Chapter 3

_Sull_. How bright she was, how lovely did she show! Was it not pity to deceive her so? She pluckt her Garments up, and tript away, And with her Virgin-innocence did pray For me that perjur'd her. Whilst she was here, Methought the Beams of Light that did appear Were shot from her; methought the Moon gave none, But what it had from her: she was alone With me, if then her presence did so move, Why did not I essay to win her Love? She would not sure have yielded unto me; Women love only Opportunitie, And not the Man; or if she had deny'd, Alone, I might have forc'd her to have try'd Who had been stronger: O vain Fool, to let Such blest Occasion pass; I'll follow yet, My Blood is up, I cannot now forbear.

_Enter_ Alex, _and_ Cloe.

I come sweet _Amoret_: Soft who is here? A pair of Lovers? He shall yield her me; "Now Lust is up, alike all Women be.

_Alex_. Where shall we rest? but for the love of me, _Cloe_, I know ere this would weary be.

_Clo_. _Alexis_, let us rest here, if the place Be private, and out of the common trace Of every Shepherd: for I understood This Night a number are about the Wood: Then let us chuse some place, where out of sight We freely may enjoy our stoln delight.

_Alex_. Then boldly here, where we shall ne're be found, No Shepherds way lies here, 'tis hallow'd ground: No Maid seeks here her strayed Cow, or Sheep, Fairies, and Fawns, and Satyrs do it keep: Then carelesly rest here, and clip and kiss, And let no fear make us our pleasures miss.

_Clo_. Then lye by me, the sooner we begin, The longer ere the day descry our sin.

_Sull_. Forbear to touch my Love, or by yon flame, The greatest power that Shepherds dare to name, Here where thou sit'st under this holy tree Her to dishonour, thou shalt buried be.

_Alex_. If _Pan_ himself, should come out of the lawns, With all his Troops of Satyrs and of Fawns, And bid me leave, I swear by her two eyes, A greater Oath than thine, I would not rise.

_Sull_. Then from the cold Earth never shalt thou move, But lose at one stroke both thy Life and Love.

_Clo_. Hold gentle Shepherd.

_Sull_. Fairest Shepherdess, Come you with me, I do not love you less Than that fond man, that would have kept you there From me of more desert.

_Alex_. O yet forbear To take her from me; give me leave to dye By her.

[_The Satyr enters, he runs one way, and she another_.

_Sat_. Now whilst the Moon doth rule the Skie, And the Stars, whose feeble light Give a pale Shadow to the night, Are up, great _Pan_ commanded me To walk this Grove about, whilst he In a corner of the Wood, Where never mortal foot hath stood, Keeps dancing, musick, and a feast To entertain a lovely Guest, Where he gives her many a Rose, Sweeter than the breath that blows The leaves; Grapes, Berries of the best, I never saw so great a feast. But to my Charge: here must I stay, To see what mortals lose their way, And by a false fire seeming bright, Train them in and leave them right. Then must I watch if any be Forcing of a Chastitie: If I find it, then in haste Give my wreathed horn a Blast, And the Fairies all will run, Wildly dancing by the Moon, And will pinch him to the bone, Till his lustful thoughts be gone.

_Alex_. O Death!

_Sat_. Back again about this ground, Sure I hear a mortal sound; I bind thee by this powerful Spell, By the Waters of this Well, By the glimmering Moon beams bright, Speak again, thou mortal wight.

_Alex_. Oh!

_Sat_. Here the foolish mortal lies, Sleeping on the ground: arise. The poor wight is almost dead, On the ground his wounds have bled, And his cloaths foul'd with his blood: To my Goddess in the Wood Will I lead him, whose hands pure, Will help this mortal wight to cure.

_Enter_ Cloe _again_.

_Clo_. Since I beheld yon shaggy man, my Breast Doth pant, each bush, methinks, should hide a Beast: Yet my desire keeps still above my fear, I would fain meet some Shepherd, knew I where: For from one cause of fear I am most free, It is impossible to ravish me, I am so willing. Here upon this ground I left my Love all bloody with his wound; Yet till that fearful shape made me be gone, Though he were hurt, I furnisht was of one, But now both lost. _Alexis_, speak or move, If thou hast any life, thou art yet my Love. He's dead, or else is with his little might Crept from the Bank for fear of that ill Spright. Then where art thou that struck'st my love? O stay, Bring me thy self in change, and then I'll say Thou hast some justice, I will make thee trim With Flowers and Garlands that were meant for him; I'll clip thee round with both mine arms, as fast As I did mean he should have been embrac'd: But thou art fled. What hope is left for me? I'll run to _Daphnis_ in the hollow tree, Whom I did mean to mock, though hope be small, To make him bold; rather than none at all, I'll try him; his heart, and my behaviour too Perhaps may teach him what he ought to do. [_Exit_.

