AMINTAS A PASTORAL, Acted at the Theatre Royal.  
Made English out of Italian from the Aminta of Tasso, By Mr. OLDMIXON.  
— mihi parva rura &  
Spiritum Graiae tenuem Camenae  
Parca non mendax dedit & malignum  
Speruere Vulgus.  Hor. 
LONDON, Printed for Rich. Parker, at the Unicorn, under the Piazza of the Royal Exchange in Cornhill. 1698.   

THE PREFACE.  
I Was not surprised myself at the success of this Pastoral; I confess my Friends thought the Town would have been kinder to it, and I was once almost tempted to be of their opinion; but the knowledge I have had of the disposition of an Audience towards such things, kept me from expecting any very good usage from 'em. 'Twas indeed unreasonable for me to hope they would be pleased with a person who had consulted their pleasure no more than I did.  
If the Pastoral had been entirely my own, they would, I suppose, have shown their resentments some other way, and not have been contented with neglecting it. They avoided it because they were afraid to condemn it boldly, lest they should make themselves ridiculous. For some, who never read any of Tasso's writings, have heard so much of their excellence, that they durst not appear openly against it; and it must he very uneasy for them to see a Play, which they are engaged not to commend, and yet can't take the liberty to condemn, without exposing their own judgements. However, there were others who could not be restrained, and 'twas in vain to tell 'em they should he cautious in their censures of a Poem, which has been admired so many ages. A Poem, which the Great Tasso preferred to his Gierusallemme. In which the most beautiful thoughts of the Ancients (in this kind) are to be found, and which all that know any thing of the Author, or his Writings, think the best he ever writ: A Poem, which the Learned Monsieur Menage thought worth his remarks; of which Pastor Fido is but an Imperfect Copy; Tho for that very reason it met with different treatment en our Theatre; for the Characters there, which never failed pleasing an Audience, are unnatural and monstrous. But there looks something in Pastor Fido like Intrigue, which will always have a good effect, where people are so fond of Gallantry, that they will not suffer so much as a Shepherd to appear without it.  
I can't imagine what was said lately, with too much severity, that the Shepherd's Calendar excels the Aminta, prejudiced the world against it; or that any body who have read it, will think Spencer's Pastoral equal to Tasso's. Is there any thing in Spencer's comparable to the story of the Bee in the first Act, or the account which Daphne gives of Sylvia's admiring herself in the Fountain, in the second Act of the Aminta. Some persons (and among the rest Father Bouhours) have accused this last thought of too much affectation, and fancy 'tis not natural enough for a Shepherdess; but as Monsieur Fontenelle observes, if this is a fault, we may spare ourselves the trouble of reading Guarini, Bonarelli, and Marino. For this very thought of Sylvia's in comparison of the best of theirs, is the most simple thing in the world; and he adds in the next sentence, that the Aminta is indisputably the best Pastoral which Italy has produced, and every one abroad is of his opinion.  
I am sensible many of the original Graces must be lost, our Language wants too much of the softness of the Italian, to render it equally beautiful in English; But I hope few of his thoughts have escaped me; and Monsieur St. Evermont, who confesses he is not a perfect Master of the Tongue, says the delicacy of thought in the Aminta has touched him so much, that he believes there never was an Italian more pleased with it. My Judges, who perhaps are not all as good Critics as he is, not expecting any thing like this in the Pastoral, were very far from his sentiments, and did not mistrust that there could be a thought in it too delicate for them. 'Twould be an affront to their taste to think it was not nice enough to perceive the Beauties, which almost every page of Tasso is full of; and I know they will not believe all that this Gentleman has said some where else, that there is no Country in Europe where the Men have more Courage, the Women more Beauty, and both more Wit than in England; but then there is no place where a good taste is so rarely to be met with. If they could have agreed to this, they had not been so forward in censuring Amintas, lest they might by chance make a wrong judgement, which very often falls out. They were not now long consulting what to do with it, but whether they understood it or not, they were positive there was nothing in it, and most judiciously condemned what happens to be in the Original, the best thing of the kind that ever was or I believe ever will be written. There was no need of saying so much to vindicate Tasso, his reputation is fixed, and 'tis not in the power of Malice or Ignorance to injure it. As for the Translation, if there are any mistakes in it to the Author's prejudice. I deserve to be blamed, but though I have heard the Conduct of the Play, the measure of the Verse, and the management of the Representation accused, yet none, as I know of, have laid any thing to my charge on that account. If they had, I should have taken this opportunity to confess my errors or answer their objections. The Conduct of this Pastoral is the same as I found it, (except in the last Act, which I was obliged to alter) and I may therefore affirm the most correct that ever was seen on an English Theatre. If there had been iatrigue, a great deal of stir, and something else in it, it had been more acceptable perhaps to those whose protection I desired, and whose pleasure I chief designed: but I was mistaken, and since I endeavour to please them in every thing I writ, I shall next time avoid that unpardonable Crime, which ruined Amintas on the Stage, and not venture so much on their complaisance for the future.  
There are few who consider the nature of Pastaral, that the Action ought to be simple, the Passions tender, and the Sentiments such, as are suitable to people bred up in ease and innocence. The nearer a man comes to this rule, the more perfect will his writings of this kind be: but the age is not yet prepared to be diverted with any thing simple, easy and innocent; and it may 'thad been prudence in me to have waited till some person should have attempted to please it this way, whose name might have given an authority to such an Innovation. Tho 'tis to be feared, those who have raised their Characters by Licentiousness and Irregularity, will not hazard losing 'em by writing correctly and decently; and yet many of 'em are so well settled in the good opinion of the public, that whatever the should promote would infallibly succeed. And it may not be improper to observe here, what an influence Fame has on Certain Authors, who, having grown popular with their Fustian and Nonsense, have in time deserved by writing well, the Reputation their ill Verses acquird 'em; ill usage has frequently the contrary effect, and such as have done well, when they have not met with the applause they deserved, by endeavouring after to do better; have made the first judgements that, were made of 'em just.  
Some think the measure of the Verse too short, but Tasso drew me in to this Error, if 'tis one, for since he thought the Italian, which is the sweetest Language in the World, wanted to be made yet more soft by the shortness of the measure; I believed the English Heroick would be too Majestic, and not so agreeable to the great simplicity which should every where appear in a Pastoral, as Verse of seven or eight Syllables.  
The management of the representation, particularly that part on't which I undertook, was very ill contrived. The small acquaintance I have had with such things did not qualify me to undertake what I did, and the success was answerable to the contrivance. I suppose every part of the Representation might have been ordered to more advantage, though the Actors performed theirs as well as could be expected, and I question if any other Company would have done it better. But be the Management or the Action what it will, I am satisfied nothing could have drawn an audience to it, when once they had heard what they were to be entertained with, and that their attention was required for three hours without one jest to divert 'em. I saw this the first night, and should have been much more discouraged if some men of sense, whose judgements I can safely depend on, had not assured me that there was no reason for't, and that the could not without resentment, see the partiality of several persons, which might have been employed to more purpose against other, who Court their applause, and value their opinion more than I can.   


SHEPHERDS.  
Amintas,  
Thyrsis,  
Elpinus,  
Ergastus,  
Alfibeus.   

SHEPHERDESSES.  
Sylvia,  
Daphne,  
Nerina.  
Chorus of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.    

PROLOGUE.  Written by Mr. Dennis. 
THis Play's no English product, but with toil,  
Imported from a richer nobler Soil.  
Then judge not rashly what, in better times,  
Great Tasso's Genius writ to warmer climes.  
They, who like Nature, may suppose it good,  
Tho Nature hut by few is understood;  
She never is but by reflection seen,  
And few are bold enough to look within▪  
As when a thoughtful man for sakes the Town,  
And to some Country Solitude goes down,  
With more than common pleasure he beholds  
The Woods, the Lawns, the Valleys, and the Folds  
Nature's bright Beauties every where he meets,  
His Soul, which long had been confined in streets,  
With Rapture now her kindred objects greets.  
These rural Scenes like pleasure may impart  
To those who value Nature more than Art,  
And who have Souls to taste the Language of the Heart.   

EPILOGUE.  
Our Author was afraid to have his Cause  
Come before Judges who dispense with Laws.  
For those he sees, are always kind to Fools,  
But most severe to such as write by Rules.  
They hate even Nature too as much as Art,  
And nothing but what's monstrous will divert.  
Those Plays alone, that make 'em Laugh, delight,  
Where folly oft succeeds as well as Wit.  
So merry in their humours, we can scarce  
Engage 'em now with any thing but Farce.  
What hopes then that our serious Scenes will do?  
They'll hardly spare 'em for their being new;  
Their Novelty perhaps will give offence,  
But above all we dread their Innocence;  
Unless the Fair in their defence appear,  
From whom, we hope, we have the least to fear:  
Love, Pity, Innocence, of right belong  
To those to judge of, who inspired the Song.  
And if some person's fancy Farces best  
Because their own dear Pictures make the Jest;  
The fair have much more reason to esteem  
The beauteous Images we draw from them.  
To them the Sovereign Arbiters of Wit,  
Our Author only would his Cause submit,  
whate'er their censures are, he'll not presume  
To think 'em hard, nor murmur at his doom.  
As for the Critics, though he cannot trust  
That they'll be either merciful or just,  
Yet if this Play is by the Ladies liked,  
He thinks they're too well bred to contradict.   

ACT I.  

