Classic Poem

ACTVS. IV. SCENA. I.

Techne. Amyntas

Amyntas must come backe I know this vvay,
And here it will be best for me to stay;
And here, indeed he comes, poore man I see
All quite dismay'd: and now ile worke on him.
Come, vvho tels troth Amyntas, vvho deceiues
Your expectation now, Cloris, or I?
Am. Peace Techne peace, and do not interrupt
The griefe that hath no leasure to attend
Ought but it selfe, and hath shut vp vvith it
All other sense in priuate close within,
From doing any thing, but onely thinke.
Tec. Thinke? whereon should you think? y'haue thought enough
And too too much, on such a one as she,
Whom now you see y'haue tride her honesty:
And let her goe proud girle accordingly;
There's none of these young vvanton things that know
How t'vse a man, or how to make their choyse,
Or answere mens affections as they ought;
And if y'will thinke, thinke sh'is not worth a thought.
Am. Good Techne, leaue me; for thy speech and sight
Beare both that disproportion to my griefe,
As that they trouble trouble, and confound
Confusion in my sorrowes, vvhich doth loath
That sound of words, that answeres not the tone
Of my disprayers in th'accents of like mone
And now hath sorrow no vvorse plague I see
Then free and vnpartaking company;
Who are not in the fashion of our vvoes,
And whose affection do not looke likewise
Of that complection as our miseries:
And therefore pray thee leaue me, or else leaue
To speake, or if thou speake let it not be
To me, or else let me, not answere thee.
Tec. Well I say nothing, you know vvhat y'haue seene.
Am. Tis true, I do confesse that I haue seene
The vvorst the world can shew me, and the worst
That can be euer seene vvith mortall eye.
I haue beheld the whole of all wherein
My heart had any interest in this life;
To be difrent and torne from of my hopes,
That nothing now is leaft, why I should liue:
That ostage I had giuen the world, which was
The hope of her, that held me to hold truce
With it, and with this life is gone; and now
Well may I breake with them, and breake I will
And rend that pact of nature, and dissolue
That league of blood that ties me to my selfe.
For Cloris, now hath thy immodesty
Infranchiz'd me, and made me free to dye:
VVhich otherwise I could not lest it might
Haue beene some staine and some disgrace to thee.
Ah was it not enough for this poore heart
T'indure the burden of her proud disdaine,
That weigh'd it to the earth, but it must
Be crusht thus vvith th'oppression of her staine?
The first vvound yet though it were huge and wide,
Yet was it cleanely made, it festred not;
But this now giuen, comes by a poysoned shot,
Against all lawes of honor that are pure,
And rankles deadly, is vvithout all cure.
Ah how she blusht vvhen as she issued forth
VVith her inamor'd mate out of the caue!
And well then might she blush at such a deed,
And with how vvild a looke she casts about
Her fearefull eyes! as if her loathsome sinne
Now comming thus into the open sight,
VVith terror did her guiltinesse affright;
And vp she treades the hill vvith such a pace,
As if she gladly would haue out gone shame,
Which yet for all her hasting, after came.
And at their comming forth, me thought I heard
The villaine vse my name, and she returne
The same againe in very earnest sort;
Which could be for no good I know to me,
But onely that perhaps it pleas'd her then
To cast me vp by this way of her mouth
From off her heart, left it might stuffe the same.
But Cloris know thou shalt not need to feare,
I neuer more shall interrupt thy ioyes
With my complaints, nor more obserue thy waies;
And O I would thy heart could be as free
From sinne and shame, as thou shalt be from me.
I could (and haue reason so to do)
Reuenge my wrong vpon that wicked wretch,
Who hath surpriz'd my loue, and robb'd thy shame;
And make his blood th'oblation of my wrath
Euen at thy feete, that thou might'st see the same
To expiate, for this vniustice done,
But that the fact examin'd would display
Thy infamy abroad vnto the world,
Which I had rather die then once bewray.
And Techne pray-thee, tell her thus from me, —
But yet, ah tell it softly in her eare,
And be thou sure no liuing creature heare. —
That her immodesty hath lost this day;
Two the most honest guardians of her good
She had in life, her honour, and my blood.
Tec. Now I may speake, I trust, you speake to me.
Am. No not yet Techne, pray-thee stay a while, —
And tell her too, though she spares not her shame,
My death shall shew, that I respect her fame.
Tec. Then now I may.
Am. O Techne no not yet. —
And bid her not forget Amyntas faith,
Though she despised him; and one day yet
She may be toucht with griefe, and that ere long,
To thinke on her dishonour, and his wrong:
Now Techne I haue done, and so farewell.
Tec . But stay Amyntas , now must I begin.
Am . I cannot stay Techne , let goe your hold;
It is in vaine I say, I must be gone.
Tec . Now deare Amyntas , heare me but one word. —
Ah he is gone, and in that fury gone,
As sure he vvill in this extremity
Of his dispaire, do violence to himselfe:
And therefore now vvhat helpe shall I deuise
To stay his ruine? sure there is no meanes
But to call Cloris , and perswade with her
To follovv him, and to preuent his death;
For though this practise vvas for mine owne good,
Yet my deceipts vse not to stretch to blood.
But now I know not vvhere I should finde out
That cruell mayde; but I must cast about.