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd.

_Sul_. This was the place, 'twas but my feeble sight, Mixt with the horrour of my deed, and night, That shap't these fears, and made me run away, And lose my beauteous hardly gotten prey. Speak gentle Shepherdess, I am alone, And tender love for love: but she is gone From me, that having struck her Lover dead, For silly fear left her alone and fled. And see the wounded body is remov'd By her of whom it was so well belov'd.

_Enter_ Perigot _and_ Amaryllis _in the shape of_ Amoret.

But these fancies must be quite forgot, I must lye close. Here comes young _Perigot_ With subtile _Amaryllis_ in the shape Of _Amoret_. Pray Love he may not 'scape.

_Amar_. Beloved _Perigot_, shew me some place, Where I may rest my limbs, weak with the Chace Of thee, an hour before thou cam'st at least.

_Per_. Beshrew my tardy steps: here shalt thou rest Upon this holy bank, no deadly Snake Upon this turf her self in folds doth make. Here is no poyson for the Toad to feed; Here boldly spread thy hands, no venom'd Weed Dares blister them, no slimy Snail dare creep Over thy face when thou art fast asleep; Here never durst the babling Cuckow spit, No slough of falling Star did ever hit Upon this bank: let this thy Cabin be, This other set with Violets for me.

_Ama_. Thou dost not love me _Perigot_.

_Per_. Fair maid, You only love to hear it often said; You do not doubt.

_Amar_. Believe me but I do.

_Per_. What shall we now begin again to woo? 'Tis the best way to make your Lover last, To play with him, when you have caught him fast.

_Amar_. By _Pan_ I swear, I loved _Perigot_, And by yon Moon, I think thou lov'st me not.

_Per_. By _Pan_ I swear, and if I falsely swear, Let him not guard my flocks, let Foxes tear My earliest Lambs, and Wolves whilst I do sleep Fall on the rest, a Rot among my Sheep. I love thee better than the careful Ewe The new-yean'd Lamb that is of her own hew; I dote upon thee more than the young Lamb Doth on the bag that feeds him from his Dam. Were there a sort of Wolves got in my Fold, And one ran after thee, both young and old Should be devour'd, and it should be my strife To save thee, whom I love above my life.

_Ama_. How shall I trust thee when I see thee chuse Another Bed, and dost my side refuse?

_Per_. 'Twas only that the chast thoughts might be shewn 'Twixt thee and me, although we were alone.

_Ama_. Come, _Perigot_ will shew his power, that he Can make his _Amoret_, though she weary be, Rise nimbly from her Couch, and come to his. Here take thy _Amoret_, embrace and kiss.

_Per_. What means my Love?

_Ama_. To do as lovers shou'd, That are to be enjoy'd, not to be woo'd. There's ne'r a Shepherdess in all the plain Can kiss thee with more Art, there's none can feign More wanton tricks.

_Per_. Forbear, dear Soul, to trie Whether my Heart be pure; I'll rather die Than nourish one thought to dishonour thee.

_Amar_. Still think'st thou such a thing as Chastitie Is amongst Women? _Perigot_ there's none, That with her Love is in a Wood alone, And would come home a maid; be not abus'd With thy fond first Belief, let time be us'd: Why dost thou rise?

_Per_. My true heart thou hast slain.

_Ama_. Faith _Perigot_, I'll pluck thee down again.

_Per_. Let go, thou Serpent, that into my brest Hast with thy cunning div'd; art not in Jest?

_Ama_. Sweet love, lye down.

_Per_. Since this I live to see, Some bitter North-wind blast my flocks and me.

_Ama_. You swore you lov'd, yet will not do my will.

_Per_. O be as thou wert once, I'll love thee still.

_Ama_. I am, as still I was, and all my kind, Though other shows we have poor men to blind.

_Per_. Then here I end all Love, and lest my vain Belief should ever draw me in again, Before thy face that hast my Youth misled, I end my life, my blood be on thy head.

_Ama._ O hold thy hands, thy _Amoret_ doth cry.

_Per._ Thou counsel'st well, first _Amoret_ shall dye, That is the cause of my eternal smart. [_He runs after her._

_Ama._ O hold.

