Chapter 4

_Amor_. This place is Ominous, for here I lost My Love and almost life, and since have crost All these Woods over, never a Nook or Dell, Where any little Bird, or Beast doth dwell, But I have sought him, never a bending brow Of any Hill or Glade, the wind sings through, Nor a green bank, nor shade where Shepherds use To sit and Riddle, sweetly pipe, or chuse Their Valentines, that I have mist, to find My love in. _Perigot_, Oh too unkind, Why hast thou fled me? whither art thou gone? How have I wrong'd thee? was my love alone To thee worthy this scorn'd recompence? 'tis well, I am content to feel it: but I tell Thee Shepherd, and these lusty woods shall hear, Forsaken _Amoret_ is yet as clear Of any stranger fire, as Heaven is From foul corruption, or the deep Abysse From light and happiness; and thou mayst know All this for truth, and how that fatal blow Thou gav'st me, never from desert of mine, Fell on my life, but from suspect of thine, Or fury more than madness; therefore, here, Since I have lost my life, my love, my dear, Upon this cursed place, and on this green, That first divorc'd us, shortly shall be seen A sight of so great pity, that each eye Shall dayly spend his spring in memory Of my untimely fall.

_Enter_ Amaryllis.

_Amar_. I am not blind, Nor is it through the working of my mind, That this shows _Amoret_; forsake me all That dwell upon the soul, but what men call Wonder, or more than wonder, miracle, For sure so strange as this the Oracle Never gave answer of, it passeth dreams, Or mad-mens fancy, when the many streams Of new imaginations rise and fall: 'Tis but an hour since these Ears heard her call For pity to young _Perigot_; whilest he, Directed by his fury bloodily Lanc't up her brest, which bloodless fell and cold; And if belief may credit what was told, After all this, the Melancholy Swain Took her into his arms being almost slain, And to the bottom of the holy well Flung her, for ever with the waves to dwell. 'Tis she, the very same, 'tis _Amoret_, And living yet, the great powers will not let Their vertuous love be crost. Maid, wipe away Those heavy drops of sorrow, and allay The storm that yet goes high, which not deprest, Breaks heart and life, and all before it rest: Thy _Perigot_--

_Amor_. Where, which is _Perigot?_

_Amar_. Sits there below, lamenting much, god wot, Thee [and thy] fortune, go and comfort him, And thou shalt find him underneath a brim Of sailing Pines that edge yon Mountain in.

_Amo_. I go, I run, Heaven grant me I may win His soul again. [_Exit_ Amoret.

_Enter_ Sullen.

_Sull_. Stay _Amaryllis_, stay, Ye are too fleet, 'tis two hours yet to day. I have perform'd my promise, let us sit And warm our bloods together till the fit Come lively on us.

_Amar_. Friend you are too keen, The morning riseth and we shall be seen, Forbear a little.

_Sull_. I can stay no longer.

_Amar_. Hold _Shepherd_ hold, learn not to be a wronger Of your word, was not your promise laid, To break their loves first?

_Sull_. I have done it Maid.

_Amar_. No, they are yet unbroken, met again, And are as hard to part yet as the stain Is from the finest Lawn.

_Sull_. I say they are Now at this present parted, and so far, That they shall never meet.

_Amar_. Swain 'tis not so, For do but to yon hanging Mountain go, And there believe your eyes.

_Sull_. You do but hold Off with delayes and trifles; farewell cold And frozen bashfulness, unfit for men; Thus I salute thee Virgin.

_Amar_. And thus then, I bid you follow, catch me if you can. [_Exit_.

_Sull_. And if I stay behind I am no man. [_Exit running after her_.

_Enter_ Perigot.

_Per_. Night do not steal away: I woo thee yet To hold a hard hand o're the rusty bit That guides the lazy Team: go back again, _Bootes_, thou that driv'st thy frozen Wain Round as a Ring, and bring a second Night To hide my sorrows from the coming light; Let not the eyes of men stare on my face, And read my falling, give me some black place Where never Sun-beam shot his wholesome light, That I may sit and pour out my sad spright Like running water, never to be known After the forced fall and sound is gone.

_Enter_ Amoret _looking for_ Perigot.

_Amo_. This is the bottom: speak if thou be here, My _Perigot_, thy _Amoret_, thy dear Calls on thy loved Name.

_Per_. What art thou [dare] Tread these forbidden paths, where death and care Dwell on the face of darkness?

