Classic Poem

ACT. II. SCEN. I.

Siluanus. Dorcas. Montanus.

I N what a meane regard are we now held,
We actiue and laborious forresters?
Who though our liuing rurall be and rough,
Yet heretofore were we for valour priz'd,
And well esteem'd in all good companies:
Nor would the daintiest nymphs that vallyes haunt
Or fields inhabite, euer haue despis'd
Our siluane songs, nor yet our plaine discourse;
But gracefully accepted of our skill,
And often of our loues, when they haue seene
How faithfull and how constant we haue beene.
Dor. It's true Siluanus , but you see the times
Are altred now, and they so dainty growne,
By being ador'd, and woo'd, and followed so
Of those vnsinowed amorous heardsmen, who
By reason of their rich and mighty flockes,
Supply their pleasures with that plenteousnesse,
As they disdaine our plainnesse, and do scorne
Our company, as men rude and ill borne.
Sil. Well, so they doe; but Dorcas if you marke
How oft they doe miscarry in their loue,
And how disloyall these fine heardsmen prooue;
You shall perceiue how their aboundant store
Payes not their expectation, nor desires.
Witnesse these groues wherein they oft deplore
The miserable passions they sustaine;
And how perfidious, wayward, and vnkinde,
They finde their loues to be; which we, who are
The eyes, and eares of woods, oft see and heare
For hither to these groues they must resort,
And here one wayles apart the vsage hard
Of her disordred, wilde, and wilfull mate:
There mournes another her vnhappy state,
Held euer in restraint, and in suspect:
Another to her trusty confident,
Laments how she is matcht to such a one
As cannot giue a woman her content.
Another grieues how shee hath got a foole,
Whose bed, although she loath, she must endure.
And thus they all vnhappy by that meanes
Which they accompt would bring all happinesse;
Most wealthely are plagu'd, with rich distresse.
Dor. And so they are, but yet this was not wont
To be the fashion here; there was a time
Before Arcadia came to be diseas'd
With these corrupted humours reigning now,
That choise was made of vertue and desert,
Without respect of any other endes:
When loue was onely master of their hearts,
And rul'd alone: when simple thoughts produc'd
Plaine honest deedes, and euery one contends
To haue his fame to follow his deserts,
And not his shewes; to be the same he was,
Not seem'd to be: and then were no such parts
Of false deceiuings plaid, as now we see.
But after that accursed greedinesse
Of wealth began to enter and possesse
The hearts of men, integritie was lost,
And with it they themselues, for neuer more
Came they to be in their owne powre againe.
That Tyrant vanquisht them, made them all slaues,
That brought base seruitude into the world,
Which else had neuer bin; that onely made
Them to endure all whatsoeuer weights
Powre could deuise to lay vpon their necke.
For rather then they would not haue, they would not be
But miserable. So that no deuice
Needes else to keepe them vnder, they themselues
Will beare farre more then they are made; themselues
VVill adde vnto their fetters, rather then
They would not be, or held to be great men.
Sil. Then Dorcas , how much more are we to prize
Our meane estate, which they so much despise?
Considering that we doe enioy thereby,
The dearest thing in nature, Liberty .
And are not tortur'd with those hopes and feares, —
Th'affliction layd on superfluities, —
VVhich make them to obscure, and serue the times:
But are content with what the earth, the woods
And riuers neere doe readily afforde
And therewithall furnish our homely borde.
Those vnbought cates please our vnlearned throats
That vnderstand not dainties, euen as well
As all their delicates, which doe but stuffe
And not sustaine the stomacke: and indeede
A wel obseruing belly doth make much
For liberty; for hee that can but liue,
Although with rootes, and haue no hopes, is free
Without the verge of any sou'rainty;
And is a Lord at home, commands the day
As his till night, and then reposes him
At his owne houres; thinkes on no stratagem
But how to take his game, hath no designe
To crosse next day; no plots to vndermine.
Dor. But why Montanus do you looke so sad?
What is the cause your minde is not as free
As your estate? what, haue you had of late
Some coy repulse of your disdainfull nymph,
To whom loue hath subdu'd you? who indeede
Our onely master is, and no Lord else
But he, hath any power to vexe vs here;
Which had he not, we too too happy were.
Mon. In troth I must confesse, when now you two
Found me in yonder thicket, I had lost
My selfe, by hauing seene that which I would
I had not had these eyes to see; and iudge
If I great reason haue not to complaine:
You see I am a man, though not so gay
And delicate clad, as are your fine
And amorous dainty heardsmen, yet a man;
And that not base, not vn allyde to Pan ;
And of a spirit doth not degenerate
From my robustious manly ancestours,
Being neuer soild in any wrastling game,
But still haue borne away the chiefest prize
In euery braue and actiue exercise.
Yet notwithstanding that disdainfull mayd,
Prowd Phillis , doth despise me and my loue,
And will not daigne so much as heare me speake,
But doth abiure, forsooth, the thought of loue.
Yet shall I tell you (yet asham'd to tell;)
This coy vnlouing soule, I saw ere while
Soliciting a youth, a smooth fac'd boy,
Whom in her armes she held (as seem'd to me,
Being closely busht a prety distance off,)
Against his will; and with strange passion vrg'd
His stay, who seem'd, struggled to get away;
And yet she staid him, yet intreates his stay.
At which strange sight, imagine I that stood
Spectatour, how confoundedly I stood,
And hardly could forbeare from running in
To claime for mine, if euer loue had right,
Those her imbraces cast away in sight:
But staying to behold the end, I staid
Too long; the boy gets loose, her selfe retires,
And you came in; but if I liue, that boy
Shall dearely pay for his misfortune, that
He was beloued of her, of whom I would
Haue none on earth beloued, but my selfe.
Dor. That were to bite the stone, a thing vniust,
To punish him for her conceiued lust.
Mon. Tush, many in this world we see are caught,
And suffer for misfortune, not their fault.
Sil. But that would not become your manlines,
Montanus , it were shame for valiant men
To doe vnworthily.
Mon. Speake not of that, Siluanus , if my rage
Irregular be made, it must worke like effects.
Dor. These are but billowes, tumbling after stormes,
They last not long; come let some exercise
Diuert that humour, and conuert your thoughts
To know your selfe; scorne her who scorneth you;
Idolatrize not so that Sexe, but hold
A man of strawe more then a wife of gold.