_Per._ This steel shall pierce thy lustful heart.

[_The Sullen Shepherd steps out and uncharms her._

_Sull._ Up and down every where, I strew the herbs to purge the air: Let your Odour drive hence All mists that dazel sence. Herbs and Springs whose hidden might Alters Shapes, and mocks the sight, Thus I charge you to undo All before I brought ye to: Let her flye, let her 'scape, Give again her own shape.

_Enter_ Amaryllis _in her own shape._

_Amar._ Forbear thou gentle Swain, thou dost mistake, She whom thou follow'dst fled into the brake, And as I crost thy way, I met thy wrath, The only fear of which near slain me hath.

_Per._ Pardon fair Shepherdess, my rage and night Were both upon me, and beguil'd my sight; But far be it from me to spill the blood Of harmless Maids that wander in the Wood. [_Ex._ Ama.

_Enter_ Amoret.

_Amor._ Many a weary step in yonder path Poor hopeless _Amoret_ twice trodden hath To seek her _Perigot_, yet cannot hear His Voice; my _Perigot_, she loves thee dear That calls.

_Per._ See yonder where she is, how fair She shows, and yet her breath infefts the air.

_Amo._ My Perigot.

_Per._ Here.

_Amo._ Happy.

_Per._ Hapless first: It lights on thee, the next blow is the worst.

_Amo._ Stay _Perigot_, my love, thou art unjust.

_Peri._ Death is the best reward that's due to lust. [_Exit_ Perigot.

_Sul._ Now shall their love be crost, for being struck, I'le throw her in the Fount, lest being took By some night-travaller, whose honest care May help to cure her. Shepherdess prepare Your self to die.

_Amo._ No Mercy I do crave, Thou canst not give a worse blow than I have; Tell him that gave me this, who lov'd him too, He struck my soul, and not my body through, Tell him when I am dead, my soul shall be At peace, if he but think he injur'd me.

_Sul._ In this Fount be thy grave, thou wert not meant Sure for a woman, thou art so innocent. [_flings her into the well_ She cannot scape, for underneath the ground, In a long hollow the clear spring is bound, Till on yon side where the Morns Sun doth look, The strugling water breaks out in a Brook. [_Exit._

[_The God of the River riseth with_ Amoret _in his arms._

_God._ What powerfull charms my streams do bring Back again unto their spring, With such force, that I their god, Three times striking with my Rod, Could not keep them in their ranks: My Fishes shoot into the banks, There's not one that stayes and feeds, All have hid them in the weeds. Here's a mortal almost dead, Faln into my River head, Hallowed so with many a spell, That till now none ever fell. 'Tis a Female young and clear, Cast in by some Ravisher. See upon her breast a wound, On which there is no plaister bound. Yet she's warm, her pulses beat, 'Tis a sign of life and heat. If thou be'st a Virgin pure, I can give a present cure: Take a drop into thy wound From my watry locks more round Than Orient Pearl, and far more pure Than unchast flesh may endure. See she pants, and from her flesh The warm blood gusheth out afresh. She is an unpolluted maid; I must have this bleeding staid. From my banks I pluck this flower With holy hand, whose vertuous power Is at once to heal and draw. The blood returns. I never saw A fairer Mortal. Now doth break Her deadly slumber: Virgin, speak.

_Amo._ Who hath restor'd my sense, given me new breath, And brought me back out of the arms of death?

_God._ I have heal'd thy wounds.

_Amo._ Ay me!

_God._ Fear not him that succour'd thee: I am this Fountains god; below, My waters to a River grow, And 'twixt two banks with Osiers set, That only prosper in the wet, Through the Meadows do they glide, Wheeling still on every side, Sometimes winding round about, To find the evenest channel out. And if thou wilt go with me, Leaving mortal companie, In the cool streams shalt thou lye, Free from harm as well as I: I will give thee for thy food, No Fish that useth in the mud, But Trout and Pike that love to swim Where the gravel from the brim Through the pure streams may be seen: Orient Pearl fit for a Queen, Will I give thy love to win, And a shell to keep them in: Not a Fish in all my Brook That shall disobey thy look, But when thou wilt, come sliding by, And from thy white hand take a fly. And to make thee understand, How I can my waves command, They shall bubble whilst I sing Sweeter than the silver spring.

_The SONG.

