Classic Poem

ACT. IIII. SCEN. I.

Thirsis solus.

It hought these simple woods, these gentle trees
Would, in regard I am their daily guest,
And harbour vnderneath their shady roofes,
Not haue consented to delude my griefes,
And mocke my miseries with false reports:
But now I see they will afflict me too.
For as I came by yonder spreading Beech
Which often hath the Secretary beene
To my sad thoughts, while I haue rested me
(If loue had euer rest) vnder his gentle shade,
I found incaru'd, and faire incaru'd, these words:
Thy Siluia, Thirsis, liues; and is return'd .
Ah me, that any hand would thus adde scorne
Vnto affliction; and a hand so faire
As this may seeme to be; which were more fit,
Me thinkes, for good, then to doe iniurie;
For sure no vertue should be ill imploy'd.
And which is more; the name of Siluia was
Caru'd in the selfe same kind of Character
Which she aliue did vse, and wherewithall
Subscrib'd her vowes to me, who knowes it best;
Which shewes the fraud the more, and more the wrong.
Therefore you Stars of that high Court of Heauen,
Which doe reueale deceits, and punish them,
Let not this crime, to counterfeit a hand
To couzin my desires, escape the doome.
Nor let these riots of intrusion, made
Vpon my lonenesse, by strange company
Afflict me thus, but let me haue some rest.

Come then, refresher of all liuing things,
Soft sleepe, come gently, and take truce with these
Oppressours, but come simple and alone.
Without these Images of fantasie,
Which hurt me more then thou canst do me good:
Let me not sleepe, vnlesse I could sleepe all.

SCEN. III.

Palaemon. Thirsis.

Alas, he here hath laid him downe to rest,
It were now sinne his quiet to molest;
And God forbid I should; I will retire
And leaue him, for I know his griefs require
This poore relieuement of a little sleepe.

Thir. What spirit here haunts me? What no time free?
Ah, is it you Palaemon? would to God
You would forbeare me but a little while:
You shew your care of me too much in this,
Vnseasonable loue skarce kindnesse is
Pal. Good Thirsis , I am sorry I should giue
The least occasion of disease to you;
I will be gone and leaue you to your rest.
Thir. Doe good Palaemon , go your way, farewell;
And yet Palaemon stay, perhaps you may
By charmes you haue, cause sleepe to close mine eyes;
For you were wont, I doe remember well,
To sing me Sonnets, which in passion I
Composed in my happier dayes, when as
Her beames inflam'd my spirits, which now are set.
And if you can remember it, I pray
Sing me the song, which thus begins: Eyes hide my loue,
Which I did write vpon the earnest charge
Shee gaue vnto me, to conceale our loue.

The Song.

Eyes hide my loue, and doe not shew
To any but to her my notes,
Who onely doth that cipher know,
Wherewith we passe our secret thoughts:
Belie your lookes in others sight,
And wrong your selues to doe her right.
Pal. So now hee sleepes, or else doth seeme to sleepe;
But howsoeuer, I will not trouble him.

SCEN. III.

Clarindo. Thirsis.

