Love's Kingdom.  
A Pastoral Tragicomedy.  
Not as it was Acted at the Theatre near Lincolns-Inn, but as it was written, and since corrected  
BY Richard Flecknoe.  
With a short Treatise of the English Stage, &c, by the same Author.  
LONDON, Printed by R. Wood for the Author, 1664.   

Licenced,  
April 22, 1664. Roger L' Estrange.   

To his Excellence, William, Lord Marquess of Newcastle.  
My Noble Lord,  
THe People, who (as one says well) are judges without judgement, and Authors without Authority, had condemned this Play on the Stage, for want of being rightly represented unto them; at which, many noble Persons were so much offended, as I could not in any one Act do it more right, or give them more satisfaction, then by Printing it, to show its Innocence. As it is, it has had the honour to have been approved by most of the better and wiser Sort; and if your Excellence but add unto it your Approbation, I desire no more. It wants much of the Ornament of the Stage, but thât by a lively imagination may easily be supplied: For my part, unless it may be presented as I writ it, and as I intended it, I had rather it should be read then acted, and have the World for Theatre, rather than the Stage.  
Having said thus much by way of Prologue, I leave you to the Play, remaining always,  
Your Excellencies Most humble, and most devoted Servant, Richard Flecknoe.   

To the noble Readers.  
TO think to write without faults, is to think to peel a Bulbus Root to the last Rind, or sweep an earthen Floor to the last grain of dust; and 'tis hêre, as in the Mint, where if the Dross exceed not the pure Or, it passes for currant Coin. The greatest fault in this kind of writing, is to err agâinst Art and Decorum, of which I hope this Play is free; who finds fault with the mirth in it, never consider how here with us, mirth in Plays of this kind is like Alloy in Coin, which though it abases it, yet makes it more passable. For the Rhyme, 'tis more excusable in Pastorals, then in other Plays; and where I leave the Rhyme or numbers, I imagined, that as a good Actor was like a good Singer, so a good Play was like a good Song; where 'tis not necessary all notes should be of an equal length. For the Plot 'tis neat and handsome, and the Language soft and gentle, suitable to the persons who speak, neither on the Ground, nor in the Clouds; but just like the Stage, somewhat elevated above the common. In neither, no stifness, and (I hope) no impertinence nor extravagance; into which, your young writers are apt to run; who whilst they know not well what to do, and are anxious to do enough, most commonly overdo. Those who think it so easy now to make a good Play, will tell me some twenty years hence how hard it is; when they will find that 'tis not a good Humour or two in a Comedy will do it, (which are good supports 'tis true; but to think they will make a Play, is to think a Pillar or two sufficient to make a House) nor the writing a fine Copy of Verses or two, sufficient to make a Tragedy, or Tragicomedy; but there must go a Genius as well as Ingenium to't, with long exercise and experience. But to leave their Plays, and return to ours; if you like it for whom I writ it, I have my end, which was only in an innocent and harmless way, to divert myself and you.   

The Persons represented.  

THe Prologue spoken by Venus from the Clouds Theotimus, Loves Arch-Flamin, and Governor of Cyprus.  
Polydor, Loves Inquisitor.  
Diophantes, one of the Advocates of Loves Court.  
Palemon, A noble Cypriot in Love with Bellinda, and loved by Filena.  
Evander, A stranger come to Love's Kingdom on devotion.  
Pamphilus. A vicious young fellow, stranger to Love's Kingdom, and imagining all as vicious as himself.  
Philander, a noble Cretian, & Bellinda's betrothed  
Bellinda, a noble Cretian Nymph, stranger in Love's Kingdom.  
Filena, a noble Cyprian Nymph.  
Amaranthe, Governess of the Nymphs.  
Cloria, Mellissa, Lydia, with others. Nymphs of Cyprus.  
Chorus— of Musicians, and young Virgins.  
2 Aruspices.  
Love's Sacrificators.  
The Popa, or sacred Executioner.  
Guards, etc.  
The Scene, Cyprus, with all the Rules of Time and Place so exactly observed, as whilst for Time 'tis all comprised in as few hours as there are Acts; for Place, it never goes out of the view or prospect of Love's Temple.    

The Prologue.  Spoken by Venus from the Clouds. 
IF ever you have heard of Venus' name,  
Goddess of Beauty, I that Venus am;  
Who have to day descended from my sphere,  
To welcome you unto Love's Kingdom here;  
Or rather to my Sphere am come, since I  
Am present no where more, nor in the Sky;  
Nor any Island in the world, than this,  
That wholly from the world divided is:  
For Cupid, you behold him here in me,  
(For there where Beauty is, Love needs must be)  
Or you may yet more easily descry  
Him 'mong the Ladies in each beauteous eye;  
And 'mongst the Gallants, may as easily trace  
Him to their bosoms, from each beauteous face.  
May then fair Ladies you,  
Find all your Servants true;  
And Gallants, may you find  
The Ladies all as kind,  
As by your noble favours you declare  
How much you friends unto Love's Kingdom are;  
Of which yourselves compose so great a part  
In your fair Eyes, and in your loving heart.   

Love's Kingdom.  

Actus primus.  Enter Evander and Pamphilus. The Scene, a delightful Landscape or Paisage. Evander. 
IS't not a pleasant place?  Pamph. 
As e'er I saw;  
but I can see no Wenches yet, and that  
I long for.  Eu. 
Why?  Pam. 
What a question's that? why do  
the hungry long for meat I pray?  Eu. 
Then I  
perceive you are an Epicure in Love,  
and only would feed your body.  Pam. 
I am no Platonic Philosopher,  
who while they feed their minds,  
do starve themselves; give me a Love that has  
some substance in it.  Eu. 
Well, this is no time  
for to convert you; behold some coming here.  Enter a Troop of Nymphs and Shepherds, singing and dancing hand in hand. 

