6. l. 26. for Tents read Text, p. 28. l. 16. r. so please, p. 36. l. 8. for Breast r. Breath, p. 39 for self r. life, p. 42. l. 4. r. Admonishment, ib. l. 22. r. professed, p. 45. l. 9 r. cancelled.   

THE Constant Nymph, etc.  

ACT the FIRST.  
Enter at one Door Melibeus, and Shepherds; at another, Lipomene and Shepherdesses. Mel. 
BEhold! the Nymphs are up as soon as we,  
To Celebrate this day's Solemnity:  
So well they know, that in a Wedding-Feast,  
Their Sex and ours have equal Interest.  
Thou happy Swain, awake, awake;  
Thy misbecoming Sleep forsake:  
The Sun was up an Hour ago;  
And yet has nothing more to do,  
Than it had Yesterday. But thou'rt too take  
From the Priest's hands a Blessing, that would make  
The Veins of Age new Fire to take.  
And is thy Youth (to Youths great Shame,)  
Affected at it with less Flame?  
Forbidden, O Pan, such Prodigies.  Shep. 
Awake, awake, for Shame arise!  Enter Astatius Above. Ast. 
Good-Morrow gentle Shepherds to you all,  
With hearty Thanks for this Harmonious Call.  
This civil Office too, I pray confer  
On my fair Bride; and when you have raised her,  
Repair to Ladons' House, within the Grove,  
And there I'll consummate my happy Love.  Exeunt.  

The SCENE, Lilla's House.  Enter Lilla and Euplaste. lil. 
This Match is wholly by her Father made;  
She is but Passive in't.  Eup. 
'Tis e'en as bad;  
Where lies the Difference,  
When from my Fold my Lamb is gone, to say,  
That is was lost, or that 'twas forced away?  lil. 
But I should think that Act might soon be stayed;  
In doing which, another's Will's obeyed,  
And not our own.  Eup. 
I had the same Belief;  
But found her more in her Obedience stiff,  
Than others of her Sex are, in their Will:  
So vain t' avert her, proved my baffled Skill.  
Her Breath I told her, though 'twas sweeter far,  
Than from the Stills, the Drops of Roses are;  
By saying she was Astatitiuses, would turn Air,  
That would her Faces Beauty more impair,  
Than ere an Ear of Corn, the Milldew did;  
'Twould blast her to a Leper: Pan forbidden,  
She only cried; for she must venture it;  
Her Will must to her Father's Will submit.  
But sure, said I, you will the God's incense,  
In such a Criminal Obedience,  
When you discard Philisides true Love.  
When I thus found, that but in vain I strove,  
I gave it o'er; but so, as he whose strength  
In Swimmings spent, yields to be drowned at length.  lil. 
Well, do not thus afflict yourself, take heart;  
Impatience makes our Wounds but more to smart.  Eup. 
But they are but weak Surgeons, who to cure 'em,  
Apply no other Salve, but to endure 'em.  lil. 
I've done my best, but Fates have crossed my Will.  Eup. 
And makes that less, or more, my ill?  lil. 
Who knows but this may turn to greater good?  Eup. 
That Good affects not, that's not understood.  Enter Dametas. lil. 
Hold, here's Dametas; happily we may  
Learn out of him, what may your Griefs allay:  
Shift then your Sail, and lay your Passions down;  
Seem unconcerned, as if 'twere all unknown,  
Whate'er we say.  
Dametas, What brings you?  
You're grown a Stranger here.  Dam. 
'Tis true.  
I would the cause of it had never been;  
I weep when  my Thoughts it enters in:  
But let that pass, good Lilla, and receive  
The Message I have brought, to have your Leave,  
That your fair Daughter, with her Presence, may  
Add Luster to Astrea's Bridal Day.  lil. 
Forgive me Fame; For till this Witness came,  
I thought thou didst but raise a Lie, to shame  
Astrea with: Or 〈◊〉 it my Mistake?  
And will she then her dearest Swain forsake,  
If Love be a good Title, and her Breast  
But with one Grain of Loyalty possessed.  Dam. 
Who's that, dear Swain? pray name him, if you please  lil. 
As if you knew not: 'Tis Philisides.  Dam. 
You do ill, Lilla, to be so o'erswayed  
By partial Love, before this stranger Maid,  
Because he is your Nephew: To suggest,  
He in Astrea has such Interest,  
As that she ought to marry him, whom she  
Nor can, nor may.  lil. 
Make that appear to me.  Dam. 
I shall, at least to you, fair Maid, I shall;  
For fear you else, through ignorance might fall To Eup.  
Into some doubtings of Astrea's Truth.  
For 'tis confessed. 'twixt her, and that named Youth,  
Some Love has past.  Eup. 
And why not then pursued?  Dam. 
'Cause with more Piety she is endued.  
Sylvanus, whom I serve, for Age and State,  
In our Arcadia is a Magistrate:  
He, by his Wife, some Years ago deceased,  
Was with a Son, and with a Daughter blest;  
Traumatius and Astrea, they were Named,  
And for their Graces far and near were famed.  
They both, as soon as Ripe for't, fell in Love:  
But with cross Fate, for so it soon did prove:  
He with Alveria, Lilla's Daughter here,  
A Nymph for Constancy beyond compare;  
She with that Youth, whom Lilla now did Name:  
But, cause from a Dipean Race both came,  
My Master was so much against it bend,  
As to their Marriages he'd ne'er consent.  Eup. 
From whence arose to that same Race his Spleen?  Dam. 
From an invertrate Hate, that is between  
Lyceans and Dipeans; For although,  
Both are Arcadians, both are Shepherds too:  
And, but by th' River Aris parted: Yet,  
'Twixt Troy and Greece, the Feud was not more great,  
Than that which 'twixt these neighbouring Shepherds is.  Eup. 
And is this Mortal Spleen of his  
So sweet? For were't not so, he might have got  
The Tittle of a better Patriot.  
If he had with the Gods good Purpose joined,  
And by their Internuptials put an end  
To that long Feud betwixt you.  Dam. 
I confess,  
That I myself conceived no less;  
And gave it my best Help upon that score:  
Till Chance came in, and rendered (what before  
Was hard) impossible. There chanced one Day,  
'Twixt Us and the Dipeans, a fierce Fray;  
In which Traumatius fell, and by that Youth  
Philisides.  lil. 
Suppose that it be Truth,  
Does such a Chance claim from the Gods Above,  
The Power t'Absolve her from her Oaths of Love.  
And whilst Philisides is known to live,  
To wed another, toleration give;  
I think, though he has done all he could do,  
It will not be, fair Maid, so judged by you.  Eup. 
'Twill not indeed. And truly I much grieve,  
That such a fair Nymph as she is, should give  
Such bad Example. O return with speed;  
And whilst there's time allowed for't, get her freed  
From that sole Spot she bears. By which you'll prove  
Your Faithfulness to Her, and Zeal for Love.  Dam. 
My Will's not wanting. Let the Gods but lead,  
And I to follow them no Wings shall need.  Exeunt. Enter Sylvanus. Sylvan. 
This Day will bring me once again to Rest,  
'Twill root that dangerous Canker from my Breast  
Lay gnawing there so long. Traumatius dead!  
And my Astrea to Astatius Wed;  
My Fear of mixing our Lycean Blood  
with the Dipean, has its Period.  Enter Melibeus and Shepherds. Melib. 
A happy Morning to the good Sylvanus; Health and long Life, the kindest Gifts of Heaven, Attend him:  
Astatius will this Morning make him happy.  Sylvan. 
Astatius! Where is he? Let him appear  
Bright as the Morningstar.  Mel. 
Himself's not here;  
But has sent us, as by our Duties tied,  
With our shrill Pipes, to call up his fair Bride.  Sylvan. 
And can your Fancies go so much astray,  
As to conceit, that on her Wedding Day,  
A Maid needs calling up? Or your Pipes can,  
(Tho they were shriller than the Pipes of Pan)  
More loudly do't, than their own Long can.  
Then beck fond Swains, bring him; 'Tis only he  
Can make the acceptable Harmony.  Exeunt Shepherds. Enter Enter Dametas, bringing in Lipomene, Cloris, Sylvia; All with Willow Garlands. Sylvan. 
Fair Shepherdesses, you are welcome:  
This Maiden-Office you so kindly do  
To my Girl now, shall soon be done to you:  
But why thus Garlanded with Willow?  
Some evil Omen in't, I greatly fear.  Lip. 
No more than in the Purple Kings do wear.  
Mourning put on, does but denote ills past;  
Of what's to come, it no Presage does cast.  
And though their Hearts, who wear it, may regret,  
It bodes not any ill to those that see't.  Sylvan. 
But who in Mourning come to Wedding-Feasts,  
Are much un-modish, and ill-suited Guests.  Lip. 
What other can these Willow-wreaths declare,  
Than that we once were Loved, and now forsaken are:  
And all of us by one.  Sylvan. 
Pray, Who was he?  Lip. 
He who this Day, does make the World to see  
What mighty Power Astrea's Beauty has;  
That it can force him to be True, who was  
So Faithless in his Love to us before;  
And Heaven knows, to how many more:  
For who in Love, from Truth but once does fall,  
Takes Falsehood up, that has no Bounds at all.  Sylvan. 
But oft false Glosses on the Tents are found;  
And possibly, fair Maids, you may Expound  
That to be Love in him, which was in Truth,  
But the Comport of Beauty, due from Youth:  
And this is the right-stated Case 'twixt You  
And Him. Confess.  Lip. 
So Cloris, is it so?  Clor. 
Let him be Judge of that,  
Who's pleased betwixt us so the Case to state.  
This Breid of our mixed Hair he took and swore:  
With that same sixth Resolve, said he,  
I swear to You, swear you to to Me  
By all the Gods above, below,  
(To whom we Fear or Worship own)  
I swear, said he; I swear, said I,  
And all Equivocations fly;  
That as our Hair's here, in a kind  
Of Nuptial Knot together joined;  
So are our Hearts, and so shall be  
Till Death dissolve the Unity.  
And then, for Seal to what was said,  
He first, than I, did kiss the Breid.  Lip. 
You'll grant Sylvanus sure, here does appear  
No false Gloss on the Text— But Sylvia here.  Sylvan. 
No, there's no need: I've heard too much;  
I shall,  
From this wronged Nymph, conclude him false to all.  
But what is that, that you would have me do?  
Confine this vagrant Lover so to you,  
That my Astrea never may be his.  
You'd be too partial in requiring this:  
Since for each other you can Willow wear,  
Think't not to much to wear it too for her.  Lip. 
Scoff not Sylvanus at our Fate. The Gods  
Have Ears to hear, and to chastise you, Rods.  
Sir, You mistake, if you conceive, that we  
Came to break off this Day's Solemnity:  
No; but as Seamen being saved from Wrack,  
The raging Winds that threatened it, called back;  
As soon as they are Landed, make repair  
Unto the Temple of their Tutelar;  
And there for Life bestowed, upon their Knees,  
Hang up unto the Gods their Donaries:  
So We, restored t' our Liberty again,  
Lost by our Vows to that most false of Men,  
Are hither come, on these Triumphant Gates,  
Jointly to hang our Willow Chaplets;  
That there Erected, they may stand to be  
The Monuments of our Captivity.  
And that Astrea 'twas, that set us free.  They hang up their Garlands. 
Thus all our deep Resentments of his Scorn,  
Are with our Wreaths put off; and we are come  
On your fair Daughters Bridal to attend.  Sylvan. 
Then enter in Fair Nymphs, and kindly lend  
The Bride your Beauties, to Adorn her Feast;  
And let your Heads with fit Wreaths be dressed.  Exeunt Shepherdesses. Dam. 
May I have leave to speak?  Sylvan. 
Be brief in't then:  
My Mind is troubled.  Dam. 
But 'twould more have been,  
Had you not had this warning to prevent it:  
Wed not your Child where you will sure repent it.  
False to those Nymphs? ●ere hope he'll be more true  
In's Love to her, 'cause Marriage does ensue:  
For, will there be 'twixt Heart and Lips, less Odds,  
When a Priest hears his Words, than when the Gods?  
Who gives the Master a Respect so light,  
Will more (you may presume) the Servant slight.  Sylvan. 
And who will wed her, if he wed her not?  
The Wedding-clothes upon her back once got,  
A Maid's flesh straight takes teint:  
Shall I a Match then for my Child refuse,  
When I can never hope to have the like?  
No, whilst 'tis hot, the Marriage up I'll strike.  Dam. 
Think of his Contracts yet.  Sylvan. 
And Laugh at them,  
To whom such Fopperies could Contracts seem.  
From Matching of my Girl with him, ne'er think  
For a Chimaera of broke Faith I'll shrink.  
A Lover breaks no Faith, till Faith be made;  
And no way he makes Faith, till Faith be made;  
And no way he makes Faith, till Married.  
All said or done before, 's but making Love;  
And if not kept, creates but Mirth for Jove.  
I'm fixed in't then, he shall Astrea Wed;  
I'll be by Wit (not Superstition) led.  Exeunt. Astrea is discovered in her Bridal-Chamber. 