SCENE I.  Daphne, Sylvia. Daphne. 
SYlvia, will you still persist  
In this strange disgust of Love?  
Will you still refuse to hear  
Our Shepherd's sighs, and scorn their tears?  
But if sighs end tears in vain  
Attempt to move your cruel heart,  
Methinks the hopes that you might have  
To see a lovely Infant smile,  
And call you Mother, should succeed:  
Change, foolish Creature, change your thoughts,  
And be not constant to a Crime.  Sylvia. 
Let others, if they please, be moved  
With sighs and tears, and take delight  
To play with Love: I'll never quit  
The Forests, never leave the Chase,  
Whilst Beasts of prey are to be found.  
I'll range the Woods, I'll scour the Plains,  
And with my Bow and Quiver find  
A better way to nobler sport.  Daphne. 
Dull sport, and an insipid life  
You Sylvia, stubborn as thou art,  
Will think so too, when you begin  
To taste the sweets of Love.  
‛ So the first people, who possessed  
‛ In Innocence the Infant World,  
‛ Fed on Acorns, and when dry  
‛ Drank the Waters of the Brook:  
‛ Beasts only now on Acorns seed,  
‛ And drink the Waters of the Brook:  
‛ And thus when you at last shall feel  
‛ How pleasant 'tis beneath a shade,  
 sit and talk with one you love:  
Then, Sylvia, you'll repent and cry,  
Ah, fool! I never loved till now.  
You'll throw away your Arrows, break your Bow,  
And curse the minutes you have lost.  
Change, foolish Creature, change your thought,  
And be not constant to a Crime.  Sylvia. 
When I sit and task of Love,  
Dogs shall be afraid of Hares,  
Wolves of Lambs, and Streams return  
To the Fountains whence they risen;  
Bears shall then the Forests leave,  
And Dolphins dance about the Plains.  Daphne. 
I know your pride, for I was once  
Wild and obstinate, like you.  
‛ I was then as fair, my Locks  
‛ As white as yours, my Lips as red:  
‛ Such Roses and such Lilies graced  
‛ My Cheeks, as flourish now on yours.  
'Twas then (so stupid was my taste  
‛ The darling pleasure of my life,  
 set my Lime-twigs, lay my Nets,  
‛ And laugh as often as I saw  
‛ The Birds entangled in my Snares.  
I then delighted in the Chase,  
And scorned, with savage modesty;  
The Shepherds whom my Charms had conquered:  
I was then so far unjust,  
As once to think it cause enough  
To hate 'em for their loving me;  
And pleasing them displeased myself:  
But oh! what will not time effect;  
What will not services and sighs,  
Desert, entreaties, truth and tears?  
What, Sylvia, will not all these do?  Sylvia. 
Nothing with a mind resolved  
Against their flatteries, like mine.  Daphne. 
Mistaken Main!  
They'll master every stubborn thought,  
And force our hearts to think of Love.  
I know it by myself, for I have felt,  
And must confess their power.  
They tempted me to tear my Nets,  
Neglect my Lime-twigs, break my Bow,  
And fling my Arrows in the Air.  
I cried there, there, Diana, take  
These useless Weapons, I renounce  
The Woods and all thy sports for Love.  Sylvia. 
Renounce 'em by yourself and as for me—  Daphne. 
Who knows, Amintas may in time  
Convert even thee to do as much:  
Is he not handsome? Can you see  
A comelier youth in all the plain?  
If you're related to the Gods.  
Amintas is derived from Pan:  
You oft have Amarillis seen,  
And in some Fountain may compare  
Her beauties with your own.  
The difference, Sylvia, is not great,  
Yet poor Amintas shuns her smiles,  
To follow your contempt and you;  
And for your hate despises Love.  
But think it may not still be thus,  
Think when her Beauties or her smiles  
Have touched his heart, they'll laugh at yours,  
And make a jest of thy disdain.  Sylu. 
Where e'er he pleases let him love,  
And Court what Maid he will but me:  
I'll ne'er be trouble with his heart,  
Nor give him any hopes of mine.  Daphne. 
What makes you hate him thus?  Sylv 
His love.  Daphne. 
‛ Ah cruelty! we might expect  
‛ That Ravens would be born of Swans,  
‛ Of Tigers Lambs, as well as thou  
‛ From tender Parents be derived.  Sylu. 
I hate his Love because he hates.  
What I love most, a Maiden life.  
While friendship only warmed his Soul,  
None could esteem him more than I  Dap. 
You'd have him then confine his wishes,  
To as narrow bounds as yours.  
He less deserves to be condemned  
For wishing much,  
Than you do for not wishing more.  Syl. 
Daphue, Peace, or if you'll talk,  
Prithee talk of some thing else.  Dap. 
Suppose another Swain should court ye,  
Would you, Sylvia use him thus.  Syl. 
Thus every one that dares attempt  
To interrupt me in my sports;  
And he that talks of Love to me,  
I'll use him as he is, my Foe.  Dap. 
You may, Sylvia, then suppose  
Turtles to their Mates are foes.  
When the Birds begin to sing,  
You may think they hate the Spring:  
You may, if you please, suppose,  
Nature and the Spring are foes,  
That its pregnant heats create  
Flowers, Plants, and Fruit in hate.  
But if you observe, you find  
Every thing to Love inclined.  
Doves in gentle whispers woe  
Their tender Mates, and bill and coe.  
The Nightingale flies round the Grove,  
And sings on every Bough I love.  
Beasts by nature fierce and wild,  
Become, when Love commands 'em, mild.  
The Lion, Wolf, the Tiger, Bear,  
Less cruel, Sylvia, than you are,  
In Savage murmurs Love declare.  
Even Trees their amorous branches join,  
The Ivy fond clasps the Vine,  
And her kind embraces show,  
What you to Love and Nature owe.  
Change, foolish Creature, change your thoughts,  
And be not constant to a Crime.  Syl. 
If Beasts, if Trees, or Ivy show,  
What Love and Nature bid me do,  
I'll tarry till they tell me so  Dap. 
You mock me, Sylvia, have a care  
How you make a jest of Love.  
The time will come when you'll repent,  
For laughing at my Counsel now.  
When wrinkles shrivel up your brow:  
When the clear Fountains you will shun,  
Where now you take too much delight,  
To view your Beauties; where you gaze  
Whole hours with pleasure on that face,  
Which then you'll be afraid to see.  
Then, Sylvia, you'll repent in vain  
You did not follow my advice.  
Have you forgot, or never heard  
What wise Elpinus told the fair,  
The cruel Lycoris, whose eyes  
Are not more charming than his voice?  
Have you forgot it, Sylvia?  Sylvia. 
I know not what you mean.  Daph. 
'Tis strange:  
'Twas in Aurora's awful Cave,  
‛ O'er whose mouth are writ these words,  
‛ Hence, hence O ye Profane!  
Battus and Thyrsis being by,  
He told her what he learned from him,  
Who sung so well of War and Love,  
And left him when he died, his Pipe;  
That there's a place among the darmed,  
Where all ungrateful Beauties live,  
Tormented with eternal fires:  
The Gods being careful to revenge  
Their Lover's wrongs; and 'tis but just  
That pain should melt 'em into tears,  
Since pity could not touch their hearts.  
‛ Think, think on this, and if you dare,  
‛ Persist, O Fool, in thy disdain.  ‛ Sylvia. 
And what said Lycoris to this?  ‛ Daph. 
You're fond to know another's thoughts,  
‛ But will not change your own. She seemed  
‛ Convinced, and answered with her eyes.  ‛ Syl. 
What? answer with her Eyes! Pray tell me how.  ‛ Daph. 
She smiled, and turning to the Swain,  
‛ In her kind looks she seemed to say,  
‛ I'm conquered; take the heart you begged,  
‛ You cannot wish for more.  
‛ She seemed to say it, and it had been enough,  
‛ If men might venture to believe,  
‛ Or trust the Language of the eyes.  ‛ Syl. 
Why did he not believe it?  ‛ Daph. 
Have you not read what Thyrsis wrote?  
‛ In yonder Wood, where sorrow led  
‛ His wandering steps? The Nymphs and Swains  
‛ Laughed at, and pitied him, to see  
‛ The foolish things he often did,  
‛ In many of his amorous fits:  
‛ Yet foolish as his actions seemed,  
‛ His words were sensible; and none  
‛ Have cause to laugh at what he wrote.  
‛ Deceitful Glass, where oft I see  
‛ False glances to deceive me,  
‛ The Heart must with the Eyes agree,  
‛ Or they will ne'er relieve me.  
‛ When dying Looks and smiles I meet,  
‛ I'm still afraid of Treason,  
‛ But Love, to help 'em in the Cheat,  
‛ Deprives me of my Reason.  
‛ He Graved 'em on a thousand Trees;  
‛ And Nature, careful of his sense,  
‛ Preserves his Verses free from storms,  
‛ And makes 'em flourish in the Bark.  Syl. 
Daphne, we fool away the day  
In idle talk; 'tis time for me  
To be provided for my Sport.  
First then I'll to the lonely Brook,  
Which glides thro' you delicious Wood,  
And bathe me in the Crystal stream;  
There playing with the waves a while,  
I grow refreshed, and with new life,  
Rise from the Waters to the Chase.  Daph. 
'Tis early, I must first go home,  
I'll meet you after at the Brook,  
And bathe me with you, if you please.  
But, Sylvia, think on what I've said,  
'tis of more consequence than Brooks,  
Or Dogs, or Forests, or your Game;  
And if you know not yet what 'tis  
To love, ah! learn of those that do:  
Love of all pleasures is the best,  
And none can be without it blessed.  Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Amintas, Thyrsis. Amin. 
I'Ve often found that Rocks and Waves  
Have answered my complaint: But oh!  
I never found, nor hope to find  
The Nymph, whom I've so long adored,  
As gentle even as Rocks and Waves.  
Is she a Woman? One may well suspect  
If she's of humane race, and yet I see  
Her beautiful and young, her form  
Of such a mould, so soft, so sweet,  
That 'twere impossible to think  
It lodged a Soul averse to Love.  
If to my cost I had not found  
That things inanimate are less  
Insensible of pity than her heart.  Thyrsis. 
Lambs feed on Grass, and Wolves on Lambs,  
They're fatisfyed in time; but Love,  
Who feeds on Tears, is never satisfied.  Amin. 
If Tears could glut his appetite,  
He had been surfeited  this:  
Or if the Virgin could be moved  
With Seas of Tears I had been blessed:  
No, they both hunger after Blood,  
And I resolve to give 'em mine.  ‛ Thyr. 
‛ Ah! why, Amintas, will you talk  
‛ Of Blood? If she is so severe,  
‛ Are there not other Maids as young,  
‛ As fair as she? Look out and try,  
‛ Another Beauty may be kind.  ‛ Amint. 
Where shall I look, or how expect to find?  
HE Maid to please me, when I've lost myself.  Thyr. 
Don't flatter your despair, but hope  
This cruel fair may yield at last:  
Lions and Tigers may be tamed,  
And she you Love with Love be overcome.  Amin. 
But who so wretched, who so near  
To death as I am, can be pleased  
With Life, or bear the torment long?  Thyr. 
The torment will not be so long  
As you suspect, for women's minds  
Are movable, like Aspen leaves;  
And what they may this minute hate,  
They'll love the next. But say, my friend,  
Where lives? and who's this haughty Maid,  
That treats Amintas with such scorn?  
've told me often that you love,  
But never told me whom: be free,  
And open all your heart, without reserve.  Amin. 
Well, you shall hear what every Wood,  
What all our Hills and Streams have heard,  
But no Man ever knew before;  
'Tis fit now I'm so near the Grave,  
Some friend should know the fatal cause,  
And write my sorrows on the Tomb,  
Where my pale body shall be laid,  
That every passenger may read  
My fate, and she for whom I die  
Be pleased to triumph o'er my dust:  
It may be when she sees how far  
Despair has carried me, the thought  
(And yet I fear I hope too much)  
Will fetch a sigh, or force a tear;  
And make her pity me, and wish  
That poor Amintas were alive.  
Hear then—  Thyr. 
I harken: and perhaps  
For better ends than you suppose.  Amin. 
While I was yet a little Boy,  
Scarce tall enough to reach a Bough,  
Or pluck an Apple from a Tree,  
I felt my heart engaged to love  
The fairest Creature ever lived;  
Sylvia, the glory of the Woods,  
Montano's and Cydippe's Daughter:  
Sylvia, whose beauty, mien and youth,  
Charm every heart as well as mine;  
Our Houses joined, but were not half  
So close united as our Hearts:  
Two Friends ne'er loved as we did then;  
Two Turtles ne'er so fond sought  
Each others company, as we did;  
Our pleasures with our years agreed,  
The same diversions suited both;  
We sometimes Hunted, sometimes Fished,  
Sometimes we laid our Nets for Birds,  
And always shared the Game we caught.  
But while we pleasantly pursued  
Our mutual sports, alas! I felt  
Strange wishes growing in my heart:  
Like Flowers that on a sudden spring  
From beds where they were never set:  
whenever we parted now I wept  
For grief, and when we met, for joy.  
I sucked in poison from her eyes,  
Which seemed delicious to the taste,  
But left a bitter smart behind.  
I saw her now with new delight;  
I found new Graces in her face;  
I often sighed, but knew not why;  
I loved, but did not know 'twas love,  
Till chance discovered it.  Thyr. 
Pray how?  Amin. 
Sylvia, Phillis, and myself,  
Sitting underneath a Shade,  
Saw a Bee fly round the bank,  
Gathering Honey from the Flowers  
Which adorned our happy seat:  
Wearied there, he fled to us,  
Pitched on Phillis, who has Cheeks  
Fairer, sweeter than the Rose,  
Fancying every Grace a Flower,  
There he hung a while, and sucked  
Sweets much richer than his own!  
Phillis wept to feel the smart;  
Sylvia bid her weep no more,  
I, she cries, can say a Charm,  
That will quickly give you ease:  
'Tis a Secret which I learned  
Of wise Aricia, to whom  
For her Art I gave my Horn,  
Tipped with Ivory and Gold.  
Then she put her fragrant Lips  
To the Cheek the Bee had stung,  
Said some Verses o'er the Wound,  
And as soon as Sylvia spoke,  
Phillis felt the pain no more.  
See the wonderful effects,  
See the force of Magic words,  
Or, what I would rather think,  
See what Sylvia's Lips can do,  
Every thing they touch they heal.  Thyr. 
How, Amintas, could you find  
Love had wounded you by this?  Amin. 
I till this desired no more  
Than to see her radiant Eyes,  
Or to listen to her Voice,  
Soft as Rivulets that glide  
Murmuring thro' our smiling Vales;  
Soft as Zephr's evening breath,  
Playing with the Leaves of Trees:  
But as soon as I observed  
What her Lips had lately done,  
Then I wished 'em close to mine,  
And, I know not how, contrived  
Ways to taste of what I wished.  Thyr. 
None want artifice to gain  
What they covet to possess;  
All are cunning when in love.  Amin. 
I, to touch her rosy mouth,  
Feigned a Bee had stung me too;  
And complained with such an air,  
That it seemed to beg the Cure,  
Which my tongue could ne'er have asked.  
Sylvia kindly did to me  
What she had to Phillis done,  
And her Lips thus fixed to mine,  
Cured the counterfeited smart,  
But increased my real pain.  
Bees sure never from their Flowers  
Drew such Honey as I sucked  
From my Sylvia's humid kisses.  
Sure no Roses but what grow  
On her Lips can yield such sweets.  
Tho my pleasure was disturbed  
By my shame, and guilty fears:  
Yet I counterfeited still,  
And by this deceit prevailed  
O'er her to repeat the Charm.  
Something sweet from every kiss,  
Mixed with poison, struck my heart;  
Which at last grew so inflamed,  
That when once we met to play,  
With some other Nymphs and Swains,  
I, just dying with my fears,  
Softly whispered her, I Love.  Thyr. 
How did Sylvia take the news?  
That you seem so much concerned.  Amin. 
Soon her fiery blushes showed  
Both her anger and her shame;  
She stood silent, but I read  
By her silence what she meant,  
That she never would forgive me.  
Now she flies me, and will since  
Not so much as hear me speak.  
Thrice our Golden Fields have bend  
Under their rich loads, and thrice  
Winter has with nipping frosts  
Made our Groves and Forests bare,  
Since I've tried a thousand ways  
To appease her, but I find  
Death can only calm her rage.  
Death shall calm her then, my blood  
Shall appease her for my fault.  
I could die, methinks, with joy,  
Were I sure my Death would make her  
Either sorrowful or glad;  
and I know not which to wish:  
Yes, her Pity would reward  
All my sufferings, and show  
What my Constancy deserved.  
Yet, ah! why should I desire  
That her beauteous Eyes should weep;  
Or her Rest be lost for me?  Thyr. 
Oh! could she hear such kill words,  
Such just complaints, 'twould melt her heart,  
And make her pity ye.  Amin. 
I fear it.  
But were she sensible of pity,  
She flies, and will not hear me speak:  
What hopes then that my just complaints  
Will melt her heart, that must not reach her ear?  Thyr. 
Cease, cease your grief, I'll plead your Cause,  
Perhaps my Reasons may succeed,  
And something promises they will,  
If you would not despair.  ‛ Amin. 
I've reason to despair for ever,  
‛ Sage Mopsus has foretold my fate:  
‛ Mopsus, who understands so well  
‛ The virtues of all Herbs and Drugs;  
‛ Who by long study has acquired  
 know things past, and things to come;  
‛ Mopsus has said, I must despair.  ‛ Thyr. 
Which Mopsus? He who speaks so fair?  
‛ And with grave smiles declares events:  
‛ Dark and treacherous to deceive  
‛ Such as suppose his Oracles divine.  
‛ He tells them, with a solemn look,  
‛ Things that will never come to pass,  
‛ His Prophecies prove always lies.  
‛ Believe me, for I know him false.  
‛ Be cheerful, you have cause enough  
 hope your fortune will be good,  
‛ Since Mopsus has pronounced it ill.  ‛ Amin. 
Tell me, if you'd revive my hopes,  
‛ What makes you, Thyrsis, think him false?  ‛ Thyr. 
When I first settled in these Plains, I loved  
‛ Like you, to hear him talk, and thought his words  
‛ As wise as they were grave, but quickly found  
‛ Mopsus a Cheat, and what he talks of, Lies.  
‛ For once, when I resolved to go and see  
‛ The famous City which adorns the banks  
‛ Of our great River, and by that's adorned,  
‛ I told him my intentions, as a fiend,  
‛ And thus the envious Hypocrite replied,  
‛ You know not, Thyrsis, what you have resolved,  
‛ Nor the vast danger you're about to run;  
‛ For Treason reigns within her Marble walls,  
‛ Where nothing kind or honest's to be found,  
‛ And even the name of friendship is unknown:  
‛ Her Citizens grow wealthy by deceit,  
‛ By treachery her Courties grow renowned;  
‛ On Downy Beds, and under Gilded Roofs,  
‛ Both seem to sleep, yet both are kept awake,  
‛ By plotting death and ruin for the weak.  
HE thousand horrid Fields, in various shapes,  
‛ Stalk thro' her streets, all ready to destroy  
‛ Such innocent and easy fools as you.  
‛ There you will hear 'em laugh at your rude mien,  
‛ Despise a Shepherd's life, and mock our Songs.  
‛ But above all, her shining Palace fly,  
‛ Let nothing tempt you to approach her Gates.  ‛ Amin. 
And what could he suggest, to have you eat  
‛ So rich a sight, which I should long to see?  ‛ Thyr. 
He told me, all things were Enchanted there;  
‛ That the pretended Diamonds were but Glass,  
‛ And all their Golden Vessels real Brass:  
‛ That empty bags her massy Coffers filled:  
‛ And her high Walls were raised up with such art,  
‛ That they can hear and answer what is said:  
‛ As Echo answers in these Woods to us,  
‛ This difference only, that they sometimes speak  
‛ What they ne'er heard, which Echo never does.  
‛ That every thing you meet there has a Tongue.  
‛ Thus prepossessed by him, I went to Court,  
‛ But soon was undeceived by Glorious Quires  
‛ Of Heavenly Virgins, who like Siren's sung;  
‛ Their voices sweeter, but not half so false.  
‛ Charmed with their notes, a while I stood amazed,  
Till a great Prince, magnificently dressed,  
‛ His air majestic, and his mien sublime;  
HE Prince, Amintas, destined by the Gods  
 vanquish Tyrants, and secure us Peace,  
‛ Invited me, as rude as I appeared,  
 see the Glories which adorned his Court.  
‛ I entered then, but never can relare  
‛ The Miracles I saw: a thousand Suns  
‛ Shot forth bright Rays, and looked as they were warm:  
‛ I saw young Goddesses in all her Rooms:  
‛ But met with one so eminently fair,  
‛ Her mien so graceful, and her looks so sweet.  
‛ That 'tis not strange if I could be deceived,  
‛ And fancied that she was the Queen of Heaven.  
‛ I saw the Muses painted with their God,  
Our Sage Elpinus sitting pensive▪ by:  
‛ And from that minute felt a noble fire  
‛ Rage in my breast, and I resolved to sing  
‛ Of War, and scorn the dying notes of Love:  
‛ Tho since, to please another, I'm obliged  
 quit the City, and return to you:  
‛ Yet my Pipe still preserves her Courtly note,  
‛ Like the loud Trumpet in our Forests sounds;  
‛ Mopsus has listened, and admires with shame,  
 hear such Music echo from our Woods;  
‛ Ashamed to find that I have proved him false,  
‛ And seem so much, and learned to sing so well.  
‛ Will ye believe still?  ‛ Amin. 
I'm glad to hear  
‛ We have such reason to mistrust his words  
‛ On your success my happiness depends.  ‛ Thyr. 
Depend on my success and have a care,  
‛ The nearest way to ruin 's to despair.  CHORUS. 