_Amo_. 'Tis thy friend, Thy _Amoret_, come hither to give end To these consumings; look up gentle Boy, I have forgot those Pains and dear annoy I suffer'd for thy sake, and am content To be thy love again; why hast thou rent Those curled locks, where I have often hung Riband and Damask-roses, and have flung Waters distil'd to make thee fresh and gay, Sweeter than the Nosegayes on a Bridal day? Why dost thou cross thine Arms, and hang thy face Down to thy bosom, letting fall apace From those two little Heavens upon the ground Showers of more price, more Orient, and more round Than those that hang upon the Moons pale brow? Cease these complainings, Shepherd, I am now The same I ever was, as kind and free, And can forgive before you ask of me. Indeed I can and will.

_Per_. So spoke my fair. O you great working powers of Earth and Air, Water and forming fire, why have you lent Your hidden vertues of so ill intent? Even such a face, so fair, so bright of hue Had _Amoret_; such words so smooth and new, Came flying from her tongue; such was her eye, And such the pointed sparkle that did flye Forth like a bleeding shaft; all is the same, The Robe and Buskins, painted Hook, and frame Of all her Body. O me, _Amoret_!

_Amo_. Shepherd, what means this Riddle? who hath set So strong a difference 'twixt my self and me That I am grown another? look and see The Ring thou gav'st me, and about my wrist That curious Bracelet thou thy self didst twist From those fair Tresses: knowst thou _Amoret_? Hath not some newer love forc'd thee forget Thy Ancient faith?

_Per_. Still nearer to my love; These be the very words she oft did prove Upon my temper, so she still would take Wonder into her face, and silent make Signs with her head and hand, as who would say, Shepherd remember this another day.

_Amo_. Am I not _Amaret_? where was I lost? Can there be Heaven, and time, and men, and most Of these unconstant? Faith where art thou fled? Are all the vows and protestations dead, The hands [held] up, the wishes, and the heart, Is there not one remaining, not a part Of all these to be found? why then I see Men never knew that vertue Constancie.

_Per_. Men ever were most blessed, till crass fate Brought Love and Women forth, unfortunate To all that ever tasted of their smiles, Whose actions are all double, full of wiles: Like to the subtil Hare, that 'fore the Hounds Makes many turnings, leaps and many rounds, This way and that way, to deceive the scent Of her pursuers.

_Amo_. 'Tis but to prevent Their speedy coming on that seek her fall, The hands of cruel men, more Bestial, And of a nature more refusing good Than Beasts themselves, or Fishes of the Flood.

_Per_. Thou art all these, and more than nature meant, When she created all, frowns, joys, content; Extream fire for an hour, and presently Colder than sleepy poyson, or the Sea, Upon whose face sits a continual frost: Your actions ever driven to the most, Then down again as low, that none can find The rise or falling of a Womans mind.

_Amo_. Can there be any Age, or dayes, or time, Or tongues of men, guilty so great a crime As wronging simple Maid? O _Perigot_, Thou that wast yesterday without a blot, Thou that wast every good, and every thing That men call blessed; thou that wast the spring From whence our looser grooms drew all their best; Thou that wast alwayes just, and alwayes blest In faith and promise; thou that hadst the name Of Vertuous given thee, and made good the same Ev'en from thy Cradle; thou that wast that all That men delighted in; Oh what a fall Is this, to have been so, and now to be The only best in wrong and infamie, And I to live to know this! and by me That lov'd thee dearer than mine eyes, or that Which we esteem'd our honour, Virgin state; Dearer than Swallows love the early morn, Or Dogs of Chace the sound of merry Horn; Dearer than thou canst love thy new Love, if thou hast Another, and far dearer than the last; Dearer than thou canst love thy self, though all The self love were within thee that did fall With that coy Swain that now is made a flower, For whose dear sake, Echo weeps many a shower. And am I thus rewarded for my flame? Lov'd worthily to get a wantons name? Come thou forsaken Willow, wind my head, And noise it to the world my Love is dead: I am forsaken, I am cast away. And left for every lazy Groom to say, I was unconstant, light, and sooner lost Than the quick Clouds we see, or the chill Frost When the hot Sun beats on it. Tell me yet, Canst thou not love again thy _Amoret_?

_Per_. Thou art not worthy of that blessed name, I must not know thee, fling thy wanton flame Upon some lighter blood, that may be hot With words and feigned passions: _Perigot_ Was ever yet unstain'd, and shall not now Stoop to the meltings of a borrowed brow.