ACT. II. SCEN. II.

Lidia. Phillis.

Y O u must not Phillis , be so sensible
Of these small touches which your passion makes.
Phi. Small touches Lidia , do you count them small?
Can there vnto a woman worse befall
Then hath to me? what? haue not I lost all
That is most deare to vs, loue and my fame?
Is there a third thing Lidia you can name
That is so precious as to match with these?
Lid. Now silly girle, how fondly do you talke?
How haue you lost your fame; what for a few
Ill fauour'd louing words, vttred in ieast
Vnto a foolish youth? Cannot you say
You did but to make triall how you could,
If such a peeuish qualme of passion should
(As neuer shall) oppresse your tender heart,
Frame your conceit to speake, to looke, to sigh
Like to a heart-strooke louer; and that you
Perceiuing him to be a bashfull youth,
Thought to put spirit in him, and make you sport.
Phi. Ah Lidia , but he saw I did not sport,
He saw my teares, and more: what shall I say?
He saw too much, and that which neuer man
Shall euer see againe whil'st I haue breath.
Lid. Are you so simple as you make your selfe?
What did he see? a counterfeited shew
Of passion, which you may, if you were wise,
Make him as easily to vnbeleeue,
As what he neuer saw; and thinke his eyes
Conspir'd his vnderstanding to deceiue.
How many women, thinke you, being espide
In neerer-touching cases by mischance,
Haue yet not onely fac'd their louers downe
For what they saw, but brought them to beleeue
They had not seene the thing which they had seene,
Yea and t' sweare it too; and to condemne
Themselues? such meanes can wit deuise
To make mens mindes vncredit their owne eies.
And therefore let not such a toy as this
Disease your thoughts: and for your losse of loue,
It is as much as nothing. I would turne
A passion vpon that should ouerturne
It cleane, and that is wrath; one heate
Expels another. I would make my thoughts of skorne
To be in height so much aboue my loue,
As they should ease and please me more by farre.
I would disdaine to cast a looke that way
Where he should stand, vnlesse it were in skorne,
Or thinke a thought of him, but how to worke
Him all disgrace that possibly I could.
Phi. That Lidia can I neuer doe, let him
Do what he will to me: report my shame,
And vaunt his fortune, and my weaknesse blame.
Lid. Nay as for that, he shall be so well charmd
Ere I haue done, as you shall feare no tales.
Phi. Ah Lidia , could that be without his harme,
How blessed should I be: But see where comes
My great tormentor, that rude Forrester.
Good Lidia let vs flie, I hate his sight
Next to the ill I suffer: let vs flie,
We shall be troubled with him wofully.
Lid. Content you Phillis , stay and heare him speake:
We may make vse of him more then you thinke.
Phil. What vse can of so grosse a peece be made?
Lid. The better vse be sure, for being grosse:
Your subtler spirits full of their finesses,
Serue their owne turnes in others businesses.