Do not fear to put thy feet Naked in the River sweet; Think not Leach, or Newt or Toad Will bite thy foot, when thou hast troad; Nor let the water rising high, As thou wad'st in, make thee crie And sob, but ever live with me, And not a wave shall trouble thee._

_Amo._ Immortal power, that rul'st this holy flood, I know my self unworthy to be woo'd By thee a god: for e're this, but for thee I should have shown my weak Mortalitie: Besides, by holy Oath betwixt us twain, I am betroath'd unto a Shepherd swain, Whose comely face, I know the gods above May make me leave to see, but not to love.

_God._ May he prove to thee as true. Fairest Virgin, now adieu, I must make my waters fly, Lest they leave their Channels dry, And beasts that come unto the spring Miss their mornings watering, Which I would not; for of late All the neighbour people sate On my banks, and from the fold, Two white Lambs of three weeks old Offered to my Deitie: For which this year they shall be free From raging floods, that as they pass Leave their gravel in the grass: Nor shall their Meads be overflown, When their grass is newly mown.

_Amo._ For thy kindness to me shown, Never from thy banks be blown Any tree, with windy force, Cross thy streams, to stop thy course: May no beast that comes to drink, With his horns cast down thy brink; May none that for thy fish do look, Cut thy banks to damm thy Brook; Bare-foot may no Neighbour wade In thy cool streams, wife nor maid, When the spawns on stones do lye, To wash their Hemp, and spoil the Fry.

_God._ Thanks Virgin, I must down again, Thy wound will put thee to no pain: Wonder not so soon 'tis gone: A holy hand was laid upon.

_Amo._ And I unhappy born to be, Must follow him that flies from me.

_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Perigot.

_Per._ She is untrue, unconstant, and unkind, She's gone, she's gone, blow high thou North-west wind, And raise the Sea to Mountains, let the Trees That dare oppose thy raging fury, leese Their firm foundation, creep into the Earth, And shake the world, as at the monstrous birth Of some new Prodigy, whilst I constant stand, Holding this trustie Boar-spear in my hand, And falling thus upon it.

_Enter_ Amaryllis, _running._

_Amar._ Stay thy dead-doing hand, thou art too hot Against thy self, believe me comely Swain, If that thou dyest, not all the showers of Rain The heavy clods send down can wash away That foul unmanly guilt, the world will lay Upon thee. Yet thy love untainted stands: Believe me, she is constant, not the sands Can be so hardly numbred as she won: I do not trifle, _Shepherd_, by the Moon, And all those lesser lights our eyes do view, All that I told thee _Perigot_, is true: Then be a free man, put away despair, And will to dye, smooth gently up that fair Dejected forehead: be as when those eyes Took the first heat.

_Per._ Alas he double dyes, That would believe, but cannot; 'tis not well Ye keep me thus from dying, here to dwell With many worse companions: but oh death, I am not yet inamour'd of this breath So much, but I dare leave it, 'tis not pain In forcing of a wound, nor after gain Of many dayes, can hold me from my will: 'Tis not my self, but _Amoret_, bids kill.

_Ama._ Stay but a little, little, but one hour, And if I do not show thee through the power Of herbs and words I have, as dark as night, My self turn'd to thy _Amoret_, in sight, Her very figure, and the Robe she wears, With tawny Buskins, and the hook she bears Of thine own Carving, where your names are set, Wrought underneath with many a curious fret, The _Prim-Rose_ Chaplet, taudry-lace and Ring, Thou gavest her for her singing, with each thing Else that she wears about her, let me feel The first fell stroke of that Revenging steel.

_Per._ I am contented, if there be a hope To give it entertainment, for the scope Of one poor hour; goe, you shall find me next Under yon shady Beech, even thus perplext, And thus believing.

_Ama._ Bind before I goe, Thy soul by _Pan_ unto me, not to doe Harm or outragious wrong upon thy life, Till my return.

_Per._ By _Pan_, and by the strife He had with _Phoebus_ for the Mastery, When Golden _Midas_ judg'd their _Minstrelcy_, I will not. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Satyr, _with_ Alexis, _hurt._

_Satyr._ Softly gliding as I goe, With this burthen full of woe, Through still silence of the night, Guided by the Gloe-worms light, Hither am I come at last, Many a Thicket have I past Not a twig that durst deny me, Not a bush that durst descry me, To the little Bird that sleeps On the tender spray: nor creeps That hardy worm with pointed tail, But if I be under sail, Flying faster than the wind, Leaving all the clouds behind, But doth hide her tender head In some hollow tree or bed Of seeded Nettles: not a Hare Can be started from his fare, By my footing, nor a wish Is more sudden, nor a fish Can be found with greater ease, Cut the vast unbounded seas, Leaving neither print nor sound, Than I, when nimbly on the ground, I measure many a league an hour: But behold the happy power, That must ease me of my charge, And by holy hand enlarge The soul of this sad man, that yet Lyes fast bound in deadly fit; Heaven and great _Pan_ succour it! Hail thou beauty of the bower, Whiter than the Paramour Of my Master, let me crave Thy vertuous help to keep from Grave This poor Mortal that here lyes, Waiting when the destinies Will cut off his thred of life: View the wound by cruel knife Trencht into him.

