Torquato Tasso, L’ Aminta

Aminta. The famous Pastoral

Texto utilizado para esta edición digital:
Tasso, Torquato. Aminta: the famous pastoral. Translated by John Dancer. London: printed for John Starkey (...), 1660.
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The Epistle Dedicatory.

The Epistle Dedicatory.
TO My much Honoured,
Truly Noble Friend,
Mr. R. B.

Worthy Sir,

Ancient custom, and the genius of the present times admit a dedication of those works which we esteem either profitable or pleasant to those we love or honour, this though it pretend little to profit, and as little to pleasure without your pleasing aspect, yet is intended as a demonstration of that honour and respect I bear your worth: which your favours to me have condignly merited.
And to whom indeed should I dedicate both my self and labours? but to you, who have seemed to dedicate your self wholly to my welfare? to whom should I present these effects of my leisure? but to you, by and from whom I received so comfortable an otium? To whom should I address, or whole protection should I crave for this work of mine? but his under whose protection I effected it?
Yet pretend I not at all by this the least requital of your unlimited favours, which have encompassed me round like an Ocean, but onely manifest to you, what I am almost confident you already believe; that, were my fortunes answerable to my desires, though your retorted Graces might, and would still keep me out of the haven, yet should I use my utmost strength and endeavours to arrive at the Port of a wish’d for gratitude.
In the mean time, please Sir to accept of this poor pledge of my weak, though willing, endeavours; and in thanks for your acceptance, this I really allure you, That though your protection should not render it more acceptable to others, yet will it more and more oblige me, and like a Cypher added to a figure, double, if not treble, the score of your favours.
For the work it self, let me make this Apologie, That tou know it to be the first that ever I undertook: so, for those faults which you may very probably find in it, I shal only implore that wonted Candour and Generosity where with you have oft been pleas’d to pass by lesse pardonable errors.
I am sorry your Commands conceale your Name, and must needs herein accuse you of some Injustice, both to my selfe and the World; to my selfe, in not giving my Pen the Honour of Proclaime, not only yours, but the Virtues of your Thrice Noble Family; And to the World, in not permitting them to be Honourers and Admirers of so rare a Pattern of Unparallel’d Friendship.
To conclude, That the God of Heaven would plentifully poure down the choisest of his blessings upon you and your Worthy Confort, and enable you to the Continuance of your favours towards me; and me to some way to Merit, or meanes to Requite them. Is the earnest Prayer of
Your Devoted Servant,
John Dancer

Dedicatoria del traductor


CUPID, in Pastoral Habit
DAPHNE, Companion of Silvia
SILVIA, Loved of Aminta
AMINTA, in love with Silvia
ERGASTO, Messenger
THIRSIS, Companion of Aminta
SATYRE, in love with Silvia
NERINA, Messengeresse
ELPINO, a Shepherd
Chore of Shepherds

Act I


How could it enter into mortall breast:
That under humane shape, and past’ral vest,
Lay hid a god nay more, no god o’th woods,
Or one of the inferiour rank of gods,
A god Celestial: who doth instly claim,
Among the greatest the most powerful name:
Who often makes victorious Mars to lay
His conquering sword, and bloody spear away.
Great Neptune who so fils the world with wonder,
Teilds him his trident; Jove himself his thunder.
Sure with this aspect, in this habit clad,
Venus can ne’re discern her smooth-fac’d lad,
Or know him thus transform’d. I’m forc’d to fly,
And hide my self from her, because that I
Scorn for to be her subject, or my darts
Should be her slaves: and only wound those hearts
There’re levell’d at by her, and what’s that vain,
Ambitious woman dare my shafts refrain?
At Kings and Princes Courts she only will
That ’mongst great Ladies I employ my skill,
And to my lower Ministers conceads
To practice theirs amongst the woods and Meads,
In runstick breasts. I though you may me deem
A boy, am none, and will, as best shall seem
To me, dispose my shafts, since mine of old
Are both th'omnipotent torch, and bow of gold:
Wherefore (to hide my self and to fly from
Her force, not, but her prayrs strong when they come
From an importunate mother) in these plains,
I refuge seek amongst the rurall swains,
And my self shelter in these woods, but she
Ceases nor day nor night to follow me,
Promising those would tell her where I were
Or kisses sweet, or what’s than them more dear:
As if that she my giving too could bar
Of kisses sweet, or what’s more pleasant far,
To those that hide me from her, this at least;
I know my kisses would be counted best:
(If I that love am of love understand)
So that sheoft seeks for me vainly, and
Looses her pains: Since none so foolish are,
As to disclose or tell her where I were.
But least by counter-signs she should me know
wings, my dart, my quiver, and my bow
I have laid by, yet come not I disarm’d,
Or weaponlesse, for see how I have charm’d
My torch into this rod; which has the same
Force it had first, and burns though with a flame
Invisible, this likewise is my old
Dart that I us’d, which though its head of gold
Be chang’d, yet this of divine temper’d steel
Who er’e it pierces makes loves flames to feel.
This day I’l make the triall; and my dart
Shall shew its divine power o’re the heart-
Lesse bosome of the cruel’st nymph before
This time that ever followed Dians Chore,
And chastest Silvia’s plague shall be the same,
(For that’s of this hard-hearted Nymph the name,)
As that of fam’d Aminta, who did feel
Long since, the pow’r of my Divinest steel;
When he and she both tender us’d to sport,
In the chast pleasures of bright Cynthia’s Court .
But canse the wound shall be more inward, I
Will stay untill some pitie mollifie
That so hard frost which round about her heart
Her virgin-pride hath fix’d, then I’l my dart
Let fly with it’s full force; and cause I’l please
My self in doing it, and do’t with ease,
I’l mix my self among the shepheards crev
Which passed by just now, who alwaies do
On holydayes make sport within this plain,
And to be one of them my self I’l fain;
Them with the best occasion give the blow,
So flyly, as no mortall eye shal’t know.
In a strange manner shall these woods, to day,
Be heard of love to reason, that it may,
Clearly (my sacred Deity is here)
(And not my under Ministers) appear.
These rustick Silvane brests I will endue
With divine sences, teach them how to wooe
In lofty language, that it may be known
That love where e’re he is, it alwaies one,
Whether he pleases for to make his nest
Or in a Swains, or in a Hero’s breast.
Then if my beauteous mother, who ha’s tride
Her utmost art to know where I abide
By these feats know not, she’s more blind then I
For blind by wrong, men call me Deity.

Scen. I.

Daphne and Silvia

Art thou resolv’d then Silvia to consume
Thy fairest youth? can’t thy heart find a room
For Venus pleasures? wilt not know those joy’s
A Mother takes to sport with her sweet boyes?
Shall so much beauty be to woods confin’d?
Change, fondling that thou art, change, change thy mind.

Let others follow loves delights for me,
If that in love any delight there be.
This life me pleases best; Nor do I know
Ought I take pleasure in, but in my bow;
This is my chiefest comfort, for to follow
The wild beasts in the chase, hear huntsmen hollow:
Nor do I fear such sports will wanting be.

More sottish Sports, more sottish life, dost see?
This life thee pleases cause thou hast not prov’d
As yet another, cause thou hast not lov’d.
“So in the infant world, and when as yet,
“The simple people knew no better meat,
“Acorns and water, were accounted sweet:
“But when th’earth did abound with corn and wine,
“Acorns and water then were food for swine.
So shouldst thou taste but one poor thousand part
Of the sweet joys of love, thou’dst say, dear heart,
Why didst thou fix my pleasure on such toyes
And leave me widow to more reall joyes?
Thou’lt sorrowfull repent the lost time past
And curse it now for running on so fast.
Howmany a widow night, how many a day
I’ve ignorantly spent! thou’lt sighing say.
Change then, fond fool, change change thy mind I pray,
Lest when’ts too late thou do repent in vain.

Daphne, when I repent or o’re again
Repeat these words of thine, wch thou dost feign
Just as thou list, then let the rivers turn
Back to their fountains; let the Ocean burn,
The wolves fly from the tender lamb, the hares
Pursue the greyhounds; then let the fierce bears,
Inhabit waters: and let Dolphins range
The fields, whenever I my mind do change.

This is meer childishness, Sister, as thou
Art, I was once. (Alas!) although that now
I’me chang’d by age, even just so neat, so fair
My count’nance was, so golden was my hair,
Just such a cherry lip, just such a Rose,
I did in th’middle of my cheek disclose;
‘Twas my delight, then, Silvia, (now I find
A foolish one it was) to hunt the Hind,
Follow the footsteps of wild beasts, my net
Spread to untrap the birds, take care to whet
My dart; and if I did but chance to spy
Some youthfull Shepheard cast an am’rous eye,
I looked down with scorn, and with disdain,
Counting what was my grace to be my pain,
And nought was more displeasing unto me
Then see me pleasing unto others be:
But yet at length, time and th’importunate
Pray’rs of my faithful lover, did abate
That Virgin frost; Sister, I was (and blesse
The hour) o’recome at last, I do confesse,
And in one night’s black shade I did learn more
Then I had done in all my life before.
So now I did my former folly know,
I quite renounc’d both Cynthia’s life and bow:
And so I hope thou wilt too, and at last
Aminta’s sighs may melt thy flinty breast.
How canst thou choose but love him? canst deny
He’s handsom? then pray tell the reason, why?
Thinkst thou he loves thee not? or does love any
Better than thee, though he be lov’d by many?
If so, why do’s he so thy love pursue?
Think’st him not enough noble? if thou do
Though from his Rivers god the third thou be,
Third from great Pan the shepherds god is he.
Why then despi’st thou him? thinkst thou the lilies
Of the fair cheeks of fairest Amarillis,
Are not as beautiful as thine? yet he
Thou seest despiseth her, and follows thee;
She follows him and seeks his love, and thou,
Though he seeks thine, refusest his; pray now
Imagine, he, thus croft by thy disdain
(God grant th’imagination be but vain)
Should leave thee and take her, I fain would know
Whether it would not grieve thee or no?
’Tis better to accept him then, by half,
Then taking her both at thy folly laugh.