See where he lies, whom I so long to see;
Ah my deare Thirsis , take thy quiet rest,
I know thou needst it; sleepe thy fill, sweet loue,
Let nothing trouble thee; be calme oh windes,
Be still you heards, chirp not so loud sweet birds,
Lest you should wake my loue: thou gentle banke
That thus are blest to beare so deare a weight,
Be soft vnto those dainty lymmes of his;
Plie tender grasse, and render sweet refresh
Vnto his weary senses, whilst he rests.
Oh could I now but put of[f] this disguise,
With those respects that setter my desire,
How closely would I neighbour that sweet side!
But stay, he stirres; I feare my heart hath brought
My feete too neare, and I haue wakened him.
Thir. It will not be, sleepe is no friend of mine,
Or such a friend, as leaues a man, when most
He needes him. See a new affault: vvho now?
Ah tis the boy that vvere vvith me erewhiles,
That gentle boy; I am content to speake
With him, he speakes so pretily, so sweet,
And vvith so good respective modesty:
And much resembles one I knew once vvell:
Come hither gentle boy, vvhat hast thou there?
Cla. A token sent you from the Nymph I serue.
Thi. Keepe it my boy, and weare it on thy head.
Cla. The gods forbid, that I, a seruant, should
Weare on my head, that vvhich my Mistresse hath
Prepar'd for yours: Sir, I beseech you vrge
No more a thing so ill becomming me.
Thi. Nay sure I thinke, it better vvill become
Thy head then mine; and therefore boy, thou must
Needes put it on.
Cla. I trust your lonenesse hath not so
Vnciuil'd you, to force a messenger
To doe against good manners, and his vvill.
Thi. No, good my boy, but I intreate thee now
Let me but put it on, hold still thy head,
It shall not be thy act, but onely mine:
Let it alone good boy, for if thou saw'st
How vvell it did become thee, sure thou vvouldst.
Now, canst thou sing my boy some gentle song?
Cla. I cannot sing, but I could vveepe.
Thi. Weepe, why?
Cla. Because I am not as I wish to be.
Thi. Why so are none; be not displeas'd for this;
And if you cannot sing, tell me some tale
To passe the time.
Cla. That can I doe, did I but know what kinde
Of tale you lik't.
Thi. No merry tale my boy, nor yet too sad,
But mixed, like the tragicke Comedies.
Cla. Then such a tale I haue, and a true tale,
Beleeue me Sir, although not written yet
In any booke; but sure it will, I know:
Some gentle shepheard, moou'd with passion, must
Record it to the vvorld, and vvell it vvill
Become the vvorld to vnderstand the same.
And this it is: There vvas sometimes a Nymph,
Isulia nam'd, and an Arcadian borne;
Faire can I not auouch shee vvas, but chast,
And honest sure, as the euent vvill prooue;
Whose mother dying, left her very young
Vnto her fathers charge, vvho carefully
Did breed her vp, vntill shee came to yeares
Of vvomanhood, and then prouides a match
Both rich, and young, and fit enough for her.
But she, vvho to another shepheard had
Call'd Sirthis , vow'd her loue, as vnto one
Her heart esteem'd more vvorthy of her loue,
Could not by all her fathers meanes be vvrought
To leaue her choice; and to forget her vow.
Thi. No more could my deare Siluia be from me.
Cla. Which caused much affliction to them both,
Thi. And so the selfe same cause did vnto vs.
Cla. This Nymph one day, surcharg'd vvith loue & griefe,
Which commonly (the more the pitty) dwell
As Inmates both together, vvalking forth
With other Maydes to fish vpon the shoare;
Estrayes apart, and leaues her company;
To entertaine her selfe vvith her owne thoughts:
And vvanders on so farre, and out of sight,
As shee at length vvas suddenly surpriz'd
By Pyrats, vvho lay lurking vnderneath
Those hollow rocks, expecting there some prize.
And notwithstanding all her pitious cryes,
Intreaty, teares, and prayers, those fierce men
Rent haire, and vaile, and carried her by force
Into their ship, vvhich in a little Creeke
Hard by, at Anckor lay, and presently hoys'd saile,
And so away.
Thi. Rent haire and vaile? and so
Both haire and vaile of Siluia , I found rent,
Which heere I keepe with mee. But now alas
What did shee? what became of her my boy?
Cla. When shee was thus inshipp'd, and woefully
Had cast her eyes about to view that hell
Of horrour, whereunto shee was so suddenly
Implung'd, shee spies a woman sitting with a child
Sucking her breast; which was the Captaines wife.
To her shee creepes, downe at her feet shee lyes;
O woman, if that name of woman may
Moue you to pitty, pitty a poore maid,
The most distressed soule that euer breath'd;
And saue me from the hands of these fierce men,
Let me not be defil'd, and made vncleane,
Deare woman now: and I will be to you
The faithfull'st slaue that euer Mistresse seru'd;
Neuer poore soule shall be more dutifull,
To doe what euer you command, then I.
No toile will I refuse; so that I may
Keepe this poore body cleane and vndeflowr'd,
Which is all I will euer seeke. For know
It is not feare of death layes me thus low,
But of that staine will make my death to blush.
Thi. What, would not all this moue a womans heart?