The Song.  
Come, and in this pleasant Grove,  
Sacred to the Queen of Love,  
Let our Voices and our Feet  
In harmonious number meet;  
Thus we sing the year throughout,  
And merrily, merrily dance about.   Exeunt. Eu. 
O happy Land! of all the sun surveys,  
where thus perpetually they pass their days;  
and if only a living death it be,  
or dying life to live in misery;  
seeing their joyful lives, we well may say,  
in all the world there are none live but they.  Pa. 
They're dainty wenches I'll say that for them,  
and I must needs follow them.  Eu. 
Nay prithee.  Pam. 
Never talk of it, I can hold no more  
than a good Greyhound when he sees the Hare,  
or Hawk the Quarry; it is all my sport  
and inclination, and by their mirth and jollity  
I know they're right, and of the Game.  Eu. 
There's your  
error and ignorance now, who do not know,  
how true virtue is a cheerful thing,  
rendering its favourites and followers far  
more cheerful too, more virtuous they are.  Pam. 
Hang Virtue! I know no cheerfulness  
but laughing, and I'm sure all the Nymphs here  
are as supple and pliant as Kids-leather gloves,  
a gentle pluck or two will easily draw them on.  Eu. 
How know you that? who came  
but yesternight a stranger hither.  Pam. 
And how know you the contrary? who came  
but hither yesternight along with me? let it suffice  
I know all women by instinct; and  
is not this Love's Kingdom? answer me to that.  Eu. 
Well, what then?  Pam. 
Why then I am in mine,  
for I'm the lovingest creature  
(thou dost not know me yet)  
I tell thee I was such a forward Child,  
I fell in Love with my Nurse in the very Cradle;  
and they were forced to wean me,  
for fear of spoiling her milk.  Eu. 
A great deflowrer of nurses it seems you are  
but had you not better tarry till Diophantes comes,  
who has promised to be our guide, and instruct us  
in their manners and customs here?  Pam. 
Tarry you for him if  
you please, my business can best be dispatched alone,  
and I need no tutors nor conductors for't.  
I thank you.  Eu. 
Well, thank yourself if any harm  
come of it.  Pam. 
No harm I'll warrant you,  
but rather good, the good of posterity,  
whose business I am going about; and methinks  
I hear the Children yet unborn, crying out  
unto me to make haste, and so I will  
my little pretty sweet Babes.  Exit. Eu. 
what a wild fellow's this? I'm sorry & ashamed  
(now I know him better)  
that I came along with him to Cyprus here;  
who knows no more of Love then beasts do▪ and's  
so bravely impudent and vicious,  
he puts vice & impudence to the extremest proof  
and shames not to be impudent enough:  
but here comes Diophantes.  Enter Diophantes. Dio. 
Noble Evander, I must demand your pardon  
if I instead of waiting on you, have made  
you wait for me; but I am Advocate in  
Love's Court you know, where so many petty  
quarrels of Lovers are daily to be reconciled.  
W▪ ave scarcely any vacancy at all,  
nor had we dispatched so soon to day, but for  
the grand Solemnity i'th' Temple.  Eu. 
What's that I pray?  Dio. 
Why, 'tis the anniversary Feast of Venus,  
our Sea-born Goddesses first arrival here  
upon the Cyprian shore.  Eu. 
And with good reason  
you Celebrate that with all Solemnity,  
that renders you so famous through all the world.  Di. 
And to add to th' general Solemnity o'th' day  
there's a particular Ceremony too  
renders it more solemn.  Eu. 
What?  Dio. 
Why, you must know  
that all strangers by th' Laws of Cyprus here  
are after three months' residence to swear  
they love some one i'th' Isle, or else be banished;  
now Sir, three months to day are just expired,  
since there arrived a Nymph the most admired,  
and most deserving admiration,  
as ever in Love's Kingdom yet was known;  
and whether she'll take the solemn Oath or no,  
only herself and the Deity do know;  
for to all else 'tis doubtful.  Eu. 
Can it be doubted that any here should love,  
where they are all born and bred Lovers; the very  
air inspires it, and 'tis as natural  
for them to love, as 'tis to live and breath.  Dio. 
True Sir, but for our admiration  
the gods work miracles sometimes, and she is one;  
but where's your friend Pamphilus?  Eu. 
Rambled somewhere abroad,  
I know not whither.  Dio. 
Of what humour, I pray,  
and disposition is he?  Eu. 
Why, harmless and merry, only a little wild  Dio. 
He thinks perhaps our Nymphs are wanton here;  
but Sir, I can assure you they are all  
so chaste and pure, as Crystal you would say  
is not more pure, nor Ice more clear than they;  
And for the Land, know Sir, in all the spacious  
world there's not a more religious place,  
where Love with greater purity is professed,  
nor served and honoured with more pious breast.  Eu. 
I've understood so much, and therefore come  
expressly hither on devotion,  
to render my vows & offerings at his sacred shrine  Dio. 
I applaud you for't, and may the powers divine  
for every prayer that you send up to them,  
send you as many blessings down again.  Eu. 
Soft! who are those come here?  Dio. 
Oh now you'll see  
A noble Ceremony and Solemnity.  Enter Theotimus with Assistants of Love's Sacrificators, with Asperges and Thuribles besprinkling and incensing the place. The. 
Far hence be all profane, whilst here  
With Solemn Rites thus every year,  
To render all our Lovers true,  
We element Love's Kingdom new;  
That no heart may too strongly beat,  
We give its fires a temperate heat;  
We give its waters virtuous force,  
To suage them (taken in their Source)  
Fogs of perjured vows and oaths,  
Which spotless truth and candour loathes,  
We purge the Air from, and the Earth  
From every strange and monstrous birth:  
For as some Lands their monsters fear,  
Lust only is our monster here;  
As others poisonous beasts molest,  
So avarice is our poisonous beast:  
From which when once a Land is freed,  
Then, thên Love's Kingdom 'tis indeed.  Exeunt Manent Evander & Diophontes. Eu. 
A Ceremony as religious as great!  Di. 
Y'admire too soon, & have seen nothing yet,  
if but compared to what you'll see anon,  
worthy your sight and admiration.  Exeunt. Enter Palemon in desperate action, withheld by Polydor. Pol. 
You won't be mad?  Pal. 
I will be nothing but for Love,  
and for Love I will be any thing;—  
pray unhand me:— Shall Bellinda, the  
divine Bellinda be banished hence to day,  
and shall Palemon see it, and shall he live?  Pol. 
And shall the gallant and the brave  
Palemon die only for fear of death?  
how low— and poorly would it show!  
and that's the worst; but I hope better still:  
Venus the Goddess of this Isle  
has oft done greater miracles than this,  
to make one young and fair to love.  Pal. 
O Polydore! who has  
miracles for hopes, has hopes too nigh despair.  Pol. 
I grant you,  
but yours are far  
from that;— for has she not promised,  
if any i'th' Isle she loves, it shall be you:  
And is this no hope? no comfort?  Pal. 
Just as much  
as 'mong the numerous and unhappy throng  
of her excluded Lovers to stand next the door,  
first exposed to the affront, and nighest concerned  
in the disgrace.  Pol. 
Nay, if you give yourself despair,  
'tis in vain to give you hope; suppose the worst:  
If you love fair Bellinda, as you say,  
and she perchance be banished hence today,  
what hinders you from following her? vainly and  
ridiculously does he complain of Winter,  
who by following the sun might still enjoy the Spring▪  Pal. 
ay,— but following an eclipsed Sun,  
what should he gain by it, but only by  
that fatal light to have every thing appear  
more sad and dismal then if it absent were?  Pol. 
Well, though it seem more to be wished then hoped,  
that she should love you; yet take this from me,  
your Nymphs are bashful, and so cautious too,  
they will not seem to love, although they do:  
and 'twod appear a miracle to me,  
she should not feel love who makes so many feel it;  
or that her heart should resist that alone,  
was never yet resisted by any one:—  
But there's I fear some farther misery  
in't, and the gods are highly offended w'ye,  
or they'd ne'er inflict on you as they do  
so heavy a punishment to love one, who  
neglects you; and the while, to neglect one  
so dearly loves ye, and see where she does come.  Enter Filena. Fi. 
Where should this Nymph be? she's not at home,  
nor in the sacred Grove; and 'tis too soon  
to go to th' Temple yet.  Pol. 
Well, I'll leave you.  Pal. 
What, will you go  
and leave me alone then?  Pol. 
How can I leave you better accompanied?  Pal. 
In company of one I hate!  Pol. 
In company of one  
who dearly loves you, and for your hate to her  
in these pretty skirmishes, there is no fear  
of danger; for now you're foes, and then  
the peace is made, and you are friends again,  
and so I leave you.  Exit. Pal. 
What shall I do? she has  
spied me, and there's no avoiding her; I'd best  
dissemble then, and by one importunity  
avoid another:— Gentle Filena, well met.  Fi. 
Kind looks aside.  
that gild the sunshine, as that guilds the day:  
Kind words,  
whose ravishing sweetness melts into my heart  
at sunshine of those looks of his; how I'm  
o'rejoyed with them!  Pal. 
I have a suit unto you.  Fi. 
And I another to you.  Pal. 
To me! fie, fie,  
Nymphs sue to men!  Fi. 
Why, not Palemon here,  
where Love's not only Love, but Virtue too;  
it no ways misbeseems a Nymph to woo:—  
But what's your suit? you may be sure that I am too much yours (Palemon) to deny  
you any thing.  Pal. 
You know Filena, how much  
I love Bellinda, and how much I long to know  
if she loves me, which you can tell me best,  
are confident of all the secrets of her breast.  Fi. 
Some secrets she confides to me 'tis true,  
but of her Love I know no more than you;  
for that's a warfare where each one's a spy,  