A SONG, Sung in Parts.  
Come, come Astatius, come away;  
Love is affronted by thy stay;  
Beauty itself too is Disgraced,  
If Love more slowest at the last.   

The Muses he does stay to bring,  
That they the Nuptial-Song may Sing:  
And they, perhaps, are not yet dressed,  
As does become so great a Feast.   

Chorus.  
Oh think him not so dimly Eyed:  
The Muses all are in the Bride.   

Come, come Astatius, come away,  
Hymen's affronted by thy stay:  
For who t' his Marriage does not haste,  
Loosens the Knot he should make fast.   

The Graces he will bring, perchance,  
That they may at the Wedding Dance:  
And they, perhaps, make this delay,  
To form the Figures on the way.   

Chorus.  
Oh think him not so dimly Eyed!  
The Graces all are in the Bride.  
The Scene Closes.   Enter Astatius and Clinias. Clin. 
Then for her Humour, Mild as is the Dove,  
No Tincture of the Gall in't; all runs Love.  Ast. 
Cease your fond Flattery, Fool, you cannot screw  
It high enough, to reach Astrea's Due.  
Yet I remember too, when others were  
As High as she, as Charming, and as Fair.  Clin. 
And so do I: Yes, I remember, who  
It was that called 'em Fair, and Charming too:  
Nay, I can some Particulars repeat,  
Which made each of 'em have Esteem so great.  
O see in Sylvias' Face so sweet an Air,  
So truly pleasant, and as kind as fair.  
How with their pretty Casts do Cloris Eyes,  
Whilst they but seem to wanton, Hearts surprise?  
How Phillis Features match, more Lovely far,  
Than do the Doves draw Cythereas-Char.  
How does Lipomenes Complexion show.  
What Graces from Divine Selinda flow.  
How Eromenas' shape.—  Ast. 
Sirrah, No more.  Clin. 
I have scarce begun the Roll, and must give o'er.  Ast. 
Hie you to Ladons; look you that I find  
All things in order, as I have designed.  Clin. 
Ne'er doubt to find all things to your content,  
When you trust Clinias with the Management.  Exit Clinias. Ast. 
The Rascal has my Humour to a Hair:  
I ne'er can come where Angell-Women are:  
But in their Faces I enough espy,  
To make me on, and off, as fast to fly.  
For Love, me thinks, like Water in the Street,  
Corrupts when't stands; but when it runs, 'tis sweet.  
'Tis in the making Love, Love's Pleasure lies;  
When to the Quarry it once comes, it dies.  
How nauseous do those Sweets, we're cloyed with, grow?  
The Shun-shine's pleasant for a Walk or too:  
But, when that once to Travail in't we come,  
It grows exceeding hot and troublesome.  
Love, whilst 'tis making, is a Comedy,  
For fine Intrigues, full of Variety.  
But when that once to Marriage it descends,  
In an old Country Dance it dully ends.  
And why then do I marry now? May he  
Be hanged can tell. But it has fared with me,  
As with a Soldier, on the Breach so got,  
That how he may, get off, he than sees not:  
But setting then a good Face on't, he'll cry,  
Tho his Heart trembles, victory, Victory;  
As I Astrea, Astrea!  
For when a fair Retreat is passed our Skill,  
'Tis brave to make Necessity our Will.  Exit.   

ACT the SECOND.  
Enter Ismenius and Evander. Ism. 
I Wonder how you can hold out, and see  
Alveria grieve to that Extremity.  
She in the Vault, as in a Temple, dwells;  
And to the Coffin, as a Shrine, she knelt:  
She sighs, she weeps, so heavily takes on,  
As if, like Niobe, she'd turn to Stone.  
Come, give it over, Sir; How can you take  
Delight to keep her Miseries awake.  Evand. 
Who knows, 'tis for his Health, must not forsake  
His Course of Physic, though prescribed he be,  
What makes him sicker than a storm at Sea.  
No Tear she sheds, but is a Corrosive  
To my wracked Heart. Such Pains her Pains do give.  
And not a sigh she breathes, but nips my Blood  
Worse than the Eastern Wind an early bud.  
But yet the End I suffered for, is good.  Ism. 
That is  
To persecute the Creature you adore.  
No; torture her distracted Soul no more.  Evand: 
Dear Friend, you cannot search a Lover's Heart:  
Then blame me not for this Mysterious Art.  
By this Disguise, and by my seeing Death,  
I'll have the noblest Trial of her Faith,  
That Lover ever made.  Exeunt.  