Cla. All this would nothing mooue the womans heart,
Whom yet shee would not leaue, but still besought;
Oh woman, by that Infant at your breast,
And by the paines it cost you in the birth,
Saue me, as euer you desire to haue
Your babe to ioy and prosper in the world;
Which will the better prosper sure, if you
Shall mercy shew, which is with mercy paid.
Then kisses shee her feet, then kisses too
The Infants feet: and oh sweet babe (said shee)
Could'st thou but to thy mother speake for me,
And craue her to haue pitty on my case;
Thou might'st perhaps preuaile with her so much,
Although I cannot; child, ah could'st thou speake!
The Infant, whether by her touching it
Or by instinct of nature, seeing her weepe,
Lookes earnestly vpon her, and then lookes
Vpon the mother, then on her againe,
And then it cryes, and then on either lookes:
Which shee perceiuing, blessed child, said shee,
Although thou canst not speake, yet do'st thou cry
Vnto thy mother for me. Heare thy child
Deare mother, it's for me it cryes,
It's all the speech it hath: accept those cryes,
Saue me at his request from being defilde;
Let pitty mooue thee, that thus mooues thy childe.
The woman, though by birth and custome rude, —
Yet hauing veynes of nature, could not bee
But peircible, — did feele at length the point
Of pitty, enter so, as out gusht teares,
(Not vsuall to sterne eyes) and shee besought
Her husband to bestow on her that prize,
With safegard of her body at her will.
The Captaine seeing his wife, the childe, the nymph,
All crying to him in this pitious sort;
Felt his rough nature shaken too, and grants
His wiues request, and seales his grant with teares;
And so they wept all soure for company:
And some beholders stood not with dry eyes;
Such passion wrought the passion of their prize.
Thi. In troth my boy, and euen thy telling it
Mooues me likewise, thou doost so feelingly
Report the same, as if thou hadst beene by.
But I imagine now how this poore nymph
When shee receiu'd that doome, was comforted?
Cla. Sir, neuer was there pardon, that did take
Condemned from the blocke, more ioyfull then
This graunt to her. For all her misery
Seem'd nothing to the comfort shee receiu'd,
By being thus faued from impurity:
And from the womans feet shee would not part,
Nor trust her hand to be without some hold
Of her, or of the child, so long as shee remain'd
Within the ship; which in few dayes arriues
At Alexandria , whence these Pirats were;
And there this woefull maide for two yeares space
Did serue, and truly serue this Captaines wife,
Who would not loose the benefit of her
Attendance for her profit otherwise.
But daring not in such a place as that
To trust her selfe in womans habite, crau'd
That she might be appareld like a boy:
And so shee was, and as a boy shee seru'd.
Thi. And two yeares tis, since I my Siluia lost.
Cla. At two yeares end, her Mistresse sends her forth
Vnto the Port for some commodities,
Which whilst shee sought for, going vp and down
Shee heard some Merchant men of Corinth talke,
Who spake that language the Arcadians did,
And were next neighbours of one continent.
To them all wrapt with passion, down she kneeles,
Tels them shee was a poore distressed boy,
Borne in Arcadia , and by Pirats tooke
And made a slaue in Egypt , and besought
Them, as they fathers were of children, or
Did hold their natiue countrey deare, they would
Take pitty on her, and relieue her youth
From that sad seruitude wherein shee liu'd:
For vvhich shee hop'd that shee had friends aliue
VVould thanke them one day, and reward them too;
If not, yet that shee knew the Heauens vvould doe.
The Merchants moou'd with pitty of her case,
Being ready to depart, tooke her vvith them,
And landed her vpon her countrey coast.
Where vvhen shee found her selfe, shee prostrate falls,
Kisses the ground, thankes giues vnto the gods;
Thankes them vvho had beene her deliuerers.
And on shee trudges through the desart woods,
Climes ouer craggy rockes, and mountaines steepe,
Wades thorough riuers, struggles thorough bogs,
Sustained onely by the force of loue;
Vntill shee came vnto the natiue plaines,
Vnto the fields, vvhere first shee drew her breath.
There lifts shee vp her eyes, salutes the ayre,
Salutes the trees, the bushes, flowres, and all:
And oh deare Sirthis , heere I am, said shee,
Heere, notwithstanding all my miseries:
I am the same I was to thee; a pure,
A chast, and spotlesse maide: oh that I may
Finde thee the man, thou didst professe to be.
Thi. Or else no man, for boy who truly loues,
Must euer so; that dye will neuer out:
And who but would loue truly such a soule?
Cla. But now, the better to haue notice how
The state of things then stood, and not in haste
To cast her selfe on new incumbrances,
Shee kept her habite still, and put her selfe
To serue a nymph, of whom shee had made choice
Till time vvere fitting to reueale her selfe.
Thi. This may be Siluias case; this may be shee;
But it is not: let mee consider vvell:
The teller, and the circumstance agree.