ACT. II. SCEN. III.

Montanus. Lidia. Phillis.

VV H at pleasure can I take to chase wild beasts,
When I my selfe am chac'd more egarly
By mine owne passions, and can finde no rest?
Let them who haue their heart at libertie,
Attend those sports. I cannot be from hence,
Where I receiu'd my hurt; here must I tread
The maze of my perplexed miserie.
And here see where shee is the cause of all!
And now, what shall I doe? what shall I say?
How shall I looke? how stand? which vtter first?
My loue or wrath? Alas I know not which.
Now were it not as good haue beene away,
As thus to come, and not tell what to say?
Phil. See Lidia see, how sauagely hee lookes!
Good let vs goe, I neuer shall endure
To heare him bellow.
Lid. Prethee Phillis stay
And giue him yet the hearing, in respect
Hee loues you; otherwise you shew your selfe
A sauage more then hee.
Phil. Well, if I heare,
I will not answere him a word, you shall reply:
And prethee Lidia doe, reply for mee.
Lid. For that we shall, Phillis , doe well enough
When he begins, who seemes is very long
To giue the onset; sure the man is much
Perplexed, or he studies what to say.
Phil. Good Lidia see how he hath trickt himselfe!
Now sure this gay fresh suite as seemes to mee
Hangs like green Iuy on a rotten tree.
Lid. Some beasts do weare gray beards beside your goates:
And beare with him, this suit bewraies yong thoughts.
Mon. Ah was it not enough to be opprest
With that confounding passion of my loue
And her disdaine, but that I must be torne
With wrath and enuy too, and haue no veine
Free from the racke of sufferings, that I can
Nor speake nor thinke but most distractedly?
How shall I now begin, that haue no way
To let out any passion by it selfe,
But that they all will thrust together so
As none will be expressed as they ought?
But something I must say now I am here.
And be it what it will, loue, enuie, wrath,
Or all together in a comberment,
My words must be like me, perplext and rent;
And so I'le to her.
Phi. Lidia , see he comes!
Lid. He comes indeed, and as me thinkes doth shew
More trouble in his face by farre, then loue.
Mon. Faire Phillis , and too faire for such a one,
Vnlesse you kinder were, or better then
I know you are: how much I haue endur'd
For you, although you scorne to know, I feelc,
And did imagine, that in being a man
Who might deserue regard, I should haue bin
Prefer'd before a boy. But well, I see
Your seeming and your being disagree
Phil. What Lidia , doth he brawle? what meanes he thus
To speake and looke in this strange sort on me?
Mon. Well modest Phillis , neuer looke so coy,
These eyes beheld you dallying with a boy
Phil. Me with a boy, Montanus? when? where? how?
Mon. To day, here, in most lasciuious sort
Lid. Ah, ha, he sawe you Phillis , when
This morning you did striue with Cloris boy
To haue your Garland, which he snatcht away,
And kept it from you by strong force and might:
And you againe laid hold vpon the same,
And held it fast vntill with much adoe
He wrung it from your hands, and got away:
And this is that great matter which he saw.
Now fye Montanus fye, are you so grosse,
T'imagine such a worthy Nymph as shee
Would be in loue with such a youth as he?
Why now you haue vndone your credit quite;
You neuer can make her amends for this
So impious a surmise, nor euer can
Shee, as shee reason hath, but must despise
Your grossenesse; who should rather haue come in
And righted her, then suffer such a one
To offer an indignity so vile,
And you stand prying in a bush the while.
Mon. What do I heare? what, am I not my selfe?
How? haue mine eyes double vndone me then?
First seeing Phillis face, and now her fact,
Or else the fact I saw, I did not see?
And since thou hast my vnderstanding wrong'd,
And traytour-like giuen false intelligence,
Whereby my iudgement comes to passe amisse.
And yet I thinke my sence was in the right:
And yet in this amaze I cannot tell,
But howsoere, I in an errour am,
In louing, or beleeuing, or in both.
And therefore Phillis , at thy feet I fall,
And pardon craue for this my grosse surmise.
Lid . But this, Montanus , will not now suffise,
You quite haue lost her, and your hopes and all.
Mon . Good Lidia yet intreate her to relent,
And let her but command me any thing
That is within the power of man to do,
And you shall finde Montanus will performe
More then a Gyant, and will stead her more
Then all the Heardsmen in Arcadia can.
Lid . Shee will command you nothing; but I wish
You would a little terrifie that boy
As he may neuer dare to vse her name
But in all reuerence as is fit for her.
But doe not you examine him a word;
For that were neither for your dignity,
Nor hers, that such a boy as he should stand
And iustifie himselfe in such a case,
Who would but faine vntruths vnto your face.
And herein you some seruice shall performe,
As may perhaps make her to thinke on you.
Mon . Alas, this is a worke so farre, so low
Beneath my worth, as I account it none;
Were it t'incounter some fierce mountaine beaft
Or Monster, it were something fitting mee.
But yet this will I doe, and doe it home,
Assure you Lidia : as I liue I will.
Phil . But yet I would not haue you hurt the youth,
For that were neither grace for you nor mee.
Mon . That as my rage will tollerate must be.