AH! the Golden Age is past,  
Which our happy Fathers blessed;  
When whate'er they longed to taste,  
They but wish for, and possessed.   

The Meads were painted still with Flowers,  
The Birds ne'er ceased to sing;  
And then, without the help of showers,  
They saw eternal Spring.   

River's then with Milk were filled,  
Honey from their Woods distilled;  
None attempted then the Main,  
Nor exposed their Lives for gain:  
Free from danger, want or care;  
Free from tumult, noise and war:  
They a thousand Joys possessed,  
Peace and Plenty were the least.   

Ah! the Golden, etc.   

‛ Honour, whose Laws are so severe,  
‛ So heard to be obeyed;  
‛ Who reigns with so much rigour here,  
‛ Never o'er their pleasures swayed.   

‛ They only maxim which they knew  
‛ They were by Nature taught,  
‛ That what they had a mind to do,  
‛ They might, without a fault.   

‛ The Virgin never blushed to show  
‛ By day her naked Charms;  
‛ And when she loved a Swain, would go  
‛ With freedom to his arms.   

‛ By Woods, on Greene's they danced and played,  
‛ In Fountains kissed and toyed;  
‛ The youth then boldly took his Maid,  
‛ And what he liked enjoyed.   

‛ But now when men the blessing want,  
‛ They long must court the fair in vain;  
‛ For Honour will not let 'em grant  
‛ The pleasure they deny with pain.  
'Twas honour that first swelled their hearts,  
‛ That taught 'em shame, and to be coy;  
 frown, and use those little arts,  
‛ Which only cheat 'em of their joy.   

‛ Hence thou Idol Honour, hence;  
‛ Leave us to our humble sports;  
‛ Reign in Cities and in courts;  
‛ Honour is the child of Pride:  
‛ Here let Nature be our Guide:  
‛ Hence thou Idol Honour, hence.     