_Amo_. Then hear me heaven, to whom I call for right, And you fair twinkling stars that crown the night; And hear me woods, and silence of this place, And ye sad hours that move a sullen pace; Hear me ye shadows that delight to dwell In horrid darkness, and ye powers of Hell, Whilst I breath out my last; I am that maid, That yet untainted _Amoret_, that plaid The careless prodigal, and gave away My soul to this young man, that now dares say I am a stranger, not the same, more wild; And thus with much belief I was beguil'd. I am that maid, that have delaid, deny'd, And almost scorn'd the loves of all that try'd To win me, but this swain, and yet confess I have been woo'd by many with no less Soul of affection, and have often had Rings, Belts, and Cracknels sent me from the lad That feeds his flocks down westward; Lambs and Doves By young _Alexis; Daphnis_ sent me gloves, All which I gave to thee: nor these, nor they That sent them did I smile on, or e're lay Up to my after-memory. But why Do I resolve to grieve, and not to dye? Happy had been the stroke thou gav'st, if home; By this time had I found a quiet room Where every slave is free, and every brest That living breeds new care, now lies at rest, And thither will poor _Amoret_.

_Per_. Thou must. Was ever any man so loth to trust His eyes as I? or was there ever yet Any so like as this to _Amoret_? For whose dear sake, I promise if there be A living soul within thee, thus to free Thy body from it. [_He hurts her again_.

_Amo_. So, this work hath end: Farewel and live, be constant to thy friend That loves thee next.

_Enter_ Satyr, Perigot _runs off_.

_Satyr_. See the day begins to break, And the light shoots like a streak Of subtil fire, the wind blows cold, Whilst the morning doth unfold; Now the Birds begin to rouse, And the Squirril from the boughs Leaps to get him Nuts and fruit; The early Lark that erst was mute, Carrols to the rising day Many a note and many a lay: Therefore here I end my watch, Lest the wandring swain should catch Harm, or lose himself.

_Amo_. Ah me!

_Satyr_. Speak again what e're thou be, I am ready, speak I say: By the dawning of the day, By the power of night and _Pan_, I inforce thee speak again.

_Amo_. O I am most unhappy.

_Satyr_. Yet more blood! Sure these wanton Swains are wode. Can there be a hand or heart Dare commit so vile a part As this Murther? By the Moon That hid her self when this was done, Never was a sweeter face: I will bear her to the place Where my Goddess keeps; and crave Her to give her life, or grave. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Clorin.

_Clor_. Here whilst one patient takes his rest secure I steal abroad to doe another Cure. Pardon thou buryed body of my love, That from thy side I dare so soon remove, I will not prove unconstant, nor will leave Thee for an hour alone. When I deceive My first made vow, the wildest of the wood Tear me, and o're thy Grave let out my blood; I goe by wit to cure a lovers pain Which no herb can; being done, I'le come again. [_Exit_.

_Enter_ Thenot.

_The_. Poor Shepherd in this shade for ever lye, And seeing thy fair _Clorins_ Cabin, dye: 0 hapless love, which [being] answer'd, ends; And as a little infant cryes and bends His tender Brows, when rowling of his eye He hath espy'd some thing that glisters nigh Which he would have, yet give it him, away He throws it straight, and cryes afresh to play With something else: such my affection, set On that which I should loath, if I could get.

_Enter_ Clorin.

_Clor_. See where he lyes; did ever man but he Love any woman for her Constancie To her dead lover, which she needs must end Before she can allow him for her friend, And he himself must needs the cause destroy, For which he loves, before he can enjoy? Poor _Shepherd_, Heaven grant I at once may free Thee from thy pain, and keep my loyaltie: _Shepherd_, look up.

_The_. Thy brightness doth amaze! So _Phoebus_ may at noon bid mortals gaze, Thy glorious constancie appears so bright, I dare not meet the Beams with my weak sight.

_Clor_. Why dost thou pine away thy self for me?

_The_. Why dost thou keep such spotless constancie?

_Clor_. Thou holy _Shepherd_, see what for thy sake _Clorin_, thy _Clorin_, now dare under take. [_He starts up_.

_The_. Stay there, thou constant _Clorin_, if there be Yet any part of woman left in thee, To make thee light: think yet before thou speak.

_Clor_. See what a holy vow for thee I break. I that already have my fame far spread For being constant to my lover dead.

_The_. Think yet, dear _Clorin_, of your love, how true, If you had dyed, he would have been to you.

_Clor_. Yet all I'le lose for thee.

_The_. Think but how blest A constant woman is above the rest.

_Clor_. And offer up my self, here on this ground, To be dispos'd by thee.

_The_. Why dost thou wound His heart with malice, against woman more, That hated all the Sex, but thee before? How much more pleasant had it been to me To dye, than to behold this change in thee? Yet, yet, return, let not the woman sway.

_Clor_. Insult not on her now, nor use delay, Who for thy sake hath ventur'd all her fame.

_The_. Thou hast not ventur'd, but bought certain shame, Your Sexes curse, foul falshood must and shall, I see, once in your lives, light on you all. I hate thee now: yet turn.