ACT II. SCEN.IV.

Cloris. Clarindo.

H E ere comes my long expected messenger,
God grant the newes hee bring may make amends
For his long stay; and sure, I hope it will.
Me thinkes his face bewraies more iollytie
In his returning then in going hence.
Cla . Well, all is well; no Amarillis hath
Supplanted Siluias loue in Thirsis heart,
Nor any shall: but see where Cloris lookes
For what I shall not bring her at this time.
Clo. Clarindo though my longing would be faine
Dispatch'd at once, and heare my doome pronounc'd
All in a word of either life or death,
Yet doe not tell it but by circumstance.
Tell me the manner where, and how thou foundst
My Thirsis , what hee said, how look'd, how far'd,
How he receiu'd my message, vsed thee;
And all in briefe, but yet be sure tell all.
Cla . All will I tell, as neere as I can tell.
First after tedious searching vp and downe,
I found him all alone, like a hurt Deare,
Got vnder couer in a shadie groue,
Hard by a little christall purling spring,
Which but one sullen note of murmur held;
And where no Sunne could see him, where no eye
Might ouerlooke his lonely privacy;
There in a path of his owne making, trode
Bare as a common way, yet led no way
Beyond the turnes he made (which were but short)
With armes a crosse, his hat downe on his eyes
(As if those shades yeelded not shade ynough,
To darken them) he walkes with often stops,
Vneuen pace, like motions to his thoughts.
And when he heard me comming, for his eares
Were quicker watches then his eyes, it seem'd;
Hee suddenly lookes vp, staies suddenly,
And with a brow that told how much the sight
Of any interrupter troubled him,
Beheld me, without speaking any word,
As if expecting what I had to say.
I finding him in this confus'd dismay,
Who heretofore had seene him otherwise:
I must confesse, (for tell you all I must,)
A trembling passion ouerwhelmd my breast,
So that I likewise stood confus'd and dumbe
And onely lookt on him, as he on me.
In this strange posture like two statues we
Remaind a while; but with this difference set:
He blusht, and I look'd pale; my face did shew
Ioy to see him, his trouble to be seene.
At length bethinking me for what I came,
What part I had to act, I rowzd my spirits,
And set my selfe to speake; although I wisht
He would haue first begun; and yet before
A word would issue, twise I bowd my knee,
Twice kist my hand; my action so much was
More ready then my tongue: at last I told
Whose messenger I was, and how I came
To intimate the sadde distressed case
Of an afflicted Nymph, whose onely helpe
Remaind in him: he when he heard the name
Of Cloris , turnes away his head, and shrinkes,
As if he grieued that you should grieue for him.
Clo . No, no, it troubled him to heare my name,
Which he despises; is he so peruers
And wayward still? ah then I see no hope.
Clarindo , would to God thou hadst not gone,
I could be, but as now, I am vndone.
Cla . Haue patience Mistres, and but heare the rest.
When I perceiu'd his suffrings, with the touch
And sodaine stop it gaue him, presently
I layd on all the waights that motion might
Procure, and him besought, adiur'd, invok'd,
By all the rights of Nature, pietie,
And manlines, to heare my message out.
Told him how much the matter did import
Your safety and his fame. How he was bound
In all humanity to right the same.
Clo . That vvas vvell done my boy, vvhat said he then?
Cla . Hee turnes about, and fixt his eyes on mee,
Content to giue his eares a quiet leaue,
To heare me; vvhen I faild not to relate
All vvhat I had in charge; and all he heares,
And lookes directly on me all the vvhile.
Clo . I doubt he noted thee more then thy vvords;
But now Clarindo , vvhat vvas his reply?
Cla . Thus. Tell faire Cloris , my good boy, how that
I am not so disnatured a man,
Or so ill borne, to disesteeme her loue,
Or not to grieue, (as I protest I doe)
That she should so afflict her selfe for mee.
But — —
Clo . Ah now comes that bitter vvord of But
Which makes all nothing, that vvas said before.
That smooths and vvounds, that stroakes and dashes more
Then flat denyals, or a plaine disgrace.
But tell me yet what followed on that But ?