and every rival is an enemy:  
She'd ne'er trust me with't then, whom she does know  
am both a Lover, and her Rival too.  Pal. 
Howe'er Filena, you do know at least  
those softer minutes, when Nymphs minds are best  
disposed for the impressions of Love;  
in one of those then prithee do but move  
my Suit unto her, especially before she goes  
to th' Temple, when she must needs be more  
disposed then ever, and thou shouldst infinitely  
oblige me by so dear a courtesy.  
D'ye hear?  Fi. 
I do, and will you hear me now?  Pal. 
If you've any new thing to say I will,  
but of old businesses I pray no more.  Fi. 
That can't be old that's every day renewed.  Pal. 
And how can that be new I pray,  
that needs renovation every day?  
But of this enough:— prithee Filena go,  
and if you love me as you say you do;  
know now's best time to show't, for Love's best shown,  
by doing their wills we love before our own.  Fi. 
Well then, to show  
how much, how dearly I love you, I will go;  
and though Love a burden be,  
which two hearts equally  
should bear, and then 'tis sweet and light:  
But when once all the weight  
lies upon one alone,  
a grievous and intolerable one:  
my heart shall bear it yet, and ne'er repine,  
or else I'll not acknowledge it to be mine.  Pal. 
That's bravely and nobly resolved.  Fi. 
But is there no hope, no pity for Filena?  Pal. 
To deal ingeniously w'ye,  
and not abuse you with civility,  
There's pity, but no hope; for Bellinda has all  
my stock of Love, and consequently  
for loving any other has rendered me so poor,  
as I can die, but I can love no more.  Fi. 
Since you are so resolved, Palemon know,  
Filena too can die as well as you;  
and be assured that the same messenger  
brings news Palemon does Bellinda wed,  
shall carry back the news, Filena's dead.  Pal. 
Soft, soft Filena, for I'd have you know,  
to th' thing called dying there goes more than so;  
and every Coward is valiant enough  
to talk of death, but when it comes to th' proof,  
their hearts do fail, as yours no doubt will too,  
wherefore dear Filena I'll be gone,  
and shall not fear to leave you here alone.  spoken scornfully. Exit. Fi. 
Cruel Palemon! is't not enough, that thou  
refusest me, but thou must scorn me too?  
This is not to be endured! one nobly born  
can better suffer injury then scorn;  
but what do I say wretch as I am, or how  
come these high thoughts in one that's fallen so low:  
I'm now engaged, what ever does befall,—  
and those who are slaves to Love must suffer all.  Exit. Enter Pamphilus, looking after her. Pam. 
hay! whurr! there bolts another wench,  
the Warren's all full of them,  
and I, like a good Tumbler,  
am ready to throw myself after every one:—  
and see here comes another! & alone too? Enter Amarantha.  
this opportunity is the shell that Love  
is hatched of, and the Nymphs here just like  
young Lapwings run away with't on their heads;  
you shall see how I'll accost her now.—  
Fair Nymph, might I be so bold I pray,  
to request the time o'th' day of you?  Am. 
Oh Sir, with all my heart,  
it shall be any time o'th' day you please for me,  
I'll not stick w'ye for half an hour or so.  Pa. 
Lo ye there now! there's ne'er a sextons wife  
in all Cyprus could answer ye more courteously:  
a kind Wench I'll warrant her;—  
Let's see what's next now?  
Pox on't, I better know what to do with wenches  
then what to say to them; and we Complementers  
of the first head, when we're passed our legs & faces  
are passed the greatest part of our discourse:—  
It shall be so, and how have you done I faith,  
since I saw you last?  Am. 
Right and methodical!  
how d'ye? and what's a clock? I'll wager now  
next is, what news? or somewhat about the weather  
the ordinary discourse of those who can  
discourse of nothing,— and when was't I pray  
you saw me last?  Pam. 
Why, in Plato's great year,  
don't you remember it? I do as perfectly  
as if 'twere but to day; by the same token,  
meeting you just as I do now, I took you by  
the hand, and kissing it, led you just  
into such another Grove as this.  Am. 
Just no such matter:  
pray stay a little, sure you don't remember well.  Pam. 
Most perfectly, by the same token I  
saluted you too.  She puts him by. Am. 
I knew you were quite wide,  
not me I'll assure you.  Pam. 
You can't deny't I'm sure.  Am. 
Indeed Sir but I can.  Pam. 
And thereupon  
I told you, that having so fair opportunity;  
but lose it, you'd never have the like again.  Am. 
Opportunity for what?  Pam. 
Nay, if you know not that,  
we shall never have done;— come leave dissembling  
I know you Nymphs here are all so learned, as  
your husbands can teach you nothing on the  
marriage-night, but what you knew before.  Am. 
Bless me! I never heard  
man talk thus wildly!  Pam. 
And how first time you went abroad  
after fifteen, when you returned again,  
you found you'd left your gloves, handkerchief,  
and maidenhead, with some such odd toys  
behind you.  Am. 
Wilder and wilder still! I begin to be,  
afraid of him, pray let me go; is this  
discourse for Maids?  Pam. 
ay, as good a Milkmaid as my Nurse I'll  
warrant you;— but stay, she may be one perhaps,  
and that 'tis makes her so shy and timorous,  
for maids apprehend the loss of a maidenhead  
as fearfully, as the loss of an arm or leg,  
and imagine they shall be maimed forever after.—  
Come, come, ne'er fear, I persuade you to nothing  
but what I will do w'ye myself for company.  Am. 
I'm more and more afeard of him, I would  
some body would come to rid me of him, and see  
in happy time here's some, and yonder's more:  
now I may be Some pass over the Stage.  
as merry with him,  
as he has been with me:— Cry mercy Sir,  
now I remember this Plato's great year you talk of  
as perfectly  Pam. 
Oh do you so! I knew  
you could not forget it.  Am. 
By the same token  
Theotimus chief Governor of the Isle  
passed by with a numerous train just as we were  
alone together.  Pam. 
Yonder I think he comes indeed.  Am. 
When I made bold to ask you one question Sir,  Pam. 
What was that?  Am. 
Why, whether you loved dancing or no?  Ham. 
Oh exceedingly.  Am. 
Right, so you told me; and thereupon I said  
he'd help you then to a certain sprightly instrument  
to dance after called a whip, a whip;  
d'ye hear Sir, worth a hundred of  
your Kits and Violins, to make such gallants as  
yourself to frisk and caper.  Pam. 
Umh! I remember nothing of all this now,  
but be shrew me next Plato's great year I fear▪  
I shall indeed, 'less I get me gone the sooner.  Am. 
Nay, hark ye, hark ye Sir,  
Pray don't go yet; now I remember me  
I can tell ye what time o'th' day 'tis too.  Pam. 
As for that,  
I know it now I thank you, it is time  
for me to get me gone, as I take it.  Exit. Am. 
Why then farewell my Platonic Philosopher,  
and Anteplatonick Lover.  Enter Theotimus, Chorus of Musicians, and young Virgins, Polydore, Evander, Diophantes, Palemon, etc. The Song sung by a Bass, Tenor, and Treble. Chorus sings. 
Praised be the Deities above!  Ten. 
We love.  Bass. 
We loved.  Treb. 
And we shall love.  Cho. 
O ye blessed immortal Powers!  
Grant this happy Land of ours  


1. Pure fires,  
2. Pure fuel,    Cho. 
All things pure,  
And that our flames may ever dure.  The. 
Now Children, in a word to tell,  
what noble Love is, (mark me well)  
it is the counterpoise that minds  
to fair and virtuous things inclines;  
it is the gust we have, and sense,  
of every noble excellence;  
it is the pulse, by which we know  
whether our souls have life or no;  
and such a soft and gentle fire,  
as kindles and inflames desire,  
until it all like Incense burns,  
and unto melting sweetness turns.  Eu. 
Whose heart  
melts not within his breast at hearing this?  The. 
Who's that?  Dio. 
A noble stranger come hither on  
devotion unto Love's sacred Shrine.  The. 
He's welcome.  Evan. kisses his hands. Pal. 
Somewhat more than this to booed,  
by experience I can add unto't;  
Love is a union of all  
we happy and unhappy call;  
a mixture where together meet  
both pleasing pain, and bitter sweet;  
the greatest joy and greatest woe  
a mortal breast can ever know,  
to show its great disparity  
in fair Bellinda and in me;  
in her face 'tis a paradise,  
where all delicious pleasure lies,  
and in my heart it is a hell,  
where all your worst of torments dwell.  Th. 
Once more you're welcome— now set forwards  
and with all the pomp and ceremony you may  
proceed to Celebration of the day.  Exeunt. Manent Theotimus and Polydor. The. 
Polydor, stay you, you're Loves Inquisitor;  
look well unto your charge, we hear there are  
(besides Atheists, who impious deny  
Love's sacred Power and Authority;  
and Libertines, whose vicious lives are such,  
as they profane the Deity as much)  
new Heresies in Love sprung up of late,  
Platonics, Sceptics, dangerous to the State;  
ere they take deeper root, and farther spread,  
be it your care to see 'em extirpated.  Pol. 
It shall, most reverend Sir.  The. 
Other abuses there are beside,  
'gainst which we must most carefully provide;  
as talking of Cupid so familiarly,  
as if he were some vulgar Deity;  
and making Love the business and employ  
of every idle Girl, and wanton Boy;  
taking of every fond desire for it,  
whilst difference 'twixt them is as infinite,  
as 'twixt folly and wisdom, virtue and vice,  
or deep abyss, and highest Paradise.—  
This must be looked unto.  Pol. 
As 'tis most fit.  The. 
Is the Nymph summoned to the temple yet?  Pol. 
'Tis not time yet till the sixth hour be past  The. 
When 'tis,  
be it your care to summon her, and see  
that all be ready for the Solemnity:—  
This day peculiarly Love is thine,  
work miracles, and show thyself divine.  
Finis Actus primi.   