The SCENE, a Vault, With a Coffin. Alveria standing by it.  Alu. 
But why, Alveria, dost thou so mistake,  
To lay asleep whom thou shouldst rather wake:  
Thy Sighs and Tears to Exclamations turn;  
They seem contented, who do only Mourn.  
Curse, curse the Fates! And with a Voice so loud,  
As with its Thunder, it may rend the   
That wraps him up, and give him Power to rise!  
Make Death sly from him, frighted at my Cries!  
And see what Magic Reigns but in that Thought!  
The Chest's already into Motion brought.  
I, I, it moves! and my dear Love's alive!  
Oh, to come forth to me, how he does strive!  
But do not bruise thyself, I'll help thee, dear;  
Desire to see thee, into Strength turns Fear.  Endeavours to break open the Coffin. 
Beshrew their Hands that laid thee in so fast:  
But had the Cabinet been Steel, yet I  
Would make it like the Brittle Crystal fly.  
And Thanks to Heaven, my Work is done.  
How like unto the Freshness of the Morn;  Breaks it open. 
Or fragrant Wind, that's o'er Mount Hybla born,  
Is this sweet Air comes now from him: But why  
Should any one with Wonder be possessed,  
To find a Phoenix in a Spicy Nest.  
Traumatius! Traumatius! What, lie unmoved,  
When thy Alveria, thy once so Beloved  
Alveria, calls! Oh, he in this does tell  
What's precious does lie close: Pearls in the Shell;  
And Diamonds in the Rock: Gems must be sought;  
And at  Price, are Cheaply bought.  Ismenius and Evander, Enter at a Distance. Ism. 
See with what Zeal she tends the sacred Dust!  
Was ever Love so True, or Faith so Just!  Alveria searches the Coffin; But finds nothing in it, but Sepulchral-Flowers, Lilies, Roses, Hyacinths, and Boughs of Myrtle. Alu. 
Are my Hopes fled, and all my Joys with them?  
Here's no Alveria here; I did but Dream.  
Others resolve to Dust, I grant, 'cause they  
Are but Composed of Nature's common Clay:  
But he to Flowers, who was the Prime of all:  
And now, to his first Being is dissolved.  
His Skin to Lilies; But, Alas,  
They scarce are white to what that was:  
His Flesh to Roses; But for Scent,  
That far in Sweetness those outwent.  
His Blood to Hyacinths: But how  
Richer in Purple then, than now.  
And unto Myrtle Boughs, his Bones;  
But, Oh in due Proportions,  
How short of them! I, these are he.  
And now again, as formerly,  
In the soft Murmuring of Doves,  
We'll mutually set forth our Loves.  Evan. 
Oh an Impiety, that frights me more,  
Than if than Neptune had our Beach got o'er!  To Alveria. 
Or that the Wain-Beam of Boötes cracked.  
What Sacrilegious Hand durst do this Act?  
Found you it thus?  Alu. 
Peace Sirs, and leave this Place;  
Do not in Manners, so yourselves disgrace.  
To interrupt us Lovers, is unkind.  Evan. 
Oh, she's distracted, talks she knows not what!  
Oh, that you knew what wrong  
've done your Lover's Shade! that so, your Faued  
Might have that just Repentance, that it ought:  
Then mark you well what I shall now relate,  
For it declares Traumatius present State:  
Slain in the Field, Rage in our Swains so risen,  
That to Revenge his Death upon their Fo●s,  
They left his Body where he fell; which ne'er  
Can from that Day be found, how sought so e'er.  Ism. 
For it was taken thence, as we surmise,  
By some one of our Rural Deities:  
But that the Shade should not (as they all do,  
Who Funeral Rites do want) wander below;  
But be (as they who have them are) at Rest.  
We those feigned Honours to his Shade addressed,  
Which are Equivalent to the True.  Evan. 
But this their Profanation, done by you,  
Will shake his Rest, and all their Power undo.  Alu. 
Were ever Priests so blind in Spirit as You?  
His Body's here, but to those Flowers turned,  
As that Boys was, whom Venus so much Mourned.  
The sole Rites then, now requisite to bring  
Rest to his Shade, is a Blood-Offering:  
And with my Zeal, it does so much consist,  
To offered to him, I will be the Priest.  Exit. Ism. 
Did not Grief checked, how I could smile, that she,  
To cheat herself, should finelier forge than we.  
When at the Helm, deep Melancholy sits,  
What strange Conceits Man's Fancy then begets?  Evan. 
But, spoke she not of offering Blood?  Ism. 
She did.  Evan. 
That Violence shall be by me withstood:  
Let us, Ismenius, watch her then with Care,  
As would a Shepherd, when a Wolf is near  
His tender Lamb. A Life so precious,  
As not our own can be so dear to us,  
Must not, Oh must not, so away be made,  
In the false Worship of a Lover's Shade.  Exeunt. Enter Clinias. Clin. 
I have heard some say, a dying Swan will sing!  
I doubt in that, they do but stretch a String:  
But be it ne'er so true, I'll not believe  
A Swan such Music, as a Bull can give:  
For when he bellows, Oh the thundering Note  
He then sets forth! Just such as now my Throat,  
In Honour of my Master's Wedding-day;  
O Hymenaee! Hymen! Oh Hymenaee!  Exit Roaring. Enter Euplaste. Eup. 
Whilst this Effeminate Disguise  
Conceals th'unfortunate Philisides,  
My Life is safe; but what I value higher,  
My Love's udone. 'Tis true, I've leave t'admire,  
And gaze on fair Astrea: But that's all.  
Her Friendship, that poor empty Bliss, I gain:  
Friendship's thin Food t'a starving Lover's Pain.  
And if I should in my own shape appear,  
She'll hate me, as her Brother's Murderer.  
Was ever poor unhappy Swain so crossed:  
Concealed or not concealed, both ways I'm lost.  
Then Gentle Aris, unto thee I come;  
Thy Streams alone, can be my fittest Tomb:  
And take thou up no Fear thy Streams thereby,  
Shall any Curse receive or Infamy.  
For Truth's grand parent Time, shall make it known,  
The sad Fate of my Love a Legend grown.  
The Streams that drowned me, my own Sorrows were;  
Thou kindly gav'st me but a Sepulchre.  Enter Clinias. Clin. 
Oh Hymenae! Hymen! Hymenaee!  Eup. 
What meanest thou, Villain, by this Fatal Cry?  
Dye Schriech-owle with me too, if I must die.  Offers at him with by'r Javelin. Clin. 
Hold, dear Diana, kill not a poor Wretch,  
'Cause he his Voice did beyond Ela stretch:  
Make an Actaeon of him rather. Let  
A Tire of Horns upon his Head be set:  
He'll but be made a Property thereby;  
Of much good use for the Solemnity,  
That's Dedicated unto this Day's Feast;  
So much a Wedding, and a Horned Beast,  
Do suit, you know.  Eup. 
Has any then to Day  
Been Married here?  Clin. 
Not yet: But, Truth to say,  
It has so happily been brought about,  
The Pigg's not nearer, when his Eyes drop out,  
T' his being Roasted; than my Master's now,  
T' his being Married. Pray, unknit your Brow,  
And be a Guest.  Eup. 
Your Master, What is he?  Clin. 
A Youth so lovely, as when him you see,  
You'll yield Endymion, if compared with him,  
Not worth one Look of yours, for Face or Limb:  
His Name's Astatius; and he's here hard by;  
I'll hence, and bring him to you, instantly.  Goes out. Eup. 
Not Married yet, he says; and what's not done,  
It lies in Fate to say, Shall ne'er go on.  
The Cup has been even in the Hand, and yet  
The Wine within it, did the Lips ●e●e wet:  
It may befall this Swain so, with 〈◊〉 ●●●●e;  
Nay, that it will, 'tis certainly employed  
In my Reprieve. Yet, take it right, and I  
Live but his Life, who stands condemned to die.  Exit.  

The SCENE, The Bride-Chamber.  Enter Astrea, Lipomene, Cloris Sylvia, etc. Lip. 
'Tis wondrous strange, the Bridegroom should thus stay.  Astr. 