ACT II.  

SCENE I.  Daphne, Thyrsis. Daph. 
I Knew long since Amintas loved  
The haughty Sylvia, and Heaven knows  
Have oft endeavoured to dispose  
Her heart to be as much concerned  
As he deserves, and I could wish:  
But all that I can says in vain,  
For Bears and Tigers may be tamed  
Sooner than such a simple Maid,  
As proud and silly as she's fair:  
Who, ignorant of what she does,  
Or that her Eyes are armed with death,  
Commits new Murders every hour  
And kills when she has no design to wound.  Thyr. 
Where, Daphne, can you find a Maid  
So weak, so innocent, so young,  
As to be ignorant of her Charms?  
They early deck themselves with smiles,  
They know the wounds their Eyes have made,  
They know to what will cure those wounds,  
And raise their Slaves from misery to bliss.  Daphne. 
Who teaches 'em all this?  Thyr. 
The same  
That teaches Nightingales to sing,  
The Peacock how to spread his Plumes,  
That teaches Bulls to use their Horns,  
The Ram to push, and Fish to swim:  
Nature instructs 'em what to do,  
Without the Mother or the Nurse's help.  Daphne. 
Nay Thyrsis, now I plainly see  
Thou'rt both malicious and a fool;  
But to speak truth, I don't believe  
That Sylvia is as ignorant  
As she pretends; for t'other day  
I found her in the little Isle  
That stands in yonder spacious Meads,  
Encompassed with a Crystal Lake;  
In whose clear Waters she beheld  
Her Beauties; ravished with the sight,  
She seemed to ask 'em how to place  
Her hair, and put her Garland on;  
She often with her Cheeks compared  
A Rose, and Lilies with her Neck;  
On Rose and Lily than she looked  
With scorn, as if she said, O Flowers,  
Yield, yield to me; I wear ye now  
That you may blush to be outdone,  
And not for ornament, for see  
I've better Graces of my own.  
While thus she with the Waters played  
She looked around, and spied me out,  
She dressed herself in haste, and dropped  
Her Flowers, ashamed to be perceived.  
I laughed aloud, and she I saw  
Was more ashamed to see me laugh:  
Yet did not dress her in such haste,  
But to the Fountain once or twice  
She ran, to fee her hair was set  
In order, and with pleasure saw  
Those locks in sweet confusion flow,  
Which haste had forced her to neglect:  
I looked and laughed, and said no more.  Thyr. 
I ever did believe as much,  
Tho I could never prove it true.  Daph. 
I've heard that once the Nymphs and Swains  
Scorned to adorn themselves by art;  
Nor was it thus when I was young,  
But now alas! the world grows old,  
And older as it grows, decays.  Thyr. 
The Citizens then seldom came  
To us, the Shepherds seldom went  
To them; but all things now are changed:  
We learn their manners, and forget  
Our Customs, by observing theirs.  
This, Daphne, is not our concern;  
D'ye think that Sylvia ne'er will let  
Amintas talk with her alone,  
Or when you only shall be by?  Daph. 
I can't tell,  
She's extremely proud.  Thyr. 
And he respectful to extremes,  Daph. 
Respect in Lovers is a Vice;  
You, who are his friend, should tell him,  
That to succeed he must be told;  
Solicit, sue, entreat, demand:  
And if this method may not take,  
Seize on the blessing he desires.  
Don't you know, Thyrsis, women's tricks?  
They only fly to be pursued,  
Refuse what they would have ye take;  
And fight that you may overcome.  
I tell you freely all our faults,  
And beg they may not be exposed.  Thyrsis. 
You need not fear that I will speak  
More than you would have me say;  
But I conjure thee by the thoughts,  
The pleasing thoughts of thy past youth,  
That you'll assist Amintas in his Love,  
And save the wretch from death.  Daph. 
By my part youth, the only thing  
Which if I could I would forget,  
Yet this you now conjure me by:  
Well, what is't you would have me do?  Thyr. 
You want no counsel, you can tell  
As well as I what must be done  
To save him, if you're so disposed.  Daph. 
Sylvia and myself anon  
Are to bathe us in the Brook  
Which is from Diana called;  
Where the Nymphs that love the Chase  
Play beneath the Plantain shade,  
In the fiercest heats of noon:  
There I tell you Sylvia baths,  
And leaves naked all her Charms.  Thyr. 
What then?  Daph. 
What then? Why thou'rt a fool,  
Can't you guests my meaning then?  Thyr. 
I guess your meaning, though I fear  
Amintas will not dare to do't.  Daph. 
Not dare! then truly he may stay  
Till me seeks him.  Thyr. 
'Twill be no more  
Than he deserves.  ‛ Daph. 
Enough of this:  
‛ Let's now talk something of yourself;  
‛ D'ye never, Thyrsis, think of Love?  
‛ If I remember well your age,  
‛ You're not much older yet than he;  
‛ This is the season of desire:  
‛ Methinks you should not waste your youth  
‛ In idleness, but long to taste  
‛ What 'tis to Love,  
‛ For that's the only comfort of our lives.  ‛ Thyr. 
The man who hates to be in Love,  
‛ May be as fond of its delights,  
‛ As one that languishes in tears;  
‛ He shuns the bitter, and enjoys the sweet.  ‛ Daph. 
The bitter relishes the sweet;  
‛ The pleasure you come at with ease,  
‛ Soon cloys, and is not half so great,  
‛ As that which you must get by pain.  ‛ Thyr. 
And I had rather soon be cloyed,  
‛ Than always hunger after food.  ‛ Daph. 
But when the food is once possessed,  
' 'Tis then you taste it with delight,  
‛ And fain would taste again.  ‛ Thyr. 
Who can be when he will possessed  
‛ Of such rich food?  
‛ And taste it when his hunger calls?  ‛ Daph. 
He that ne'er seeks can never find.  ‛ Thyr. 
'Tis dangerous to seek the Joys,  
‛ Which pleased perhaps when they are found,  
‛ But plague us more if missed  
‛ When sighs and tears are not required,  
‛ Thyrsis may be in love again;  
‛ I've wept and sighed my share, and now  
‛ Let others take their turn.  ‛ Daph. 
You could not stay for your reward.  ‛ Thyr. 
Rewards may be too dearly bought,  
‛ And such I'm not ambitious of.  ‛ Daph. 
You'd better be inclined, than forced to Love.  Thyr. 
‛ I, who from the reach of Love  
‛ Live so far, despise his power;  
‛ By my distance I'm secure.  ‛ Daph. 
Who lives beyond the reach of Love?  ‛ Thyr. 
Such as fear and fly his snares.  ‛ Daph. 
Such as fear him fly in vain,  
‛ Love has Wings as well as Fear.  ‛ Thyr. 
When young his Feathers are so short  
‛ He hardly can extend his Wings,  
‛ And has not strength enough to fly.  ‛ Daph. 
None perceive him when he's young;  
‛ e'er you're certain of his birth,  
‛ His Wings grow large, are fit to spread,  
‛ And he has strength enough to fly.  ‛ Thyr. 
Those who have been never caught  
May be tempted by his Baits.  ‛ Daph. 
Well, let's see if you can still  
‛ All his baits and snares escape;  
‛ Do your best, for if at last  
‛ You should be surprised again;  
‛ If I ever hear you sigh,  
‛ See you languish, weep and mourn;  
‛ If you mould be grieved to death,  
‛ And a touch, a step, or word,  
‛ Would assist thee in thy Love,  
‛ Thou shouldst want such little helps,  
‛ And die unpityed with despair.  ‛ Thyr. 
Can ye, Daphne, see me die?  
‛ That indeed would be severe:  
‛ If you long to see me Love,  
‛ Love me then, and I am thine.  ‛ Daph. 
You mock me, Youth, but you may know  
‛ I'm too young to be despised.  ‛ Thyr. 
You're so fair you may be sure  
‛ Alderman was real that I said:  
‛ But as Women use to do,  
‛ You refuse me, I must bear it,  
‛ And will strive to be content.  ‛ Daph. 
Be content, and live in peace,  
‛ Live in Idleness and Rest,  
‛ Rest and Idleness beget  
‛ Tender Wishes, Wishes Love.  Thyr▪ 
While in this calm repose we live,  
‛ And fear for nothing but our Lambs;  
‛ The fields abroad are spread with Tents,  
‛ The Swains there change their Crooks for Spears,  
‛ Their harmless Virgins are exposed  
To all the insolence of Lust.  
‛ While we enjoy celestial ease,  
‛ And dread no Enemies but Wolves,  
‛ Shall I in Love's soft bosom sleep?  
‛ No, Daphne, I'll extend my voice,  
‛ And sing the wonders of the Man,  
‛ The Godlike Man, who drove the foe  
‛ Far from these Woods, and gave us rest.  
‛ But lest my rustic Muse should wrong  
‛ His fame by her inferior praise,  
‛ Like some whom Phoebus ne'er inspired,  
‛ Who with vile Songs his name abused,  
‛ When they'd have raised it to the Skies.  
‛ With awful silence let me wait  
Till Heaven the Hero shall restore  
‛ Triumphant to us from the War,  
‛ Then with fresh Roses strew his way,  
‛ And lay new Garlands at his feet.  ‛ Daph. 
You soar aloft: pray if you please,  
‛ Descend, and think of our affairs.  ‛ Thyr. 
You say you have agreed to meet  
‛ Sylvia at the Fountain, where  
‛ You intent to do your best  
‛ For our miserable friend  
‛ I'll go seek Amintas out,  
‛ Send him to you, but I fear  
‛ He will be as loath to come,  
‛ As she would be to have him.  ‛ Dap. 
I'll go before, and should you follow,  
‛ Make as if you came by chance.  ‛ Thyr. 
I will see. Yond Amintas comes.    

ACT II.  