SCEN. III.

Montanus. Thirsis. Chorus.

Ah sirrha, haue I found you? are you heere
You princock boy? & with your garland on?
Doth this attire become your peeuish head;
Come, I must teach you better manners, boy.
He stabs Clarindo and dashes off his garland .
So Phillis , I haue done my taske, and heere
I bring the Trophey to confirme the same.
Thi. Ah monster man, vile wretch, what hast thou done?
Alas, in what a strait am I ingaged heere?
If I pursue reuenge, I leaue to saue.
Helpe, helpe, you gentle swaines, if any now be neare,
Helpe, helpe: ah harke, euen Eccho helpes me cry helpe.
Cho. What meanes this outcry? sure some sauage beast
Disturbs our heards, or else some Wolfe hath seaz'd
Vpon a Lambe.
Thi. A worse thing then a Wolse
More bloody then a beast, hath murthered here
A gentler creature then a Lambe: therefore
Good swaines pursue, pursue the homicide.
That ougly wretch, Montanus , who hath stabd
This silly creature heere, at vnawares.
Cho. Montanus ? why, we met him but euen now,
Deckt with a garland, grumbling to himselfe;
We will attach that villaine presently:
Come sirs, make haste, and let vs after him.

SCEN. IIII.

Palaemon. Thirsis.

Alas, what accident is here falne out?
My deare friend Thirsis , how comes this to passe?
Thi. That monster man Montanus , heere hath stab'd
A harmlesse youth, in message sent to me.
Now good Palaemon helpe me hold him vp,
And see if that we can recouer him.l
Pal. It may be Thirsis , more his feare then hurt:
Stay him a while, and I will haste and send
For Lamia , who with oyntments, oyles and herbes
If any helpe remaine, will helpe him sure.
Thi. Do good Palaemon , make what hast you may,
Seeke out for helpe, and be not long away.
Alas sweet boy, that thou should'st euer haue
So hard misfortune, comming vnto me,
And end thy tale with this sad tragedy;
That tale which well resembled Siluias case,
Which thou resemblest; for such browes had she,
Such a proportion'd face, and such a necke.
What haue we here, the mole of Siluia too?
What and her breasts? what? and her haire? what all?
All Siluia ? yes, all Siluia , and all dead.
And art thou thus return'd againe to me?
Art thou thy selfe, that strange deliuered nymph?
And didst thou come to tell me thine escape
From death to die before me? had I not
Enough to doe, to wayle reported harmes
But thou must come to bleed within my armes?
Was not one death sufficient for my griefes
But that thou must die twice? why thou wert dead
To me before. Why? must thou dye againe?
Ah, better had it beene still to be lost
Then thus to haue beene found; yet better found
Though thus, then so lost as was thought before.
For howsoeuer, now I haue thee yet
Though in the saddest fashion that may be.
Yet Siluia now I haue thee, and will I
No more for euer part with thee againe:
And we this benefit shall haue thereby,
Though fate would not permit vs both to haue
One bed, yet Siluia we shall haue one graue.
And that is something, and much more then I
Expected euer could haue come to passe.
And sure the gods but onely sent thee thus
To fetch me; and to take me hence with thee;
And Siluia so thou shalt. I ready am
T'accompany thy soule, and that with speed.
The strings I feele, are all dissolu'd, that hold
This woefull heart, reseru'd it seemes for this,
And well reseru'd, for this so deare an end.

SCEN. V.

Chorus. Palaemon.

So, we haue tooke the villaine, and him bound
Fast to an Oake, as rugged as himselfe.
And there he stares and gapes in th'ayre, and raues
Like a wilde beast that's taken in the toyle:
And so he shall remaine, till time we see
What will become of this his sauage act.
Cheere Thirsis, Lamia will come presently
And bring the best preseruatiues she hath
What now? Who lyes discouered heere? Ay me,
A woman dead? Is this that boy transform'd?
Why, this is Siluia . O good Thirsis how
Comes this to passe? Friend Thirsis, Thirsis speake.
Good Thirsis tell me. Out alas he sownes,
As well as she, and both seeme gone alike.
Come gentle heardsmen, come and carry them
To yonder sheepe-cote quickly, that we may
(If possible) recouer them againe.
If not, performe those rites that appertaine
Vnto so rare a couple. Come my friends, make hast.

The fourth Song of the Chorus.

Qu. Were euer chast and honest hearts
Expos'd vnto so great distresses?
Ans Yes: they that act the worthiest parts ,
Most commonly haue worst successes.
Great fortunes follow not the best,
It's vertue that is most distrest.

Then fortune why doe we admire
The glory of thy great excesses?
Since by thee what men acquire,
Thy worke and not their worths expresses.
Nor dost thou raise them for their good:
But t'haue their illes more vnderstood.