I would to Pan, that he would keep away,  
Till he displeased me with't: But what would you,  
If served as I am, to your Bridgrooms do?  Lip. 
I'd be revenged on him.  Clor. 
And so would I.  Sylu. 
What Maid but would, 'tis an Affront so high?  Astr. 
I value not his setting me so light;  
But as he scandals all our whole Sex by't.  
I feel my Choler rise; and for your sake,  
Teach me but how, and I Revenge will take.  Lip. 
Why, I would have you let him lie first Night  
Alone, and eat up both the Sheets for spite.  Clor. 
That were a Penance on herself to lay.  
No; Bed with him: But when we're all away,  
And he attempts to do the Marriage-Rite,  
Whilst Modesty can choke it, scratch and by't.  Sylu. 
And for my part—  
But see who here are come  
To make the Bridegroom's stay less tyresome!  Music plays, and a Dance; which ended, Exunt. Enter Euplaste, Astatius making up to her. Eup. 
But see my happy Rival comes, and wears  
All Marks of Joy! How pleasant he appears?  
And when a Sacrifice comes uncompelled,  
It always has a good Presage been held.  
'Tis then but this—  Makes a show of Stabbing. 
— and this Day's Fear has end:  
Then Love be to thy Votary, a Friend;  
And what I ought to do, do thou inspire;  
Direct the Flame of thy own kindled Fire.  Enter Clinias. Steps aside. Ast. 
Diana?  Clin. 
Yes.  Ast. 
How knowest thou it was she?  
Didst thou upon her Head, her Crescent see,  
Bow in her Hand, and Quiver at her Back?  Clin. 
As if the Gods, like Pedlars, bore their Packs  
Still on their Shoulders! No, the Place did prove  
'Twas she; I found her in Diana's Grove.  
And give me leave to tell you, she as owner,  
Swaggered, and took most mightily upon her.  
But if you dare engage in the like Storm,  
If she or not, you may yourself inform.  Astatius discovers Euplaste. Ast. 
You may be gone, and leave me.  Clin. 
May I so?  
To what a Tide makes he my Fears to flow?  
He'll fall in Love with this same Goddess now;  
But then, O then, our very Bride Cake's Doughty!  Ast. 
Complexion good, and truly that is all:  
Whence then are these Attracts, which now I feel?  
Why? whence but from that Tyrant o'er my Will,  
Variety? There's something in that Face,  
Which seems to me of a more taking Grace,  
Than e'er in Women I before did see:  
A Touch o'th'Boy; which renders her to me  
As pretty as the young Narcissus was.  
But, did she her whole Sex as far surpass  
For Face and Shape, as does the Sun the Stars  
For Light and Heat, nor Face nor Shape of hers,  
Would to attract my Love, the Loadstone be,  
But only this, She's not yet won by me.  
To Eup. Thou, who of all thy Sex, the fairest art,  
Be the most Courteous too. Oh, do not start;  
It is no Satire speaks to thee: But one,  
Though the most Heart-burnt you e'er shone upon;  
Does yet retain as pure and clear, the Flame,  
As are those sacred Eyes from whence it came.  Eup. 
My Eyes so smite? I then may spare my hands, Aside  
He's dead enough who at my Mercy stands.  Aside Ast. 
Let not my Words for their Rough Dialect,  
Be held unworthy of that fair Respect,  
They might hope from a Brow more clear—  Eup. 
I understand not, Shepherd, what you say:  
But know that Duty well, I'm bound to pay  
To Maiden-Modesty: Then pray begun,  
And leave me as you found me, here alone.  Ast. 
Wrong not the Genius of this Place, fair Maid,  
Who in the Channels of our Veins has laid  
A blood so pure, that in Diana's Grove,  
Here we may Court with chaste and harmless Love.  Eup. 
And Swains may the same Day they Mary on,  
Court a new Face, and be reproved by none.  Ast. 
I think they may: For 'tis enough that we,  
When we are Married, lose that Liberty.  
To make Men Slaves, what Tyrant e'er begun,  
Before his Empire's absolutely won.  
But why's this said to me?  Eup. 
Because, by some  
I have been told, this Day you Mary.  Ast 
Whom?  Eup. 
Astrea?  Ast. 
True, such an intent I had,  
But to accomplish it, I'm now forbid.  
They very Hopes of You, I do prefer,  
Before th' Assurance of possessing her.  Eup. 
How can I stay to hear such Perjury.  Exit. Ast. 
When Love pursues you, 'tis in vain to fly.  Exit after her. Enter Sylvanus and Clinias. Sylvan. 
Wooing the Moon!  Clin. 
Yes, so I say, the Moon!  
Diana, and the Moon, they say, 's all one.  Sylvan. 
What is't you say? Is he, or art thou, Mad?  Clin. 
How can I lose those Wits I never had?  
But come along with me, and use your Art,  
To make this Lunatic with's Moon to part:  
Your Daughter else, for I ought I can perceive,  
May to her Wedding-Day, keep a long Eve.  Sylvan. 
It is no idle Fear he puts me in:  
This, this the Willow-Wreaths, foretell  Exeunt. Enter Alveria. Alu. 
Thro that thick Cloud of Grief, that hindered me,  
Now the black Scene, in its full Face I see:  
I Dreamt, as I i'th' Vaullt did sit and sing  
By my Traumatius side, a Wolf rushed in;  
Where-at, affrighted, I shrieked out, and cried,  
Help me Traumatius! He to me replied,  
(In a hoarse Voice, and hollow) Help thou me?  
And with that Knife, stick thou the Wolf i'th' Breast:  
And I, at his Command, straight stuck the Beast;  
Which, being done, he presently me-thought,  
Into his Arms, his dear Alveria caught:  
And we reduced into a State far more  
Happy and Joyful, than 'twas ere before.  Enter Ismenius, with a Garland of Flowers, and Evander. Ism. 
Sweetest Alveria, we are come to prove,  
Whether Traumatius, or yourself, you love.  Alu. 
A Test of that, I think, there shall not need;  
I love 'em both, but thus distinguished:  
Him, for himself; but for myself, not Me;  
The only Cause I love 'em both, is, Herald  Evand. 
If it be so, your own Will you'll lay down,  
And take up his.  Alu. 
They ever have been one.  Ism. 
That shall be tried: He la●e to us appeared;  
We at the sight fell down: But he straight reared  
Us up again, and bade us hast to You;  
And charge you on your Love to him, if true,  
To lay your Wreath of Yew and Cypress by;  
And put on this.  Evan. 
He did; that he might have thereby, a Sign,  
You will no longer make his Shade to pine:  
For even Elysium, where he is, you turn  
Into an Acheron, ' whilst thus you mourn.  Alu. 
But, Did he tell you, by what Means I might  
Cast off my Sorrow, and give him Delight?  Ism. 
Yes, by obeying Nature's Will.  Alu. 
Why, so  
I truly do, altho' not seen by you:  
I have my Treats, Diversions, and what not,  
That may for Beauty's sake, or Loves, be got:  
For I enjoy all Pleasure Maids e'er sought,  
When I, with my Dear shade, am in the Vaued.  Evan. 
●ye, such illusive Fancy, you no more  
Must give way to: But, from a Youth we'll bring,  
Receive of Love, a real Offering.  Ism. 
For that was Nature's end, when she did place  
Such winning Beauties in that Charming Face:  
Delay not then, her Edict to fulfil;  
Gold if unused, as good i'th' Mine lay still.  Alu. 
Oh, what a Poison do these Words convey  
Into the Air! 'Twould kill me in't to stay:  
No; to the Holy Fount I'll fly; and there  
Wash out the Filth, my Ears have took in here,  
And soiled me with. Oh, that a Maid should be  
Thought false to Love, and I (poor I) be she!  Exit. Ism. 
've proved her Constancy, and now leave off This Cruelty.  Evan. 
No: The Plot's not Ripe enough.  
They who (like me) would with rich Treasures shine,  
Cannot enough explore the Sacred Mine.  Exeunt.   