Let ’minta and his loves disposed be,
As best him pleaseth little’t imports me:
Nor who, his love has, so I do it misse,
Care I, mine he can’t be, since I’me not his:
And though he mine were, his I would not be.

From whence proceeds this hatred now from thee?
If I were thee I’d strive to love him rather.

It’s from his love,

Strange child of such a Father,
When was fierce tyger born of gentle lamb?
Or when from Swan’s egge a black crow e’re came?
Sister thou cheatest or thy self or me.

I hate his love, cause he my honesty:
And I should love him while he would not crave
Ought else of me but what my self would have,

Thou onely wil’st thy heart, he only would
With that to thee which with himself he should:

Daphne, or talk of somewhat else, or hold
Thy peace I pray.

O gods! do but behold
This perverse wench! but prethee Sister do,
But answer this, If that another sue
Should for thy love, would’st thus requite his pain?

Who would entrap my chastity, the same
Requite should find from me, what e’re he be,
Whom thou stil’st lover, I am enemy.

The Ram unto the ewe dost thou esteem
Or to the tender heifer the bull deem,
En’mies to be, or doth the Turtle dove
Reject her mate, because he doth her love:
Seest thou the fragrant season of the year,
How every thing doth sweet and green appear?
This pleasant verdure covering o’re the plains,
Invites, alas, not only nymphs and Swains,
But very beasts to love, and dost not see,
How all things in the world inamoured be?
See how those two doves whisper, with what willing,
And joynt consent as ʼtwere they two are billing!
You Nightingale which hops from grove to grove
Still as she hops, she sings, I love, I love;
The cruell Adder who doth stop his ears,
And having stung, will not be charm’e by tears,
Or cries, is charm’d by sweetest love: ‘ith woods
The tigers love, the fishes in the floods
Love too, but thou more cruel then a beast
Denyest sweet love an entrance in thy breast;
But what talk I of beasts; seest thou each tree
In this vast forrest? they inamoured be.
Behold with what a sweet embrace the vine
Does her dear confort lovingly intwine,
The firr doth love the firr, the pine the pine;
You stubborn oak, which scarce’the wind can move,
Is mov’d by th’power of divinest love,
Hadst thou a spir’t of love, or if of stone,
Were not thy heart, thou’dst hear it sigh and groan,
And utter forth it’s am’rous plaints: yet thou
For all this art not mov’d to love, why now
Wilt thou than plants or beasts be more unkind?
Change, fondling that thou art, change, change thy mind.

When I of plants the am’rous sighs shal hear
I’l likewise be in love, til then forbear.

Well though thou now laugh at, and dost disdain
My faithful counsels; know that to thy pain
Thou wilt repent, thou dost not while thou may
Them follow; for be sure there comes a day,
When what’s to thee a pleasure and delight,
Shall be thy greatest grief, thy greatest spight;
And as thou now disdainest others, so,
Thou’lt then despise thy very self; and know
Those so clear springs in which thou oft dost use
Thy most resplendent beauty to peruse,
Thou’lt leave forsaken and neglected now,
Or stand amazed at thy wrinkled brow.
But why speak I of this? Since ʼtis a sure
And common evil we must all endure.
I’ll tell thee more, and mark me what I say,
ʼTis what the sage Elpino t’other day
Recounted unto Licoris the fair
The gentile Licoris: whose beauty rare,
Has such pow’r o’re Elpino, as his art
In singing ought t’have o’re her pliant heart;
If there be any debt in love. He told
It before am’rous Thir’s and Battus old,
Just at the entrance of Aurora’s cave,
Where writ in golden Characters you have;
All you that the profane depart from hence,
And said that it was told to him long since
By the grand Poet, who so high did sing
The life of many a Heroe, many a King,
Who dying did leave him his pipe, There is
Sayes he, at bottom o’th profound abysse,
A horrid cave, vomiting smoak with fire,
And a most constant stink out of the dire
Fornace of Acheronta, where do lie,
In torments dark, and that eternally
Those women; who perswaded here above,
Neither by pray’rs, nor tears, could be to love:
And ʼtis a just, and well deserved law,
Smoak should force tears, which pity could not draw:
Then if thou thusthy cruelty continue,
Look to be confort with that curst retinue.

But what said Licoris to this, and how
Answer’d she him;

Why fee! thou fain wouldst know
Others affairs, but car’st not for thine own:
She answered with her eyes.

With eys alone
How could she answer him?

Those very ey’s
Were, as ʼtwere, messengers, or rather spies;
Which mix’d with pleasant smiles to him made known,
Licoris and her heart were now his own:
Except he did believe, faith was as rare
In them as beauty; she as false as fair.

Why should he so believe?

knowst thou what Thir’s,
That famous Master both of Love and Verse,
Did write, when burning with the flames of love
He wandring through the forrest, did both move
The nymphs & swains to laughter? but though he
Did things worth laughter, yet his writings be
Not to be jeer’d; this in a tree he writ,
With th’tree it grew, and there I oft read it:
The looking-glasses of false hearts your eyes
Are; and in them all deceit hidden lies,
But what avails’t since shun them love denies:

I here in pratling cast my time away,
And had forgot this is th’appointed day,
In which we ought to go, as we were wont,
In Eliceto for to raise the Hunt.
Prethee do thou stay for me while i’th nigh
Fountain I cleanse the sweat, and dust which I,
Got yesterday by hunting of a Deer,
Which at the last I kil’d;

I’l stay thee here
Perhaps I’l bath me too, but first my gate,
I’l homewards bend for it’s not yet so late
As’t seems, and thou at home for me mayst stay:
But in the mean time think of that, I pray,
Concerns thee more then hunting, and say I
Bid thee take a fools counsel, so god bu’y.

Scen. 2.

Aminta and Thirsis

I have with my laments, my sighs, my groans
To pity moved, both the rocks and stones;
But mov’d I have not nor can hope to move
Her I adore, to pity or to love:
Remorselest Nymph, I know not which I best
May stile thee, or a woman; or fierce beast
For thou to be a woman dost deny,
Since more than best’al is thy cruelty.

The lambs on tender grasse, wolves on lambs feed
And both do fatishe their hungry need:
But though lovefeed on tears, the more it have
Of tears and sighs, it still the more doth crave;

Alas! alas! love long since with the food
Of my tears satiate is, now for my blood
It onely thirst, and therefore to the eyes
Of it and that cru’l nymph I’l mak’t a prize:

Why talkst thou thus Aminta? if unkind
And cruel she be, thou’lt another find.

How can I find another, when that I
Can’t find my very self, or pray whereby
Can one lost to himself e’re pleasure gain?

Do not despair, at length thou mayst obtain
This cruel fair; time teaches men to check,
Lions, and bring fierce tygers to their beck:

But whilst that I wait out this long delay,
I shall with grief be quite consum’d away:

Short the delay will be, for the disdain
Of woman’s kindled soon, soon quench’t again:
They’re moveable by nature, nor the wind,
Can breath more changes then a womans mind:
Lighter than feathers, and will readier bow,
Then ripened ears before a storm; but thou,
Of thy condition farther let me know,
And the hard fortune of thy love, for though
Thou long since toldst me that thou wast in love,
Yet thou hidst from me, who it was could move
In thee this am’rous fire, although that faith,
And ever constant friendship ‘twixt us hath
Oblig’d thee to discover that to me,
Which unto others might concealed be.

Thirsis, I am content to tell thee what
The woods and mountains know, but men know not,
And ʼtis but just that I being now so nigh,
My death, should leave the reason why I die
To some dear friend, who may when I am gone
Report it, or may grav’t in tree or stone,
Near the place where my bloodlesse corps shall lie,
That if that pit’lesse Nymph chance to pass by,
She may stamp on’t with her proud foot, and boast,
That her dire cruelty my life me cost;
And that she may rejoice to see me lie,
There as a trophee of her victory.
Perhaps at last she may (but things above
Desert I hope) both pity then and love
Him dead, who living by her hate was slain,
And with salt tears may wish me back again;
But listen now.

Proceed; I wel thee mind,
And am to help thee at thy need inclin’d.

I was as yet a child and scarce could crop
Those fruits the willing trees did seem to drop,
From their full loaden branches near the earth,
When full of jollity and harmless mirth,
Not knowing love, or caring it to know,
With th’sweetest nymph I did familiar grow,
That in the wind e’re spread a golden hair,
It was the rich Cidippe’s daughter fair;
Grandchild unto the great Montan, whose flocks
And mighty heards fill both the woods and rocks,
Silvia, the glory of the woods, the fire
Of every heart, of all fouls the desire:
With her I kept such faithful company,
That ʼtwixt two Turtles ne’re the like could be;
Nothing to me than Silvia was dearer,
Near were our houses, but our hearts were nearer:
Her age was equal almost with my own,
But ʼtwixt our thoughts, there was no diff’rence known;
With her I often us’d to spread the snares,
To catch the simple birds, or fearful hares:
With her I us’d to force swift Does to flight,
Equal the prey was, equal the delight;
But whilst we thus made prize of beasts: a prize
My self was made to her’ll-conqu’ring eyes;
And like a weed which of it self doth grow,
So grew there in my bosom, from I know
Not yet what root, a strange and unknown fire,
Which made me Silvia’s presence more desire:
Her eyes were food to me, sweet, but I did leave
A bitter; did me of all jokes bereave:
And though my sighs, alas, now were not few,
Yet of those many sighs no cause I knew.
Thus was I, e’re that I could it discover,
By her fair ey’s forc’d to become a lover:
But how I came to know’t at last, do thou
Take notice pray.

Proceed and tell me how.