_Clor_. Be just to me: Shall I at once both lose my fame and thee?

_The_. Thou hadst no fame, that which thou didst like good, Was but thy appetite that sway'd thy blood For that time to the best: for as a blast That through a house comes, usually doth cast Things out of order, yet by chance may come, And blow some one thing to his proper room; So did thy appetite, and not thy zeal, Sway thee [by] chance to doe some one thing well. Yet turn.

_Clor_. Thou dost but try me if I would Forsake thy dear imbraces, for my old Love's, though he were alive: but do not fear.

_The_. I do contemn thee now, and dare come near, And gaze upon thee; for me thinks that grace, Austeritie, which sate upon that face Is gone, and thou like others: false maid see, This is the gain of foul inconstancie. [_Exit_.

_Clor_. 'Tis done, great _Pan_ I give thee thanks for it, What art could not have heal'd, is cur'd by wit.

_Enter_ Thenot, _again_.

_The_. Will ye be constant yet? will ye remove Into the Cabin to your buried Love?

_Clor_. No let me die, but by thy side remain.

_The_. There's none shall know that thou didst ever stain Thy worthy strictness, but shall honour'd be, And I will lye again under this tree, And pine and dye for thee with more delight, Than I have sorrow now to know the light.

_Clor_. Let me have thee, and I'le be where thou wilt.

_The_. Thou art of womens race, and full of guilt. Farewel all hope of that Sex, whilst I thought There was one good, I fear'd to find one naught: But since their minds I all alike espie, Henceforth I'le choose as others, by mine eye.

_Clor_. Blest be ye powers that give such quick redress, And for my labours sent so good success. I rather choose, though I a woman be, He should speak ill of all, than die for me.

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima_.

_Enter_ Priest, _and old_ Shepherd.

_Priest_. Shepherds, rise and shake off sleep, See the blushing Morn doth peep Through the window, whilst the Sun To the mountain tops is run, Gilding all the Vales below With his rising flames, which grow Greater by his climbing still. Up ye lazie grooms, and fill Bagg and Bottle for the field; Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield To the bitter North-east wind. Call the Maidens up, and find Who lay longest, that she may Goe without a friend all day; Then reward your Dogs, and pray _Pan_ to keep you from decay: So unfold and then away. What not a Shepherd stirring? sure the grooms Have found their beds too easie, or the rooms Fill'd with such new delight, and heat, that they Have both forgot their hungry sheep, and day; Knock, that they may remember what a shame Sloath and neglect layes on a Shepherds name.

_Old Shep_. It is to little purpose, not a swain This night hath known his lodging here, or lain Within these cotes: the woods, or some near town, That is a neighbour to the bordering Down, Hath drawn them thither, 'bout some lustie sport, Or spiced Wassel-Boul, to which resort All the young men and maids of many a cote, Whilst the trim Minstrel strikes his merry note.

_Priest_. God pardon sin, show me the way that leads To any of their haunts.

_Old Shep_. This to the meads, And that down to the woods.

_Priest_. Then this for me; Come Shepherd let me crave your companie. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Clorin, _in her Cabin_, Alexis, _with her_.

_Clor_. Now your thoughts are almost pure, And your wound begins to cure: Strive to banish all that's vain, Lest it should break out again.

_Alex_. Eternal thanks to thee, thou holy maid: I find my former wandring thoughts well staid Through thy wise precepts, and my outward pain By thy choice herbs is almost gone again: Thy sexes vice and vertue are reveal'd At once, for what one hurt, another heal'd.

_Clor_. May thy grief more appease, Relapses are the worst disease. Take heed how you in thought offend, So mind and body both will mend.

_Enter_ Satyr, _with_ Amoret.

_Amo_. Beest thou the wildest creature of the wood, That bearst me thus away, drown'd in my blood, And dying, know I cannot injur'd be, I am a maid, let that name fight for me.

_Satyr_. Fairest Virgin do not fear Me, that do thy body bear, Not to hurt, but heal'd to be; Men are ruder far than we. See fair _Goddess_ in the wood, They have let out yet more blood. Some savage man hath struck her breast So soft and white, that no wild beast Durst ha' toucht asleep, or wake: So sweet, that _Adder, Newte_, or _Snake_, Would have lain from arm to arm, On her bosom to be warm All a night, and being hot, Gone away and stung her not. Quickly clap herbs to her breast; A man sure is a kind of beast.

_Clor_. With spotless hand, on spotless brest I put these herbs to give thee rest: Which till it heal thee, will abide, If both be pure, if not, off slide. See it falls off from the wound, Shepherdess thou art not sound, Full of lust.