ACT the THIRD.  
Astatius and Euplaste, Courting; and Sylvanus and Clinias, overhearing. Clin. 
SEE there, old Sir, the Vermin in the Trap!  
And now, be it your Fault, if they escape.  
I'll leave 'em to your Care, and get me gone.  Sylvan. 
Ay Clinias, leave me, thou enough hast done.  Exit Clinias. Eup. 
'Twould be indecent; urge it not, I pray:  
Make the first Day we meet, our Wedding-Day!  Ast. 
Why not? Deserves it Blame, or rather Praise,  
To take our Happiness the nearest ways?  
Who'll not our Providence and Speed commend,  
If in one Day, we our whole Harvest end?  
Let's be Contracted then—  Eup. 
Contracted? Fie.  
Have you my Faith in any Jealousy?  
Who doubts another's, shows he doubts his own.  Ast. 
Of my own Faith, there can no doubt arise:  
For, How can that be lose, your Beauty ties?  
And,  I can make doubt of Faith in you,  
I must believe a Contradiction true;  
That what is Perfect, may be false: No, I  
Do crave it only in pure Policy:  
That should Disputes arise, Astrea may  
Know to what Saint, I my Devotion pay.  Eup. 
That powerful Argument, too strong I find.  gives him her Hand. Ast. 
What easy yielding Things are Womankind!  
I'll hence and fetch a Priest. 'Twill suit so well  
To seal our Loves, where first in Love we fell.  Exit. Sylvan. 
And, shall I stay to be a Witness to  
What will my Work for ever quite undo?  
And, what would Patience herself provoke  
to Wrath, even then when brought to the last stroke?  
No; I will hence, and hither those dispatch,  
Shall break this impious, irreligious Match.  Exit. Eup. 
Chance governs All. 'Tis the Event alone,  
'Twixt Fool and Wise, makes the Distinction.  
Thus far this borrowed Habit has done well.  
Let Love and Fortune be but pleased to run  
As smoothly on, as they have now begun;  
And on thy Altar, Fortune, I will throw  
Handfuls of Incense; and, Love, kiss thy Bow.  Exit. Enter Astatius and Evander. Evan. 
Her Beauty, sure, Astrea's not excels:  
What is it then, this Change in you compels?  Ast. 
Astrea's Fair, I grant; But you shall find  
This Nymph so very witty, charming, kind.  
But t' ask the Reason of my Change,  
Is but an idle Curiosity:  
When many Dishes are before us set,  
What guides the Hand to choose, but Appetite.  Evan. 
But do not Act that Crime, will make you be  
The Scoff of the whole World: This, this is he  
Did on his Wedding-day, his Bride forsake,  
And t' a new Face, another Contract make!  Ast. 
'Tis very well: Although some may perchance,  
Whose Souls are overspread with Ignorance.  
Dare you who are a Priest, to scoff at me  
For my Obedience, to the God's decree.  
My Will to Marry, was by theirs opposed.  Evan. 
Suppose it was, how was't to you disclosed?  
For if from what 've done, we gather it,  
The horridst Crimes what ever Men commit,  
May be said done by heavens Command.  Ast. 
No, no:  
Their Will was shown to me, as 'tis to you.  
When you in Sacrifice, a Beast do slay;  
Which opened, if you find the Heart's away,  
You instantly, 'tis the God's Will declare;  
What you resolved to do, you should forbear.  
And do they will, think ye, we should go on  
In our set Marriage, when the Heart is gone?  
The want of which, no doubt, bodes as ill here,  
As in the Sacrifice which you prepare.  Evan. 
You care not then, how you defame your Love.  Ast. 
Not I: What Reason fixes, Words ne'er move.  
'Tis in the Wife alone, it lies to prove  
Whether the Man does well or ill in's Love.  
What matters it t'have Light or Constant been,  
When we are happy, or unhappy Men.  Evan. 
What hope shall that poor Maid you Mary, take,  
That this Inconstancy you'll then forsake?  Ast. 
Inconstancy! Oh, do not call it so!  
One Constanter to Love you ne'er did know.  
Out of my Heart the Fire has never been,  
Whilst I could cherish it, and keep it in.  
As Vesta's sacred Fire is still the same,  
Tho with fresh Fuel her Priests maintain the Flame:  
So does my Love abide the Same, though I  
To keep it up, do to new Faces fly:  
For Beauty is Love's Food, which fresh must be;  
He's nice, and will be treated with Variety.  Evan. 
No; upon Love that's true, such Power there waits,  
It to the same infinity, Creates  
Both Flame and Fuel for't: It makes the Feast  
As boundless, as the Appetite i'th'Guest.  
To him who truly Loves (as it is said,  
Prometheus' Liver to the Eagle did)  
Her Beauty grows he Loves, whilst 'tis enjoyed;  
So little's boundless Happiness destroyed.  Enter Clinias. Ast. 
Where have you been? At Ladons you were not.  Clin. 
No Question, but he has some Notice got  
I have been at Sylvanuses: Then Wit  
Up, and invent, what may so colour it:  Aside. 
He can have no Mistrust, what I did there.  Aside. Ast. 
Why speak you not? want you a Tongue or Ear?  Clin. 
Neither. But I am loath to say— And yet  
I think you will not care, nor value it.  
But, Oh the Hastiness, that's in Old Men!  Ast. 
Cease your Preambles, and be brief.  Clin. 
Why then,  
Be pleased to know, your making so small haste  
To wed his Daughter, old Sylvanu's cast  
In such a Rage, as desperarely he swore  
He'd for her Husband, think of you no more:  
And yet, this very Day, she should have one:  
And to be him, who should she pitch upon,  
But that Lout Thyrsis?  
whom he soon drew in,  
To finish the same Work you did begin.  
And, Oh how overjoyed is that great Oaf!  
I met the Shepherds going to the Feast;  
And went along, to have my share o'th' Jest.  Ast. 
Jest, do you call't! 'Tis such a Jest, as I  
Will quickly mar.  Clin, 
What will betid my Lie?  Aside. Ast. 
Thyrsis Astrea Wed! For Beauty known  
To be Arcadia's, nay, the whole World's Paragon:  
And, when with our Lycean Maids she joins  
In Company, Diana's Self outshines;  
When with her Nymphs she Baths, or Hunts the Deer,  
Nay, when she Shines at Full in her own Sphere.  
Oh, how that but one Puff has turned the Vane,  
And set it in its former Point again!  
Married to Thyrsis, shall Astrea be!  
Andromeda to th' Monster of the Sea?  
Thy Perseus comes, fair Maid: He has no need  
Of Pegasus, who has Love's Wings for speed.  Runs out. Clin. 
I'll after him— But 'tis for my behoof,  
As the Case now does stand, to keep aloof.  Exit. Evan. 
The Face of Faithless Love, if he would hit,  
A Painter need but have Astatius sit.  
But to Astrea I'll so tell this Tale,  
As to Regain her, all his Arts shall fail.  Exit. Enter 
Sylvanus and Astrea.  Astr. 
How? quit me for another?  Sylvan. 
'Tis most true:  
I had th' Intelligence from my own View.  
And, guess you who it is, he quits you for;  
Even your own Feminine Idolater,  
The Stranger Shepherdess.  Astr. 
On then, 'tis plainly seen,  
Tho kept so close by her, whence it arose,  
That she our Marriage did so much oppose.  
How easily we, unawares, may take  
Into our Bosoms, the Perfidious Snake.  Enter Evander. Evan. 
Fair Shepherdess, the Height of Zeal I bear  
Your Happiness, craves now your private Ear.  Exeunt Astrea and Evander. 
A Noise of Shepherds Within.  Enter Melibeus and Shepherds. Mel. 
Away, away! He's mad! he's mad!  Sylvan. 
Who's Mad?  
And what's the Abuse you in my House have had,  
You fly thus out of it?  Mel. 
Why? to be brief,  
Astatius is Mad! called Thyrsis Thief!  
And swore, to Hell he'd send his despicable Soul,  
Unless he straight returned the Nymph he stole.  
Nothing we said, or did, could make him cease  
His Violence, and restore his banished Perce.  
But see, he comes! he comes! Away, away!  
Here will be Work for Surgeons, if we stay!  Enter Astatius. Sylvan. 
What means this Outrage, you do here commit?  Ast. 
Why do you ask, Who are the Cause of it?  
Can one Hours stay of mine, by you be thought  
That heinous and unpardonable Faued,  
As you could set all Bonds to me aside,  
And give to Thyrsis my Contracted Bride?  
Repent your fowl Intent; and whilst you may,  
Purge (by restoring her) your Crime away.  
Your Daughter is, before the Gods, my Wife—  
Restore her, or—  Enter Astrea, who seeing Astatius, offers to go back. 
— Oh stay my dearest Life!  Stops her. Sylvan. 
This it as dark as Oracle; but the way  
To make all Friends, is, not one Word to say:  
But to the Difference to put an and▪  
Be therefore all as ' 'twas. I'll try to bend  
Astrea's Will; and sure the Work's not fore,  
To break the Ice, that has been broke before.  Exit. Ast. 
That I Renounced you, and another Maid  
Would have Contracted Was't not so you said?  Astr. 
It was.  Ast. 
And who could tell you so?  Astr. 
Even one  
To whom 'twas your own Tongue that made it known;  
The Priest Evander.  Ast. 
Priest I and not forbear  
To blab out what's Entrusted to his Ear!  
The Gods send Cankers to cat out that Tongue,  
Can in so high a sort my Virtue wrong.  
But be't confessed; and at your Choice, if I  
Shall have your Pardon, or your Doom to die.  Holds his Dagger at his Dagger at his Breass. Astr. 
Strike home, Astatius; and by that brave Deed,  
From all the Dirt that lies on you, be freed.  
My Beauty make, for Cruelty, Renoun'd,  
And your Heroic Act, Fame's Trump shall sound.  Ast. 
And, shall it so?  Astr. 
Make haste; die, die, for shame!  Ast. 
No, for this once I'll live, to save your Fame.  
'Tis true, I would have died; but was afraid  
Pyramus and Thisbe, would in us be played.  
Tho my own self I little do regard;  
Yet 〈…〉 holds yours ●●'t, it must be spa●●●  Astr. 
Such Sign of Love, what Lover did 〈◊〉  
●or my dear sake, Astatius will live.  Ast. 
Come, throw me all these idle T●l●●●way▪  
And let's be serious. Tell me now, I pray,  
Which of you is your Father's: For the gave  
What's his to me; and, so much I will have.  Astr. 
Fond Man, take better heed: There are, 'tis true,  
Baits that are sure to take; but they endue  
What's taken by them, with a Taste so bad,  
As 'twere far better it had ne'er been had.  
And know for timely Truth, in getting me,  
What you use now, had the same Propetry.  
A Father's Will (which must not be withstood)  
May make a Wife, but cannot make her Good.  Ast. 
Nor would I that it should; or her own Love:  
'Twould such a lessening to my Glory prove.  
To cut in Glass, or form in Clay, exacts  
As little Fame: 'Tis with the Husband so;  
His Art and Fame, are equally as low,  
Who makes a Wife prove kind, whose Heart before  
Love softend to the Wax, or Ductile Ore.  
No; my Astrea, harden thine to Flint,  
Or get the Hardness of the Diamond in't;  
That by my most entire Observances,  
And constant Move, to whatever shall please  
Thy Will, or Fancy, I may smooth, Engrave,  
And Figure thee; until at last, I have  
The noblest Statue, and most permanent  
Of Love, ere was; or Wish could ere invent.  
This is high Art, and 'twill get Praise as high:  
To that Mark then, shall my Ambition fly.  Exit Astrea. Enter Sylvanus. Sylvan. 
And how?  Ast. 
Far better than we could devise.  
Holds off! She'd be enjoyed by a Surprise.  
Our Neighbour Spartans make their Marriages  
A kind of Rape. The Blustrings in't to please.  
A tame Encounter, argues little Flame;  
And willingness to Lose, but dulls the Game.  
Th' Approach to common Fields, is easy made;  
But he that would th' Hesperides invade,  
He must have Fight with a Dragon.  Sylvan. 
Right.  
No Greeks, so bravely as the Spartans', Fight.  
And if that we Arzadians should, like them,  
Vanquish our Brides, we might (perhaps) Redeem  
Our Nation's Honour.  Ast. 
Spoke like a God And let Arcadia see  
This great Change wrought, first, in your Family.  
I'll fetch a Priest; and, if such Thrift you like,  
Amongst ourselves, our Marriage up we'll strike.  
For Feasting, and the like Formalities,  
Do but retard the Reaping of our Joys.  Sylvan. 
By Pan, and so they do: Thou'●t in the Right.  
Like a long March, they tyre who are to Fight.  
Go then, and fetch a Priest.  Exeunt severally.  