When Phebus bright his hottest beams displai’d,
Silvi’ and Phillis once chanc’t seek a shade
Under a spreading beech, when, lo, a Bee
Buzzing about Phillis fair cheeks chanc’d see
The lovely red she did in them disclose,
Did make the Bee mistake them for a Rose,
And think to gather honey from that sweet,
She lights: but with too harsh salute did greet
Those rosean cheeks, and Phillis with the pain,
Of the sharp sting most sadly did complain;
When my Dear Silvia told her: Phillis pray
Lament not thus, I soon will take away
Thy pain with an inchantment, which I learn’d
Of the sage Aresia, and I earn’d
It well, for in requital of it I
Gave unto her my horn of Ivory,
Which was adorned with gold. Thus having said
Her sweeter lips to Phillis cheek she laid:
Just where the Bee had stung her, and she there
Muttered some words which well I could hear:
But O most wonderful! Phillis had ease
Immediately, and all her pain did cease.
Whether it was her Magick art or no,
That so soon wrought the cure I don’t well know,
But I believe in her sweet mouth was such
Vertue that it did heal all it did touch.
I, that before had to restrain’d the fire
Of love, that nothing else I did desire,
But Silvia’s presence, and a paradice
It was to feast my self on her fair ey’s,
Or hear the sweet tunes of her warbling voice,
More pleasing far to me than was the noise,
The little pibbles make in murm’ring floods,
Or than the wind when’t signs among the woods
Was now by an ambitious spirit inclin’d,
To a desire which wish’d my lips were join’d
To hers. This amorous desire me taught,
A very subtile craft which at length brought
Me wish’d successe (do but observe how love
Makes mens ingenio’s nimbly for to move)
Her wondrous cure on Phillis I did see,
The sight of that caught me to feign a Bee
Had bit my under lip, and though her pray
I durst not for to take my pain away
By her inchantment, yet did my lament
Expresse as ‘twere to her my hearts intent;
She harmlesse soul pittying the grief that I
Made shew of, proffered freely to apply
Her cure to my feign’d wound, which added fuel,
To my hearts wound, and made it far more cruel.
Oh Thirsis! never Bee did suck from Rose,
Honey so sweet as I did suck from those
Sweet cherries of her lips, though every kisse,
Me thought did yet want some part of its blisse,
For though I had a ful desire, yet I
Was or restrain’d by fear, or modesty:
But whilst this honey mixt with gall descended
Thus to my heart, I sorry so soon ended
Should be my blisse, feign’d that her charms did ease
Me somewhat, but not quite the pain surcease;
Which made her willingly to take the trouble,
That to me sweet inchantment to redouble;
Thus so increas’d this love within my breast,
That at the last’twas forced to leave its nest:
Nor would it be kept secret, so one day,
When we were set as we were wont to play;
Shepherds and Nymphs together on the grasse,
Each lad some secrets whispering to his lasse:
I Silvia told, Silvia, I burn for thee,
And sure shal die unlesse thou helpest me;
Strait at my words there in her face arose
A blush both shame and anger did disclose:
Bow’d to the ground her fair face was, and she
With nought but an harsh silence answer’d me,
And from me turn’d, nor ever would she deign,
Since that to see or hear me speak again,
Though ful three years are past and I have tri’d
All means I could to get her pacifi’d,
Except my deaths; and could but that appease
Her anger, I methinks could die with ease,
And should account it highly worth my pain,
If I by death her pity could obtain,
And for my faith would deem it recompence,
Should she lament me when I’m gone from hence;
But why should I with grief unto that breast,
In which I fixed have my joy, my rest?

But is it possible if she should hear
Thee say thus much? She longer could forbear,
This true love to requite?

That know not I,
But when I’d speak she more my words doth fly,
Than doth an aspe the charmer.

Trust to me,
Aminta, and I will procure that she
Shal hearken to thee.

Nothing from her can you,
Thirsis procure, or if procure you do
That I speak to her, yet alas in vain
Will be my speech, and I shall nothing gain:

Why dost despair so?

Just occasion I
Have to despair, nay rather for to die;
For the wife Mopsu’s long since did foreshow
This my hard fortune, Mopsus, who doth know
The vertue of all herbs, and talk of birds.

Which Mopfus speakst thou of? of him whose words
Are honi’d, and who has a friendly smile
In’s face, but in his heart has nought but guile:
Be of good cheer, Aminta, do not fear,
Those uncouth prophesies he sels so dear
To unadvised persons, I reject
As foolish, for they never have effect;
This know I by experience, and I,
Cause he hath thus foretold, do hope thereby
That in thy love all things wil succed wel,

If by experience thou canst ought me tell
Which comfort may my hope, pray don’t it hide,

When I came hither first for to abide
Within these woods, I knew and did esteem,
This Mopsus such as thou dost now him deem;
I had by chance occasion for to go
To the great Citie; which I let him know
As hoping his advice, when thus to me
He spake, To the great land thou go’st, said he,
Where the fly Citizens and those o’th Court
Of simple rusticks make a scoffing sport;
Therefore be sure this counsel take of mine,
Come not near those whom thou shalt see to shine
With gold and stones, and other vain devices,
But above all (and flight not my advices)
Beware, least thou be led by thy ill fate,
Or youthful curios’ty to the gate
O’th magazine of pratlers. Then strait I
Demanded of him, what that place might be?
In this place Sorceresses live, said he;
Who by inchantments do all things unvail,
What to thee seems pure gold, to them is pale
And forbid brasse, those arches thou with trasure
Deemst fil’d, are dirt and mire out of measure;
There are the wals built with great art, and do
Speak themselves, and to speakers answer too:
Nor do they answer a dumb voice alone,
As Eccho here, but in words one by one,
Tables and stools and all go tittle tattle,
And should a dumb man enter here he’d prattle.
But ther’s worse evil yet, here maist thou be
Chang’d into water, fier, or a tree,
Water of tears, and fire of sighs: content,
With this fond foresight I to th’City went,
Where guided by blest fate I chanc’d to spy
The happy lodge, as I was passing by;
With curious eye expecting something worth
My sight, I chanc’d to hear at length come forth
Out of the gate such pleasant murm’ring noises,
Of nymphs and Sirens the harmonious voices,
As made me stand astonied with delight,
The object pleas’d so both my ears and sight.
Just by the [...] guard to things so good,
A man of [...] magnan’mous aspect stood;
To whom I do not wel know which I were
Best give that stile of Duke, or Cavalier,
He with benign and grave aspect together,
Invited great and smal to come in thither,
Nor did he me poor simple foul despise;
O gods what did I see there! near mine eyes
Enjoy’d such blessed sights, nymphs ful as fair,
As heavenly goddesses, or far more rare:
Beauties more bright than glittering Phoebus beams,
When, at his rise he guild’s the eastern streams;
There fate Apollo, and the Muses nine,
Shining in all their Graces, so Divine;
And, ʼmongst the Muses, sate the sage Elpin.
Then was I ravished, with a high desire,
Then, first I flam’d with a Poetick fire;
I sang the lives of Kings, oth’ancient times,
Scorning a mean verse, or pastorall rimes;
And, though again I to these woods return’d,
By my ill destiny: yet still I burn’d
With some part of that fire: yet did abound,
My Pipe, still, with a more than rurall sound.
But, envious Mopsus, chancing me to spy,
One day cast at me a Malignant eye:
Whereby, I hoarse became, and then long time
I silent was, and sung no more in rime.
Seen by the Wolfe, Pastors supposed me,
Which caus’d my silence: but that wolfe was he;
This I have told thee, that thou maist perceive,
How willing is this Mopso to deceive,
And void of hope, I’d have thee hope more still.

It pleases me extreamly, for to heare
What thou hast told, then of my life the care
To thee I do commit.

Let me alone,
I care will take of it, as of my own;
Ile go see what for thee I can prevaile,
Then in an houre to meet me do not faile.

Most blessed age of gold! not cause the floods
Stream’d down pure snow, white milk: nor cause the woods
Distill’d sweet hony, or, the free earth bore
Her fruits untouch’t, nor had her bowells tore;
As yet by th’ labr’ing ploughman, lambs might erre
Through the thick forrests, without noise or fear;
Nor yet because no winters clouds begun
T’ecclipse that Radiant Splendor of the Sun
With which it’s warme and pleasant beames did bring
The wish’d-for happ’nesse of a constant spring;
Nor wandring pines did yet, with fails unfold,
For warr or gain compals the late known world.
But, only cause that foolish, and that vain,
Idol of errors, and deceit, that name
So without substance, which the Vulgar, mad,
Did a feerwards call Honour, as yet had
No Power to play the Tyrant, or controule
The Peace and Freedome of a joviall soule.
But nymphs and pastors sweetly liv’d, nor knew
Any delight, but what from freedom grew,
Not subject, but to law perform’d with ease
Which nature writ; Is lawful if it please.
No need there was of Cupids torch to move
Of shafts to force the Nymphs and Swains to love,
Their very sports inflam’d them and their smiles
They mix with their sweet words, and then e’re while,
Both with their sweeter kisses then the rose,
Of her fair cheeks the Virgin did disclose
Freely to all; which now alas are blown,
To the delight and pleasure but of one;
Then often by the waters of a bright
Spring, lovers us’d to take their full delight.
But thou perversest honour first didst shade
This fountain of delight, and thou first made
This freedom cease, and thou didst first deny
Water to quench his thirst whom love made dry;
Thou thaught’st those splendant beauties first to lie,
Vail’d and obscur’d from every am’rous eye;
Their all gold shining hair thou didst refrain,
Into a net, and thou hast put a rein
To all sweet dear lascivious acts, and we
Think now that theft which us’d loves gift to be,
And all these acts of thine turn to our pain:
But thou great Jove who with thy power dost reign,
O’re love and nature with a word, can’st tame
The greatest Monarchs and whose very name
Strikes terrour, why alas dost take delight,
To disturb us poor miscreants? kings of might
And power best fit thy thoughts, disturb their peace,
And grant great god that we may live at ease,
And by thy divine providence be hurl’d
Into the golden – oth’ ancient world.
We’l hope, since there’s no joy, when once one dies
We’l hope; that as we have seen with our eies
The Sun to set, so we may see it rise.