SCENE II.  Amintas, Thyrsis. Amin. 
I Fain, methinks, before I die,  
Would know how Thyrsis has succeeded:  
If he can do more than I  
Have done, and Sylvia will not hear  
With patience any one that speaks for me,  
Here on this spot of Earth I'll end my pains,  
And in her presence finish with my breath,  
The tortures of my Soul.  
The wounds which in my breast my hands shall make  
Will certainly transport her, since  
With so much pleasure she beholds  
The wounds which in my heart her eyes have made.  Thyr. 
Courage, Amintas, I have news  
To tell thee that will bring thee hope.  Amin. 
Ah, Thyrsis, is it Life or Death?  Thyr. 
'Tis Life and Joy, if thou art bold enough  
To meet 'em where they're to be sound:  
But then, Amintas, 'tis required  
That thou shouldst show thyself a Man;  
A Man that dares do any thing for Love.  Amin. 
What must I dare? and whom encounter?  Thyr. 
Suppose your Mistress, in a Wood,  
Encompassed with high Rocks, where Wolves,  
Where Lions, Bears and Tigers lurk,  
Would you to get her venture there?  Amin. 
I'd run as joyfully as e'er I went  
To Dance and Revel at our rural Feasts.  Thyr. 
Suppose her in the hands of Thiefs,  
Amidst armed Robbers, would you venture there?  Amin. 
Swift as parched Stags to cooling Waters run.  Thyr. 
Something more daring, something yet more bold  
Than this, is to be done to make thee blessed.  Amin. 
I'd leap into the Ocean, when the Waves  
By ruffling Winds are mingled with the Clouds:  
I'd walk thro' Fire, or else, as I've been told  
Orpheus once did, descend to Hell  
To find my Sylv'a our, but sure  
'Twould not be Hell if she were there.  
Tell me then where I am to go?  
And what I am to do?  Thyr 
Sylvia, naked and alone,  
Attends thee at Diana's Brook:  
Amintas durst thou venture there?  Amin. 
What dost thou tell me? Sylvia wait  
Naked and alone for me?  Thyr. 
Alone, if Daphne is not there;  
And if she is, you're safe in her.  Amin. 
Wait for me, and naked!  Thyr. 
Naked— But—  Amin. 
But what? Speak out, thy silence kills me.  Thyr 
But 'tis not certain that she waits for thee.  Amin 
This ruins what you said before:  
Ah! if you were not sure of that,  
Why, Thyrsis, did you say so much?  
Why did you show me joy so near,  
And fling me from my hopes so soon▪  
Sure 'tis not friendly to insult  
O'er one in misery, like me:  
Did you believe my griefs too light,  
That you increase their weight?  Thyr. 
Be ruled  
By me, you shall be happy still.  Amin. 
What would ye have me do?  Thyr. 
Go seize  
The Maid, while Fortune is your Friend.  Anin. 
Ah! Heaven forbidden that I should think  
Of any thing that would displease her,  
Whom I will ne'er offend but by my Love;  
And if my Love offends her,  
'Tis her Beauty's fault, not mine:  
In all my actions I resolve  
More to consult her pleasure than my own.  Thyr. 
If not to Love her were in your power,  
Would you cease loving her to please her?  Amin. 
Love will not suffer me to think  
Of loving her no more: But if  
'Twere in my power, 'twould ne'er be in my will.  Thyr. 
If you could cease your Love, you'd still  
Continue it in spite.  Amin. 
No, not in spite,  
Yet I would Love her still.  Thyr. 
Tho it were against her will.  Amin. 
Rather than not Love at all.  Thyr. 
Why won't you then against her will  
Go take the blessing me denies?  
Because she knows not yet how good  
'Twould be to grant the favour you desire.  
If she at first may be a little vexed,  
She'll soon be well contented with the fault.  Amin. 
Love answers thus to what you say,  
You have by long experience learned  
To reason of those things with art:  
But though your argument's too strong  
For mine, yet I'm convinced that 'tis not right.  
Love, with my tongue, confines my wishes,  
And will not suffer 'em to stray,  
Where Sylvia would not let 'em rove.  Thyr. 
Then you resolve you will not go?  Amin. 
Yes, I will go, but not where you Advise.  Thyr. 
Where then?  Amin. 
To Death, if you  
Can tell me of no other way  
To life; if this is all the good  
That you can do me by your help.  Thyr. 
Is this so little then? And canst  
Thou fancy, foolish as thou art,  
That Daphne would have bid us come,  
If she, who knows what Sylvia thinks,  
Believed 'twould give her such offence?  
She thought perhaps that 'twas not fit  
For you and me to know as much  
As she of Sylvia's Soul: Besides,  
Enquiring farther in so nice a case,  
Instead of pleasing will displease.  
You often wished that you knew how  
To please her, you may do it now:  
No matter if you take by theft  
The joys you covet, or by gift;  
When once they're tasted she'll forget  
The Crime, the sin will be so sweet.  Amin. 
But how can I be sure that I may go?  Thyr. 
You can't be surer than you are:  
She would, as decency requires,  
Be angry, if you sought to know  
More than Daphne bid me tell you.  
Or how can you, on t'other side,  
Be sure me would not have you come?  
Since than you may perhaps be thought  
As guilty should you stay; Proceed:  
For though 'tis faulty oft to dare,  
'Tis always criminal to fear.  
Your silence shows that you're convinced,  
And your conviction promises success.  
Come, follow me, I'll lead the way.  Amint. 
Ah, stay a little.  Thyr. 
Stay! You know  
Time flies us.  Amint. 
Prithee let us think  
A little more of what we have to do.  Thyr. 
We'll think a little more than as we go.  
Come, you may alter if you tarry,  
Things too much thought on frequently miscarry.  CHORUS. 

Tell us, Cupid, in what Schools,  
By what masters, by what rules,  
We must be taught to Love:  
How thou dost inform the weak,  
Teach the ignorant to speak  
So much like you above.   

‛ The Learned whom Athens breed,  
‛ And Phoebus' oft inspire,  
‛ May solemn Lectures read  
‛ On Love, and want its fire.   

'Tis thou alone dost warmth impart,  
Our thoughts and words improve;  
And only those who learn thy art  
Of thee, should sing of Love.  
Inspired by thee, the rudest mind  
In softest notes complains;  
Wit then in Savages we find,  
And Eloquence in Swains.  
‛ Lover's by broken words and sighs  
‛ Their meaning can express;  
‛ And by their carriage or their Eyes,  
‛ We may their wishes guests.   

‛ Others then may read the wise,  
‛ I'll read only Celia's Eyes,  
‛ Gazing there with much delight  
‛ I'll take up my Pen and write.  
‛ And being thus inspired, will try  
‛ Who's more elegant than I     

ACT III.  

SCENE I.  Thyrsis, Chorus. Thyr. 
O Cruelty extreme! ungrateful Maid!  
Oh most ungrateful Sex! and thou  
Oh Nature! careless of thy Sons,  
Why hast thou placed in women's eyes  
All that is amiable and kind?  
And hast forgot to mould their Hearts, as soft,  
Or make 'em with their Eyes agree.  
Ah, poor Amintas! miserable Youth,  
Where hast thou hid thyself from human sight?  
I've sought thee every where in vain;  
I fear the transports of thy rage  
Have hurried thee to do thing  
For which we all must mourn: But see,  
Perhaps those Swains can tell me where  
Thou art. Ah Shepherds have ye seen  
Amintas?  Chorus. 
You seem concerned:  
What reason have ye for these tears?  Thyr. 
Amintas, poor Amintas, is the cause.  
Have ye not seen him lately?  Chorus. 
No;  
We have not seen him since he went  
With you towards yonder Wood; but why  
D'ye ask so earnestly?  Thyr. 
I fear  
HE has killed himself since that.  Chor. 
Amintas killed himself! for what?  ‛ Thyr. 
Another's hatred, and his love.  ‛ Chorus. 
When two such Enemies unite  
‛ What can they not effect? Explain  
‛ Your self more clearly: what d'ye mean?  ‛ Thyr. 
He loved a Nymph too much, and she  
‛ Too much despised him for his love.  Chorus. 
Ah tell me all, while you relate  
The story, some may come this way,  
And bring us news of him you seek:  
Perhaps Amintas will himself  
Before 've finished it, arrive.  Thyr. 
Yes, you shall, know it, for 'tis but just  
That such ingratitude should be  
As infamous as 'tis extreme.  
Amintas heard (I told him where,  
Alas! and brought him to the place)  
That Sylvia was with Daphne gone  
To bathe 'em in a neighbouring Brook,  
Fearful and dubious there he went,  
His heart still bidding him to stay,  
As I persuaded him to go;  
And thus as he inclined to stop,  
I pushed him on, and forced him to proceed.  
As we approached the Brook, we heard  
A woman's lamentable cries,  
And Daphne presently appeared,  
Beating her Breasts, and looking wild,  
As if some horrid thing was done;  
But when she spied us, she cried out,  
Help, fly, or Sylvia's ravished, fly.  
Swifter than Leopards on their prey  
The amorous Amintas slew,  
I followed, and behind the Boughs  
Saw the young Maid, all naked bound,  
Her hair, which in bright tresses used to flow,  
Now tied her to a Tree: What once preserved  
Her Virgin Bosom from lascivious looks,  
Was now the fatal Instrument  
To hurt her Modesty, and bind  
Her arms about the rugged Bark:  
Her tender feet were tied with twigs:  
And o'er against her I perceived  
A wicked satire, who had then  
Just fastened her for his design:  
Sylvia, as well she could, strove  
To hinder his attempts.  Chorus. 
But what  
Can she have done at last?  Thyr. 
Amintas like a Lion fierce  
Rushed on the satire with his Dart,  
I picked up Stones, and was prepared  
To help him, when the Monster fled  
Far from revenge, and left our friend  
Behind, who now had time to gaze  
On all the Beauties he adored:  
He saw a thousand hidden Charms,  
Which set afresh his heart on fire,  
And easily one in his looks  
Might read his wonder and delight,  
Who mingling with his Love Respect,  
Thus in submissive accents spoke:  
Forgive, fair Maid, forgive these hands,  
If they with too much boldness touch  
Your heavenly body, thus exposed.  
Oh! Sylvia, murmur not at fate,  
Who sent me here to set you free.  Chorus. 
Such words would soften Rocks,  
And melt the most obdurate heart.  
What said she now?  Thyr. 
Nothing; but looked  
On him who saved her, with disdain;  
Ashamed to be thus found, and loath  
To be by one she hated, freed.  
She strove with all her art to hid  
Her Breasts, and keep 'em from his sight.  
Amintas coming up with fear,  
Unbound her Hair, and as he touched  
Her Looks thus said. Oh barbarous Tree,  
Unworthy of these sacred knots,  
With which we Lovers only should be bound:  
Ah how couldst thou such Beauty wrong!  
Then trembling he untied her arms,  
Whiter than Ivory or Snow,  
And bending to the ground, began  
To break the twigs which bond her feet;  
But Sylvia rudely pushed him off,  
And spite of his respect, commanded  
Him proudly not to touch her feet.  
Hence Shepherd, touch me not, she cried,  
For I'm Diana's, and can lose  
My feet without your help.  Chorus. 
Oh! how  
Can she with so much pride reward  
Such services, and such respect  Thyr. 
Amintas modestly withdrew,  
And durst not look on her again,  
But what he longed so much to see,  
With pain denied himself, afraid  
To be by her he loved, denied.  
I, who behind the Covert stood,  
And saw and heard what he had said and done,  
Was oft by just resentment moved,  
And hardly kept from crying out,  
To see how haughtily she used  
The man to whom she owed her Life,  
Or what is dearer than her Life,  
Her Honour, by his means preserved.  
And yet, oh strange ingratitude!  
When with much trouble she had untied  
Her Feet, away she ran, and scorned  
To bid the Swain adieu: She flew  
Fast as a Stag, but had no cause  
To sear Amintas, who had shown  
Such proofs of wonderful respect.  Chorus. 
What made her fly?  Thyr. 
She rather chose  
To owe her safety to her flight,  
Than to Amintas love.  Chorus. 
She showed in this  
That she delights to be ingrate:  
Where went the Shepherd then?  Thyr. 
I know not.  
Justly provoked, I ran to stop  
The Nymph, but she was gone too far:  
When to the Fountain I returned,  
In hopes to find Amintas there,  
I found him not, and fear he's gone  
To end his troubles with his Life.  Chorus. 
Tho Lovers often talk of death,  
Few of them practice what they talk.  Thyr. 
I wish he may be one of those.  Chorus. 
He will, you may be sure he will.  Thyr. 
I'll go to Sage Elpinus Bower,  
There, if he lives, perhaps he's gone.  
Elpinus Pipe has often soothed his griefs,  
Composed his thoughts, and gave him rest.  
Rocks listen to the Shepherds heavenly Songs,  
Even Mountains by his Music charmed  
Have danced, and Rivers flowed with Milk:  
Honey from Briars have distilled,  
And dying Lovers been with pleasure filled.    