The SCENE, The Vault. Alveria weeping in it.  Alu. 
Go now my Flocks; and at your Will,  
Betake you to the Pool, or Hill▪  
For since, Alas, I could not keep  
My Shepherd, Why should I my Sheep?  
I'll weep and sigh, and pine away;  
If Night won't come, make Night of Day.  
For, What have I to do with Light,  
When nought is left me worth my sight?  
All Fair, all Good, ere counted on,  
Lay in my Love; and He is gone!  Enter Dametas, with a Basket of Fruit. Dam. 
Whilst she this Right to her dead Lover pays,  
She such a Fascination on me lays,  
I could here stand; and though the Winds blew loud,  
And all the Skies were wrapped up in a Cloud,  
Be no more moved there-at, than if it were  
A Halcyon-Day, or one more calm and clear.  
But to my Errand—  
— Thou, who may'st Redeem  
Thy whole Sex from that illbred   
Lightness in some casts on't: Take no Offence  
That I approach thy Gell. 'Tis not pretence  
Of Zeal, but Truth, that brings me here.  Alu. 
Is't You.  
Dametas! Oh, come in, and take a view  
Of Sorrow's Harbour! For 'tis here it dwells;  
And all but what belongs to it, expels.  
Thou weep'st, and thou dost shame me in't, that I  
Whose Loss in him, does thine so much outvie,  
Shouldst do but as thou dost.  Dam. 
But fairest Maid,  
For some short space, let Grief aside be laid;  
And taste this Dish of Fruit, I here present.  
Want you a Knife? Here's one is Humbly sent.  produces her a Knife. Alu. 
O Heaven! 'tis the same Knife which I did seem  
To stick the Wolf with, in my rate told Dream.  
Bestowed on me.  Dam. 
With all my Heart. But that—  Alu. 
What you would say,  
I easily can guests. But think, I pray;  
And you'll not more ●●sconst●●e my Intent.  
Would I so many Deaths have underwent,  
As I have done, since my Traumatius Fall,  
When one had served t'have freed me from 'em All.  
Alveria's Virtue dares not Act that Crime:  
I dare not touch that Life that's de●● 〈…〉  
No, though unhappy, She had whiter Hands.  
The Consecrated Oak securely stands.  Dam. 
Then 'tis your own: That was my 〈◊〉  
And I much joy, that from that Pear I'm freed.  
And now my Care so happily is done,  
I give you back to your Devotion.  Alu. 
The Steam of Sacrificed Blood ('tis said)  
Is that alone, wherewith all Spirits are fed.  
Oh, be thou then to serve Traumatius in't,  
For my deaf Spirits Food, the Instrument.  
The Priest, the Altar, and the Knife's prepared;  
Oh, do no longer than our Zeal retard  
Thou knowst the only requisite we need;  
Then bring, blessed Shade, the Sacrifice, and feed.  Exit   