ACTUS 2.  Bellinda sola. The Scene, a Wood or Boscage. Bellinda. 
YE aged Oaks, the semigods abodes,  
and who yourselves in ancient times were Gods▪  
and solitary Woods, whose walks and shade  
Lovers so oft their confidents have made,  
whilst never did your walks nor shades disclose  
either a Lovers joys, or Lovers woes:  
You I dare trust with secrets, which I ne'er  
durst trust with any since my coming here:  
I love,— but Oh! if any listening ear  
should have o'erheard me now, as 'tis my fear!  
And see where this inquisitive Nymph does come?  
Would she were deaf, or else that I'd been dumb.  Enter Filena. Fi. 
I faith, I faith.  
I'm glad I've found you.  Bell. 
Why?  Fi. 
For now 'tis clear you love.  Bell. 
How so?— 'tis as I feared,  
she has o'erheard me.  Aside. Fi. 
These very trees and woods declare it.  aside. Bel. 
Ay me! this 'tis to trust one's mind  
with trees, whose leaves whisper with every wind;  
with woods, whose very walks & shades have ears,  
and babbling Echo that tells all it hears.  Fi. 
She fears, 'tis a good sign, I'll urge her further—  
your solitude and retirement too confirms it;  
for no Nymph here  
retired from company ever walks alone;  
but Love is still gentle companion of  
her solitary thoughts.  Bell. 
If that be all, 'tis well.  Aside. Fi. 
And why should you with so much caution now  
conceal this from me? as I did not know  
how Love did all things out of chaos make,  
and all to chaos would again turn back:  
If all things did not love, from Gods and men  
to senseless and inanimate things again;  
and what a monster should Bellinda prove,  
if only she of all things did not love?  Bel. 
Of all the Nymphs that ever spoke with tongue,  
this Nymph has Magic I must bless me from!  Fi. 
Where is the friendship you've so long professed  
to make me such a stranger to your breast?  Bel. 
Trust me dear friend, if what you say be true,  
I am more stranger to my breast than you.  Fi. 
See how you blush now when you tell me so!  Bel. 
Ay me! mine own blushes betray me too!  
What is it can be secret in a Lover,  
when even their blushes do their Loves discover?  Fi. 
What and sigh too! nay than you love, 'tis clear;  
for, but for Love, none ever sighed here.  Bel. 
my sighs betray me too! how many traitors  
have Lovers about them?  Aside. Fi. 
But why should yôu sigh! you live happily;  
and sighs are for the miserable, such as I:—  
Palemon loves yôu, and so loves you too,  
as he even pines away for Love of you;  
consumes with grief, languishes with despair,  
melts into tears, and sighs himself to air;  
faith, give him some comfort ere you go  
unto the Temple, sweet Bellinda do;  
poor Youth, he's in so desperate estate,  
I fear, lest after it may come too late.  Bel. 
What greater comfort can he expect of me,  
then that, if any i'th' Isle I love, 'tis he?  Fi. 
Poor comfort, that it shall be him alone,  
if any i'th' Isle you love, if you love none;  
this is to mock his hopes; and they deny  
rather than grant, who promise doubtfully.  Bell. 
More (Filena) I neither will nor can  
give him, until I go to th' Temple anon,  
and there consult the Gods what I should do.  Fi. 
Consult your own thoughts rather,  
and your mind.  Bell. 
'Tis not easy as you think to find  
the source and origin of our thoughts and mind;  
of which t'one is so deep, t'other so high,  
as there are Optics made to pierce the sky,  
plummets to sound the bottom o'th' ocean;  
but for to pierce and sound a heart there's none.  Within. Bellinda, Bellinda. Enter Polydor. Bell. 
Here! who calls?  Pol. 
'Tis I.  Fi. 
Gentle Polydore,  
what news from th' Temple w'ye?  Pol. 
Nothing, but only all's prepared there  
for th' grand solemnity, and only fair  
Bellinda's presence expected.  Bell. 
If't be so,  
let us away.  Pol. 
Soft, 'tis not time to go this hour yet.  Bell. 
And that a day will seem to be  
a month, a year, a very age to me.  Exit joyfully. Pol. 
D'ye think she knows?  Fi. 
I know not, let's divine,  
and join your observations to mine:—  
D'ye mark with how great joy away she went?  
none goes so cheerfully to banishment.  Pol. 
But if her body's here, and mind elsewhere,  
'tis she does banish us, and not we her.  Fi. 
Well, if she love, I wonder at her art  
can carry fire so smothered in her heart,  
as none nor by the flame nor smoke can know  
whether sh'ave any in her breast or no.  Pol. 
And if she do not love again, than she  
of all the Nymphs I yet did ever see,  
the most my admiration does move,  
t' have so much beauty, and so little love.  Fi. 
I'll follow and observe her better.  Pol. 
Do,  
and I'll but stay awhile and follow you.  Exit Filena. Enter Pamphilus. Pam. 
That Wench!  
that wench would I give a limb for now,  
though I halted to an Hospital for it, (and there  
are many have ventured as far for wenches as that  
comes to) I must needs have her, and hê here  
shall be my Agent in the business.—  
D'ye hear, d'ye hear Sir, a word with you I pray.  Pol. 
With me! your pleasure Sir?  Pam. 
D'ye know that Nymph there?  Pol. 
Very well, what then?  Pam. 
Why then I should desire  
your better acquaintance;  
for look ye, suppose a man  
should have a mind unto her.  Pol. 
A mind, what mind?  Pam. 
Why, a month's mind or so.  Pol. 
Why then, after a month you may be rid of't  Pam. 
I hope Sir you do not mock me?  Pol. 
Indeed Sir, but I do,—  
you must pardon me.  Pam. 
'Tis well you confess it, and ask my pardon,  
I should be very angry else, I can tell you  Pol. 
This is some simple stranger, ignorant of  
our manners and customs, rather meriting  
pity then anger.  Aside. aside. Pam. 
He understands nothing but plain  
downright language I see, that calls every thing  
by its right name:— Well Sir, since I perceive  
you are a little dull, in plainer terms  
I'd fain—— you understood me.  Whispers. Pol. 
How Sir!  Pam. 
Even so Sir,  Pol. 
D'ye know where you are?  Pam. 
Why, in Love's Kingdom, where should I be?  Pol. 
But not  
in Lusts— remember that.  Pam. 
Pox a these nice  
distinctions! that only serve to break  
Dunces heads, and keep Maidenheads so long,  
till they are quite marred:— Come, come, I know  
no other love but what I've told you.  Pol. 
Then you must be taught,  
and learn other language too, or else this Isle  
(I can tell you) will prove too hot for you.  Pam. 
Would the Nymphs were not so cold,  
and let the Isle be what it will.  Aside. Pol. 
And now to instruct you a little better, know  
that for all lewd and lascivious speeches we  
have a gentle punishment here, called whipping.  Pam. 
Gentle d'ye call it?  Pol. 
And for fowl libidinousness,  
an other excellent remedy called castrating  
that takes it clear away.  Pam. 
Clear with a witness,  
bless me and all mine from it:  
why this is cruel sir—  
have you no regard then to people's infirmities?  Pol. 
O yes, a special one, for your wild and unruly  
heats of youth, we've an admirable way  
of cooling 'em, by marrying 'em unto  
old women of fourscore, there's a cooler for you.  Pam. 
A cooler with a vengeance! ah ha!  
it makes my teeth chatter in my head to think of it  
but sure sir you're not in earnest all this while?  Pol. 
It seems sir you love to jest, but look to't, and  
say you'd fair warning;— and so farewell.  Exit. Pa●. 
Farewell quoth ye?  
marry 'tis time to bid farewell indeed  
if this be so, whipping, castrating, and  
marrying to old women of fourscore!  
a great consolation for a man that loves  
a wench; but he said all this sure  
only to fright me;  
yet let him say what he will,  
wooed I had that wench say I.  Enter Amaranthe, Cloria, Lydia, Melissa, etc. 
Who? here comes a whole ocean of them!  
now am I in my element, and I shall wallow  
like a Porposs amongst them.  Am. 
What my Platonic Philosopher,  
and Anteplatonick Lover again?  Pam. 
'Slid is she there? I'd best be gone then, I'm  
as feared of her as a dog is of a whip.  Am. 
What is he going? I must needs have  
some sport with him before he goes.—  
Hark ye, hark ye sir, pray stay a little.  Pam. 
Now will she trappan me  
into a whipping, I'm sure;  
yet I am such a fool I must needs tarry.  Am. 
These nymphs here would be glad  
of your better acquaintance:  Pam. 
With all my heart.  Lyd. 
What means Amarinthe?  Am. 
Come nearer, nearer yet; now nymphs  
look on him (I pray) and mark him well.  Pam. 
This goes well hitherto—  
I must prepare myself to court 'em now.  Am. 
And now be't known unto you all,  
he's one whom you're to bless yourselves from, as  
from some ghost or goblin.—  Pam. 
How's this?  Am. 
For he'll haunt you,  
haunt you worse than they,  
and stick t'ye faster than burrs, or rather pitch  
that defiles all it touches: there is no  
purifying your selves a month after h'as once been  
in your company.  Mel. 
Bless us from him!  Pam. 
The devil's in her:  
in what a fair way of courtship was I, and how  
sh'as put me out of it?  Am. 
Yet (would ye think it?)  
he imagines all the nymphs are in love with him,  
nay will swear it, if they look but on him once,  
and then talk so lewdly, as shows him all  
groom and footboy within,  
however without he appears a Gentleman.  Pam. 
She'll make me all groom  
and footboy presently, she's half  
transformed me already.  Am. 
Nay, hold up your head sir,  
and ben't ashamed of your commendations.  Pam. 
Commendations d'ye call it? I wonder what  
are your reproaches, if these be your commendations.  Aside. Lyd. 
Sure Amaranthe you wrong him.  Pam. 
I indeed,  
does she sweet heart,  Lyd. 
Forbear, and know your distance Sir.  Am. 
Nay he's like  
a Spannel, hold him at arms end, or he'll  
be in your bosom presently.  Mel. 
Nay, now you're too cruel.  Am. 
If he would either spare  
his own or others' modesty, I would be  
content to spare him yet?  Pam. 
I must suffer I see.  Am. 
But see Theotimus coming,— cultivating  
our youth, and sowing in their tender minds  
the seeds of all our future happiness, for  
'tis not the coulter o'th' Land, but of the mind  
makes people happy;  
and as that's done well or ill,  
so they are happy or unhappy still.  Enter Theotimus, Chorus of Musicians, and young Virgins, Diophantes, Evander, etc. The. 
Now tender Virgins all draw near,  
And Loves diviner doctrine hear;  
First, Nymphs be modest as you go,  
For just as by the pulse we know  
The body's state, so we as well  
By th' eyes, the state o'th' mind may tell;  
And rolling eyes do but betray  
A heart that rowls as well as they.  Chor. sings. 
O fly then far  
Glances that are  
But outward signs, by which we find  
The inward temper of the mind;  
And rolling eyes do but betray  
A heart that rowls as well as they.  Pam. 
Hei day, now will these wenches wear  
their eyes like spectacles on their noses, and  
look as demurely as Cows in bon-graces.  The. 
Then for your kisses, oh, be sure  
No Virgins ever those endure;  
For you are flowers and blooming Trees,  
And men are such deflowering Bees:  
Let once their kisses light upon ye,  
They soon will suck all sweetness from ye,  
And womens' lips with kissing used  
Will look but just like Cherries bruised.  Chor. sings. 
O fly then far  
Kisses that are  
Like Bees that suck all sweetness from ye;  
Let 'em once but light upon you:  
And womens' lips with kissing used,  
Will look but just like Cherries bruised.  Pam. 
Now will these wench's lips grow  
as cold as dogs noses, if they leave off kissing once.  The. 
But above all take heed again  
You fly and shun the touch of men;  
For there's no canker more devours,  
Nor mildew more blasts tender flowers,  
Then men will you, whose lightest touch  
Will soon your fresher beauties smutch;  
And once but tainted in your hue,  
You well may bid the world adieu.  Chor. sings. 
O fly then far  
Touches that are  
So blasting, as the lightest touch  
Will soon your fresher beauties smutch;  
And once but tainted in your hue,  
You well may bid the world adieu.  Pam. 
'Tis time to bid the world adieu indeed,  
if there be no touching 'um.  Th. 
Now that we ben't expected there,  
'tis time to th' Temple to repair:—  
set forwards there before.  Exeunt. Manent Diophantes, Evander, Pamphilus, Amaranthe, Cloria, Lydia, Melissa. Eu. 
Oh! Pamphilus well met;  
and how d'ye find the nymphs here, ha?  Pam. 
As I could wish, the kindest lovingest souls  
as e'er I met withal.  Am. 
How's this! let's stand close,  
and over hear him.  Pam. 
You need not multiply the Phoenix to sum up  
the number of all the maidenheads I shall leave  
in Cyprus here, before I've done with'em.  Am. 
D'ye hear?  Eu. 
Is't possible!  Pam. 
No, no, I knew not the humour  
and disposition of the nymphs here, I.  Em. 
Troth, and so I think still.  Aside. Pam. 
I hope now you'll believe me another time?  Eu. 
It may be so, but now I swear I do not.  Aside. Dio. 
Yet let us sooth and humour him to have  
some sport with him;—  
you know all the Nymphs here then?  Pam. 
O most intimately.  Diop. 
Amaranthe, Cloria, Lydia, Melissa?  Pam. 
All, all—  
and have had favours from every one of them,  
this Ring from one, this Ribbon from a second,  
this Jewel from a third.  Mel. 
What a lying fellow's this!  Dio. 
And what think you of Cloria?  Pam. 
She kisses well,  
I've gone no farther with her yet, but there  
is hope I may in time.  Clo. 
Shall I endure this?  Am. 
Nay prithee,  Dio. 
And Lydia?  Pam. 
With her I must confess  
I've had a little more samiliarity.  Lyd. 
There's no enduring this!  Am. 
Yet this was he  
you thought I wronged.  Lyd. 
Hang him, none can, but only  
by reporting too well of him.  Pam. 
For Amarinthe she's the coyest of 'em all▪  Am. 
I thank you.  Pam. 
And was so angry with me for  
a kiss I stole from her, but I soon pacified her:  Dio. 
As how?  Pam. 
Why, I told her that rather  
than that should make a war betwixt us,  
which was wont to be the sign of peace with others,  
I'd make her double satisfaction;  
and for one kiss I took from her, would give  
her two.  Eu. 
So then (as you imagined 'em) you find  
all the Nymphs here as supple and pliant as  
kids leather Gloves, a gentle pluck or two  
will easily draw 'em am.  Pam. 
Draw 'em on! would some body would draw 'em off for me:  
I fear I shall be ravished by 'um.  Am. 
Out upon him, I'll hear no more,  
let's go, and as we pass, show him all  
the neglect and scorn we can possible.  They pass by him frowningly and Exeunt. Dio. 
D'ye mark how they frown upon him?  Pam. 
Favours, mere favours, believe it Gentlemen,  
and only invitations to follow 'em;  
you see how I am courted, and must pardon me.  Exit. Dio. 
The man's as impudent as vain I see,  
and though this hitherto be but in jest  
you whom he counts his friend may tell him best,  
If he imagines with injurious lies  
To get him honour by their injuries:  
Our Nymphs are all of such unquestioned Fame,  
He'll sooner punishment, then credit gain.  Exeunt. Enter Palemon. Pal. 
This way the fair Bellinda is to pass  
Unto the Temple, and although she has  
Forbid me speaking to her on pain of her  
Displeasure, I may see her howsoe'er;  
And as she goes to th' Temple, feast mine eyes,  
Which happiness she to my tongue denies.—  Enter Bellinda, Filena, Polydor. 
See where she comes, and now it fares with me  
As with those sick, who whilst they long to see  
The cup they may not taste, become but more  
Thirsty with sight of't than they were before.  Fi. 
Behold Palemon, as I've appointed him  
i'th' way, can we invent no stratagem  
to make her now with favourable eye  
regard him? think, I'll second you.  Pol. 
I'll try:  
whose that Palemon?  Fi. 
Think it be,  
but let's go on and think not on him.  Exeunt Bellinda and Polyder. Pal. 
She my enemy!  Pol. 
Ben't deceived Palemon, for  
'twas said to make her think of you the more▪  
For just as wind or fanning does the fire  
So prohibition more inflames desire.  Exit. Pal. 
I fain would follow her, but I know that she  
Would be offended with it; and for me  
To offend her now, were to undo myself,  
And in the Haven shipwreck all my wealth.  Exit. 
Finis Actus Secundi.   