ACT III.  

SCENE II.  Amintas, Daphne, Nerina. Amin. 
OH! Pitiless pity, cruel friend!  
To snatch away my Dart, with which  
I might have ended all my woes:  
The longer I retard my death  
'Twill be the sharper when it comes.  
Ah! Daphne, why wouldst thou persuade  
A wretch to live in misery?  
But all thy reasons are too weak,  
The hopes that thou wouldst give me vain:  
Why wouldst thou flatter me from death,  
Since 'tis my interest to die?  Daph. 
Despair no more, for if I know  
Sylvia's mind, 'twas more her shame,  
Than fear or scorn that made her fly.  Amin. 
There's safety in despair, but hope  
Would quickly ruin me: I fee  
You only would be specious hopes  
Prevent my death a while: for what?  
Ah! can there be a torment worse  
Than Life to such a wretch as me?  Daph. 
Live wretched, as thou thinkest thyself,  
And under all thy pains support  
Thy heart, that after so much woe,  
Thou mayst, though late, o'ercome 'em, and be blessed,  
Let this encourage thee to hope,  
Think on the Beauties thou hast seen;  
And, as thou justly mayst, expect,  
That all those treasures will be thine.  Amin. 
Fortune and Love did only show  
Those Beauties to me, that my Eyes  
Might see the riches I'm denied.  Ner. 
Why, like the Raven, must I be  
The omen of bad news? Ah poor  
Montano! how wilt thou survive  
Thy Daughter's loss, thy Sylvia's death,  
The death of one thou lov'dst so well?  
No more a Father now, at least  
Without a Child.  Daph. 
I hear the voice  
Of one that talks of death.  Amin. 
I hear  
My Sylvia named, it strikes my heart:  
Who calls on Sylvia?  Daph. 
Ha', Nerina!  
‛ So dear to Cynthia, so fair  
‛ Her face, so white her hands,  
‛ Her mien so soft, so full of grace,  
‛ That she's the glory of our Woods.  Nerina. 
'Tis necessary thou shouldst know thy loss,  
Montano, that thou mayst procure  
The miserable relics of thy Child.  
Oh Sylvia! oh unhappy Maid!  Amint. 
Ha! what of Sylvia? speak.  Nerina. 
Oh Daphne!  Daph. 
What wouldst thou have of Daphne? say.  
Why dost thou mourn and call on Sylvia?  Nerina. 
I've cause to mourn, the fatal things  
Which have been to day will make  
You, him, and every body mourn.  Amin. 
What things? Ah tell me all! my heart  
Chills at thy words: Speak, does she live?  Daph. 
Tell us what fatal things are done.  Nerina. 
Why have I lived, oh Heaven! to be  
The messenger of these sad tidings.  
Sylvia came naked to our house,  
(You know perhaps the fatal cause)  
Where being clothed she fain would go,  
And forced me with he, to the Chase.  
We went, and in the Forest found  
The Nymphs, who by appointment met,  
Were ready to begin the sport,  
When from the Thicket I perceived  
A Wolf of monstrous size rush forth,  
Licking his bloody Lips, whose foam  
Reeking and Crimson, made us shake with fear;  
But Sylvia from her Quiver took  
An Arrow, put it to the Bow  
I gave her, which she nimbly bend,  
And taking at the Beast just aim,  
She shot him near the Head; the Wolf enraged  
Fled to the Thicket: Sylvia drew,  
And brandishing her Dart, pursued  
Him in the Woods.  Amint. 
Oh doleful story!  
Of which, if 'tis so sad to hear  
So much, what must it be to know  
The rest.  Nerina. 
I, with another Dart,  
Followed 'em by the blood the Wolf had spilt,  
But could not reach 'em, they were gone too far.  
I lost her her in the Woods, yet still  
Kept on alone, and wandered thro'  
The frightful Thicket, till I came  
To its most unfrequented tracts,  
Where Sylvia's Dart lay on the ground,  
And at a little distance thence  
Her veil; and while I gazed on these,  
I spied seven Wolves around a Corpse,  
Who tore it with their bloody Teeth.  
So eager on their Prey,  
I saw they woeful sight unseen by them;  
With fear and pity moved, I turned  
My steps, and got in safety home.  
This, this is all that I can tell:  Shows the Veil. 
This all of Sylvia which remains.  Amin. 
Ah! thou hast told too much.  
Oh! Dear Remains: Oh! precious Blood,  
Oh Sylvia! now alas no more.  Daph. 
Ah! What, Nerina, hast thou said?  
It strikes his Soul: he swoons, he dies!  Nerina. 
Perhaps 'tis but a Lovers fit;  
He breathes still; see, he comes to life.  Amint. 
Ah! Grief too mighty to be born,  
And yet too weak to be my death;  
This office for my hand's reserved,  
And by my hand shall be performed.  
If my misfortunes are so sure,  
If Sylvia's dead, oh Daphne, why,  
Why didst thou renew my pain,  
By bringing me to life again?  
How good, how pleasant had it been,  
If in an ecstasy of woe  
Thou hadst permitted me to die:  
The Gods, who knew I should by this  
Prevent the torments 've prepared  
For me to feel, inspired your hearts  
With pity, that being forced to live  
I might endure 'em all; and all  
I have endured, for Sylvia's dead:  
Nor is it possible for me  
To be more wretched than I am:  
And now methinks 'tis just that Heaven and you  
And all should suffer me to die.  Daph. 
At least defer it till you know the truth.  Amin. 
I know the truth, I know too much,  
And have deferred my death too long.  Nerina. 
Oh heaven! I wish I had been mute.  
When I began the story.  Amin. 
Lend me, Nerina, lend the Veil,  
All that is left me of my love  
That on it I may feast my Eyes,  
The little way I have to go,  
The little time I have to live,  
That looking on her Blood, I may  
Go boldly to my doom: But oh  
What need such little helps  
To lead me to my end?  Nerina. 
No, Swain,  
You must not have the Veil, if this  
Is your design: I'll not promote  
Your death.  Amint. 
Ah! canst thou, Nymph, deny  
So small a favour to a man,  
Who ne'er will ask another.  
The fates still persecute me, still declare  
Against me, and in little things  
Show what I must expect in great.  
Keep, keep the Veil, and live in peace,  
Let misery with me forsake these Woods,  
I go to other Shades, and never shall return.  Daph. 
Stay, stay Amintas, oh I fear  
His fury.  Nerina. 
But we can't prevent  
What he intends, he flies  
Too fast for us; we should in vain  
Pursue him, and in vain attempt  
To stop him in his course.  
In silence I'll their fortune mourn;  
Let others tell Montano, if they please,  
Few people thank us for such tales as these.  CHORUS. 

Ye Nymphs, no more take pains to hid  
Your Love, but own your passion;  
For Virtue if too nice, is pride,  
And Coyness Affectation.   

Cupid make our Virgins tender,  
Maké 'em easy to be won;  
Let 'em presently surrender,  
When the Treaty's once begun.  
Such as like a tedious wooing,  
Let 'em cruel Damsels find;  
But for such as would be doing,  
Prithee Cupid make 'em kind.   

By a Shepherdess. The fair in the City  
Don't understand pity,  
Yet vainly pretend they are wiser than we are:  
But the Nymph of the plain  
Should make much of her Swain,  
And think that the wiser Maids are they're the freer.   

By a Shepherd. When we go to our Lasses,  
To ask their good graces,  
They ought to receive us, and each take her man;  
And when we meet first,  
Since both know the worst,  
Let's agree to be happy as fast as we can.     

ACT IU.  