_Satyr_, Who would have thought it, So fair a face?

_Clor_. Why that hath brought it.

_Amo_. For ought I know or think, these words, my last: Yet _Pan_ so help me as my thoughts are chast.

_Clor_. And so may _Pan_ bless this my cure, As all my thoughts are just and pure; Some uncleanness nigh doth lurk, That will not let my Medicines work. _Satyr_ search if thou canst find it.

_Satyr_. Here away methinks I wind it, Stronger yet: Oh here they be, Here, here, in a hollow tree, Two fond mortals have I found.

_Clor_. Bring them out, they are unsound.

_Enter_ Cloe, _and_ Daphnis.

_Satyr_. By the fingers thus I wring ye, To my _Goddess_ thus I bring ye; Strife is vain, come gently in, I scented them, they're full of sin.

_Clor_. Hold _Satyr_, take this Glass, Sprinkle over all the place, Purge the Air from lustfull breath, To save this Shepherdess from death, And stand you still whilst I do dress Her wound for fear the pain encrease.

_Sat_. From this glass I throw a drop Of Crystal water on the top Of every grass, on flowers a pair: Send a fume and keep the air Pure and wholsom, sweet and blest, Till this Virgins wound be drest.

_Clor. Satyr_, help to bring her in.

_Sat_. By _Pan_, I think she hath no sin, She is so light: lye on these leaves. Sleep that mortal sense deceives, Crown thine Eyes, and ease thy pain, Maist thou soon be well again.

_Clor. Satyr_, bring the Shepherd near, Try him if his mind be clear.

_Sat_. Shepherd come.

_Daph_. My thoughts are pure.

_Sat_. The better trial to endure.

_Clor_. In this flame his finger thrust, Which will burn him if he lust; But if not, away will turn, As loth unspotted flesh to burn: See, it gives back, let him go, Farewel mortal, keep thee so.

_Sat_. Stay fair _Nymph_, flye not so fast, We must try if you be chaste: Here's a hand that quakes for fear, Sure she will not prove so clear.

_Clor._ Hold her finger to the flame, That will yield her praise or shame.

_Sat._ To her doom she dares not stand, But plucks away her tender hand, And the Taper darting sends His hot beams at her fingers ends: O thou art foul within, and hast A mind, if nothing else, unchaste.

_Alex._ Is not that _Cloe?_ 'tis my Love, 'tis she! _Cloe_, fair _Cloe_.

_Clo._ My Alexis.

_Alex._ He.

_Clo._ Let me embrace thee.

_Clor._ Take her hence, Lest her sight disturb his sence.

_Alex._ Take not her, take my life first.

_Clor._ See, his wound again is burst: Keep her near, here in the Wood, Till I ha' stopt these Streams of Blood. Soon again he ease shall find, If I can but still his mind: This Curtain thus I do display, To keep the piercing air away.

_Enter_ old Shepherd, _and_ Priest.

_Priest_. Sure they are lost for ever; 'tis in vain To find 'em out with trouble and much pain, That have a ripe desire, and forward will To flye the Company of all but ill, What shall be counsel'd now? shall we retire? Or constant follow still that first desire We had to find them?

_Old_. Stay a little while; For if the Morning mist do not beguile My sight with shadows, sure I see a Swain; One of this jolly Troop's come back again.

_Enter_ Thenot.

_Pri._ Dost thou not blush young Shepherd to be known, Thus without care, leaving thy flocks alone, And following what desire and present blood Shapes out before thy burning sense, for good, Having forgot what tongue hereafter may Tell to the World thy falling off, and say Thou art regardless both of good and shame, Spurning at Vertue, and a vertuous Name, And like a glorious, desperate man that buys A poyson of much price, by which he dies, Dost thou lay out for Lust, whose only gain Is foul disease, with present age and pain, And then a Grave? These be the fruits that grow In such hot Veins that only beat to know Where they may take most ease, and grow ambitious Through their own wanton fire, and pride delicious.

_The_. Right holy Sir, I have not known this night, What the smooth face of Mirth was, or the sight Of any looseness; musick, joy, and ease, Have been to me as bitter drugs to please A Stomach lost with weakness, not a game That I am skill'd at throughly; nor a Dame, Went her tongue smoother than the feet of Time, Her beauty ever living like the Rime Our blessed _Tityrus_ did sing of yore, No, were she more enticing than the store Of fruitful Summer, when the loaden Tree Bids the faint Traveller be bold and free, 'Twere but to me like thunder 'gainst the bay, Whose lightning may enclose but never stay Upon his charmed branches; such am I Against the catching flames of Womans eye.