ACTUS 3.  Enter Diophantes and Evander. The Scene, Loves Temple surrounded with Pillars of the Doric Order, with a Dome or Cupilo o'th' top, and the Statues or Simulachrums of Venus and Cupid on an Altar in the midst of the Temple, all transparent. Diophantes. 
THis is Love's Temple, here who e'er repairs,  
Finds Love propitious to their vows and Prayers:  
Regard not then the proud materials,  
Or outward structure of the Vaults and Walls;  
But mark the Altar, and the sacred Shrine,  
Than which the world has nothing more divine.  Eu. 
Methinks there's somewhat more than humane here  
Fills me with reverence and holy fear!  Dio. 
Peace, the Ceremony begins.  Eu. 
And do  
the Nymphs begin it?  Enter all the Nymphs in solemn manner, addressing themselves unto the Altar. Dio. 
Yes,  
For of that Sex, Virtues and Graces are  
Of thât, all that is beautiful and fair;  
And as the care of Cupid's is to men,  
So that of Venus' rites is due to them.  Eu. 
I understand, and every thing I see  
Is ordered here with rare oeconomy.  Fi. 
Thou fairest, brightest Star in heaven,  
And most benign of all the seven;  
If on this day (when every year  
We celebrate thy coming here:)  
Thou dost not hear our prayers; 'tis we  
Are rather wanting unto thee  
Then thou to us; for thou wod'st grant  
(We know) what ever we do want,  
If we (on our parts) did but crave  
What e'er is fit for us to have;  
Grant then to celebrate thy feast  
A holy and religious Breast,  
Virtue, high honour, beauty, health,  
And mind above all other wealth;  
Let others ask what boon they please,  
All that we crave of thee are these:  All. 
Oh hear our vows and prayers as we  
do purely love and honour thee.  Soft Music. Fi. 
Thou dost confirm us by this Harmony,  
O Love our Vows are pleasing unto thee.  Eu. 
Now I perceive it is our faults, not theirs,  
If when we pray, the gods don't hear our prayers.  Dio. 
Peace now, the other Ceremony begins.  Fi. 
Let us retire then, and give place to them.  Enter Theotimus, Chorus of Musicians one way, Bellinda the other, brought in by Polydor, Pamphilus, etc. Chorus sings. 
Divinest Love does all command,  
In fire and water, air and land;  
And all with his commands inspire  
In land and water, air and fire.  The. 
Where is the Nymph?  Pol. 
Great Sir, behold her here;—  
bear back, bear back, room for the Nymph there.  Pam. 
Now will he break my head,  
only to show his authority, (you'll see)  
' less I get me out of the way the sooner.  The. 
Then fair and gentle Nymph draw near,  
And all our Ceremonies hear,  
Which to Religion do dispense  
Both Mystery and Reverence:  
We first must charm you silent, then  
Must veil and blind your eyes again;  
That you may see and speak with none,  
Until the Ceremonies done:  
Then you're to go to th' sacred Cell,  
Where a full hour you are to dwell,  
Before you are produced to swear,  
You love some one in Cyprus here;  
Or else (refusing it) be sent  
Into perpetual banishment.—  
If then you've any thing to say,  
Now speak it freely whilst you may.  Bel. 
Prudence assist me, thou that best canst tell, Aside.  
What I should say, and what I should conceal;—  
Knowing great sir, how w'ar the gods chief care,  
More dear to them, then to ourselves we are:  
Behold Bellinda here resigned stands  
To obey your Laws, and their divine commands.  The. 
A wise and pious Resignation!  
Most pleasing unto Heaven, and such an one  
As even necessitates the Gods to grant  
All that we mortals crave, and all we want.—  
Reach us the sacred Wand  
to charm her silent then.  

The Charm.  
Stillborn Silence, thou that art  
Floodgate of the deeper heart,  
Offspring of a heavenly kind,  
Frost o'th' mouth, and thaw o'th' mind;  
Admirations chiefest tongue,  
Leave thy desert Shades, among  
Ancient Hermit's hallowed Cells,  
Where retired Devotion dwells,  
With thy Enthusiasms come  
Seize this Maid, and strike her dumb.   Pam. 
If every man that's troubled with  
a shrewd wife had but this Charm,  
how happy should he be?  The. 
Now, reach us the sacred veil—  
Where such a cloud of mysteries lies,  
As whilst we with it blind your eyes,  
If only you convert your sight,  
From th' outward to the inward light,  
Illuminates your soul and mind  
Sent from above, you soon will find  
The Sun here in its brightest Sphere,  
Will darker than a shade appear.  he vails her. Pam. 
Now were she and I  
to play at blinde-man-buff together, ah!  
what dainty sport should we two make? she should  
catch me, or I'd catch her, ' tshued cost  
one of us a fall else.  The. 
Now to the sacred Cell set on,  
Where we're to leave her all alone,  
Until the hour's expired, and then  
To th' Temple all repair again.  Exeunt. Manet Pamphilus. Pam. 
Would I were in the sacred Cell  
with her now,  
what holy work should she and I make together?  
if these holy whoresons did not hinder us;  
as most commonly they hinder all good sport.—  
Well, here will I spread my nets to catch  
some of the Nymphs in their return;  
'tis hard if they all 'scape me: Enter 1 Nymph.  
And see here's one already.— Fair Nymph,  
might I desire the honour to wait upon you home?  1 
No indeed Sir.  Pam. 
And why so?  1 
Because 'tis not the custom  
for Nymphs in this Country to go alone with men  Pam. 
But 'tis the custom for men in our Country  
when they're alone with women, to offer them  
the courtesy of— you know what.  1 
I know not what you mean!  Pam. 
The more's the pity  
you should live to these years, and be so ignorant;  
the Nymphs in our Country  
would have understood me presently:  1 
They better understand  
what belongs to men perhaps; but we Sir, better  
what belongs to women.  Exit. Pam. 
Goodly, goodly! how say ye by that?  
I was deceived in her; but here comes another,  
if I understand any thing in women,  
will be more kind.— Fair Nymph,  Enter 2 Nymph. 2 
Pray keep your way Sir, and trouble me not.  Pam. 
This is worse than tother!  
Did you but know how much I love you,  
you'd never refuse my courtesy.  2 
And did you but know how little I care for it,  
you'd never offer it.  Ham. 
Hei ho! have ye the heart to hear me  
sigh thus, and never pity me?  2 
Yes indeed, and to laugh at you for it too,  
to hear you sigh thus  
like a broken-winded bellows,  
or a dry pump and spend so much breath in vain,  
as we shall never wonder hereafter  
at Lapland Witches selling wind so cheap.  Pam. 
But I shall always wonder,  
that hêre in Venus' School the Nymphs should learn  
no more compassion.  2 
Now ye talk of Schools,  
I must to the Grace's Grove,  
where all the Nymphs are gone  
to learn their lessons.  Exit. Pam. 
And I will follow them;  
strange that all should be honest!  
I have heard of one or two in a Country, or so,  
but all, âll, was never heard of before!  
I don't despair yet.  
Well.  Exit. Enter Amaranthe, Filena, Cloria, Lydia, Melissa. The Scene, the Grace's Grove, the Statues of the three Graces in the midst, all hand in hand embraced. Am. 
Now Nymphs, here in the Grace's Grove,  
A place which Beauty most does love,  
And gentle Love most highly prize,  
Let's fall unto our exercise  
Of studying all those gracious parts,  
Which most do take and conquer hearts.  Enter Pamphilus. Pam. 
Now will I stand here concealed,  
and observe them; they say, all women when  
they are alone, put off their modesties;  
I should be glad to see it.  Am. 
First Nymphs, in honour of the Graces  
Let us compose our looks and faces  
To gentle smiles, for no frowns here  
In any face should e'er appear.  Pam. 
If I thought they would not frown,  
I should soon be amongst them.  Am. 
And next, as we our faces do,  
We must compose our garments too  
With such a decency, as best  
Becomes the modest to be dressed.  Pam. 
Would they'd put off their garments once,  
that's it I look for.  Am. 
But since the graces of the mind  
Are those which most adorn our kind,  
It ought to be our chiefest care  
To render our interiours fair;  
Counting th' exterior nothing else,  
But outward garments of ourselves.  Pam. 
Give me the outside,  
and take the inside who's list.  Am. 
Other Graces there are beside,  
Which Nymphs should carefully provide,  
As dancing, singing, and such arts,  
Which through the Senses strike their hearts;  
And give (where ever they are found)  
That dangerous yet gentle wound,  
Which never can be cured again,  
Till Hymen ease their amorous pain.  Pam. 
I could ease and cure it a great deal better,  
if they would but let me alone with them.  Am. 
Then let us sing, that Echo may  
The sound unto the Woods convey;  
And after raising it more high,  
The Woods convey it to the Sky;  
That heaven and earth may both partake  
The Harmony your Voices make.  Here the Nymphs sing. Pam. 
I could make othergess music with them,  
if I were but master of the Choir amongst them.  Am. 
Now let's have a dance, to show,  
How that which does enchant men so,  
Is not the Magic of the face,  
The read and white, nor body's grace;  
But 'tis the Magic of the feet,  
Where all harmonious numbers meet.  Here the Nymphs dance. Pam. 
I think there's witchcraft in't indeed,  
for I can as well be hanged as hold now,  
but I must have a frisk amongst them;  
Hei for our Town!  He comes out dancing. Fi. 
A man amongst us!  
what insolence is this?  Exit. Pam. 
Nay, never look so strange on it,—  
there are those can dance too, you  
shall see else.  he dances 'em about one after another. Mel. 
Was ever seen the like?  Pam. 
Yes twenty times,— How say you?  Lyd. 
Away, are you not ashamed?  Pa. 
No indeed, I was never ashamed in my life—  
nay, you must have your turn too.  Clo. 
Let me go,— or I'll cry out else.  Pam. 
'Tis yet too soon,  
I'll give you more cause presently.  Lyd. 
Away Melissa.  Exit. Mel. 
Away Cloria.  Exit. Clo. 
Away Lydia.  Exit. Am. 
Away all of you,  
this is a rudeness must be complained of.  Exeunt omnes, manet Pamphilus. Pam. 
Look ye! is not this a lamentable case?  
that all the Nymphs should fly me as chickens do  
a Kite, or birds some strange Owl; yet I protest,  
I mean them no more harm, than their fathers did  
their mothers, as they should soon perceive, if they  
would but try me once; I fear I shall never do  
any good on them, yet I must follow them still:  
For the devil's in't, when once we begin  
to follow wenches, we can never give over.  Exit Enter Philander solus. The Scene, the Cyprian Shore, a waving Sea afar off discovered, etc. Phi. 
Hail happy Island! Nature's chiefest care,  
Where all things love, and all things fruitful are;  
Where Springtide makes perpetual Residence,  
And rigid Winter's ever banished hence;  
In you, (O blessed and happy Land) in you  
I shall find her, (if the Oracle be true)  
Through all the Islands of th' Egean Main,  
These three months I have sought, and sought in vain;  
Till here arriving now at last, I see  
So vast a solitude, as amazes me!  
Nor on the barren Mauritanean Shore,  
Or Lybian Desert, scarcely could be more!  Enter Palemon. Pal. 
I'll hide me no longer from my fears, nor fly  
The danger, 'tis childish and cowardly,  
And (well considered) rather does increase  
Our dangers and our fears, then make them less;  
For looking through that false optic fear,  
Danger does still more terrible appear,  
And terrors in the dark far more affright  
(Th' imagination of't) then in the light:  
I'll then to the Temple, and whate'er befall  
By help of this, I am prepared for all.  Pointing to his Sword. Phi. 
Sir, might a stranger here desire to know  
Why all your houses are deserted so,  
As if some plague had swept 'em; and the Land  
Depopulated, as if some enemy's hand  
Had mowed it with the sword! to me it does  
Appear to wonder strange, that love should thus  
Leave his own Land unpeopled, whilst he  
People's all others so abundantly!  Pal. 
Know Sir, 'tis not for want of people here,  
Loves Kingdom does so desolate appear,  
But just as we perceive from every part,  
The blood does all retire unto the heart,  
In any great commotion or dismay;  
So all the people, in no less, to day  
Are gone to th' Temple, in expectance  
O'th' issue of our great solemnity.  Phi. 
What's that?  Pal. 
Why, by the Laws of Cyprus, here  
All strangers after three months are to swear  
They love some one i'th' Island, or be sent  
Away into perpetual banishment:  
Now Sir, this oath a Nymph to day must take,  Phi. 
And why should that  
so great commotion make?  Pal. 
'Cause she's the joy or grief of every one;  
Joy if she stay, and grief if she be gone.  Phi. 
What is this Nymph so much exacts your care,  Pal. 
One who some three months since arrived here,  
Wracked on the Coast, (the rest all drowned but she)  
In whom appeared so great divinity;  
It was another Venus you'd have sworn,  
Born of the Sea, and landing on the shore.  Phi. 
Just so long 'tis since she was stolen away  
from Crete, to barbarous pirates made a prey;  
and her name, Sir,  Pal. 
Bellinda, Sir, they call  
this admirable Nymph:  Phi. 
Her name and all?  
and where is she?  Pal. 
I'th' sacred Cell enclosed,  
ready to take the oath.  Phi. 
And is't supposed  
she'll take it?  Pal. 
That as yet, there's none can tell  
But this (unto my grief) I can full well,  
That less she does, you here behold in me  
The wretchedst Lover ever eye did see,  
Or ever lived in memory of men;  Phi. 
Heavens! what do I hear?— are you her Lover then?  Pal. 
Should I deny it, these Trees would tell you I am,  
Upon whose Barks so oft I've carved her name;  
This shore so oft my lamentations hairs—  
And Sea that I've augmented with my tears;  
As with my sighs the air; these Sir, all these  
Will tell you I am, though I should hold my peace.  Phi. 
O Heaven! in vain why did you valour give,  
If I can hear this now, and let him live?  
But stay, if seeing and loving her be a crime,  
I must kill all mankind as well as him;  
For all would guilty be, and you should find  
None innocent, but the senseless, and the blind:  
I'll then suspend my anger, till I know  
Whether Bellinda does love him or no;  
For there, thêre only the offence does lie,  
Else hê's the person offended, and not I;  
For never Tyrant invented greater pain,  
Then 'tis to love, and not be loved again.—  
It shall be so— and pray Sir, mayn't one see  
This Nymph you speak of?  Pal. 
Please you go with me  
Unto the Temple Sir, there you may both  
See her, and hear her take the sacred Oath.  Phi. 
So confident!  Pal. 
I've a promise Sir from her  
makes me hope so.  Phi. 
Then I may well despair— Aside.  
yet will I not be jealous, for that,  
Though it begins in love, does end in hate,  
And I hêr love to mine so far prefer,  
As I may hate myself, but never her—  
Yet it is strange, if what he says be true!  Pal. 
But has she any relation unto you,  
you seem so much concerned for her, Sir?  Phi. 
No other  
But what a Sister has unto a Brother;  
If she be th' same as I imagine her:  Pal. 
Then I beseech you Sir,  
till some more near  
relation and bond may bind me t'ye,  
you would be pleased for to accept of me  
for your most humble Servant.  Phi. 
That Sir, I  
may not; but please you do me the courtesy  
to show me th' way unto the Temple, and you  
should much oblige me.  Pal. 
That Sir I shall do  
to show my obedience, or any thing I may.  Exit. Pal. Phi. 
I'll follow you then,  
please you to lead the way.—  
Now dearest Love, in this thy kingdom be  
As kind and as propitious unto me.  
As through thy grace and favour I hope to find  
Ease for my wearied limbs and troubled mind;  
And a calm port and sure retreat at last  
After so many storms and dangers past.  Ex. Phil. 
Finis Actus tertii.   

