Classic Poem

Aminta, Daphne, Nerina.[ Am :

Pittilesse (Daphne) was that Pitty of thine,
When thou held'st backe the dart; because my death
Will but more painefull be, the more delay' de:
And now, why doest thou stay me trifling thus,
And hold me' in vaine with these thy long discourses?
If thou beest fearefull of my death, thou fear'st
My happinesse. Daph :

Leave leave Aminta
This thy unjust despaire: I know her well;
And 'twas her bashfulnesse, not cruelty,
That made her runne away so fast from thee. Am :

Ah that my onely friend must be Dispaire,
Seeing that onely Hope hath bred my ruyne:
And yet it would be breeding in my brest
Againe, and bid me live; when, what can bee
A greater ill to so great misery,
Then still to live, but to be still unhappy? Da :

Why live yet, live with thy unhappines;
And beare it for thy greater happines
When the time comes; think what thou lately saw'st
In the faire naked one, and let that serve thee
For a reward sufficient for thy hope,
And make thee in love with life. Am :

'Twas not enough
For love, and fortune, that I was before,
So wretched, as I scarsly could be more;
But that I must be shew'd (t' augment my ill)
Part of my blisse, yet go without it still. Ner :

Must I be then the Raven, and sinister
Relater of so bitter newes? O wretched,
Wretched Montano; ah what wilt thou do,
When thou shalt heare the sad, and killing story
Of thy owne only Silvia? poore olde man,
Most haplesse father of a hapless childe;
Ah now no father. Da :

I do heare a sad
Lamenting voyce. Am:

I heare the name of Silvia,
That strikes mine eare, and my heart through at once;
But who is't names her? Da:

'Tis I thinke the Nimphe
Nerina, shee whom Dian loves so well,
That has so lively eyes, and lovely hands,
And so becomming a behaviour. Ner:

Yet he shall know it; and go gather up
Th' unhappy reliques, (if yet any be;)
Ah Silvia Silvia, O accursed fate. Am:

Ay mee, what meanes this Nimph? what say's shee? Ner:

Daphne? Da:

Nerina? what's the matter that thou nam'st
Silvia so oft, and sigh'st at ev'ry word? Ner:

There's cause enough Daphne; ah too too much. Am:

Ay mee I feele, I feele my brest so full
Of yce, my breath half stopt; lives shee, or no? Da:

Tell us all, tell the worst Nerina. Ner:

O heav'n,
Must I be then th' unhappy' historian?
And yet it's fit I tell my sad tale out,
Silvia starnak'd (whereof yee know perhaps
The cause) came to our house, where being clad,
Shee afterward desir'd me I would goe
A hunting with her, as it was before
Appointed, to the Grove of Okes, (for so
The place yee know is call'd;) I did agree;
And onn we went, and found there many Nimphes
Gath'red together; not farr off, behold
Rusheth a huge Wolfe foorth, whose yawning jawes
Foam'd with a bloudy froth; Silvia then neare him
Let flie a shaft at him; and in his head
The arrow light; he tooke the wood againe,
And shee at heeles persu'd him with a Dart
Into the wood. — Am:

Ah sorrowfull beginning,
I feare, I feare a sad conclusion. Ner:

I with an other Dart follow'd their footing;
But setting out too late, was cast farr off;
And having gain'd the wood, I lost the sight
Of them; " yet kept their track, and ranne so farr,
Till I was got into the desertest
And thickest of the wood; at length I found
(And tooke up) Silvias Dart upon the ground;
And not farr off a white vaile, which (ere while)
I did my selfe binde up her haire withall;
And whilst I look'd about me": I spi'de sev'n Wolves
Licking bloud off the ground, that scatt'red lay
About a few bare bones; and 'twas my hap
To scape unseene, while they so earnestly
Minded their pray.
I full of feare turn'd back, and came my way.
And this is all that I can say of Silvia;
And heere's the vaile. Am:

Th'hast sayd, th'hast sayd enough;
O bloud, O vayle, O Silvia, 'dead dead — Dap:

Poore youth he dyes; he's dead; ay me he's dead
With griefe. Ner.

He breath's yet, he's but in a traunce;
Tarry he comes againe t'himself. Am:

O griefe,
Why do'st, why do'st thou thus torment me?
And wilt not end me? th' art unjust. Perhaps
Thou leav'st the worke to my owne hand: I am,
I am content it shall be my owne care;
Since thou wilt not, or canst not doe't; Ay mee.
Ay mee if nothing want to make this cleere,
And nothing want to make my miseries
Now brimfull; why do' I linger? why do I stay?
O Daphne Daphne, was it to this end,
This bitter, bitter end thou didst reserve me?
My death had then bin sweet, and pleasing to me,
When thou and heav'n held back my Dart, and sav'd me;
Heav'n that was lothe (belike) I should prevent
With death, the woes it has prepar'd for me;
But now't has done the very worst it can,
I hope both heav'n, and you may suffer me
To dye in peace. Da:

Stay yet, stay wretch, and learne
The trueth yet better. Am:

Ah the trueth is such,
'Ive stay'd too long, alas I've heard too much. Ner:

Ay mee, wretch that I am, why did I speake? Am:

Gentle Nimphe, let me crave that vayle of thee,
The poore remaynder of her; they it may
Accompanie me for these fewe sad houres
Of way, and life yet left me; and increase
That martirdom, that were no martirdom
Were it not much more then enough to kill me. Ner:

Shall I denie't, or shall I give it him?
The cause he askes it for, bids me retaine it. Am:

Cruell Nimphe, to deny me' a grace so small
In my extremity; and ev'n I see
How in each trifle fortune crosseth mee.
I yeeld, I yeeld; long may it bide with thee:
Long live yee; my way to my death must bee. Da:

Aminta stay, Aminta', a word Aminta,
Harke, stay; alas how swift he flyes away. Ner:

He runnes so fast, t'will be in vaine for us
To follow him; 'twere best I onward went
Upon my way; and yet perhaps 'twere better
I stay'd, and held my peace, then my selfe be
Author of poore Montano's misery.
Death, there is no neede of thee:
Love alone, and Constancie
Ar enough (without thy Dart)
To tyre upon an honest heart.
Yet so hard is not the way
To Loves fame, as many say;
For Love no price but love regards;
And with it selfe, it selfe rewards.
And oft in seeking it, is found
Glory that lives, when we are under ground.