ACT the FORTH.  
Enter Euplaste. Eup. 
IN all Posthaste, Astatius ●lew away  
To fetch a Priest; and yet how long can stay,  
Bofore he brings him. Swift as from the Bow  
The Arrow went; and not the Snail so slow  
In coming back.  Enter Clinias, sing. 
The Goose, and the Capon,  
The Calf's Head and Bacon,  
Are ready, are ready,  
To be set on the Table.  
But if this good Victual  
Can draw but a little,  
There's something, there's something,  
Draws more than a Cable.  Eup. 
Where is your Master?  Clin. 
Ha', Diana!  
I would she'd keep her once in her own Sphere:  
It bodes us no good Luck to find her here.  Aside. Eup. 
Why speak you not? Study you for a Lie?  Clin. 
Oh no; sweet Goddess! True as Steel am I:  
But somewhat slow of Speech before my Betters.  
Wild Colts, you know, are to be put in Fetters:  
And such my Master is; and herefore, 's gone  
To fetch a Priest, to put his Fetters on.  Eup. 
And why not brings one then.  Clin. 
Whither?  Eup. 
Hither.  Clin. 
Hither!— Ha', ha'!— We are like to have stranger  
When as the Moon herself, is Lunatic.  Eup. 
What Laugh you at?  Clin. 
Pray be not Choleric.  
This is your Grove, or I mistake it.  
But sure Sylvanus House you cannot make it;  
Nor you Astrea.  Eup. 
Ha! These Words do sound  
Too fatally. But I will know the Ground.  
What do you mean, Friend, by your saying so?  Clin. 
No more than time, indeed, that you should know▪  
I, I, that you may spoil good Sport again.  
Do you think me such Fool, to tell you then?  
Slylvanus and my Master's Reconciled;  
And now he'll give him his dear. Darling Child.  
Astatius is but gone to fetch a Priest:  
This I could tell, and more too, if I list.  
But out of me, pray get it if you can.  
There's a Bone for her to pick.— Well, for a Man;  
If that my Master should search Greece all over,  
The like for Secrecy, he'll ne'er discover.  Exit. Eup. 
Whether the Fool or Knave spoke what he said,  
Or he as either, may be credited,  
Are Problems; not to be disputed on,  
When in the Words I hear, I am undone.  Exit. 
Alveria Runs over the Stage, and Astatius after her, as having lost her.  Ast. 
Oh! I have lost, quite lost, the sight of her.  
Curse on my Legs, for being no speedier!  
Ho! Clinias!  Enter Clinias. Clin. 
I am here, Master, I am here.  Ast. 
Run, Clinias; run!  
What? standest thou still, when thou art bid begun?  Clin. 
But whither▪ and for what?  Ast. 
To every Place,  
Till thou hast found her out, for my Embrace.  Clin. 
Who? Astrea?  Ast. 
No.  Clin. 
Diana?  Ast. 
Neither.  
Their Beauty's strokes (Alas!) scarce broke the Skin:  
But I just now have such a Beauty seen,  
As thro' and thro', has pierced my very Heart.  Clin. 
Where does he come, but he does meet this Dart?  
Pan bless us! These are dangerous Wounds indeed!—  
What thro' and thro'? where is it that you bleed?  Ast. 
My Heart.  Clin. 
It is a kind of an invisible Gore—.  
If she wounds so, I'd ne'er come near her more.  Ast. 
Not near her more! How idly thou dost prate?  
Thou too ill knowst of Beauty's wounds, the State.  
herself's the Balm for th'Wounds her Beauty made;  
Nor can their Rage, but by that Balm, be laid.  Clin. 
I'th' Name of Pan, Who is she then, I pray?  Ast. 
Who but th' incomparable Alveria?  Clin. 
Good Cupid, in his way some other send:  
Of these Incomparables, there's no end.  
For this is not the first, by a whole score:  
A Score, said I? I, Twenty times told o'er!  Ast. 
For since her Love, Traumatius, died, Oh how  
Her Beauty is shot forth, and strikes me now!  
Beauty and Sadness, in such pretty Strife,  
Like Light and Shadow, have so drawn to th' Life,  
The taking Face in hers.  Clin. 
You did not then  
Your Errand to the Priests?  Ast. 
Whilst she was seen  
With them, what Errand had I, or could have,  
But to Eye her, and take the Wounds she gave?  
And whilst I did, What angry Looks the Priest  
Evander cast?  Clin. 
But did your Love to nothing else provoke  
Than Looks and Thoughts? Did you not speak to her?  
Mute Gazing, though much Love, small Wit infer.  Ast. 
O there you touch me in the tenderest Part:  
'Twas that, with Bliss, asunder tore my Heart.  
Such Freedom had I on her Face to gaze,  
And sweetly lose myself in that dear maze.  
But I out of my Lips could scarcely get  
Fairest Alveria; but as if she had met  
A Theseus there, and should be Ravished too;  
Like Daphne from Apollo, straight she flew.  Clin. 
But whither flew?  Ast. 
As if that known to me,  
I'd stand thus idly prating here with thee.  
Perhaps, she has hid herself within the Vaued:  
Run thou, and see what Truth is in that Thought;  
And bring me Word, you'll find me at her Mothers.  Clin. 
I would this Love were hanged, it makes such Pothers.  Exit. Ast. 
For 'tis so true, as 'tis a Maxim grown,  
The Mother made, the Daughter's half our own:  
Mothers are such Dequoys.  Exit. Enter Lilla and Euplaste. lil. 
Take Heart; for when I put you in that Dress,  
I did not mean your Spirit should grow less.  Eup. 
I grant, much Favour she on me conferred;  
But 'twas not as I am, but as appeared.  
For I but once Philisides did name,  
And with such Terror to her Ears it came,  
As she did tremble more than ere you have  
Beheld the Sun's Face on the dancing Wave.  
And then she wept; which made me straight give o'er,  
What ere I had to say of him before.  
For, who could suffer such a Rain to last,  
Which from my Heart, drew drops of Blood as fast.  Enter Astatius. lil. 
Hold, there he is— I'll not be seen— Do you  
What Love and Interest shall invite you to.  Exit Lilla. Eup. 
Oh you have kept your Promise well— You are—  Ast. 
I'll word it for you, you your Breath may spare.  
I am  
Fickle, Disloyal; far more false than be  
The Smiles of old grown Tyrants, or the Sea,  
When with its smoothest Brow it Courts to Death.  
My Oaths and Vows of Love, with the same breath  
Brought forth, and blown away. The time so one,  
And indistinct, in which they both are done.  
Nature did make me such; blame Her, not Me.  Eup. 
Yet there's a Shepherdess, I hear,  
Has by her Beauty got so great a Power,  
That o'er your Nature, she's a Conqueror.  Ast. 
And, who is see?  Eup. 
Astrea.  Ast. 
Yes; I yield,  
As yours did once, her Beauty took the Field;  
And skirmisht with it, for some little while:  
But ne'er of Conqueror could bear the Style:  
That was reserved, as far more Great, for hers  
To whose your Beauties were but Harbingers.  
Astrea's Charms have Power to fix my Soul!  
That any one should think me such a Fool!  
Her Beauty would I knew; but where it lies?  
'Tis true,  
She has something pretty well about her Eyes.  
Her Shape too it may pass: Her Air appears  
Not very dull: And then, that Face of here's  
Has here and there, a tolerable Feature.  
But for a Wife, Heaven bless the poor fond Creature!  Eup. 
Confusion blast that Tongue.  Aside. Ast. 
I must confess,  
I Courted her, and I could do no less.  
The Reverend Fool, her Father, drew me in.  
And in my Temper, I have always been  
So Complaysant, that what ere Face I've seen,  
I still have had some wanton things to say.  
I threw an Amorous Look or two away:  
We Courtiers must be showing of our Parts.  
But to believe, her Eyes can Conquer Hearts—  
There's no such thing in Nature— But—  
Is Lilla pray at Home.  Eup. 
Not now at Home;  
But that one so ingenious may not come  
In vain to speak with her; if you but please  
To walk a while under these Sycamore Trees,  
I'll seek her out; and be the Messenger  
To bring her to you, or fetch you to her.  Ast. 
You much oblige me, fair One.  Eup. 
What Breast could more assuage? what more inflame,  
Than that which from his Mouth in one blast came?  
Astrea freed! What Note could sweeter sound?  
Her Beauty slighted! What could more confound?  
Such Language would a Gaulless-Saint enrage,  
And fire the very Veins of freezing-Age.  
If this Affront be not Revenged by Me,  
I show that I deserve her less than He:  
I'll punish then this Blasphemy, or die.  
And if wronged Saint, to that Extreme I fly,  
That my Devotion my Destruction draws,  
I bravely perish in a noble Cause.  Exit. Aside. Ast. 
Had I Astrea never Wooed nor Wone,  
How fiercely on her could my Love still run?  
But the right Spaniel does delight to get  
The Wild-Duck for Games sake, and not to Eat:  
And, 'tis so with my Love; It likes to chase,  
But not to board itself on any Face.  
Let the Wind blow from what ere Point it will,  
It sets a Going, and still Turns the Mill.  
So Beauty does move me, when ere I see't;  
Nay, oftentimes, where I no Beauty meet,  
Humour's sufficient to take me. The sad,  
Blithe, and composed, my Love alike have had.  
Thus like a Shadow on a Dyall's-Plate,  
My Love is always in a moving State.  
Oh, how she melts, her Beauty, as the Sun  
Does melt the Snow, who does from Coolness run  
To such a Warmth, as to give Love: For then,  
Like Evening-Mists, all her Defects begin  
To show themselves; Which we so hot before  
I'th' Chase, had not the leisure to explore.  
Whilst in the Fields, they are, Daisies look well;  
But in our Hands, How noysomly they swell?  Enter Melibeus and Shepherds, and Shepherdess's. 
What's here? by Heaven, the very Animals,  
That are to Celebrate my Nuptials.  
Now shall we have some Song, or Dance, at least,  
For th' Entertainment to this Bridal-Feast.  
Marry Astrea! Alas! Poor silly Sots!  
They little think, that I have wiser Plots.  
To interrupt their Pastime, would be rude:  
No; I'll retire, and hear their Interlude.  Absconds. Mel. 
Well, since the Marriage is so nigh,  
Upon this Plain our Skills we'll try.  
T' our Reputations we must have regard;  
And, 'twere ill mannered, to come unprepared.  A Symphony of Pipes, and a Dance; which ended, Exeunt Shepherds and Shepherdesses; and Re-Enter Astatius.  
Enter to him, Euplaste in her own Shape, with two Swords. Eup. 
Your Patience Lilla for a while does crave:  
And tell she comes, she for you Pastime gave  
These Swords into my Hands, for you to view.  
Pray look, and tell me, which seems best to you?  Ast. 
Philisides!  Eup. 
The same.  Ast. 
I'm all Surprise!  
Is my Fair Amazon transformed to this!  
This Object does so much Amazement strike!  Eup. 
Lay by your Wonder; say which Sword you like?  Ast. 
If there be odds, this has it.  Takes one. Eup. 
'Tis but fit  
It should: Such Odds upon the Cause does sit,  
I'm to maintain. Betake you to your Guard.  Ast. 
How Sir?  Eup. 
Is Death a thing, that will digest so hard!  
You will not Fight?  Ast. 
Not with Philifides.  Eup. 
Think on your Insolence, your Blasphemies,  
Against the Fair Astrea.  Ast. 
Wondrous fau't!  
Where lies the Blasphemy to speak my Thoughts?  
Because  
You think her Heavenly Fair, must I do so?  
By heavens, my plain-frank Soul ne'er stoops so low,  
To flatter what I cannot like,  
To Idolise a Face, paid Offerings,  
And make Divinities of poor Mortal Things.  Eup. 
Oh heavens! he dares maintain his Insolence  
Against that sacred charming Excellence.  
An Excellence so pure, a Form so fair,  
That Jove might quit his Throne, t'inhabit there.  Ast. 
And these high Raptures, so Divinely said,  
(This Courtly sound, blind Loves Romantique Style)  
Is all on a poor piece of white and red,  
No more than what one Summer's-Sun can spoil.  Eup. 
I'll hear no more; defend your Life.  Astatius only Retires. 
Not one offensive Stroke? For once, I'll try  
The Art I have, to mount your Rage as high.  
Do you Retreat, you mighty Man of Love?  
Your base unmanly Fear to Die, remove.  
But, to recall your frightened Soul again;  
Call to your mind, that once there was a Swain,  
That, met you Face to Face, and from your Arm  
This Garter snatched.  Ast. 
How like a Fool dost thou thyself betray?  Eup. 
Then take the Forfeit on't this manly Way.  They Fight, and Astatius falls. Enter Clinias. Clin. 
Oh, he has killed my Master! Help, help  Enter Shepherds. Eup. 
A Curse on his wide Throat.  Exit Running. 1. Sheph. 
Astatius Slain!  Clin. 
Make haste, like faithful Dogs go hunt about,  
And you will quickly find the Murderer out.  
He ran that way.  Exeunt Shepherds pursuing. 
Esculapius Temple, to this Place is near;  
And to his Priests, I will my Master bear:  
They're better skilled to cure his Wounds, than I.  
Come dear Sir, rise, and from Death's Horrors fly!  Ast. 
Farewell fair Nymphs, & you dear Pleasant Groves,  
The once kind Scene of all my happy Loves.  
A long Farewell! What has this Minute done;  
Who lived for the whole Sex, now dies for one.  Exit, supported by Clinias. Esculapius Temple discovered; Priests attending. 1. Priest. 
Thou, who for Good to Humane Race,  
To Sol thy Master, giv'st not Place.  2d. Priest. 
For, though the Air be ne'er so bright,  
Made by the Beams of his great Light,  
Unless 'tis Healthful made by Thee;  
But hastens on Mortality.  1. Priest. 
Oh, then receive their joyful Sound,  
Who with thy Blessing, Health, abound.  Enter Clinias, leading Astatius. Priest. 
How dare you with unhallowed Feet,  
Profane this Sacred Ground? Retreat.  Clin. 
Nay Reverend Sir, be not so much unkind;  
Let us your Favour, not your Anger, find;  
This wounded Swain does your kind Help implore;  
Cure him, and we will trouble you no more.  Temple shuts. Within. 
Fellow, follow, follow!  Enter. Euplaste. Eup. 
Hell stop your Throats. What Cries these Bloodhounds make?  
To Fight 'em all, Alas! I am too weak.  
And their Pursuits too hot, t'escape by Flight.  
What shall I do? I have but this one 'Slight.  
I'll to Traumatius Vault, and hid me there;  
So great a Reverence to that Place they bear,  
As sure 'twill prove a Place for my Defence,  
A Sanctuary 'gainst their Violence.  
This Bush shall hid my Sword—  
— who'll Quarter cry,  Throws his Sword away. 
Ought all offensive Weapons to lay by.  Exit.   