ACTUS 4.  Enter Palemon and Philander. The Scene, Loves Temple, as before, two Aruspiece with burning Censors, etc. Palemon. 
NOw hêre Love at thy sacred shine  
I offer up these vows of mine,—  
Father of dear and tender thoughts,  
Thou who the hardest bosom softs;  
Soften Bellinda's heart, and make  
Her but thy dear impressions take;  
So shall I burn Arabian Gums,  
And offer up whole Hecatombs  
Upon thy Altar, whilst thy fires  
Shall shine as bright as my desires.  1. Arus. 
Whilst he the Deity does invoke  
The flame ascends in troubled smoke:  Phi. 
What sort of offering mine shall be,  
Divinest Love's best known to thee;  
Nor spices, nor Arabian Gums,  
Nor yet of beasts whole Hecatombs:  
These are too low and earthly, mine  
Are far more heavenly and divine;  
An Adamantine faith, and such  
As jealousy can never touch:  
A constant heart, and loyal breast,  
These are the offerings thou lov'st best.  2. Arus. 
Love's fires ne'er brighter yet appeared,  
Who e'er thou art, thy vows are heard.  Enter Theotimus, Chorus of Musicians one way, Bellinda another's, with all the Nymphs, Polydor, Evander, Diophantes, Pamphilus, etc. Pal. 
Now see here where she comes.  Phi. 
Her noble frame,  
habit, and stature tells me 'tis the same?  The. 
Why comes she not away?  Pol. 
What ails she there?  Am. 
Help, help, she 'swounds:  Lyd. 
Give her, give her more air?  The. 
Hold, hold, I charge you, and let none  
presume to touch the consecrated veil.  Pol. 
Behold she's come  
to herself again;  The. 
Let the Solemnity  
go on then.  Phi. 
Now I clearly see 'tis she.  The. 
Now on this Book here lay your hands,  
Covered with skins of Doves and Swans;  
And Love so help you as you swear,  
Unfeignedly you love one here.  Phi. 
Now Philander thou shalt know  
whether she be true or no:  Pal; 
And I know my destiny,  
Whether I'm to live or die.  The. 
Thus I uncharm your tongue, now speak  
And to our joys your silence break.  Bel. 
Then by Love's sacred deity I swear,  
I love one in the Isle.  Phi. 
What do I hear!  The. 
Enough,— the charm again, I thus apply.  Pal. 
O me, most happy!  Phi. 
And most unhappy I!  The. 
Now bear her to the Cell again,  
Where yet an hour she's to remain;  
Suffered to see nor speak with none  
Until the hour be past and gone.  Chor. sings. 
Praised be Love does all command  
In fire and water, air, and land,  
And all with his commands inspire  
In land and water, air and fire.  Exeunt. Manet Filena. Fi. 
Bellinda Love! nay than my fears I see  
Were not in vain, and nothing's left for me,  
But only death; when nothing else prevails,  
That's the last remedy, and never fails.  Enter Palemon, and seeing her, returns. 
Stay, stay Palemon;  
This is the last time we shall ever meet;  
Stay then and hear me, it is nobler yet  
To kill me like the basilisk with your sight,  
Then like the Parthians, kill me with your flight—  
But he is gone (alas) and does deny  
Me the last office of humanity  
Of closing of my dying eyes in death,  
And when I expire, receive my latest breath.—  
The many ways that lead to death do make  
Me yet irresolute which way to take;  
But some way I must take, and speedily  
Resolve upon it too, what e'er it be.  Exit. Enter Pamphilus. The Scene, The precints of the Temple. Pam. 
Strange! that I can find no way  
to fasten on these Nymphs?  
here comes one now, Enter first Nymph.  
and I'll try a way with her  
that seldom fails they say.— Fair Nymph  
please you to accept these Jewels here?  1, Nym. 
Wherefore Sir?  Pam. 
Only to buy your love, nothing else  1. Nym. 
Bless me! Throws them away and exit.  
Simony in love!  Pam. 
This is the first wench  
as ever I met withal,  
that refused presents when they were offered her,  
and I think will be the last.—  
This is a strange Country,  
where a man can't get a wench  
neither for love nor money? well, I perceive  
this handling 'em with so much ceremony  
is that which spoils 'em,  
and makes 'em so nice and ticklish  
there is no touching 'em:  
women should be handled like nettles,  
but press them hard  
and you may do any thing with them,  
and I'll try that way with the next I meet.  Enter Filena. Fil. 
I have bethought me of a way to die  
and must go seek out Amaranthe's help.  Pam. 
Stay Lady, a word with you I pray  
before you go.  Lays hold on her. Fil. 
Was ever such a rudeness? unhand me sir,  
and know that Virgins are like sacred Relics  
beheld with reverence; but let men come  
to touch 'em once, their reverence is gone,—  
what would you with me?  Pam. 
What a question's that?  
when a man's alone with a woman, you  
may easily guests what he would have with her.  Fil. 
Hence and avoid my sight, for now I see,  
How all that we call vicious is in thee;  
Foul corrupter of honour, as cankers of fairest flowers,  
Shame of thy Sex, dishonourer of ours▪  Pam. 
Who, who! is the woman mad?  Fi. 
Avoid my sight I say, thy glowing eyes  
like Basilisks will kill me else; go and repent  
thee of thy crying sins.  Exit. Pam. 
What are those?  
I know no crying sins I have,  
but mine own Bastards:— Well, go thy ways,  
if e'er thou marriest, I'll give thy husband this  
comfort, he shall have no other issue of thee  
but nails and teeth, if thou be'st such a Vixen.  Enter Evander and Diophantes. Eu. 
Now Pamphilus, what's the matter,  
that the Nymph is gone in such a rage away?  Pam. 
Nothing, nothing, only I offered her  
the courtesy o'th' Country, and she refused it,  
that is all.  Eu. 
Why then, I see you need not multiply  
the Phoenix, to sum up all the Maidenheads  
you'll leave in Cyprus,  
before you have done with them.  Pam. 
Well, well, you do not know yet.  Eu. 
Yes, but we do Sir, more than you imagine—  
of a certain Nymph, you met in Plato's great year,  
and how she entertained you.  Pam. 
'Slid! how comes he to know of that?  Eu. 
And of divers other encounters  
with them since, when you could not desire to be  
better mocked and laughed at then you were.  Dio. 
And now Sir, pray  
as you find our Nymphs here, so report of them;  
and know 'tis not the way  
for men to gain them reputation here,  
to make themselves more vicious than they are.  Pam. 
Nay, if he chide once I'm gone.  Eu. 
You're deceived, he chides you not,  
but rather gives you good counsel.  Pam. 
That is as 'tis taken,— 'tis good council  
to those who mean to follow it;—  
but to me 'tis flat chiding,  
and I'll hear no more of it.  Eu. 
Nay pray.  Pam. 
Not I I swear,—  
Chide me! who have lived like a Saint here, and  
not touched a Wench to day!  Exit. Eu. 
But tarry a little.  Dio. 
No, let him go, I see  
he's forfeited to vice and debauchery  
beyond redemption; and such as he,  
when vice is once turned nature, ne'er repent,  
till they find their shame, or feel their punishment  Exeunt. Enter Filena and Amaranthe meeting. The Scene, a Landscape or Paisage. Fi. 
Amaranthe,— well met,  
I've sought you all about,  
And could not rest until I'd found you out;  
You know, whilst you and I the other day  
In yonder Mead, beheld our young Lambs play,  
One of them straggling from the rest) we spied  
Fell down, stretched forth its tender limbs, and died  
In as short time as I've been telling t'ye,  
And wondering what the reason of't should be,  
You said 'twas with eating  
a venomous herb grew there.  Am. 
'Tis true,— what then?  Fi. 
You know besides how here,  
where Love is even the vital air we breath,  
and its privation consequently death;  
deprived once of our Love, 'tis lawful for us to  
despair and die.  Am. 
Whither tends this discourse I wonder?  Fi. 
Now Amaranthe,  
I must entreat of thee one courtesy.  Am. 
What need you with so many circumstances  
entreat her whom you may command?  
What is't?  Fi. 
'Tis, that thou'dst show me this same sly  
And subtle Thief, that so insensibly  
Does steal us from ourselves, the lookers on  
Do scarce perceive we're going, till we're gone.  Am. 
And why  
would you know this?  Fi. 
Only for curiosity.  Am. 
Take heed, take heed Filena, it is no  
Good curiosity to desire to know  
Such dangerous secrets, as we well may say,  
Their ignorance does no harm, their knowledge may.  Fi. 
See Amaranthe how unkind thouart grown!  
Wouldst all my secrets know, but tell me none:  
But now to satisfy your curiosity,  
In plainer terms, know I'm resolved to die;  
And having heard how death's a bitter cup,  
To tell thee true, before I drink it up,  
I'd sweeten it so, as though the Fates do please,  
That I should live in pain, I'd die with ease.  Am. 
How, you die! now the Gods forbid!  Fi. 
No, no,  
Thou art deceived; for Amaranthe know,  
They are so good, as when 'tis misery  
For us to live, I'm sure they'd have us die.  Am. 
But think, think what death is.  Fi. 
What is it more,  
then going to rest when we are weary, or  
sleep when we'd rest.  Am. 
I grant you, when we're dead  
Death is like rest, and th' grave but like our bed;  
But if we chance to find unrest there, thên  
As we lie down, can we rise up again?  Fi. 
What is in t'other life, I cannot tell;  
But what there is in this, I know so well,  
As I'm resolved to die; spare then your pain  
To seek to hinder me, for 'tis in vain:—  
There's but one way to live, but nature has  
Provided us to die a thousand ways;  
And hinder us from living every one  
Can do, but hinder us from dying none.  Am. 
I must take some other way to hinder her, Aside▪  
For this but makes her long for death the more.  
And for the way that she has chose to die,  
Unknown to her, I know a remedy:—  
Well then, since you are so resolved, I'll show  
You this venomous herb, upon condition you  
Let me ha'th ' tempering it, to make't so sweet,  
You even shall be enamoured with taste of it.  Fi. 
On any condition Amaranthe I'll die,  
But on no condition live in misery;  
Life is not worth it, and  
For noble spirits 'tis brave necessity,  
When they can't honourably live, to die;  
Whilst to ignoble ones the Gods do give  
For punishment, dishonourably to live.  Exeunt. Enter Philander. Phi. 
Since no where we a constant woman find,  
But all light and wavering as the wind;  
And there is no woman in all this wide  
Circumference true, but she was never tried!  
Why should I grieve as 'twere my fate alone,  
What's common I perceive to every one?  
But these are thoughts unworthy her and me,  
For 'tis not hers, but my inconstancy;  
If I can think her false, when I do know  
Falsehood would even be truth, if she were so:  
And nature of things quite change, rather than she  
What she has been, should ever cease to be.  Enter Palemon. Pal. 
Oh fortunate Palemon! and the more,  
The more unfortunate thou wert before!  
And happy pains, happy affliction!  
From which such pleasure and such joys do come!  
Now I perceive there's none can better tell  
What heaven is, than who first have passed through hell.—  
Methinks great conquerors who in triumph come  
charged with the spoils of conquered nations home  
Are but the Types of me, who in triumph go  
To th' Temple to enjoy Bellinda now.  Exiturus Phi. 
Death! If I can suffer this,  
I shall deserve it:— Pray stay Sir,  
for you have another victory to gain,  
and enemy (I'd have you know)  
to overcome, before you triumph so!  Pal. 
What victory d'ye mean, what enemy?  Phi. 
Why, I myself and the victory over me;  
for know, Bellinda's mine, and I her Lover.  Pal. 
You! did you not say you were her brother?  Phi. 
ay, but that was only a disguise put on,  
to hide what thên was fit should not be known.  Pal. 
Why this does take all faith away from you;  
For eith'r 'twas true or false you said before;  
If true, why then 'tis false you tell me now;  
If false, there's no believing of you more.  Phi. 
This fine Dilemma would serve prettily  
i'th' School, but not i'th' Field; where it must be  
Somewhat of finer temper than your words  
Must make Bellinda yours, I mean our Swords.  Lays hand on's Sword. Pal. 
I pray Sir hold, and e'er you go so far,  
consider but a little where we are,  
here in Love's Kingdom, in a peaceful place,  
where never any strife or quarrel was,  
but only loving ones.  Phi. 
And is not ours for Love too?  Pal. 
If it be, let Love decide it, are you content  
to put it to his Tribunal and Arbitrement?  Phi. 
That's a way poor, and low spirits finds,  
This is the Tribunal and Arbitrement of mighty minds; Draws.  
'Twere folly in me to refer my Cause  
Unto my enemy's Tribunal and Laws.  Pal. 
Fortune as well as Love's your enemy,  
Of her as well as Love you feared should be.  Phi. 
For Love already he's declared my foe,  
What Fortune yet may do, I do not know;  
I'll try at least, my comfort is I can  
Not be in worse condition than I am;  
Cast down so low, it is not in the power  
Of Love, or Fortune, e'er to cast me lower.  Enter Polydor. Pol. 
What's here?— a quarrel towards!  
Our peace disturbed, and their offensive Swords  
Th' uncivil Arbitrers of civil strife,  
Already drawn, threatening each other's life:  
Our guards,— where are they there?  Exit hastily. Phi. 
We are descried,  
Before they come, our quarrel let's decide.  Pal. 
Do, and you'll see how they but bluntly fight,  
Who first consider not their Causes right;  
Whilst those who well consider it before,  
Have but their courages whetted by't the more,  Phi. 
And unto me considering is but like  
The weak opposing of some bank or dike  
Unto some torrents rage, which more y'oppose,  
more raging and impetuous it grows.  They fight Enter Polydor with Guards, and parts them. Pol. 
Hold, hold, I charge you in Love's name, or else  
We are to seize your weapons and yourselves.  Phi. 
What violence is this?  Pol. 
yourself's the cause,  
who first have violate Loves peaceful Laws.  Phi. 
Then in Love's Kingdom here shall Lovers be  
Deprived both of their Loves and Liberty?  Pol. 
What Love d'ye mean?  Phi. 
Bellinda, who is my betrothed.  Pol. 
How! she your betrothed!  Phi. 
ay, all Crete can witness it.  Pol. 
If this be so,  
you've too much witness here already, and you  
've discovered a secret, which now 'tis known,  
May prove Bellinda's ruin and your own.  Pal. 
O heavens!— now I remember me  
by another Law; who e'er doth falsify  
the sacred Oath; are instantly to die,  
sacrificed to th' offended Deity:  
But ere it comes to that, my life shall pay  
the forfeiture of hers.  Pol. 
Come let's away,  
Palemon, you've your cliâmber for prison;  
you Sir, must along with me unto  
Theotimus to be examined.  Pal. 
I obey you.  Phi. 
And I obey necessity.  Exeunt. Manet Palemon: Pal. 
Well Fortune, thou giddy Goddess,  
if Bellinda be to die,  
And thou hast only raised me up so high,  
To cast me down with greater force, I'll fall  
So gallantly and bravely, yet as all  
Shall say at least, how e'er unfortunate  
Palemon yet deserved a better fate.  Enter Amaranthe in haste with other Nymphs▪ Am. 
Run,— run, and seek her all about,  
or she's but dead; and when you've found her out,  
bring me word presently, as you love her life.—  
Was never a more unfortunate maid and wife?  Exeunt Nymphs several ways. Pal. 
What busy haste is this.  Am. 
What are you there?  
fly, fly Palemon, or the Nymphs will tear  
you in pieces.  Pal. 
Why?  Am. 
For killing the gentlest maid  
eye ever saw, or Cyprus ever had;  Pal. 
What maid d'ye mean?  Am. 
Filena.  Pal. 
Why! is she dead?  Am. 
Dead, dead, killed by your cruelty  
And see poor soul what she does write to me,  She reads. 
Filena's Letter.  
Pardon me Amaranthe,  
for having taken the poison unknown unto you,  
and deceived you once in my life,  
rather than you should deceive me in my death.  
Commend me to Palemon, and tell him,  
that as I lived in hope of his love,  
so now I die for despair of it:  
and let him aster I am dead but wish me rest,  
and I shall rest in peace.—  
FILENA.  Am. 
And so I hope thou dost  
fair gentle maid, or th' Gods should else be most  
unkind and cruel, should they not to thee grant  
that rest in death, which thou in life didst want.—  
Now you who for cruelty surpass  
The cruelest savage Beast that ever was;  
Some Tiger bore thee sure, or thou wert bred  
With Tiger's milk at least, and nourished:  
If thou who art the cause of all canst hear  
This, and not vent a sigh, nor shed a tear.  Pal. 
As for my sighing and my weeping, that  
Is an expression too effeminate;  
Only for single losses: such as mine  
Requires expressions far more masculine:  
Where grief and sorrows are redoubled,  
For dying Bellinda, and Filena dead.  Exit. Am. 
What's that? Bellinda dying does he say?  
Sure Love and death have changed their darts to day,  
and there's some Planet reigns will kill us all,  
but I forget Filena.  Enter a Nymph. 
Oh now I shall  
hear news of her— well have you found her?  Mel. 
No,  
but Lydia says sh'ave traced her footsteps to  
the sacred Grove.  Am. 
Take a cruse presently  
Of purest water then, and follow me;  
Yet there is hope I may retard her fate,  
And save her life, which Love does make her hate.  
Finis Actus quarti.   