Act II

Scen. 1.

Satyre alone

Small is the Bee, much smaller is her sting,
Yet doth its wound both pain and sorrow bring,
But what’s more smal then love? Since it conceals
It self within such minute parts, and steals
Into the smallest spaces, now it rests
Within the valley of two alp-like breasts:
Now creeps and hides it self within the fair
And curled tresses of a golden hair:
Now under twinkling eye-brows, now i’th’ sleek
And rosie dimples of a laughing cheek;
Yet are it’s wounds, it’s plagues, so sad, so sore,
That nought can be imagin’d torment more.
Ah me! my very bowels and my heart
Boil o’re with blood, and like a cruel dart,
So Silvia’s fair ey’s pierce me, I may say
Cruel Love; but far more cruel Silvia,
That it impos’d thee, woods in their greenbrakes
Cru’ler then woods, Oh! how wel doth agree
Thy nature with thy name, wel did he see
Do hide fierce lions, tigers, wolves and snakes,
Thou under covert of thy fairest breast,
Hidʼst anger, hatred and disdain, which beasts
And worse y much (alas) than those of prey,
As lions, tygers, wolves or snakes; for they
May be appeased, but ay me! these are
Such, as will not be charm’d by gift or pray’r;
Thou slights are flowr wch from the fields I chose
Because thy cheek flowers much fairer showes.
I from the orchards bring thee apples fair,
Which thou rejectst disdainful, cause there are
In thy fair bosome apples far more rare.
I bring thee sweetest honey, even such
From hives I stole thou, deignst it not to touch
Cause on thy sweet lips sweeter ther’s by much;
But if my poverty permits me not
To give unto thee any thing but what
In thee’s more sweet and fair, my self then take;
Unjust, why shouldst thou such a gift forsake?
I’m not to be despised, no, for I
Saw my self in the sea when it did lie
Becalm’d & free from waves, this my fierce, stern
And sanguine look, these shoulders large, this arm
So strong and nervous, this rough shaggy breast,
These big-bon’d thighs of mine, and all my rest
So well knit members, are a sign that I
Am strong and lusty, it believ’st not, try;
What wil’t do with these tender fooles, whose sleek
Face, scarce allowes them down upon their cheek?
Women, in show, and Workes they be, nor are
Skill’d in ought else, but to dispose each haire,
In it’s due order; ther’s not one that dare
Follow thee through the woods, to hunt the Bear,
Or, durst encounter wilde Boares for thy sake.
I’me not so ugly, no: nor dost forsake
Me, ʼcause I am thus form’d, alas, buy why?
Because I’m poor, thou dost thy love deny.
Alas, the Villages do follow now
The custom of the Mighty Cities: how
Well may the golden age this called be,
Since gold alone Commands imperiously?
O! thou, who first didst teach the way, to sell
Divinest love, may torments, worse then hell,
Still waite and then upon thee; maist thou dy
Unpitied let thy cold ashes ly
Unburied; let Nimphs and Shepherds cease
Passing to say, Soule, do thou rest in Peace;
Let the raine wet thee, move thee may the wind;
Let flocks and strangers too, be so unkind,
As for to trample on thee, not to be nam’d;
Horrid and Monstrous, ʼtis not to be told,
How Love is made the Price of abject Gold.
But, why in vaine lament I? since I see,
Beasts, for their safety, use those Armes, which be,
Allotted them by Nature, Tigers paw’s
Use for defence, Lions their teeth and claw’s;
The Stag does for her safety use to fly,
A womans weapon in her Beauty. Why?
(Then since all these do use their nat’ral armes
To conquer foes, or save themselves from harms)
Should not I when that nature ha’s me made
Apt for to ravish, make use of the trade?
I’l force, I’l ravish what she me denies,
Nor will be moved with her pray’rs nor cries.
Not long ago I told was by a Swain,
That in the fountain lies in yonder plain;
She often baths her self, there I intend
To hide me in the bushes, to the end
That when she comes I may be sure to take
Hold on her; what resistance can she make
ʼGainst me, poor tender soule? and for her cries,
I’l neither them nor of her beauty prize
The power. Oh if I can but once entwine,
This hand within her locks, why then she’s mine,
Nor shal the gods release her, til that I
For my revenge my armes in blood do dy.

Scen. 2.

Daphne and Thirsis

Thirsis, as I thee told, I long since thought,
Amintas did love Silvia, and have sought,
God knows, all way’s to further this his love,
And shall the more, since thou art pleas’d to move
Me in it: but I rather had by far
Chuse for to tame a lion, or fierce bear,
Then such a simple girle, who does not know
How piercing be her beauties armes, and though
She others kils, yet is her self stil sound,
And wounding others knows, not how to wound.

And where’s that child so simple han’t a mind,
As soon as out of swathling bands, to find
Arts to seem handsom and to make her please?
And how to kil with pleasing? and with ease
Can tell what armes they be cause death? nay more,
What armes they be which life again restore:

Who mistresse is of so much art?

As though
Thou knewst not Daphne, ‘tis the same doth shew
Flight to the winged birds, and doth infuse
Swimming to fishes, teaches Buls to use
Their hornes, and makes Juno’s proud bird to spread
Her Argus-eye-deckt feathers o’re his head:

I’d very fain know how you cal this same
Mistress of arts?

Why Daphne is her name.

Our filthy liar that thou art.

Art thou not able then to keep at school (fool
A thousand girls, although no need there is
In this same Art of Love of Mistresses,
For nature in their mistresse, though, ʼtis true,
The mother and the nurse bear a share too.

Come, thou too knavish art, in sum I’l tel
Thee that I am not yet resolved well,
If Silvia be so simple as the feigns
Her self to be; for down in yonder plains
Where the clear waters of the silent lake
Incircled round a pretty Island make,
I t’other day saw Silvia counsel take,
How she the golden tresses of her head
In pretty curls might o’re her forehead spread,
And then how she might fittest o’re them place
Her snow-white vail, o’re that with better grace
Order some fragrant flowers, with lilies fair
Her white neck she’d adorn; and so compare
Which was the whitest, now a lovely rose,
To her sweet cheeks to see which did disclose
The liveliest hue; then with delight would she
Smile, as ʼtwere boasting of the victory:
Methought she seem’d to say, I onely do
For your disgrace base flowers carry you,
Not for my ornament, since all may see
How much in beauty you must yeild to me;
But whilst she flatt’red thus her self, her eye
By chance she turn’d, and turning did espie
That I sat laughing in th’adjacent bowers,
At which she blush’d, and strait let fall her flowers;
When laugh the more to see her blush did I,
Which her cheeks tinged in a deeper dy;
But cause that onely on one side her head
Her hair was gathered, on the other spread;
She fearful I should see again, poor soule,
At ‘twere from the clear fountain counsel stole,
And though she were undrest, yet pleas’d was she
That, so undrest, she look’d so handsomely:
I saw it and was silent.

Thou dost tell
What I before told thee; guest I not well?

Well didst thou guesse, but I have been told how
Pastors and nymphs were not so sly as now
In former times, nor young was I so bold:
The world do’s grow more wicked, as more old.

ʼTis true that then Citizens us’d not so
Oft in the Countrey come, nor Rusticks go
Unto the City; now their crafty race
As well as customes do with us take place;
But to our purpose canst not thou procure,
That the hard-hearted Silvia may endure
To hear Amintas speak alone; or’t least
In company with thee, which she’l think best:

I’ll tell thee, Silvia now so coy doth grow
That well how to obtain it I don’t know.

Amintas too respectfully is nice.

True sayst thou Thirsis; there can no worse vice
In lovers be; he that would learn the art
Of divine love must lay respect apart,
Must dare demand, solicite, importune;
And if by these means he can’t overcome,
Must ravish too: Thirsis, thou knowst so well,
That I am sure there’s none need thee to tell,
The nature of a woman, if she flies
ʼTis cause she’d be pursu’d; if she deny’s,
Alas ʼtis onely cause that she would have
Men to force that which first they did but crave,
She fights to be o’recome: laugh not at me
That I speak thus in confidence to thee,
And that I speak in rimes, but thou knowst, Thirsis,
I can for rimes return thee more than verses.

Thou hast no reason to suspect that I
Should e’r tell ought against thy modesty.
But I conjure thee, Daphne, by the dear
Remembrance of thy youth that thou wilt here
Lend thy assistance with me for relief
Of poor Amintas, who else dies with grief.

How neatly he conjures me, by the joy
Of mine that’s past, and by my present’noy?
But what wilt have me do?

Judgement and skil
I know thou hast, then onely, that thou will.

In sum I’l tell thee then Silvi’ and I
This day at Dians well, which is hard by,
Intend to wash, where an inviting shade
For nymphs and shepherds by a beech is made;
And there she’l naked bath her tender wast.

What then?

What then! if thou hast wit thou maist
Guest at the rest.

I guest, but do not know
Whether he’l have the heart to come or no.

If come he won’t, for ought that I can say,
Stay until she looks after him he may.

He so deserves.

But, Thirsis, may not we
(At leisure now) talk somehow too of thee?
Why dost not thou a sweet-heart get? Alas
Thou’rt yet but young! and scarce dost four years passe
Of the fifth lustre (and full well do I
Know when these arms have danc’t thee lullaby)
Why wilt neglected live, and void of joy?
Since without love there’s no delight (my boy)

A man may shun fond love, and yet not fast
From Venus pleasures, he the sweet do’s taste
Without the bitter.