_Clor._ What art thou call'st me from my holy rites, And with thy feared name of death affrights My tender Ears? speak me thy name and will.

_Satyr._ I am the _Satyr_ that did fill Your lap with early fruit, and will, When I hap to gather more, Bring ye better and more store: Yet I come not empty now, See a blossom from the bow, But beshrew his heart that pull'd it, And his perfect sight that cull'd it From the other springing blooms; For a sweeter youth the Grooms Cannot show me, nor the downs, Nor the many neighbouring towns; Low in yonder glade I found him, Softly in mine Arms I bound him, Hither have I brought him sleeping In a trance, his wounds fresh weeping, In remembrance such youth may Spring and perish in a day.

_Clor._ _Satyr_, they wrong thee, that do term thee rude, Though thou beest outward rough and tawny hu'd, Thy manners are as gentle and as fair As his, who brags himself, born only heir To all Humanity: let me see the wound: This Herb will stay the current being bound Fast to the Orifice, and this restrain Ulcers, and swellings, and such inward pain, As the cold air hath forc'd into the sore: This to draw out such putrifying gore As inward falls.

_Satyr._ Heaven grant it may doe good.

_Clor._ Fairly wipe away the blood: Hold him gently till I fling Water of a vertuous spring On his temples; turn him twice To the Moon beams, pinch him thrice, That the labouring soul may draw From his great eclipse.

_Satyr._ I saw His eye-lids moving.

_Clo._ Give him breath, All the danger of cold death Now is vanisht; with this Plaster, And this unction, do I master All the festred ill that may Give him grief another day.

_Satyr._ See he gathers up his spright And begins to hunt for light; Now he gapes and breaths again: How the blood runs to the vein, That erst was empty!

_Alex._ O my heart, My dearest, dearest _Cloe_, O the smart Runs through my side: I feel some pointed thing Pass through my Bowels, sharper than the sting Of Scorpion.

Pan preserve me, what are you? Do not hurt me, I am true To my _Cloe_, though she flye, And leave me to thy destiny. There she stands, and will not lend Her smooth white hand to help her friend:

But I am much mistaken, for that face Bears more Austerity and modest grace,

More reproving and more awe Than these eyes yet ever saw In my Cloe. Oh my pain Eagerly renews again.

Give me your help for his sake you love best.

_Clor._ Shepherd, thou canst not possibly take rest, Till thou hast laid aside all hearts desires Provoking thought that stir up lusty fires, Commerce with wanton eyes, strong blood, and will To execute, these must be purg'd, untill The vein grow whiter; then repent, and pray Great _Pan_ to keep you from the like decay, And I shall undertake your cure with ease. Till when this vertuous Plaster will displease Your tender sides; give me your hand and rise: Help him a little _Satyr_, for his thighs Yet are feeble.

_Alex._ Sure I have lost much blood.

_Satyr._ 'Tis no matter, 'twas not good. Mortal you must leave your wooing, Though there be a joy in doing, Yet it brings much grief behind it, They best feel it, that do find it.

_Clor._ Come bring him in, I will attend his sore When you are well, take heed you lust no more.

_Satyr._ Shepherd, see what comes of kissing, By my head 'twere better missing. Brightest, if there be remaining Any service, without feigning I will do it; were I set To catch the nimble wind, or get Shadows gliding on the green, Or to steal from the great Queen Of _Fayries_, all her beauty, I would do it, so much duty Do I owe those precious Eyes.

_Clor._ I thank thee honest _Satyr_, if the cryes Of any other that be hurt or ill, Draw thee unto them, prithee do thy will To bring them hither.

_Satyr._ I will, and when the weather Serves to Angle in the brook, I will bring a silver hook, With a line of finest silk, And a rod as white as milk, To deceive the little fish: So I take my leave, and wish, On this Bower may ever dwell Spring, and Summer.

_Clo_. Friend farewel. [_Exit_.

_Enter_ Amoret, _seeking her Love_.