ACTUS 5.  Filena Sola. The Scene, a Wood or Boscage. Filena. 
THe poison now's arrived unto my heart,  
The place assigned where life and I must part;  
And where I must resign my latest breath,  
Then farewell life, and welcome sweetest death;  
To prisoner's freedom, to the weary rest,  
Comfort to th' sad, and ease to the oppressed:  
who'd then endure such worlds of miseries,  
When life's but pain, and death no more but this!  
Now, now I die, yet Love lives in me still, Falls:  
As if what Love does wound, Death durst not kill.  
Who doubt then whether thou immortal art,  
(O mighty Love) could they but see my heart,  
And bosom here, where thou canst never die,  
It would assert thy immortality.  Enter Pamphilus. Pam. 
Bless me!  
amongst what a generation of Nymphs  
am I fallen here, who are all so precise and pure;  
as when they come but where men are, they take  
the wind of 'em, for fear of being got with child;  
as Spanish Ginnets are, and when they go away  
brush themselves carefully from the dust, for fear  
of a spice of fornication, ever since  
they understood that man's but made of dust.  
Ha! what have we here? a Nymph a sleep:  
ah pretty rogue, have I caught you napping?  
she sleeps as snug and soundly  
as a young sucking pig,  
you can scarce perceive her breath;  
what a great blessing is a sleeping woman?  
for they'll lie quietly yet—  
methinks I should know her.  Enter Lydia. Lyd. 
No news of her yet? 'tis strange?  
but who is here? my goblin again?  
what's that he looks so wistly at  
I wonder? a Nymph asleep?  
for modesty's sake I'll wake her— out alas  
'tis she? and dead? help, help the glory of  
Our Hamlets here, the pride of all our plains,  
Grace of the Nymphs, delight of, all the Swains,  
Our Isles chief ornament; Filena's dead!  
The gentlest Nymph as Cyprus ever bread.  Exit. Pam. 
How, is she dead? what a beast was I then  
to let her go, for I'm sure she was alive.  Enter Lydia again with Polydor and Guards. Pol. 
A Nymph dead in our wood! it cannot be,  
here are no Savage Beasts, and much less men  
so barbarous and savage to kill and murder 'em—  
where is she?  Lyd. 
There.  Pol. 
Alas, 'tis she indeed,  
how came she dead, d'ye know?  Lyd. 
Not I, only in this  
posture I found her, and that stranger by her there.  Pol. 
Oh, I know him,  
and have cause to suspect,  
considering his former misdemeanours here;  
that he's the likeliest man to have murdered her,  
seize on him, and let him be examined.  Pam. 
So, now am I finely served  
for hunting after wenches, to be catched  
myself, instead of catching them, and like  
to be hanged for it, for aught I see:  
well, if I be, my comfort is  
I'm not the first man that wenching has brought  
unto the Gallows, nor am like to be the last.  Enter Amaranthe, with the other Nymphs. Am, 
Where is she? where is she?  
stand from about her there.—  Pam. 
So would I with all my heart,  
if I could get away.  Am. 
She is not dead, but only entranced.—  Pam. 
Marry and I'm but little better.  Am. 
You'll see  
with this cool water she'll straight revive again.  Pam. 
And hot water will scarce  
bring me to myself again.  Mel. 
Take my tears too if water can only do't,  Lyd. 
And mine,  Clo. 
And mine,  Mel. 
And all of ours to boot.  Enter Palemon. Pol. 
O Palemon welcome, I sent for you  
by order of Theotimus, to let you know  
strange news of Bellinda.  Pal. 
I fear I am but too  
familiar with it already.  they whisper. Am. 
See, she begins to stir,  
And opens her eyes; I told you their fair light  
Was but eclipsed and not extinguished quite.  Pol. 
Then you may let him go;  Pam. 
Marry,  
and I'll be gone then as fast as I can,  
and fly the land too, before I'll be put in such  
a fright again.  Exit: Fil. 
Where am I? in what Region of the dead!  
not in hell sure, for there  
are far more horrid visions than are here;  
nor yet in heaven, for there again  
are far more glorious ones; where am I then?  An. 
She thinks she's dead still.  Fil. 
Ha, Palemon here! nay then I see  
Love takes delight still in tormenting me,  
And there's some middle place 'twixt Heaven and Hell,  
Where wretched Lovers, such as I, do dwell;  
Where should I go to fly the sight of men,  
And where to fly Love's fires and arrows, when  
Where e'er I go, just like the wounded Dear,  
I fly in vain, that which I carry here.  Exit. Am. 
Go follow her,  
and look carefully unto her,  
Her wandering mind you'll see will come anon  
unto its self, when her amazement's gone.  Pal. 
whate'er it be, methinks there's somewhat here  
Whispers remorse, and chides me (as it were)  
For my unkindness, and stern cruelty  
Unto this Nymph, who thus would die for me;  
But as loud winds won't let us hear the soft  
And gentle voice of others; so the thought  
Of dying for Bellinda, will not let  
Me hear its voice nor harken to it yet.  Enter Diophantes. Dio. 
O noble youth! whose famous memory  
Shall never be forgot, or ever be  
remembered without praise.  Pal. 
What news brings Diophantes,  
he's so transported with it?  Dio. 
Thât, which had I a thousand tongues to tell,  
Or you a thousand ears to hear, would well  
Deserve them all.— Soon as 'twas rumoured,  
Bellinda must die for having falsified  
The sacred Oath: but this stranger instantly  
Offered himself with such alacrity  
to die for her; as Love  
ne'er gained so glorious a victory, nor  
ever so triumphed over death before.  Pal. 
Oh me! if this be so, I shall become  
th' derision and the scorn of every one;  
and was his offer accepted?  Dio. 
That you know  
by th' Laws here could not be refused him.  Pal. 
How!  
Has he prevented me? but do I stand  
Senseless and stupid, as I were dead here,— and  
Had not a life to lose as well as he?  
No generous stranger whosoever thou be,  
Since thou wert born my Rival, thou shalt prove  
I'll rival thee in Death as well as Love.  Exit. Pol. 
I fear the event of this!  Am. 
And so do I;  
But wherefore is Bellinda doomed to die?  Pol. 
For perjury and falsehood, whilst she swore,  
She loved one here, being betrothed before  
unto that stranger there.  Am. 
All thât may be  
Without forswearing yet and perjury;  
For what if he she swore she loved be he  
she was betrothed unto?  Pol. 
That cannot be,  
For she was in the sacred Cell 'tis clear,  
Long time before he e'er arrived here;  
In Sequestration, separated from  
Society of all, mean time her tongue  
Charmed silent, and eyes blinded as they were,  
How could she see or know that he was here?  Dio. 
Are you convinced yet?  Am. 
No, not always they  
Convinced are, who know not what to say;  
For my part until farther proof shall show  
Her guilty, I shall ne'er believe her so:  
For just as Images in Tapestry  
Do all appear distorted and awry,  
Until they're fully explicate, and then  
We see they appear all right and straight again;  
So shê we now think guilty, we may find  
Innocent perhaps, when she explains her mind.  Pol. 
Pray heaven she may! mean time let us go see  
This stranger, who shall ever honoured be  
Alive and dead; and be all Lovers boast,  
and honour to Love's Kingdom.  Am. 
And that most  
deservedly, for never any yet  
For truly loving did more honour get;  
Nor ever any whilst the world lasts, or  
There's Lovers in the world shall e'er get more.  Exeunt. Enter Theotimus, Chorus of Musicians, Philander led to Sacrifice crowned Victim-wise, Youths and Virgins with baskets of flowers strewing the way, etc. Evander. The. 
Go noble youth, who does in dying prove  
Death, who has power o'er all, has none o'er Love  
And shows to th' world, that who refuse to give  
Their lives for honour ne'er deserved to live▪  
Go take with thee this consolation,  
You lose a life that easily would be gone;  
But gain one by't, when thousand years are past,  
And thousand other lives, shall always last;  
And though you might have longer lived, yet know,  
You ne'er could die more gloriously than now;  
To have all our Youths and Virgins strew  
With flowers all the way you go,  
With Roses and with Myrtle Boughs  
Adorning your victorious brows;  
And singing with triumphant Song  
Your praises as you go along.  Chorus sings. 
Thus shall he ever honoured be,  
Who dies for Love and Constancy;  
And thus be ever praised, who dies  
Love's Martyr, and his Sacrifice.  The. 
And if alive you thus are honoured,  
Much more you shall be after you are dead;  
If such as you can e'er be said to die,  
By whose noble example and memory,  
A thousand Lovers when you're dead and gone,  
Shall spring up in the world instead of one;  
Who every year on pilgrimage shall come  
To honour your dead ashes in their tomb;  
Seeing whose votive gifts and offerings,  
The greatest and the mightiest of Kings,  
In envying you, and wishing them their own,  
Shall for your tomb gladly exchange their throne  Chorus sings. 
Thus shall he ever honoured be,  
Who dies for Love and Constancy;  
And thus be ever praised, who dies  
Love's Martyr, and his Sacrifice.  Enter Palemon, Diophantes, Polydore, Amaranthe, etc. following. Pal. 
Justice, Justice, Sir.  The. 
For what? or against whom?  Pal. 
Against that stranger there,  
who'd rob me of the honour and happiness  
of dying for Bellinda.  Phi. 
He's more unjust than I,  
who 'as robbed me of the honour and happiness  
of living for her, and now won't let me die.  Pal. 
As if no rocks nor seas, nor flames there were  
Nor other ways of dying, but for her?  
Choose any of them you please, your choice is free,  
Only dying for her belongs to me.  Phi. 
You may live for her, what would you more? were I  
So happy as you, who's list for me should die.  Pal. 
You talk as if there were no life to come,  
No blessed Shades nor no Elysium;  
Where those who have been Lovers here possess  
Eternity of joys and happiness.  Phi. 
Heaven is my witness I ne'er think upon  
The joys and pleasures of Elysium,  
Nor any joys or pleasures whatsoever  
But that of dying and suffering for her.  Eu. 
How like two towering Hawks they mount and soar,  
Love never flew so high a flight before!  Dio. 
There'l be no end of this.  Pol. 
Peace, let them alone,  
Greater example of Love was never shown!  The. 
Then let Bellinda come, and sentence give  
Whether of them should die, and whether live;  
Are you content?  Pal. 
I am.  Phi. 
And so am I  
ready for her either to live or die.  The. 
Bring her forth thên, with all the ceremonies  
requisite in so dire a Sacrifice,  
All the Nymphs in mourning accompanying her,  
The fatal Axe and Executioner  
Before her, and (the whilst they go along)  
The Chorus singing of her Funeral Song.  The Song, sung whilst the Nymphs put on their mourning Veils. 
Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!  
Never was there greater woe,  
Let us all the habits borrow,  
And the face of grief and sorrow;  
who'd not spare a sigh nor tear  
From all mishaps to spend it here!  Enter Bellinda veiled, brought in by Polydore, the Popa, or sacred Executioner before her, all the Nymphs weeping, etc. Eu. 
Wherefore this ceremony, since she's not to die?  Di. 
Only for terror and formality.  Th. 
Come,— thus I unveil thy eyes, that thou mayest see  
Unto what misery and calamity  
thouhast brought thyself and us, and thus uncharm  
Thy tongue, the fatal cause of all this harm.  Bel. 
What means these sable weeds and mourning cheer?  
Whilst not a face but wears death's Livery here!  Th. 
'Tis all for thee, (unhappy Nymph) put on,  
That thou shouldst die so untimely, and so young.  Bel. 
I understand you not, nor can I fear  
Death, whilst my dearest life, Philander's here.  Pal. 
How's this?  She goes to embrace Philander, and he turns away Eu. 
This is more strange than t'other!  Bel. 
Ha!  
Philander prove unkind! nay, then away  
With the fatal Axe and Executioner,  
And all these deadly preparations here,  
They need not now; one unkind look or two  
Of his, can kill me sooner than they can do.  The. 
It is thy falsehood and perfidity,  
(Unfortunate Nymph) that kills thee, and not he;  
Whilst falsely and perfidiously you swore,  
You loved one here, being betrothed before  
unto another.  Bel. 
How! I ne'er did swear,  
That I loved any but Philander here!  Pal. 
Oh killing declaration!  The. 
That canted be.  
For as for him, all Cyprus knows that he  
Arrived not here, till after you were enclosed  
i'th' facred Cell, and separated from  
All conversation; i'th' mean time your tongue  
Charmed silent, and Eyes blinded as they were,  
How could you see or know that he was here?  Bel. 
Love is a fire, and there needs no eye,  
But only heat to tell when fire is nigh;  
And Lovers by their glowing bosoms know  
When those are near they love: but lest this now  
Might seem too mystical, to make't more clear,  
As in the Temple I came forth to swear,  
I heard his voice, and swooning instantly  
For joy to hear it, whilst officiously  
They lifted up my Veil to give me air,  
I glanced my eyes aside, and saw him there,  The. 
Can any thing be more clear?  Pol. 
Or any more  
Deceived in judgement, than we were before?  Am. 
Did I not tell you she was innocent, I?  Bel. 
Yet can you doubt my faith and constancy?  Phi. 
No, but I doubt whet'r yet I wake or dream,  
My ecstasy and joy is so extreme.  They embrace. Eu. 
See how they stand so ravished with delight,  
And so transported each in tother's sight,  
'T can scarcely be conceived by humane breast,  
Much less by humane tongue can be expressed.  Th. 
Disturb them not,— & now a word with you  
Palemon.  Fi. 
Now Love grant my hopes be true.  Bel. 
Could you be jealous of me?  Phi. 
Dearest know,  
I should not love so dearly as I do,  
Were I not jealous; for jealousy  
'S but scorching of Love's fire, and he should be  
But a cold Lover, who sometimes at least  
Felt not a little of it in his breast.  The. 
Come, come, I here command you to restore  
That heart unto her, you took from her before;  
For all the Isle knows 'twas Filena, who  
Enkindled the first sparks of Love in you;  
Till (haplessly for both) Bellinda came,  
And after raised those sparks unto a flame,  
And holy Vestals ne'er with greater care  
Preserve their fires, than we Loves fire's air,  
Enkindling one straight in another's room.  Pal. 
In tepid hearths fires kindle not so soon.  The. 
Call not that tepid, where late such a fire  
Did burn, ne'er any in Cyprus flamed higher.  Pal. 
But Love's fires once extinguished, leave hearts more  
Tepid, and cold then e'er they were before.  The. 
Come, don't dispute, for I'm to be obeyed,  
And now but look upon this gentle maid,  
And tell me truly, did you ever see  
A fairer, or a sweeter Nymph than she!  
One for whose love there's not a gentle Swain  
In all the Land, but sighs, and sighs in vain;  
And she to love you, and to love you so,  
She willingly would die for love of you:  
What cleansing water, or what purging flame  
Can expiate your not loving her again?  Fi. 
Fall all the fault on this devoted head,  
Rather than blame him for't, would I were dead;  
'Tis my unworthiness, and no fault of his,  
He does not love, if any fault there is.  The. 
Yet (obstinate as you are) are you not moved  
To love again where you're so dearly loved?  Pal. 
These vaults and walls built for eternity,  
Love's Temple shall be sooner moved than I:  The. 
Nay then 'tis needful we apply I see  
Our utmost and extremest remedy,  
Lest the contagion o'th' example should  
Nourish bad humours, and corrupt the good:)  
Let him to th' desert Island straight be led  
Whither all Love's Rebels are banished.  Pal. 
Unto what place so ere I am confined,  
I may change place, but cannot change my mind:  
But stay! what sudden earthquakes this I feel,  
Makes the walls totter, and foundations reel  
o'th' Temple here!  The. 
'Tis well, 'tis a good sign,  
Love who moves stones will move that heart of thine,  
More hard than they— and see O wondrous sight!  
The Temples filled with unaccustomed light;  
And love with flaming brand amidst it flies,  
Illuminating with it all the skies:  
Now (rebel as thou art) thou soon shalt know  
Whether Love's God have any power or no.  Pal. 
Just as some gentle gale does fan the fire,  
There's somewhat here within that does inspire  
My breast, and nowed increases more and more,  
Till that which only was a spark before  
Does by degrees so mighty a flame become,  
As I am all but one incendium!  
O Love, to whom all bosoms must submit,  
I feel thy mighty hand, and reverence it!  The. 
Just so Phoebus, the Delphic God inspires,  
The Pythonesses breast with sacred fires,  
Only the God of Love more mildly burns,  
And 'stead of raging unto sweetness turns.  Chorus sings. 
So gentle Love does all command  
In fire and water, air and land,  
And all with his commands inspire  
In Land and water, air and fire.  Pal. 
And can you pardon me?  Fi. 
I can pardon any thing  
in my Palemon, but only his doubting  
whether I can or no. And for the rest,  
Account myself by Love most highly blessed,  
(Who pays debts best the longer he forbears)  
T'have all my morning sighs and evening tears,  
My daily griefs and nightly sorrows passed,  
Rewarded thus abundantly at last.  They embrace. Pal. 
My dear Filena.  Fi. 
My dearest, dearest Palemon.  The. 
Enough, enough, leave your embraces till  
At fitter season you may take your fill  
Of such delicious pleasures and contents,  
Such sweet delights, such joys and ravishments,  
No heart can e'er conceive, no tongue express  
The thousandth part of their deliciousness.—  To Phi. and Bel. 
Now see and wonder, these are Lovers too,  
This is the least of miracles Love can do.  Phi. 
Noble Palemon, I congratulate  
Your and the fair Filena's happy fate:  Pal. 
And I, noble Philander, rejoice no less  
At your and fair Bellinda's happiness.  The. 
Never was more abundant joy, and now  
To th' paradise of happy Lovers go,  
Where with redoubled flames Love's God does prove  
Whose hearts are most capacious of love:  
And then with all becoming rites and state,  
When once your marriages are celebrate;  
Philander you, and fair Bellinda may  
At your best pleasure either go or stay.  Exeunt. Manet Evander, to whom Pamphilus enters: Pam. 
And what shall we do?  Evan. 
I for my part, since  
there's so much joy and happiness  
in marriage, resolve first to go home  
and dispose of all I have, and after come  
and marry here.  Pam. 
Promise you so won't I,  
if there be no wenches  
nor wenching businesses here,  
it is no place for me; wherefore my word is,  
Come here no more.  Eu. 
And mine is, Come again.  Pam. 
I'm sure I shall have the greatest part  
of my opinion.  Eu. 
And I all the nobler and the better—  
And now let's see which number is the greater.   
FINIS.   