Cla . Tell her (said hee) that I desire shee would
Redeeme her selfe at any price shee could,
And neuer let her thinke on mee; vvho am
But euen the barke, and outside of a man,
That trades not vvith the liuing, neither can
Nor euer vvill keepe other company
Then vvith the dead. My Siluias memory
Is all that I must euer liue vvithall.
With that his teares, which likewise forced mine,
Set me againe vpon another racke
Of passion so, that of my selfe I sought
To comfort him the best I could deuise.
And I besought him that he vvould not be
Transported thus; but know that vvith the dead
He should no more conuerse: and how his loue
Was liuing, that vvould giue him all content,
And was all his intire, and pure, and vvisht
To liue no longer then shee should be so.
When more I vvould haue said, he shooke his head
And wild me speake no further at that time,
But leaue him to himselfe, and to returne
Againe anone, and he vvould tell me more;
Commending me for hauing done the part
Both of a true and mouing messenger.
And so I tooke my leaue, and came my way.
Clo . Returne againe? no, to what end,
If hee be [thus] conceited, and so fond
To entertaine a shadow; I haue done,
And vvish that I had neuer done so much.
Shall I descend below my selfe, to send
To one is not himselfe? Let him alone
With his dead Image: you shall goe no more.
Haue I here fram'd vvith all the art I could
This Garland deckt vvith all the various flowres
Arcadia yeelds, in hope hee vvould send backe
Some comfort, that I might therwith haue crown'd
His loue, and vvitness'd mine, in th'endles round
Of this faire ring, the Character of faith?
But now he shall haue none of it, I rather will
Rend it in peeces, and dishatter all
Into a Chaos, like his formeles thoughts.
But yet thou saist hee vvild thee to returne,
And he vvould tell thee more.
Cla . Yes so hee saide
Clo . Perhaps thy vvords might yet so vvorke vvith him
As that hee takes this time to thinke on them,
And then I should doe vvrong to keepe thee backe.
Well thou shalt goe, and carry him from mee
This Garland, vvorke it vvhat effect it vvill.
But yet I know it vvill doe nothing. Stay
Thou shalt not goe, for sure hee said but that
To put thee off, that he might be alone
At his idolatrie, in vvorshipping
A nothing, but his selfe made images.
But yet he may be vvearied with those thoughts
As hauing worne them long, and end they must:
And this my message comming in fit time,
And moouingly deliuered, may take hold:
He said thou wert a moouing messenger.
Clarindo , did he not?
Cla . Yes so he sayd.
Clo . Well, thou shalt goe; and yet if any thought
Of me should moue him, he knowes well my minde
(If not too well,) and where he may me finde.
Thou shalt not goe Clarindo , nor will I
Disgrace me more with importunity:
And yet if such a motion should take fire,
And finde no matter ready, it would out,
And opportunities must not be slackt.
Clarindo , thou shalt go, and as thou goest,
Looke to my flocke, and so God speed thee well.

SCEN. V.

Clarindo, alias Siluia solus.

VV E ll, this imployment makes for my auaile,
For hereby haue I meanes to see my loue;
Who likewise sees me, though he sees me not;
Nor do I see him as I would I did.
But I must by some meanes or other make
Him know I liue; and yet not so as he
May know that I am I, for feare we might
Miscary in our ioyes by ouer haste.
But it is more then time his suffrings were
Releeu'd in some close sort; and that can I deuise
No way to doe, but by relating how
I heard of an escape a nymph did make
From pirats lately, and was safe return'd.
And so to tell some story that containes
Our fortunes and our loues, in other names;
And wish him to expect the like euent;
For I perceiue him very well content
To heare me speake; and sure he hath some note,
Although so darkly drawne, as that his eyes
Cannot expresly reade it; yet it showes
Him something, which he rather feeles, then knowes.

The song of the second Chorus.

Desire that is of things vngot ,
See what trauaile it procureth,
And how much the minde endureth,
To gaine what yet it gaineth not:
For neuer was it paid,
The charge defraide,
According to the price of thought.