Most unsavorie ʼtis:
The sweet’s not seasoned with some bitterness
Soon satiate.

Better once satisfide:
Then before meat and after to abide
Stil hungry.

Thirsis, if the meat you have
doth please; the more you tast, the more you crave

But who can alwaies present have that food
Which, though he’s hungry, to his taste is good.

Who seeks no good shal find none

There’s no ease
In seeking that, which found, ʼtis true doth please;
But if not found when sought torments us more.
Thirsis wil ne’r a lover be, before
That cruel love shal leave it’s company
Of sighs and tears, enough already I (though
Have sigh’d and wept.

Enough enjoyed
Perhaps that hast not.

Nor desire, if so
Dear I must but it.

Well if nothing move
Thee can, at length thou wilt be forc’d to love:

Love cannot force who’s out of his command.

But who is’t can out of loves empire stand?

Who fears his witching charms and flies away.

Where wilt thou fly if love his wings display?

But love when young ha’s his wings short, and so
Can’t overtake the man will from him go. (cry,

The birth of love, there’s no man can dis-
And when discri’d, his wings grown great, he’l fly.

Some by experience his first birth can tel.

Thirsis, since thou pretendst to know so wel
That Art, we’l see if thou canst from him run,
This I protest to thee, I’l not be won
A hand, a foot, or eye-brow for to move,
Either to help or aid thee in thy love.

Fy cruel one then couldst thou dead me see?
If thou wilt have me love, why, love thou me.

Why doft thou mock me, Thirsis? perhaps thou
Dost not deserve so fine a mistresse; how
Many a colour’d and smooth face beguiles.

I do not mock thee; no, but thou mean-whiles
With this pretext my love dost not accept;
This is the common trick: but if reject
My love thou dost, I without love will live.

Thirsis, maist thou contently live and thrive,
More then e’re yet thou didst, maist live in ease
And leisure, without which love ne’re doth please.

Daphne, this leisure god hath granted me,
One who a god may here esteemed be;
To whom on verdant plains and cliffy rocks,
From see to see we feed our herds and flocks:
Thirsis, said he, let others take a care,
To chase the wolves, and thieves, let others share
Rewards unto the servants; others guard
My wal’d in sheep; thou (from these labours bar’d,)
Shalt sing: then just it is my pipe should move,
Not in fond fancies of a worldly love;
But that in higher strains it onely hollow
The ancestors of my Jove, or Apollo.
(For which of those to call him well, in troth,
I know not, since he do’s resemble both)
Progenitors of greater worth by far,
Then or bright Saturn or the Heavens are;
(Low Muse to such a merit,) but yet he,
Sing I or clear or hoarse, rejects not me;
His praise I dare not chant, nor well can I
Worthily honour him, but silently,
And with due reverence; but his altars ne’r
Without my flowers or sweet perfumes yet were
And when I do forget him to adore,
Or worship; then let Thirsis be no more:
Let Rivers change their beds, the soane advance
To wash the Persian banks, the Tigris France.

High ho, thou’rt flown too high, prethee descend
Unto our purpose.

Daphne, I intend,
That thou shouldst as thou go’st along the way
Endeavour for to soften Silvia;
I’l procure that he come, this task of mine
I doubt will harder be by far than thine,
Then go thy waies:

I do, but I did mean
By this talk part of which thou didst not dream;

If I can wel discern him by the face,
Aminta ʼtis appears in yonder place.

Scen. 3.

Aminta Thirsis

I’ll see what Thirsis may have done for me,
In what to do he promis’d; but if he
Have nothing done, why then, before that I
Will be consum’d to nothing, I will die
Before the rigid Silvia; that abate
My death, may somewhat of her cruell hate,
She (that so pleas’d is with that plague, the Dart
Of her fair ey’s ha’s gi’n my love-sick heart)
Wil with that wound which my brest shal endure
From mine own hands be doubly pleas’d I’m sure.

I new’s of comfort bring thee, and content,
Then deare Aminta, cease thus to lament.

Why say’st thou Thirsis, must I live or die?

I bring thee life and safety, for if I
The other had, I’d not it bring, but need
There is of courage, man, and that with speed?

What need is there of courage, pray and where
Must I employ it?

It thy Silvia were
Within a wood, encompass’d round with rocks,
Where lions and fierce Tigers by whole flocks
Did range, no way to scape by strength or art,
To go to rescue her, would’st have the heart?

More joyfull farr then on a holy day,
A Countrey wench doth run to dance or play.

If the ʼmongst murd’rers were, I fain would know,
Whether thou dar’st into her rescue go.

I’d go more readier then the Stag does fly
To the long-with’d-for fountain, when he’s dry.

But greater proofes more courage do require.

I would for Silvia’s sake passe through the fire,
Or through the floods, when down the Mountains throw,
With a full torrent, their dissolved snow;
I’d go to hell it selfe, if hell could be,
Where there is one so fair so good as she;
But tell me pray, where is’t?

Hark then.

Go on.

Silvia attends thee naked and alone,
At the same fountain call’d Diana’s well;
Dar’st thou to go.

Alas! what dost thou tell
Me, Thirsis? naked and alone do’s she
Stay for me, sayst thou?

Unless Daphne be
There (who of our side is) alone I say.

But naked prethee do’s she for me stay?

I say she there stayes naked for thee, but-

But what? thou kilst me it that word thou put.

But I can’t tel if thou hadst best to go.

Oh hard conclusion! which all the forego-
Ing sweetness doth imbitter: with what art
Doth strive to wound my almost bloodlesse heart?
Is’t not enough that thus unhappy I
Am, but thou wilt increase my misery?

Aminta, if thou wilt my counsel take,
Thou mayst be happy:

What, for the gods sake,
Dost thou advise me;

What! That thou be bold,
And on what fortune thee presents lay hold.

The gods I hope will keep me that I may
Ne’re think a thought to displease Silvia:
I ne’re displeas’d her yet, but by my love,
Nor was’t my fault, her beauties power did move
Me to’t: but let me when I cease to strive
Silvia to please, no longer care to live.

Answer me now, if in thy Pow’r it were
To leave her love, wouldst do’t to pleasure her

Love lets me not say so, may’t does deny
That I should think to leave her love, though I
Could do’t.

Why then though leave her love thou could’st;
Yet, in despight of her, love her thou would’st.

Not in despight, but yet I’d love her still.

Why then thou love would’st against her will.

Yes, certainly I should.

Then dar’st thou not
Against her will (fool as thou art) take what
At first may hard and heavy seem, once past
Sweeter and sweeter growes unto the last.

Thirsis, love for me answers, and my heart
Know’s it’s own means, but cannot then impart,
Thee constant use ha’s skil’d in loves great Art,
But that ha’s bound my tongue which bound my heart.

Why then we wil not go.

Yes go wil I:
But not where thou dost deem.


To die;
To die alas I’l go, if this be all
The favour thou hast done me.

Think’st it small?
Think’st Daphne counsel would to go, if find
In part she did not that ʼtwas Silvia’s mind?
And who can tell, it may be Silvia too
Know’s it her selfe, but would not have that you
Should know she knows it; now, if thou dost crave
Her full consent, thou do’st desire to have
What would displease her most, and then (foole) where
Is that desire of thine to pleasure her?
Or if she would that thy injoyment were
Thy theft, and not her gift, what need’st thou care?

But who assures me such is her desire?

Why see? thou do’st that certainty require,
Which does and ought displease her, and which thou
Ought’st not to seek: but pray imagine now
That such were her desire, and thou not go,
Equal the doubt is, the losse equal; so,
I think it better that couragiusly
Thou like a man, than like a coward, die.
Ar’t silent? thou’rt o’recome, confesse I pray
This love Aminta; it occasion may
Thy greater Vict’ry; let’s go then.

I pray.

What, stay! seest not how fast the time does run?

Pray let us think first wht is to be done.

We by the way wil think the rest, but who
Do’s too much think things, seldom wel doth do.

Love, who can teach us thy mysterious art?
Who thy divinest fancies can impart?
Where may we learne them? who can them display?
Since (though the mind them comprehend) away?
Arm’d with thy wing’d prowes, they soare above,
Not learned Athens ere the art of love
Could teach, nor its Liceo could it shew,
Phebus in Helicon thy art ne’r knew;
He could discourse of love, ʼtis true, but so,
As if he did thy art but blindly know,
Or were a learner, cold were his desires,
Nor did his voice burn with celestiall fires,
As fits thy power, nor could his thoughts arise
To comprehend thy sacred mysteries;
Thou only, Love, a worthy master art,
In thy sublime, and more then heav’nly art;
To rustick brests thou mak’st known those Divine
And most Celestiall Characters of thine,
Writ by thine own hand in anothers eye,
Thy faithfull servants tongues thou dost untie:
And mak’st them glide in pure and nobler stream’s,
Then ever issu’d from Poetick veines;
By thee divinest love there’s more exprest
In broken words and speeches, then the best
Of Orators can do, and more doth move
Thy silence, then their Rhetorick, to love:
Heart-conquering, Love to others, leave will I
To learn thy art in blind philosophy,
Or from the learned schooles: I only will
In faire ey’s study this mysterious skill;
And their high stiles and Poetry will lesse,
Then shall my rough or rustick rimes, express:


Scen. 1.

Thirsis Chorus of Shepherds

O Horrid cruelty! unheard! unseen!
Or ever yet remembered to have been
In humane brest; three hundred times, nay four
Ingratefull sex; thou nymph ingrateful more.
Why didst thou, Nature, show thy utmost art,
Thus in adorning womans outward part?
Why did’st her beaut’ous countenance indue
With such a sun-like soul-bewitching hue?
And didst afford to grace her mind within
Nothing but falsenesse, cruelty and sin.
Negligent Mistresse! But ay me, my dear
Aminta will have slain himself, I fear;
ʼTis full three houres that round about the ground,
Where I him left I sought him, but have found
Nor him, nor yet his footsteps, ’tis too plain
May tell me news of him, friends did you see
I clearly see that he himself hath slain;
Aminta or hear of him?
But stay, perhaps those shepherds yonder be

Thou dost show
So troubled; that the cause we fain would know
Of this thy grief; from whence proceeds this sweat?
This sorrow; tel us if thou think’st it meet.