ACT the FIFTH.  

The SCENE, The Vault. Alveria, Ismenius, and Evander.  Alu. 
TO thee thou purest Shade  
Of all Love, ere t' Elysium sent,  
The Tribute of my Sighs is paid.  Ism. 
True Lovers die not; but Translate  
To a Divine, from Humane, State.  
Then be less grieved at your Traumatius Fate.  Enter Philisides, Running. Phil. 
Here I am safe. To your Protection take  
A Swain, whom all the World beside forsake.  
In this kind Sanctuary let me lie,  
And be secure from Death and Infamy.  Evan. 
& Alu. Philisides!  Alu. 
The Wolf is come: And now my Dear, thy Flowers  
I'll water with the best of Showers,  
Warm Drops of Blood. To th'God of Wine,  
'Cause greatest foe unto the Vine,  
The Goat is offered up: And Thee  
Thus to my Love I offer—  Stabs Philisides. 
— Now 'tis done.  
Then finish Fate what I've begun.  Evan. 
Oh, that a Hand so white should do  
A Deed so black!  Alu. 
Oh, do not You  
Who are a Priest, your Mouth defile,  
By giving it so false a Style!  
What Victim to Traumatius Shade  
Of sweeter Odour can be made?  
Or more the Cry of his loud Blood appease,  
Than this his Murderer, Philisides?  Evan. 
Of how much Mischief has my long Disguise  
Been the unhappy Cause? In this Swain's Death,  
I've bought the Proof of my Alveria's Faith,  
And Constancy, at much too dear a Price.  Phil. 
Philisides! Yes, He I am!  
For under none but my true Name,  
I'd die Astrea's Lover— But that Breath  
That name, that very Thought, has vanquished Death;  
Such sovereign Balsam in it lies,  
That know to a new Life I rise.  
Mistaken Fair! 've given the Wound in vain.  
No Hand can reach that Heart where that bright Form does Reign.  Alu. 
Oh my weak Hand! And thou dull Instrument,  
That thus the Stroke falls short of the Intent!  Ism. 
I'm glad it is no Mortal Wound. Apply  
You to your Surgery, whilst I  
With speed to good Sylvanus send,  
That he this Accident may know.  Exit Evander and Philisides. Enter Astatius and Clinias. Ism. 
Your Wounds thus searched, dressed up, and bound, Your Cure  
Will need no further Care, it is so sure.  
Depart— Yet first, 'twere fit that you express  
By some Oblation, your true Thankfulness  
To our great God.  Ast. 
That good Astonishment  
Only directs to what my Heart was bend.  
My Offering then, is all my Flocks of Sheep;  
With all the Downs, on which my Flocks I keep:  
All this I give; and what's of Gifts the best,  
Myself (the Donor) to be made his Priest.  Ism. 
The Voice of Heaven, sent by these darting Beams,  
I fear, the Anger of our God proclaims!  It Thunders. 
Stay on this Holy Ground, whilst I retire,  
And the Mysterious Depths of Fate inquire.  Exit. Soft Music plays till his Return. Re-Enter Ismenius. Ism. 
The God declares, That he has seen  
How Faithless you in Love have been;  
And till that Humour's purged away,  
On's Altars you no Fire must lay.  
But to the Holy Fount repair,  
And wash, in sign reclaimed you are.  
That done, a single Life protest,  
The God admits you for his Priest.  Exit. Clin. 
Stay Master, stay, and be advised by me;  
You know my Wit, and my Fidelity.  
Do not with such a Servant part so soon;  
Whose Like, you'll never have when I am gone.  Ast. 
Babble not, Sirrah, in this sacred Place.  
Now, Beauty I defy thy Magic Power.  
These wanton Rovers shall fly out no more.  
For ever in those sacred Walls confined,  
I'll chain my Brutal Sense, t'enlarge my Nobler Mind.  Clin. 
And, are you then resolved?  Ast. 
I am.  Clin. 
But pray,  
Came now a rare fresh Beauty in your way,  
Would the cold Water of the Holy Font  
Cool you so much, you'd not engage upon't?  Ast. 
Alas! the Change will be so great, that she  
Would but at best a Statue be to me.  
I might, perhaps, the Work-man-ship commend;  
And only there, my Contemplation's end.  
He's scarce half Man, that makes a Woman's Eyes  
His only Bliss, his only Paradise.  Exit. Enter Ismenius and Sylvanus. Ism. 
That you now offer him to your Son's Shade,  
What fit Expiation can be made?  
It is but just, that Humane Blood should flow,  
When offered t'a Divinity below,  
Such as Traumatius is.  Sylvan. 
Your Will shall be obeyed: Do you prepare  
The sacred Rites, and I the Secular.  Exit. Enter Evander and Philisides. Phil. 
Think you she'll come?  Evan. 
Of that, doubt you no more,  
Than Day will follow, the Night went before.  
For none are here so impious, that they  
The Summons of a Priest dare disobey.  Enter Astrea. 
And see, how near my Word and Truth's allied.  
She's come already: Do you step aside.  Phil. steps aside. Astr. 
If longer from you then I should, I have stayed,  
Blame me not, Sir; what hast I could, I made.  Evan. 
I blame you not, fair Nymph; but grieve, that Fate  
Should so ordain, that you should come too late.  
For, though with so much Ardour for't she prayed,  
The last Sand in the Glass would not be stayed,  
Till in their seeing you, her dying Eyes  
Might make their set. Then be it no Surprise,  
To say, She's dead; your Friend, Euplaste, 's dead.  Astr. 
And is Euplaste dead!  Phil. 
No, no, she's here!  
She lives when ere Astrea does appear.  Astr. 
Philisides! Oh then, I am betrayed!  
Rise, rise! my Brother's Murder to my aid:  
And with cold Ashes, taken from his Urn,  
Choke up that Fire does to my Breast return.  Phil. 
Why do you turn your frowning Eyes away?  Astr. 
Because the Rebels would my Soul betray.  Phil. 
Can my detested sight bring such Surprise?  Astr. 
What Horror in my Brother's Murderer lies?  
Oh that that fatal Name must drive me hence!  Phil. 
And can't you with one Minutes stay dispense?  
Does one poor Sighs give such a great Offence?  Evan. 
One Minute's stay may be excused by Love.  Astr. 
Take me to Death! for what but Death can prove  
So cruel, and so dire? Death will appear  
An easier Torment, than to tarry here,  
Within the reach of such a blood-shot-Eye;  
'Tis less on Wheels, or torturing Wracks, to die.  Exit Phil. 
Oh Life, since all thy Comfort flies away,  
Why for a Plague, dost thou behind it stay!  
Break, break, my Heart! Or, if at my Command  
Thou wilt not break, come then some blessed Hand  
And strike thee dead.  Enter Ismenius. Ism. 
Your Invocation's herd.  
The Hand to strike, already is prepared.  
Then come away; for you must straight be made  
A Victim to the blessed Traumatius Shade.  Astr. 
Oh stay, and bear him not so fast away!  
Since sacred Ghost, this Swain his Life must pay.  
Be not offended, dear immortal Shade,  
When all his opened Veins are bleeding laid,  
If, to the Stream of Blood I add one Tear,  
T' increase the Sacrifice.  Phil. 
Oh, why this waist  
Of Tears, Astrea, when the Seasons past,  
To have your pity in! Your Tears, now shed,  
Are like Rain-Water, when the Plant is dead.  
How comes it thus to pass, my being made  
A Sacrifice to your dead Brother's Shade,  
Should such Compassion win, when all my Love,  
And Tortures there, could not your Pity move?  
When to Astatius you my Right could pay,  
And give your unkind straggling Heart away.  Astr. 
Oh do not this unjust Complaint pursue!  
'Twas You that gave my Love the mortal Blow.  
That, that I to my Brother's Murder owe.  
My Love and Piety did such Conflicts make,  
That th' only Man I loved, I could forsake.  
My poor deplored unhappy Brother's Fall,  
Concealed my Faith, Love, Reason, Sense, and All.  Phil. 
But were your Love and Reason, Sense, and All.  Phil. 
But were your Love and Reason so far gone,  
That with your Charms, you could my Rival Crown?  Astr. 
Oh pardon me! I yielded to my Doom;  
And my Obedience made my Martyrdom.  
I must not Love you, if you longer live:  
And if you die, Eternally must grieve!  Phil. 
In what a wretched State, Oh then am I;  
Can have no Will to live, and none to die:  
For Hell my Life, and Hell my Death, you'll make,  
If Love you give not, or if Grief you take.  Astr. 
How ever crossed, we in this Point agree,  
No two were ere so wretched made, as We.  Phil. 
And if in that we such proportion keep,  
'Tis just we should in a like Measure weep.  Ism. 
But when that Grief swells in the Breast too high,  
To give a stop to it, is Charity.  
Then Youth make haste with us; and this proof give,  
How much by dying you deserve to live.  Ex. Phil. & Ism. Astr. 
And shall, when he is gone, Astrea stay?  
As well the Substance gone, the Shadow may.  
No, to the Altar I with him will go,  
And with him Dye: 'Tis all done at one Blow.  As she is going off the Inner part of the Temple, is discovered, an Altar flaming; Evander standing by it. Ismenius, Sylvanus, Shepherds, Shepherdess's. Philisides prepared for Sacrifice: Alveria standing by. Ism. 
All the Pollutions, ere have been  
Let by those Doors (thy Senses) in,  
Or corrupt Fancies ever bred,  
Or Appetite engendered;  
I with this Holy-Water, on  
Thee sprinkled thus, do purge thee from.  
And now, to th' Altar I thee lead,  
To be a Victim to the Dead.  Enter Evander. Evan. 
And thus I give thee up— to Life:  
No Sacrifice, no use of Knife.  Discovers himself. 
For see, the Shadow hence is fled;  
And, here's the Substance in its stead.  
And now, no more a Priest, unless it be  
To this his greatest Deity.  To Alveria. Omnes. 
Traumatius!  Traum. 
Another time, I'll let you understand,  
How all my Wounds were Cured, and by what Hand.  
I had no Hopes, that you would ere agree,  
The fair Alveria should be wed by Me:  
And what great Pity, all would say, it was,  
That so much Youth and Beauty, as she has,  
Should either wastefully consume away;  
Or, whilst your Blessing on't you would not lay,  
Be gathered most unhappily by me.  
I had resolved, my supposed Death should be  
The Means to give her up to better Fate;  
But what I suffered in't, I'll not Relate:  
My Pangs indeed, can be described by none.  
But this Assurance take, if to atone,  
My Love and Duty, you do here deny;  
Not in Disguise, but I in Truth, shall die.  
Ismenius, Sylvanus, and Lilla Whisper.  Alu. 
My Attempt upon your Life—  To Phil. Phil. 
Has set upon  
My Breast, a noble Mark of Love; whereon,  
If ere I chance in Love to go awry,  
Like a good Scholar, I will cast my Eye;  
And, by that Scar, be taught my Loyalty.  Alu. 
How great a Charge, Traumatius, against thee,  
Might I draw up? But that thou liv'st, and I  
Alive to see't! 'twill be my whole Employ  
To thank the Gods, and to rejoice.  Traum. 
Whilst I  
Give Veneration to a Constancy,  
More worthy it, then are the Gods; and show  
Obedience, equal to the Love I owe.  
The Ills I did, or might have caused, declare  
I did transgress: But All who Lovers are,  
Will pardon him, I hope, who went a-stray  
Only in Thought, that 'twas Love's fairest Way.  Astr. 
Ah, my Philisides! How am I brought  
Into Elysium, by this Change is wrought,  
To see thee live; and I have leave again,  
To seal our Loves? There, there my Joy does Reign!  Phil. 
Oh, for an Echo now, that might repeat  
These Words a Thousand times, they are so sweet!  
But all the Crosses, which our Love has met,  
Shall but a higher Gust t' our Pleasures set.  Sylvan. 
And can you take up such a strange belief,  
That Joy becomes us in a Day of Grief?  
Be making Marriages, when spilt Blood lies  
Fresh on the Earth, and with a loud Voice, cries  
To th' Gods, and they to us for Justice?  
Is not Astatius slain?  Enter Astatius and Clinias. Ast. 
Yes, is so slain,  
That he will ne'er Converse with you again.  
I have Renounced all Bonds, what ere they be,  
Of sensual Love from any one to me.  
Enjoy your Freedoms, and return me mine:  
My Heart ingulphs all Love in the Divine.  
You are a Priest Ismenius▪ and I crave  
Your Absolution from all Crimes I have,  
Thro the impulse of Youthful Blood, done here:  
For I am to move now in a higher Sphere.  
Advanced from following Sheep,  
To serve the Altar of that God, from whom  
My Health, my Bliss, and my Devotion, come.  Clin. 
Why, what a terrible sad Change is here?  
I now, forsooth, must Church it every Day,  
That scarce did see it above once a Year:  
Must down upon my Marrowbones, to pray.  
My Belly must for Sins, much Penance do.  
What a sad Fate is Clinius come to now?  
I had Meat and Drink, the like was never seen:  
But now, poor Guts, you'll ne'er be filled again.  Sylvan. 
Since then the Day's cleared up, there now,  
No Cloud shall stay upon my Brow.  
Take both your Loves.  
And Father, with your Sacerdotall-Seal,  
Put you this Grant of mine, past all Repeal.  
My Son restored to Life, my Daughter blest,  
Is such a Joy, as cannot be expressed!  
Then, to acknowledge what my Stars have given,  
Pay you your Debts to Love, and I to Heaven.  Exeunt Omnes.   
FINIS.   

EPILOGUE, Spoken by Clinias.  
GAd Gentlemen, I know not what to say:  
Something I had to talk about the Play.  
The Wits, the Poets, and the Critques,— r●t 'em,  
And twenty other things, but I've forgot 'em.  
But 'tis no matter; Say we what we will,  
You are the same hardhearted Judges still.  
You will damn Plays, in spite of all we say:  
But 'tis an unknown Author wrote this Play.  
Known or unknown, 'tis all alike to You;  
Courtship and Prayers, and All, will never d●.  
To ruin a poor Scribbler, is your Glory.  
New Plays,  
No more than a new Face, can stand before you.  
Ugly or Old, 'tis all fresh Game▪ and all  
Are Prize, that in your Ravenous Clutches fall.  
You Gentlemen, use a new Author more  
Unmercifully, than an ugly Where.  
You scarce can sit three Hours at a dull Play;  
But t' an ill Face, a whole Week's Siege you'll lay.  
And in mere spite▪ some Pleasure you will take,  
If but to think ●'th cuckold that you make.