SCENE I.  Daphne, Sylvia, Chorus. Daph. 
THanks to the Gods, that all our tears  
Were needless, all our plaints and fears  
In vain, since she for whom we mourned  
Is living, and in health returned:  
Long mayst thou live, and Heaven protect  
The Life, which you too much neglect.  
Nerina in confusion said  
Such things as made us think you dead:  
I wish, to've saved us so much grief,  
She had been dumb, or others deaf.  Sylvia. 
The risk was great, and had you seen  
The mighty danger I was in,  
You would yourself have said so too.  Daph. 
Not if I had ned known it true.  
Tell me the risk you ran, and how  
You 'scaped the danger.  Sylvia. 
You shall know.  
Too day I at the Chase pursued  
A Wolf so far into the Wood  
I lost my Game, I lost the tract,  
And turned on purpose to come back,  
When with seven other Wolves I found  
The Beast, and knew him by his wound:  
Round some dead Animal they stood,  
And tore its flesh, and licked its blood:  
The Wolf I shot soon spied me out,  
And left his prey to meet his foe.  
I with my Dart opposed his way,  
Tho, mistress of my art, you know  
I very seldom miss my blow,  
Yet by bad luck I missed it now,  
And my Dart rested in a Bough:  
The Wolf at this more furious grew,  
And got so near me, that I knew  
My Bow would stand in little stead;  
So to preserve myself I fled.  
And as I fled I was me thought  
By something which opposed me, caught.  
The Veil I wore hitcht in a Tree,  
And with my hair entangled me.  
I pulled my Veil, I tore my hair,  
And yet was forced to leave it there.  
Winged by my fright away I flew  
Like air, and so got safe to you.  
Why Daphne, are you now so sad:  
What, can't my safety make you glad?  Dap. 
You live, I'm glad to find it true,  
And wish another was as safe as you.  Sylu. 
Perhaps you hate me, you appear  
No more concerned to see me here.  Daph. 
I hate you not, I joy in your return,  
But for another's death must mourn.  Sylu. 
Whose?  Daph. 
Poor Amintas.  Sylvia. 
Tell me how  
He died.  Daph. 
Ah! that I want to know;  
We are not certain yet he's dead,  
But we believe't.  Sylvia. 
What hast thou said!  
Ah, Daphne, say to what alas,  
Do people attribute the cause?  Daph. 
Thy death.  Sylvia. 
Explain yourself.  Daph. 
The news  
He heard will certainly produce  
Some dreadful deed, Despair will lend  
Him arms, to help him to his end.  Sylvia. 
It may be your suspicions are in vain,  
And, he as well as I, may rise again  
From Death; besides 'tis very rare  
For men to let their troubles go so far.  Daph. 
Sylvia, little dost thou know  
What some men in Love will do:  
Thou dost little think how much  
Every accident will touch  
Hearts of Flesh, and not of Stone,  
Not so cruel as thy own.  
Hadst thou known the man that dies  
Loved thee better than his Eyes,  
Thou wouldst have been lest severe,  
And prevented his despair.  
Had you seen him but to day,  
After you were ran away.  
Sylvia, you'd with reason fear,  
Your disdain has gone too far.  
Such ingratitude you showed,  
To the man to whom you owed,  
Life and Honour, all that's dear,  
I can tell for I was there.  
I can witness what was done,  
Saw him save you, and you run,  
When sure, after that had past  
He deferved to be embraced.  
Then I saw him rake his Dart,  
Turn the point against his heart,  
Strike his breast, and from the wound  
Saw the blood flow on the ground.  
I came in, and much ado  
Hindered him a second blow.  
Sylvia, thus you see how far  
Some are hurried by despair.  
So much may by this be guest,  
We have cause to dread the rest.  Sylvia. 
What have I heard?  Daph. 
Things indeed,  
Enough, alas, to make thee dread  
What thou art yet to hear.  
Thence as we were coming back  
We met the Nymph, who by mistake  
Informed us you were slain; the youth,  
Without examining the truth,  
Believed, despaired, and in the heat  
Of grief, fell breathless at our seet.  
We took him up, he breathed again,  
We strove to comfort him in vain;  
For all the reasons we could give,  
Can not prevail on him to live:  
But rushing forth, away he fled  
To death, and I believe is dead.  Syl. 
D'ye really believe it?  Daph. 
Yes.  Syl. 
Ah! why  
Did you not follow him, and fly  
Fast as his fury, to prevent  
The consequence of his intent.  
Ah let us seek him out, and strive  
To make him yet consent to live.  
Since he that for my Death would die,  
Should for my Life revive.  Daph. 
We followed, but he flew like wind:  
He left us panting far behind;  
And long  this has done what he designed.  
Whither then, Sylvia, would you run?  
And who shall tell us where the wretch is gone?  Syl. 
Ah, let us go where grief and pity lead;  
Haste, Daphne haste, or he'll be dead;  
By himself murdered.  Daph. 
You would save  
The unhappy Lover from the Grave,  
To murder him yourself: To you  
You think the Glory's only due.  
But 've no reason to repine,  
For let the blow be his or thine,  
'twill be his death, and thou mayst see,  
With comfort, that he died for thee.  Syl. 
Daph. It torments my mind  
When I consider how unkind,  
How cruel I have been:  
Pride I called Honour once, perhaps  
'Twas Honour, but 'twas too severe;  
And such as will, if he is dead,  
Sharpen my grief, my cruelty reprove,  
And force me to repent I wronged his Love.  Daph. 
Oh Heaven! She's pitiful, reputes,  
Her heart grows tender, she relents;  
She weeps—  
Is thy pride humbled then? O strange!  
Whence, Sylvia, comes this mighty change?  
Whence all these tears, from Pity or from Love?  Syl. 
Pity, not Love, attracts my tears  Daph. 
Pity's Love's Messenger, and shows,  
As Lightning before Thunder goes,  
Love is not far.  Chorus. 
When he'd surprise a Maid  
Who of his Empire is afraid,  
Who by false honour would defend her heart,  
And be secure against his Dart,  
He takes his Servant Pity's shape,  
And in that figure few escape  
His snares, he slily wins on every heart,  
And beaten off by force, prevails by art.  Daph. 
Love at first in storms appears,  
Waited on by sighs and tears:  
Love has touched thee, though too late,  
Into fondness turned thy hate.  
Ah Amintas, Sylvia's changed,  
Weeps for Love, and thou'rt revenged.  
Now thou mayst the Conquest boast,  
Which if living thou hadst lost.  
Thou hast Dying left behind  
Such a sting in Sylvia's mind,  
As will work more mischief there,  
Than thou ever feltst for her.  
Bees thus  their Stings outlive,  
But perish with the wounds they give.  
If thou'rt, as I believe, a Spirit, fled  
From the bright mansions of the dead;  
From heavenly Groves, and sacred streams,  
To play unseen about her Limbs,  
See, Sylvia weeps, behold how much she's moved,  
You loved alive, and are when dead beloved.  
‛ If Destiny had so decreed,  
‛ That thou shouldst for thy Mistress bleed;  
‛ If in her thoughts she had resolved that this,  
‛ whenever she sold her Love, should be the price,  
' 'Tis thine, now thou hast done thy part,  
‛ And with thy Life hast bought her heart.  Chor. 
Too vainly sold, and bought too dear;  
‛ For him too hard, too infamous for her.  Syl. 
Oh that my Love could fetch again his breath,  
Or my heart purchase him of Death.  
Oh that my Life could be the Price,  
I'd gladly part with it for his  Daph, 
Too late you're pitiful and wise,  
Your tears are useless, and in vain your sighs.    

ACT IU.  

SCENE II.  Ergastus, Chorus, Sylvia, Daphne. Ergastus. 
PIty and horror have so far  
Possessed my Soul, I know not what  
I hear or see, but every thing  
I meet, amazes and afflicts me.  Chor. 
What tidings hast thou brought, which make  
Thy looks thus troubled, and thy words  
Confused.  Ergast. 
I bring the bitter news  
Of poor Amintas death.  Syl. 
What is't he says?  Ergast. 
The noblest Shepherd of these Woods,  
The kind, the gay, the gentle Swain,  
Our Virgins and the Muse's darling,  
Young as he was, is dead; but how;  
Oh! who can tell, or hear it told?  Chor. 
Tell all, that we may mourn with thee  
His sad misfortunes and our own.  Syl. 
Oh! how can I stay to hear  
This most horrid story out?  
Where is all my fierceness now?  
Oh! my heart, so haughty once,  
Show thy Pride, and if thou canst  
Stay and hear it all unmoved:  
Speak then what thou hast to say.  
Shepherd, let me know the worst,  
Tell it me, I'm most concerned;  
Speak, I'm ready for thy news.  Ergast. 
Nymph, I know thou art concerned,  
Dying, the Despairing wretch  
Called on thee, and with thy name  
Finished his unhappy Life.  Daph. 
Prithee begin the dismal tale.  Ergest. 
Sitting on yonder Hill, where I  
Had laid some Nets, I saw but now  
Amintas run that way; his looks  
Distracted, and his carriage wild;  
His eyes, his mein so changed, I thought  
That something strange might happen since  
I lest the Vale: he spied and shunned me,  
Fearing the worst; I then pursued,  
O'ertook and stopped him; he grew calm,  
Begged me to go and see him do  
A thing which he pretended than  
He was obliged to do, but first  
Forced me to swear I would not stir,  
Beyond the bounds he set, nor lift  
My hands to hinder him. I swore  
By Pan, by Pallas, by Pomona,  
And all our Sylvan Deities,  
(Alas! not thinking what he meant.)  
I would not stir nor lift my hands,  
Unless he gave me leave. This done,  
He led me to a Precipice,  
Where, from the margin of the H  
Directly down the pathless dale,  
Between high Blocks appears, my head  
Grew giddy, I stepped back, afraid  
To view the depth: Amintas smiled  
And looked serenely, which deceived  
My fears, and made me more assured.  
Thus than he said—  
Ergastus, tell  
The Nymphs and Swains what thou shalt see,  
Since, since he cried, and then looked down,  
The Gods will not permit my end  
To be the same with Sylvia's since  
My Limbs must not be torn like hers,  
And I'm denied the Paws and Teeth  
Of Wolves to use, as they served  
Her lovely Body: I must take  
Whatever death they please to send.  
These Rocks direct the way, I wish  
I had deserved the same with hers.  
But this is sure and short. Oh see!  
I follow thee, my Sylvia, don't  
Disdain my Company in death.  
I'd die contented, were I sure  
‛ I would not displease thee, I should then,  
Oh Sylvia, follow thee with joy.  
I come, I follow thee, I come:  
And saying this,  
He threw him headlong down,  
While my heart chilled to see him fall.  Daph. 
Oh miserable youth!  Sylu. 
Oh Heavens!  Chorus. 
But why  
Ergastus did you not prevent him?  
Was it your Oath that tied your hands,  
And kept you back?  Ergast. 
No, I despise  
Such Oaths, and look on them as vain,  
When I perceived his folly went  
So far, and his deliberate despair  
Ready to fling him from the Precipice,  
I ran to save him, and as fate  
Would have it, came in time enough  
To catch him by the Girdle, which  
The burden of the Body broke,  
And left it rend thus in my hands.  Cho. 
Where went the miserable Body then?  Ergast. 
I know not what became of that.  
Horror and Pity struck my soul  
So deeply, I had not the heart  
To see it dash in pieces.  Cho. 
Oh strange! Oh woeful accident!  Sylu. 
Sure my heart is made of stone,  
Or it must have bled to death,  
 the dismal tale was done.  
Oh! if he could die for me,  
One who hated him so much,  
When he falsely thought me dead,  
What shall I do now, I know  
He is certainly no more?  
I must die, and die 1 will:  
Swords and Rocks are left for me:  
This precious Girdle is preserved  
To revenge its gentle Lord.  
Unhappy Girdle! Dear Remains  
Of thy more unhappy Lord!  
Be not angry that thou'rt kept  
From thy Master; 'tis to be  
The Instrument of Vengeance  
On the Maid for whom he died.  
I should, I own I should have been  
Amintas kind Companion here;  
But since I can't be so, I will,  
By thy assistance quickly follow him,  
And bear him company in Death.  Chor. 
Comfort thy cell, poor Virgin, 'tis  
The hand of Fate, and not thy fault.  Sylu. 
Why weepst thou Swain? if 'tis for me,  
Weep not, for I deserve no tears,  
No pity; I who never knew  
What pity was; If 'tis for him,  
For poor Amintas, thou mayst weep  
A Sea of Tears, and yet want more.  
Daphne, if thou dost mourn for me,  
For Heaven's sake, prithee mourn no more;  
I beg, not out of pity to myself,  
But out of pity to the man  
Who merited thy Love, that thou  
Wouldst help me gather up his Bones,  
And lay 'em in a Grave; 'tis this  
Which only shall prolong my Life:  
This friendly office, all that I  
Can pay him for his heart, shall be my care.  
The Piety of such a deed  
By my vile bands will be denfiled:  
Yet I believe whate'er these hands  
Shall do for him will please his Ghost,  
Since, spite of all his wrongs, I'm sure  
He loved me to the last.  Daph. 
I'll go  
And help you, but you must not think  
Of dying after 've performed  
Our duty to our friend.  Sylu. 
Hitherto 've only lived  
For myself, the little time  
That's now left me, I'll devote  
To Amintas, if I can't  
Live for him, I'll live at least  
For his pale unhappy Body.  
I must put off death a while,  
Till I've seen it, and then end  
With his Funeral my Life.  
Shepherd, lead us to the Vale,  
To the fatal Precipice.  Ergast. 
Keep this path, you cannot miss the way.  Daph. 
Come, I'll conduct ye, follow me;  
I know the place, 'tis not far off.  Sylu. 
Farewell Shepherds, farewel Plains,  
Woods and Streams, and all farewell.  Ergast. 
She hearty reputes her scorn,  
And talks as if she never would return.  CHORUS. 