I fear Aminta’s ill, did you him see?

No him we have not seen, since that from thee
Long since he parted; but pray tell us plain
What dost thou fear?

Lest he himself have slain.

That he ha’s slain himself! but what could move
Him such an act to do?

Hatred and love.

Who two such potent enemies don’t fear?
What can’t they do? but tel us pray more clear.

His great love of a nymph, and her no smal
Hatred of him.

Nay prethee tell us all;
This is a place of passage, and whilst you
Relate it, news may brought be; perhaps too
Himself may come mean-while.

I willingly
Recount it wil, that the just infamy
Of such a strange ingratitude may rest
Upon that cruel and remorselest breast;
Aminta told was (I alas was he
That told it him and he was led by me,
Now I repent me) that his Silvia dear
This day with Daphne in a fountain clear
Would bath her naked limbs, he thither went
Not mov’d by his desire, but to content
My importunities: oft back have gone
He would; but that I still did thrust him on;
Now when we come were to the fountain nigh;
We thought we heard a womans woefull cry,
And not far off we Daphne saw, her ey’s
Swollen with tears, when she saw us, her cries
Did pierce the heav’ns, run and make haste, said she,
Silvia is forc’d. Amintas presently,
Not staying to hear more, flew away so
Swift as I never yet saw swifter Do:
I followed him; when, lo, we straightaway see
The beauteous Silvia ti’d unto a tree;
The rope to tie her was her brightest hair,
Which in a thousand knots intangled were
About the plants; that girdle us’d to be
The former warder of her chastitie,
Was us’d now to her rape, and serv’d to bind
Unto the tree her snow-white hands behind.
The very plant it self did condescend
To this foule act, and seem’d as ’twere to lend
It’s ful assistance to the rape; for round
About her legs two pliant twigs were bound;
Just before her a cruel Satyre stood,
With looks denoting villany and blood,
Who finisht had to bind her; she poor heart
Did strive with all her force and all her art,
But what (alas!) could all her force or skil
Prevail ’gainst him who had such strength at will;
Aminta with his sharp wel-brandish’d dart
Aim’d at, but mist, the cursed Satyres heart;
I gather’d up what stones I could, but he
Seeing us two, thought it was best to flee:
We him pursu’d, Aminta as his flight
Gave leave, turn’d back his ey’s to have the sight
Of her fair members, which more soft by far
Seem’d than Swans down, and whiter much than are
The snow-deck’d Alpes, but when we had in vain
Pursu’d the rogue, he turning back again
Accosts her thus, Pardon, O Silvia fair,
These hands of mine, which with such boldness dare
Approach thy members, for they’re forc’d to loose
These knots which ministred to thy abuse;
Then since that fortune has been pleas’d to send
Them such a blisse, let it not thee offend.

Words that would mollifie a heart of stone!
What answer did she gave him them?

Why none:
But looking down disdainfully, she tride,
All that she could, her fairest breasts to hide;
He from the tree begins her hair to loose;
And thus he seem’d to say, Durst thou abuse
These golden curls, base plant? which do to thee
So great an honour; ah, unworthy be
Thy branches of such knots, what vantage pray
Can we poor Lovers boast of? Since trees may
Enjoy those comforts which we want, entwine
By force those locks which blesse these hands of mine
By their bare touch; this done he from behind
Unties the knot, and does her hands unbind;
In manner so as if he seem’d to fear
Their touch, and yet to touch could not forbear;
Then stoops that he might loose her feet, but she
Finding her hands were now at libertie,
Looks on him scornfully, says touch not, I
Am Dians nymph. I can my feet untie

Can so much pride reign in so fair a heart?
O for so good an act ingrateful part!,

He did respectfully himself retire
Not looking on her, though he did desire,
Deny’d himself that pleasure, which on trial
He fear’d would give her trouble of denial;
I heard and saw all this, and hid did lie,
And though about to check her cruelty;
Yet I with-held: but heare the most unkind
Part of all yet; she did at length unbind
Her self, scarce loose, nor bidding him adieu,
Faster then fleetest Stag away she flew;
And yet to fear I’m sure she cause had none,
For his respect to her was ful wel known.

Why did she fly then?

She would of her rape
The rescue attribute to her escape,
Not to his modest love.

Ingrateful too
In this! but what said he? what did he do?

I know not, I vext at her rigor, ran
To overtake and hold her but in vain;
For soon I lost her track, then turning, where
I left Aminta, could not find him there;
My heart presages ill, for this I’m sure
He’d rather die than this sad chance endure:

The custom ʼtis (we know) of those that are
In love, to threaten death, but very rare
Are those effect it.

I’l go to the cave
Of sage Elpino, where I sure shal have
News of him if he lives, for that’s his hant;
There on his oaten pipe he us’d to chant
Sweet songs, and there lament him of his love,
And make the very rocks and mountains move;
The Rivers stop their course to hear his layes,
The trees incline, and wild beasts leave their preys.

Scen. 2.

Aminta Daphne Nerina.

Pitilesse pity Daphne sure was thine,
When thou with-heldst this hand, this dart of mine;
That so my death being delay’d by fate
Might be more bitter by how much more late;
And why dost trace me thus? or thinkst to force
Hope into me by this thy vain discourse:
What dost thou fear? that I my self should slay,
Thou fear’st my good; then prethee goe away;

Despair not thus Aminta, for if I
Know Silvia wel, ʼtwas shame that made her fly,
Not cruelty.

Alas! there is for me
No way but to despair, since hope wil be
As’t ha’s been yet my ruine, stil I find
It strives as ʼtwere to blossom in my mind;
And whispers to me live, and can ought be
Worse then a life, to such a wretch as me?

Live wretch, live stil I say, and let this be
Support unto thee in thy misery;
That if thy hope in life do but maintain thee,
At length thar naked fair one it will gain thee.

Both love and fortune, though that at the brink
Of wrechednesse I was, yet did not think
Me yet forlorn enough, until that I
Had fully seen what fully both denie.

Must I then alwaies have the luck to be
The messenger of such sad news? ay me!
Wretched Mantano! what sad heart wil thine
Be when thou com’st to hear this newes of mine?
O sad and des’late father thou, nay rather,
By losse of thy dear Silvia, no more Father!

I a sad voice to hear.

And I hear sound
The name of Silvia, which my heart do’s wound.
Who is it names her?

it seemes at first sight
To be Nerina, Cynthia’s cheife delight,
Who ha’s so sweet comportment, so fair face,
Such charming ey’s, such a bewitching Grace.

And yet alas, I’m forc’d to let him know
Of this most fatal chance of thine, that so
He may seek those unhappy bones, if no
More rests of thee; oh! my deare Silvia, oh!

Ay me, what say’s she!


what, and why
Do’st to thy self name Silvia, and then cry.

Alas! with reason I lament her sad
And cruel fate;

What fate can be so bad
To make thee thus lament? Ay me, I feele
My heart a dying, as though pierc’d with steele,
Is she alive?

Prethee to us relate
What thus thou mutter’st of her desp’rate fate.

Ye Gods! why am I messenger? yet I
Must tel’t: did she, you know the reason why
Come e’n now naked to my Lodg, and there
Re-cloath’d her selfe again; she by her pray’r
Prevail’d with me, that I would with her go
In Eliceto for to hunt a Do.
I pleas’d her, and we went when, neer the ground,
Gather’d together many Nymphs we found;
Scarce had we spoke to them, when lo we see
A mighty wolfe start from behind a tree,
Great out of measure was he, and with blood
His nose was di’d, he fiercely looking stood;
Silvia streight to her bow an arrow fits,
And she nere us’d to misse; so now she hits
Him just upon the head, he fly’s again
Into the wood, she followes him amaine.

O sad beginning, which do’s pierce my heart!
What end wilt have?

I with another dart
Follow’d her track, but at great distance, since
She was i’th wood ere I could move me thence,
Yet I her footsteps made a shift to trace,
Until I came to the most desert place
Of all the wood, where, lo, by chance I found
My dearest Silvia’s dart upon the ground,
And not farr off from it I did espy
That snow-white vaile, which I my selfe did ty
Upon her head, which as you see is di’d
With crimson gore, and looking round I spi’d
Seven fierce wolves, which seem’d to lick the blood
Of a nak’d body, about which they stood,
Such was my hap, and so intent they were
Upon their prey, they saw not I was there;
So I return’d, and this is the full tale
I tell of Silvia can, see here the vaile.

Th’ast told too much, this vaile, and this blood be
Sure tokens of her death.

Ah poore wretch! he
Is dead with greife too.

No, he breathes, revives,
ʼTis but a sudden fainting, see he lives.

Greise, why? (alas!) do’st thou torment me so,
And do’st not kill outright? if thou too flow
Beest, or wouldst have my hand the instrument
To do’t, to this I’me very well content;
And it shal execute that death which thou
Refusest, or to do, or know’st not how;
Then since the certainty of this we know,
And nothing wants now to augment my woe;
Why should I longer stay? oh Daphne! why
Did’st not permit me, when I would, to die?
To this sad end reserv’dst thou me? to this!
Sure sweet my death had been, nay more a blisse,
And greatest happinesse, had but that dart,
Which cruel thou withhelden, pier’d my heart.
But heav’ns deni’d it, and did feare least that
I by my sudden death forerun should, what
They had ordain’d me, now my utmost ill
They executed have, permit they will
To make the full summe of their cruelty:
And thou permi too must) that I may dy.

Restrain this frantick humour of thy youth,
Until we do heare further of the truth.