Filena's Song, of the commutation of Love's and Death's Darts.  
In the narrative Style.  
LOve and Death o'th' way once meeting,  
Having past a friendly greeting:  
Sleep their weary Eyelids closing,  
Lay them down themselves reposing.  
Love whom divers cares molested,  
Could not sleep, but while Death rested,  
All in haste away he posts him,  
But his haste full dearly costs him:  
For it chanced that going to sleeping  
Both did give their darts in keeping  
Unto Night, who Errors mother,  
Blindly knowing not one from tother,  
Gave Love Death's, and ne'er perceived it,  
Whilst as blindly Love received it;  
Since which time their Darts confounding,  
Love now kills instead of wounding:  
Death our hearts with sweetness filling,  
Gently wounds instead of killing.   

Another Song.  

CElia weeps, and those fair eyes  
Which sparkling Diamonds were before,  
Whose precious brightness none could prize,  
Dissolves into a pearly shower.   

Celia smiles, and straight does render  
Her fair Eyes Diamonds again,  
Which after shine with greater splendour,  
As the Sun does after rain.   

Now if the reason you would know,  
Why Pearls and Diamonds fall and rise;  
Their prices just go high or low,  
As they are worn in Celia's Eyes.    
FINIS.   

A Short DISCOURSE OF THE English Stage.   

A SHORT DISCOURSE OF THE English Stage.  
To his Excellency, the Lord Marquis of NEW CASTLE.  
My Noble Lord,  
I Send your Excellency here a short Discourse of the English Stage, (which if you pleased you could far better treat of then myself) but before I begin it, I will speak a word or two of thôse of other Country's.  
About the midst of the last Century, Plays, after a long discontinuance, and civil death in a manner, began to be revived again, first in Italy by Guarino, Tasso, de Porta, and others; and afterwards in Spain by Lopes de Vega; the French beginning later by reason of their Civil Wars, Cardinal Richlieu being the first that brought them into that Vouge and Esteem as now they are; well knowing how much the Acting noble and heroic Plays, conferred to the instilling a noble and heroic Spirit into the Nation. For ûs, we began before them, and if since they seem to have outstripped us, 'tis because our Stage has stood at a stand this many years; nor may we doubt, but now we shall soon outstrip them again, if we hold on but as we begin. Of the Dutch I speak nothing, because they are but slow, and follow other Nations only afar off: But to return unto our present subject.  
Plays (which so flourished amongst the Greeks, and afterwards amongst the Romans) were almost wholly abolished when their Empire was first converted to Christianity, and their theatres, together with their Temples, for the most part, demolished as Relics of Paganism, some few only reserved and dedicated to the service of the True God, as they had been to their false gods before; from which time to the last Age, they Acted nothing here, but Plays of the holy Scripture, or Saints Lives; and that without any certain theatres or set Companies, till about the beginning of Queen Elizabeth's Reign, they began here to assemble into Companies, and set up theatres, first in the City, (as in the Innyards of the Cross-Keyes, and Bull in Grace and Bishopsgate Street at this day is to be seen) till that Fanatic Spirit which then began with the Stage, and after ended with the Throne, banished them thence into the Suburbs, as after they did the Kingdom, in the beginning of our Civil Wars. In which time, Plays were so little incompatible with Religion, and the Theatre with the Church, as on Weekdays after Vespers, both the Children of the Chapel and St. Paul's, Acted Plays, the one in White-friar's, the other behind the Convocation-house in Paul's, till people growing more precise, and Plays more licentious, the Theatre of Paul's was quite suppressed, and that of the Children of the Chapel, converted to the use of the Children of the Revels.  
In this time were Poets and Actors in their greatest flourish, johnson, Shakespeare, with Beaumond and Fletcher their Poets, and Field and Burbidge their Actors.  
For Plays, Shakespeare was one of the first, who inverted the Dramatic Style, from dull History to quick Comedy, upon whom johnson refined; as Beaumond and Fletcher first writ in the Heroic way, upon whom Suckling and others endeavoured to refine again▪ one saying wittily of his Aglaura, that 'twas full of fine flowers, but they seemed rather stuck, then growing there; as another of Shakespear's writings, that 'twas a fine Garden, but it wanted weeding.  
There are few of our English Plays (excepting only some few of johnson's) without some faults or other; and if the French have fewer than our English, 'tis because they confine themselves to narrower limits, and consequently have less liberty to err.  
The chief faults of ours, are our huddling too much matter together, and making them too long and intricate; we imagining we never have intrigue enough, till we lose ourselves and Auditors, who should be led in a Maze, but not a Mist; and through turning and winding ways, but sô still, as they may find their way at last.  
A good Play should be like a good stuff, closely and evenly wrought, without any breaks, thrums, or loose ends in 'em, or like a good Picture well painted and designed; the Plot or Contrivement, the Design, the Writing, the Coloris, and Counterplot, the Shaddowing, with other Embellishments: or finally, it should be like a well contrived Garden, cast into its Walks and Counterwalks, betwixt an Alley and a Wilderness, neither too plain, nor too confused. Of all Arts, that of the Dramatic Poet is the most difficult and most subject to censure; for in all others, they write only of some particular subject, as the Mathematician of Mathematics, or Philosopher of Philosophy; but in that, the Poet must write of every thing, and every one undertakes to judge of it.  
A Dramatic Poet is to the Stage as a Pilot to the Ship; and to the Actors, as an Architect to the Builders, or Master to his Scholars: he is to be a good moral Philosopher, but yet more learned in Men than Books. He is to be a wise, as well as a witty Man, and a good man, as well as a good Poet; and I'd allow him to be so far a good fellow too, to take a cheerful cup to whet his wits, so he take not so much to dull 'em, and whet 'em quite away.  
To compare our English Dramatic Poets together (without taxing them) Shakespeare excelled in a natural Vein, Fletcher in Wit, and johnson in Gravity and ponderousness of Style; whose only fault was, he was too elaborate; and had he mixed less erudition with his Plays, they had been more pleasant and delightful than they are. Comparing him with Shakespeare, you shall see the difference betwixt Nature and Art; and with Fletcher, the difference betwixt Wit and Judgement: Wit being an exuberant thing, like Nilus, never more commendable than when it overflows; but Judgement a stayed and reposed thing, always containing itself within its bounds and limits.  
Beaumond and Fletcher were excellent in their kind, but they often erred against Decorum, seldom representing a valiant man without somewhat of the Braggadoccio, nor an honourable woman without somewhat of Dol Common in her: to say nothing of their irreverent representing Kings persons on the Stage, who should never be represented, but with Reuêrence: Besides, Fletcher was the first who introduced that witty obscenity in his Plays, which like poison infused in pleasant liquour, is always the more dangerous the more delightful. And here to speak a word or two of Wit, it is the spirit and quintessence of speech, extracted out of the substance of the thing we speak of, having nothing of the superfice, or dross of words (as clenches, quibbles, jingles, and such like trifles have) it is that, in pleasant and facetious discourse, as Eloquence is in grave and serious; not learned by Art and Precept, but Nature and Company. 'Tis in vain to say any more of it; for if I could tell you what it were, it would not be what it is; being somewhat above expression, and such a volatile thing, as 'tis altogether as volatile to describe.  
It was the happiness of the Actors of those Times to have such Poets as these to instruct them, and write for them; and no less of those Poets to have such docile and excellent Actors to Act their Plays, as a Field and Burbidge; of whom we may say, that he was a delightful Proteus, so wholly transforming himself into his Part, and putting off himself with his clothes, as he never (not so much as in the Tiring-house) assumed himself again until the Play was done: there being as much difference betwixt him and one of our common Actors, as between a Ballad-singer who only mouths it, and an excellent singer, who knows all his Graces, and can artfully vary and modulate his Voice, even to know how much breath he is to give to every syllable. He had all the parts of an excellent Orator, (animating his words with speaking, and Speech with Action) his Auditors being never more delighted then when he spoke, nor more sorry than when he held his peace; yet even thên, he was an excellent Actor still, never falling in his Part when he had done speaking; but with his looks and gesture, maintaining it still unto the height, he imagining Age quod agis, only spoke to him: so as those who call him a Player do him wrong, no man being less idle than he, whose whole life is nothing else but action; with only this difference from other men's, that as what is but a Play to them, is his Business; so their business is but a play to him.  
Now, for the difference betwixt our theatres and those of former times, they were but plain and simple, with no other Scenes, nor Decorations of the Stage, but only old Tapestry, and the Stage strewed with Rushes, (with their Habits accordingly) whereas ours now for cost and ornament are arrived to the height of Magnificence; but that which makes our Stage the better, makes our Plays the worse perhaps, they striving now to make them more for sight, then hearing; whence that solid joy of the interior is lost, and that benefit which men formerly received from Plays, from which they seldom or never went away, but far better and wiser than they came.  
The Stage being a harmless and innocent Recreation; where the mind is recreated and delighted, and that Ludus Literarum, or School of good Language and Behaviour, that makes Youth soon Man, and man soonest good and virtuous, by joining example to precept, and the pleasure of seeing to that of hearing. It's chiefest end is, to render Folly ridiculous, Vice odious, and Virtue and Nobleness so amiable and lovely, as, every one should be delighted and enamoured with it; from which when it deflects; as, corruptio optimi pessima: of the best it becomes the worst of Recreations. And this his Majesty well understood, when after his happy Restauration, he took such care to purge it from all vice and obscenity; and would to God he had found all bodies and humours as apt and easy to be purged and reformed as thât.  
For Scenes and Machine's they are no new invention, our Masks and some of our Plays in former times (though not so ordinary) having had as good or rather better than any we have now.  
They are excellent helps of imagination, most grateful deceptions of the sight, and graceful and becoming Ornaments of the Stage, transporting you easily without lassitude from one place to another; or rather by a kind of delightful Magic, whilst you sit still, does bring the place to you. Of this curious Art the Italians (this latter age) are the greatest masters, the French good proficients, and we in England only Scholars and Learners yet, having proceeded no further than to bare painting, and not arrived to the stupendious wonders of your great Engineers, especially not knowing yet how to place our Lights, for the more advantage and illuminating of the Scenes.  
And thus much suffices it briefly to have said of all that concerns our Modern Stage, only to give others occasion to say more.  
FINIS.