Death in vain opposes Love,  
Who conquers every Foe;  
To his Empire all above  
Submit, and all below.   

What Love unites Death seldom parts,  
And what he parts Love often joins;  
Triumphs o'er Death, resists his Darts,  
And will himself alone command our minds.   

‛ Maids comply with Love in time,  
‛ e'er your Error grows a Crime;  
‛  he makes you yield by force.  
‛ Ah, consider 'twill be worse  
 rebel, and be subdued,  
‛ Than obey him as you should.  
‛ When he summons you at first,  
‛ Tield, or else expect the worst:  
‛ Late Repentance will be too  
‛ useless to your Friend and you.   

Death in vain, etc.     

ACT V.  

SCENE I.  Elpinus, Chorus. Elpin. 
OH Love! how rigid are thy Laws?  
How much must all that once subject  
Themselves to thee, endure before  
They taste the promised joy?  
Who, who would not have cursed thy power,  
Rebelled against thy sway, and sought  
Some other way to bliss? if poor  
Amintas had not scaped the deaths  
Thy usage tempted him to seek.  
Even we, who have adored thee long  
With much fidelity and zeal;  
We, who have raised thy name above  
All other Gods, to whom we make  
Our own Apollo yield; should then  
Have taught our Children to forget  
Thy worship, and forsake thy Temples.  
But now that our Amintas lives,  
We'll, if 'tis possible, forget  
Thy Cruelty, to bless thy Care.  Chorus. 
The Sage Elpinus comes and talks  
As if Amintas were alive:  
Ah Shepherd! didst thou know the things  
Which we have heard to day; the ills  
That Love has brought on all, thou wouldst  
Have little reason to forget  
His Cruelty, or bless his Care.  Elpin. 
Rejoice, my friends, rejoice, the news  
You heard is false; Amintas lives.  Chor. 
Ah! what, Eipinus, dost thou say?  
How dost thou comfort us? Is't false?  
Did he not fling himself but now  
From yonder Hill among the Rocks?  
Ah! tell us how he was preserved? what power,  
What God was by, to save him at his fall?  Elpin. 
Hear then what I shall say, no more  
Than I have with these eyes beheld.  
I've in the Desert Vale a Cave,  
Where Thyrsis came to mc to day,  
Where, while we talked of that proud Nymph  
Whose Fetters formerly he wore,  
And I at present wear, we heard  
A voice, and looked up towards the hill;  
Whence, down the Precipice, we saw  
A Body tumble on a Bush.  
Just by my Cave, and near the Mount,  
A few tall Bushes rise from Box,  
And other Trees, which all unite  
In one; on these we saw him fall:  
But, carried by the Body's weight,  
He rolled off thence, and at our feet  
Fell next; the Bushes saved the blow  
So much, we took him up alive.  
He was yet speechless, and 'twas long  
 we had any other signs  
Of Life, besides his sighs and groans, which showed  
Us that he breathed: But, oh!  
When we perceived who 'twas, what tongue  
Can tell the fright which we were in?  
Pity and wonder struck us dumb:  
Yet thinking by his breath, he might  
Still live, we were a little calmed.  Chor. 
Oh wonderful Escape! Oh thou  
Hadst cause, Elpinus, to applaud  
The Care and Providence of Love.  Elp. 
Thyrsis then told me what had passed,  
The secret of his Love, and how  
Despair had hurried him to this.  
We fetched the Remedies we had  
At hand, and for Alfibeus sent,  
Who by Apollo has been taught  
The Art of Physic; when he came,  
He told us quickly, there were hopes.  
And as we wept to see him still  
Lie speechless in his arms he said  
We should not be surprised at that;  
For, having searched him well, he found  
No wounds, nor any thing which might  
With reason make us fear: 'Tis true,  
He said he might be some time in a Trance,  
But after would recover soon.  
And having then performed his Art,  
He ordered men to bear him home,  
Who at a little distance hence,  
Are coming with our Friend.  Chorus. 
What Fools are men in Love? how apt  
To be deceived, how ready oft  
To join with those they love to cheat themselves?  
What mischiefs have their false despairs,  
And groundless hopes begot? How near  
Was poor Amintas rash mistake,  
Depriving us of what we all  
Expected in our time to see,  
The grace and pleasure of these woods?  Elp. 
Alfibeus with his charge appears,  
And in his Looks we may discern,  
How much Amintas. safely glads  
His soul as well as ours.    

ACT V.  

SCENE II.  Elpinus, Chorus, Thyrsis, Alfibeus, and Amintas born on a Couch. Alfib. 
OH Swains!  
Oh Nymphs! Oh all that ever loved  
This youth, and who of ye that heard  
Him sing, Or saw him at our sports,  
But heard and saw him with delight?  
To Phoebus, and to Love, address  
Your vows, that once more you may hope  
To hear and look on him with pleasure.    

ACT V.  

SCENE III.  Elpinus, Thyrsis, Alfibeus, Chorus, Daphne, Sylvia, Amimtas lying on a Couch. Daphne. 
AH Shepherds join your prayers with mine!  
Use all the Arguments which Grief  
And Pity can inspire, to save  
This Maid from ruin.  
Stay, Sylvia, stay, till 've performed  
What you resolved, and what you own  
Amintas Spirit, till the hands  
Which you yourself confessed would please  
His Ghost, to see 'em gather up  
His bones, have laid 'em in a Grave.  Sylu. 
Some God, alas! has done what I  
Resolved to do, and to revenge  
Amintas wrongs, denied my hands  
The glory of so just a deed.  
Tell me, ye Powers! ah tell me where  
You have conveyed my Love, and laid  
His mangled Limbs? Direct me where,  
That I may see 'em  I die:  
That I may feast my cruel eyes  
With objects equally severe:  
And if I can, instruct my heart  
To be more barbarous to myself,  
Than e'er it was to him.  Daph. 
Cease, prithee Sylvia cease your tears,  
And done't torment thyself too much  
For ills, thy sorrows can't retrieve.  Sylu. 
See, Daphne, how these Shepherds smile  
At my Despair, how unconcerned  
They harken to my griefs; even I,  
As savage as I was, scarce saw  
Amintas mourn with so much ease.  Daph. 
Hence, Shepherds hence, and done't disturb  
The wretched with untimely joy.  Sylu. 
Not that I court your pity, or  
Expect compassion, but methinks  
Amintas death should touch your hearts;  
And you should still consider me  
As one Amintas loved. But oh!  
You look on me as one that hated him,  
You see his murderer in me, and set  
Your souls against the cause of so much woe.  
Oh! that you ail could in this minute lose  
Your native tenderness, and that your rage  
Were equal to your hate, that I might soon  
Be sent to meet him in those blissful plains,  
Where he himself will treat me with more love.  Alfib. 
Sylvia forbear these sad complaints,  
And done't afflict yourself for things  
Which heaven has wonderfully made  
The subject of our joy, Amintas lives.  Syl. 
Ha', Daphne, whither are we got?  
I heard a voice, which said Amintas lives;  
And in the midst of grief invites to joy.  
Ha! see what heavenly vision strikes my eyes,  
Behold it well, my Friend, and tell me then  
If any thing but my Amintas self  
Can look more lovely. 'Tis Amintas self,  
I know him now: I feel him at my heart,  
It dances in my breast, and bids me do  
What Love commands and you must all excuse.  Falls on Amin. Chorus. 
How can Sylvia do all this?  
She who is so proud and nice  
One would think should be ashamed.  Elpin. 
Shame sometimes, where Love is weak,  
Keeps some Maids from being free;  
But when it grows strong, like hers,  
Love's too powerful for shame.  Syl. 
Where, where is he who said Amintas lives?  
Let him come here, and tell me if he can,  
Why his eyes languish, why he looks so pale?  
Why lifeless, when his Sylvia clasps him thus,  
And deaf to all she says? Ah speak, my Love,  
Inform me if my glances hurt thy eyes,  
And drive away thy Soul from what it loathes.  
whoever thou art that said Amintas lives,  
'Twas falsely said, and with a vile intent  
To show me hope, and leave me in despair.  
He lives indeed, but in a better world,  
Whence now methinks I hear him call on me,  
And Sylvia's name is in Elysium sung.  Amin. 
Where am I? on what happy Region thrown?  
What Music wakes me from the arms of death,  
And charms me with the name of my beloved?  
Oh! all ye Glorious Spirits, who in peace  
And perfect bliss possess these sacred Groves,  
Direct me to the Bower, where Sylvia waits  
For me, whom now she can no longer hate,  
Since all Paradise are friends.  Sylu. 
He speaks, he lives, and injured as he was,  
Talks kindly of me still. Look up Amintas,  
Look on thy Sylvia with thy usual joy,  
And let thy Eyes speak kindly, like thy Tongue.  Amin. 
Who breathes new life into me with her kisses,  
And quickens me with her embraces? Ha! my Love,  
My Sylvia winding in my arms! I can scarce  
Spare time to ask the meaning of these things?  
Have not I seen you all, and been your friend?  
And is not this the darling of my Soul?  
Yes, yes, 'tis she; her Beauty shows 'tis she,  
Nor could I feel such Transports with another.  Alfib. 
His Love prevents my Art, and he revives  
Faster than I expected.  Elpin. 
But I fear  
The violence of such excessive bliss  
Will prejudice his health.  Chorus. 
I rather think  
Its violence will help to cure him.  
Alfibeus you must tell him what's  
Most proper for his safety.  Alfib. 
I believe  
His safety is secured in Sylvia's Love.  
How fares Amintas?  Amin 
Oh, all is well, and I begin to think  
Love has for me done Miracles to day.  Thyr. 
Love has indeed done Miracles to save  
Thy life, and soften Sylvia's heart.  Syl. 
Tell us no more, 'twill interrupt our bliss.  
Let him not know what dangers he has scaped;  
When he reflects how barbarous I have been  
He'll loathe me for my Cruelty, and hate  
A Maid who so unjustly hated him.  Amin. 
Oh Sylvia! we'll not think of what is past,  
I'll not inquire how I became so blessed,  
But thank the Gods and thee for what I know.  
As for the rest, thou couldst not but be j●●…▪  
And love decreed the troubles we have known.  
To show his Power, and make our bliss the greater.  Elp. 
There's nothing wanting but Mantan●'s word,  
To make 'em both as happy as they with.  Cho. 
They need not question his consent,  
He longs to see his Daughter's Sons,  
To sport about him and revive  
His Age, and soon will grant what they desire.  Alfib. 
Then let us to her Father's house repair  
And see him join their hands and share his joy.  Amint. 
You all may by my fate perceive  
The Laws which Love prescribes Mankind,  
By which Eternally he rules  
His Empire here,  
Are not fantastastical and hard,  
As sometimes we suppose his works,  
Tho they're mysterious, are wise  
And such as we should ne'er condemn.  
With how much art, through hidden ways,  
And paths unknown, he leads to bliss.  
And when we think him ready to destroy,  
He opens Paradise, and leaves our Souls in joy.  
FINIS.