Why do’st thou strive to keep me off with such
Delay’s? I’ve staid too long, and heard too much.

I would I had been dumb.

Nymph, pray bestow
On me that blood-bespotted Vail; that so
Small, but whole relique of my Silvia;
That since no more there rests of her, it may
Witnesse my death, and if there ought can be
To do’t may serve t’augment my misery;
Though, I confest, ʼtis not so small that I
Need to increase it, to perswade me dy.

Had I best giv’t him, or deny’t him? I
Think for th’occasion I were best deny.

What cruell one! so small a gift to me,
Who am resolv’d nere to ask more of thee?
In this too wretched fate, I yeeld with you,
Then let the Vaile remain, and so adieu;
I go to turn no more.

Aminta, stay,
Gods! with what fury do’s he fly away?

He flies so fast, that it will be in vaine
To follow him, I down in yonder plaine
Wil seek Montano, but I do not know
If I were best to tell the newes or no.

There is no cause, which death may move
To bind him, ha’s a noble heart;
His faith’s enough first, then his love,
Nor is so hard of love the art.
By him alone that loves wel, love is sought,
And like a Merchandise by love is bought;
And seeking love we often find
A Glory, which we leave behind.

Act IV

Scen. 1.

Daphne, Silvia and Chore of Shepherds.

That wind that brought the sad new’s of thy death,
Brought with it likewise in the selfe same breath
Thy present and thy future ill, and thou
(Thanks be to God) art live and well, when now
I deem’d thee dead; Nerina with such greife
It told: had she been dumb, or others deaf.

The danger sure was great, and she indeed

A just occasion for to tell it, though,
She had not, but let me thy danger know,
And how thou scap’dst.

I’ll tell thee, I, in chase
Of a fierce wolf, unto the thickest place
Came of the wood, so that I quite the track
Did of his footsteps loose, but turning back
Again, I spi’d him; by my shaft I knew
On a dead carkase they had newly slain;
That ʼtwas the same wolf first before me flew.
He with some others feeding was amain,
Of what I could not well discern, but he
Leaving his prey came running after me.
I stood him; with intent to make him feel,
My dart than arrow was the sharper steel;
And thou knowst well I’m mistresse of the art,
Of brandishing and lacing wel a dart;
I seldom use to misse, and so, when nigh
Enough I thought him, I my dart let fly,
But was it fault of fortune, or of me,
I mist the wolf, and stuck it in a tree:
The Wolf more fiercely at me runs, and I,
Seeing ʼtwas vain to use my bow, did fly:
He follows me, (now hear a chance,) my vail
Hap’d to untie, and with the murm’ring gale
Came through the woods, blew up and down, at last
Abot a bough tangled it self so fast,
That though my force redoubled was, my strength
Could not prevail a rescue, but at length,
Seeing no was to’scape, I thought it best
Quite to untie it, and there let it rest;
Which done, I ran again with all my might,
Feare adding thousand wings unto my flight,
That he nere joyn’d me, and I came out safe
Unto my lodge, where first of all I have
Encountred thee, and wondred much to see
Thee stand amaz’d, and wondring so at me.

Thou liv’st, alas! but others not.

doth’t greive
Thee Daphne then that I am still alive?
Hat’st thou me so?

no Silvia, I’m full glad
Thou liv’st, anothers death ʼtis makes me sad.

Whose death?


Is he dead, and how?

Well how I cannot tell, nor do I know
If it be certain.

Strange! but canʼt divine
What was the occasion of his death?

why? thine.

I understand thee not.

The tidings sad
Brought of thy wretched death, such power had
O’re him, poore soul, and o’re his wearied life,
That I beleive ʼthas brought him cord or knife.

I hope that vaine will this suspect of thine
Be of his death, as vain was that of mine;
For when men come to the effect, they strive
(Let them boast what they wil befare) to live.

Silvia, thou know’st not what the fire of love
Can in a heart that’s not of marble move,
But thine’s more hard than stone, else thou believe
Would’st him, for whom thou yet seem’st not to grieve;
And would’st have lov’d him who far more did prize
Thy love, than the dear apples of her ey’s.
I wel believ’d him, knew, and saw’t, when he
Having unloos’d thee (Tigresse) from the tree,
An act that would have forc’d thee him to love,
Had’st had a heart; but what is’t thee can move?
I say I saw him there reverse his dart
And with his ful force strive to pierce his heart;
Nor did repent him, though at first he did
It in his crimson gore; but once more tri’d
To make it enter farther, and he sure
Had pierc’d his heart, but I could not endure
To see’t, so staid him; yet believe the rage
Of that small wound did not at all asswage
His desp’rate constancy, but onely made
A freer passage for his thirsty blade.

What dost thou tell?

I saw him too when he
First understood news of the death of thee
To swound for grief; reviv’d, he fled away
In fury with intent himself to slay:
And he’l have done it surely.

Think’st thou so.

I cannot doubt it.

Oh my Daphne, oh
Why followedst not to hinder him, with me
Come now and seek to find him; for if he,
Thinking me dead, resolv’d himself to kill,
Sure now I live, remain in life he will.

I follow’d him, and sought him, but in vain,
For when he once got out of sight, again
I could not find him, nor his footsteps; thou
Then whither, prethee, wilt go seek him now?

Alas let’s go however, for if we
Don’t stay him, he will his own murd’rer be.

Perhaps it grieves thee then that any one
Should boast of killing him, but thee alone;
Or cruel one dost think it scorn, his heart
Should wounded be by any, but thy dart?
Content thy self, how e’re he dies, yet he
Dies for thy sake, thou wilt his murd’rer be.

Ay melthy comfort’s harsh, but now I find
That grief of heart, which overswayes my mind;
For his sad chance imbittered is the more,
By now much I was rigorous before,
And the remembrance of my cruelty
Torments me now, I call’d it honesty,
And so it was, but too severe by far,
Too cruel since it did all pity bar;
Now I repent me.

Strange! what do I hear?
Pitiful thou? what can thy flint heart bear
The least impress’on? weep’st thou? what can move
These tears? are they of pity or of love?

They tears of love not, but of pity, are.

Pity to love is alwaies messenger,
As lightning to the thunder.

Oft when rest
He hidden seeks within a virgins breast,
Who had with too strict honesty before,
Against his fly charms shut and barr’d the door:
He of mild pitie his fond servant takes
The shape and habit, and so entrance makes.

Silvia, these tears of love be, ʼtis too plain
Art silent? dost thou love? thou lov’st in vain:
O divine force of love! how justly thou
Chastisest those who don’t thy pow’r avow!
Wretched Aminta! like the Bee who leaves
Sorrow to him he stings, but yet bereaves
Himself of life: so now thou victor art,
And dying wounded hast that stony heart
Which living thou ne’r couldst, and if thou be
A wandring spir’t, as I believe, then see
Her tears, and though to thee all joy be past,
Rejoyce that thou hast overcome at last.
Lover in life, belov’d in death; if thy
Fate ʼtwere not to be lov’d til thou didst die,
Or if this cruel one at no lesse price
Would fell her love, then to him for it dies;
See thou hast given her price she sought,
And with thy early death, her love hast bought.

Dear price to him that gave it, but more griev-
Ous far (alas) to her did it receive.

Could I but with my love his life regain,
Or with my life call him from death again!

Ah pitiful too late! and too late wife,
Pity assists not where fate help denies.

Scen. 2.

Ergasto Chore of Shepherds Silvia Daphne.

So full my breast of pity is, and so
Clogd up with horror, that I do not know
Whither to turn me, nothing comes to fight,
Nothing I hear, which doth not me affright.

What newes brings our Ergasto? sure ʼtis bad,
His countenance and accent both are sad.

I bring the sad news of Aminta’s death.

Ay me!

The noblest shepherd that did breath
Within those woods; whose sweet comportments were
Unto the nymphs, and muses both, so dear.

And is he dead? and how? relate that we
May his untimely end lament with thee.

I dare not listen to this sad discourse,
Nor yet go near to hear it, though of force
Hear it I must, wicked relentlesse heart
Of mine, what fear’st thou? go receive that dart
Which he brings in his tongue; that so there-by
May be made known thy heartlesse cruelty.
Shepherd I come a partner here to be
Of thy grief, which thou promist’s others, me
Perhaps it more concerns, and as a due
Debt of my rigor I receiv’t from you.

Nymph, I believe thee well; for at his death
He with thy name gave up his latest breath.

Now begin this sad story.

I surround
The Mount did with some nets, spread on the ground,
When, lo, Amintas passed by, and he
Was too much chang’d from what he us’d to be,
Too troubled, and too sad; I ran and staid
Him, though with much ado; he to me staid:
Ergasto I’d intreat a courtesie
Of thee, ʼtis this, to come along with me,
And be a witnesse of what I shal do,
But this I shal requier first of you,
That by streight oath your firmest faith you bind
Neither to hinder nor oppose my mind;
I (for who could have thought so strange a case,
Or such mad fury?) let his will take place
And did conjure, Pan, Pales, Priapus,
And all those gods are honour’d most by us;
He at my oaths went forward, and me led
There where the cliffy rock hangs o’re it’s head:
Road it was none, for there no path at all,
But from the mount, a precipice doth fall
Into th’adjacent valley; here a stop
We made, when I with looking from the top,
Such was the height, so level to the ground,
That with a giddinesse my head turn’d round;
I started back, he smil’d to see me start,
Which too much did assure my fearlesse heart.
Then to me said, Ergasto, I’d have thee
Recount to Nymphs and Pastors what thou’lt see,
So looking down began —
Had I here ready to my will,
Thee teeth of rav’nous wolves to spill
My blood, I’d onely choose that death,
By which she di’d who was my breath:
They tear this body should of mine,
As they did that fair corps of thine;
But since that heav’n is so unjust
As to deny, (though die I must)
My death desired, nor will send
Fierce beasts to help me to my end;
I’l find a death, though not the due,
Shall end my life as soon as you.
Silvia I come, I come to thee,
Disdain not then my company;
Contentedly I shall endure
The sharpest death, were I but sure
ʼTwould not again begin our strife,
Thy anger ceas’d were with thy life.
Threw himself down; I frozen stood like Ice.

Wretched Aminta!

Ay poor me!

But why
Some way to hinder him didst thou not try?
Perhaps thy promis’d oath did thee refrain.

No; for, rejecting oaths in that case vain
When I discern’d his purpose, though too late,
I ran to stay him; such was his hard fate,
But he went with such force it could not bear
His body’s weight, and so it did remain
Thus broken in my hands.

But what became
Of the unhappy corps?

That know not I,
I had not heart enough to see it lie:
(Pity and horror having fill’d the place)

O strange case!

If this newes kil’s not me, my heart’s of stone,
Or rather I believe that I have none;
Shall the false rumour of my death have such
Power o’re his life, whom I did hate so much?
And shall not his true death, who life did leave
For love of me, me of my life bereave?
It shall: and if that griefe can’t do’t, a knife,
Or else this girdle shall command my life;
This girdle left behind, alone to be
The just revenger of my cruelty;
Unhappy girdle of a Master farr
Unhappier, disdaine not that you are
Lodg’d in this justly to thee hatefull brest,
Since there thou as an instrument do’st rest
Of that revenge, which is in justice due
To your so haplesse Master, and to you;
For since twas by my cruelty deni’d
Aminta should my confort here abide,
ʼTis just I should by work of thine be made
His confort, in the sweet Elizian shade.

Comfort thy selfe poore wretch, thou fault hast none
In this, but fault of fortune ʼtis alone.

Shepherds, weep not for me, your tears you loose,
Those pity don’t deserve, who none did use,
Or if we weep, his losse ye weep in vain,
Since that deserves a far more dolefull streine;
And thou too, Daphne, dry those teares of thine,
If from no other cause they come than mine;
This I’d intreat thee do, not for my sake,
But for his worthy was, the pains to take,
To go with me to see those wretched bones,
I feare me, crush’d among the rocks and stones,
And helpe to bury them, and when that I
Have perform’d this, what should I do but dy?
This office I’l repay him, since no more,
I can, for that great love which he me bore;
And though these hands of mine contaminate
Will this good work: yet since pernicious fate
Permits me only to do this; I know
It will be deare to him, he lov’d me so.

Who would their help to such a work deny?
But afterwards thou must not think to dy.

Till now I liv’d, have to my selfe alone,
And to my cruelty, what rests, to none
I’l live but to Aminta: and if fade,
My hopes do there, I’l live to his cold shade,
So long I’l live, till in one point can I
Finish his saddest obsequies, and dy;
Shepherd direct me, that I may not faile
To find the way which leads unto the vale;
Where ends the cursed precipice.

You are
Just in the way, nor it is very far.

Come, I’l go with thee, thou my foot steps trace,
And I’l thee lead directly to the place.

Then Shepherds, Nimphs, Meadows, and Plaines adieu;
Woods, Rivers, Fountains, all farewell to you.

Alas! she takes her leave with sighs so sore,
As if she were resolv’d to turn no more.

What death must yeeld, that love retains,
Thou peace’s friend, he wars unkind,
Ever his triumphs, vaunts and reignes;
And whil’st thoudo’st twofair souls bind;
Thou rendr’st earth so like the heavenly sphear,
That thou thy selfe deign’st to inhabit here;
There is no anger there above
And thou hast mortal brest inclin’d
By thy divinest art of love;
To put all hatred out of mind;
And with a pow’r exceeding earthly Kings
Thou here below dost govern mortall things.

Act V

Scen. 1.

Elpino Chore of Shepherds.

In truth, the divine law by which love sway’s
His sacred Empire is not hard nor stray’s
In oblique paths, sage providence the guide
Is of his workers, and all his actions glide
In deepest mysteries, see by what art
By what strange uncouth meanes he leads a heart
To happinesse! and when man thinks that he
Is now arriv’d at th’depth of misery
And wretchednesse, why then the winged boy
Transports him to the paradise of joy.
Behold Aminta, by this fall ascends
To his long with’d-for, and desired ends;
Happy Aminta, happy so much more,
By how much more mis’rable thou before;
By thy example why should I despaire,
But rather hope that cruell one, though faire,
My wounded heart, and may true pity have
Who under smiles of pity doth conceale
Her mortall rigor, now at length may heale
To cure that wound, her feigned pity gave.

See how the sage Elpino yonder walkes,
And to himselfe of poor Aminta talkes,
As though he living were; he fortunate
And happy calls him, O the sad estate
Of lovers! in his judgement so misled,
To call those happy, who find pity dead?
Is this the paradise of joy? is this
His wish’d contentment, his desired blisse?
Is this the great reward, the greatest ease
Love gives his servants? can this so much please?
Can this suffice? Elpino, is so bad,
Thy luck, that thou stil’st fortunate the sad
Death of Aminta? such an end do’st crave?

No Shepherds, no; but let your sorrows have
An end; false the report is, he was dead.

O! how much comfort hath this good newʼs bred?
Did he not then himselfe precipitate?

He did, but his more than thrice blessed fate
Under deaths dolefull image did him give
Both life and joy: shepherds, he still doth live,
And lives content; for now his head doth rest
On his deare Nymphs so much desired breast;
She whom before, nor tears, nor sighs could move
To pity him, is now as full of love,
Is now as mercifull; and from his eyʼs
With her own mouth his teares of joy she dryʼs.
I go to seek her father, old Montane,
And to conduct him unto yonder plaine
Where they two be, for nothing to the fill
Of their content there wants, but his good will.

Equal their birth is, equal are their years
Their wills agree, and good Montane, who bears
Defiers to have nephews, and to fence,
His drooping age with such a sweet defence,
Will make his will be theirs; but dear Elpine
Relate to us what fate, what god divine
Could of our poor Aminta such care have
As might in that fame despʼrate fall him save.

I am content to tell it, and no man
I’m sure can tell it better then I can.
Just at the entrance of my cave stood I,
Which you know well at the hils foot doth lie;
I reasoning was of her, who in a net
First Thirsis caught, and after me, and yet
I did my thraldom far prefer above
His life of freedom, or his flight from love,
When a strange voice our ears and ey’s did call
Up to the top, from whence to see one fall,
And see him on a bush of briers light,
Which stood in the mid-way, was all one sight;
Nature had planted on the mountain’s side
A sett of thornes, so thick, that they seem’d ti’d,
Or wove together, here at first he fell,
Which, though ʼtwas like a net, yet could not well
His bodi’s weight susteine, but let him go
Quite through, that at our feet he fell; yet so
Much of the force and shock it took away,
That ʼtwas not mortall, only there he lay
Astonished, and void of sence. Amaz’d
We at the sad chance stood, but when we gaz’d
More neerly on, and knew him, then our trouble,
Our sorrow, and our anguish did redouble;
But to our griefe it was some small reprieve
That he was not quite dead, perhaps might live;
Then Thirsis t’ me the secrets did discover
Of his disconsolate and desp’rate lover
We knowing ʼtwas in vain him to lament
Bethought a remedy; and while we sent
For learned Esculapius, whom Apollo
Taught, Physicks art when he him us’d to follow:
At the same time he did on me bestow
The skil to tune a harp, and bend a bow.
Silvia and Daphne thither seeking came
That body which they did believe was slain;
When Silvia saw Aminta’s cheeks once fair
Now void of life, now grown so pallid were,
So wan that the bleak violet display’s
Not half that palenesse scorch’d by Phebus rayes:
She stupifi’d neer void of sense doth rest
Lamenting, crying, beating her fair breast
She on him falls, to take her latest kisse,
And joyn’d his face to hers, her mouth to his.

Could she that was so coy, now not restrain
Her passion but extend the bounds of shame.

Weak love is held by shame, but love grows bold
As strong, what is it then can it with-hold:
She as though in her ey’s she did contain
Fountains of tears, did with such plenty rain
Them on his cheeks, and they such vertue had,
That it reviv’d again the breathlesse lad;
His ey’s he weakly opens, and he sends
From his afflicted soule a sigh, which ends
In his dear Silvia’s spirit, by her sweet
Mouth it was catch’t and seem’d with it to meet;
Her Echo quite enliv’ned him, but who
Could now declare the joy possest these two;
Aminta thought ʼtwas more then heav’nly charms,
That thus enclasp’d him in his Silvia’s armes;
He that loves servant is, perhaps may guesse
Their blisse; but none there is can it expresse.

And is Aminta fully cur’d canst tell?
No danger of his life?

He’s fully well:
ʼTis true he’s somewhat hat bruis’d, but nothing he
Do’s it account, and nothing it will be;
Thrice happy he who did so fully prove
Love’s worst, and now doth tast the sweets of love;
His sufferings and his torments onely be
Sweet seasoning of his felicitie.
Shepherds farewel. For I must once again
Make haste to find out the good old Montane.

Can that Martyrdom he prov’d,
While he serv’d, and while he lov’d,
While he hop’d, while de dispair’d,
While he sigh’d, and while he car’d,
Ever recompensed be
Though with joy’s eternally?
What if sweet things sweeter more
Are when bitter go before?
What if good things better will
Be, if savour’d with some ill?
Yet Love I pray give me the lesse
Not this greater blessednesse.
If thou wilt, blesse others so,
Who this full blisse crave to know:
But let me my nymph enjoy,
For a word or for a toy,
Without sighs, and without care,
Without tears, without despair.
Let the season’ngs of our love,
Such be as may onely move,
(Not such torments or such pain)
Sweet repulses, sweet disdain;
To which kind kisses may succeed,
To show our hearts are still agreed.