SCEN. II.

Amarillis. Dorinda.

D orinda , you are yet in happy case,
You are belou'd, you need not to complaine;
'Tis I haue reason onely to bewaile
My fortunes, who am cast vpon disdaine,
And on his rockey heart that wrackes my youth
With stormes of sorrowes and contemnes my truth;
'Tis I that am shut out from all delight
This vvorld can yeeld a mayd, that am remou'd
From th'onely ioy on earth, to be belou'd:
Cruell Carinus skornes this faith of mine,
And lets poore Amarillis grieue and pine.
Do . Tis true indeed you say, I am belou'd,
Sweete Amarillis , and perhaps much more
Then I vvould be: plenty doth make me poore;
For now my heart, as if deuided stands
Betwixt two passions, loue and pitty both,
That draw it either way vvith that maine force,
As that I know not vvhich to yeeld vnto:
And then feare in the midd'st, holds m'in suspence,
Lest I lose both by mine improuidence.
Ama . How may that be Dorinda? you know this,
You can enioy but one, and one there is
Ought to possesse your heart, and loue a lone:
Who hunts two Hares at one time, catches none.
Do . I must tell you deare friend the whole discourse
From vvhom I cannot any thing conceale;
Arcadia knowes, and euery Shepheard knowes
How much Mirtillus hath deseru'd of me,
And how long time his woefull sute hath laine,
Depending on the mercie of mine eyes;
For whom I doe confesse, pitty hath beene
Th'Atturny euermore that stands and pleades
Before my heart the iustice of his cause,
And saies he ought haue loue, by loues owne lawes.
But now the maister sou'raigne Lord of hearts,
That great commander, and that tyrant Loue,
Who must haue all according to his will, —
Whom pitty onely vshers, goes before,
As lightning doth the thunder, — he sayes no,
And vvill that Colax onely haue my heart;
That gallant heardsman full of skill and arte,
And all experience of Loues mysteries;
To whom I must confesse me to haue giuen
The earnest of my loue; but since that time
I neuer saw the man; vvhich makes me much
To wonder that his dealing should be such:
For either Loue, hath (in respect that I
Despised haue the true and honest faith,
Of one that lou'd me with sincerity),
Made me the spoyle of falshood and contempt,
Or else perhaps the same is done to trye
My resolution, and my constancy.
But yet I feare the worst, and feare I may,
Lest he now hauing got the victory,
Cares for no more: and seeing he knowes my loue
Turnes towards him, he turnes his backe to me
So that I know not vvhat vvere best resolue,
Either to stand vnto the doubtfull faith
Of one that hath so dangerously begun,
Or else returne t'accept Mirtillus loue,
Who vvill perhaps when mine begins, haue done:
So that inwrapt in this distracted toyle
I vexe, and know not vvhat to do the vvhile.
And therefore Amarillis . I thinke sure
(Se'ing now how others loue in me hath prou'd)
You are most happy not to be belou'd.

SCEN. III.

Cloris. Amarillis. Dorinda.

Now here betweene you two, kind louing soules,
I know there can be no talke but of loue;
Loue must be all the scope of your discourse.
Alas poore hearts, I vvonder how you can
In this deceiptfull vvorld thinke of a man.
For they doe nothing but make fooles of you,
And laugh vvhen they haue done, and prooue vntrue.
Am. . Well Cloris vvell, reioyce that you are free;
You may be toucht one day as vvell as we.
Clo. Indeed and I had like to this last night,
Had I not lookt vvith such an angry eye,
And frown'd so sowre, that I made loue afeard.
There vvas a fellow needes forsooth would haue
My heart from me vvhether I would or not,
And had as great aduantage one could haue;
I tell you that he had me in a Caue.
Do. What, in a Caue? Cloris how came you there?
Clo. Truely Dorinda I vvill tell you how:
By no arte magique, but a plaine deuise
Of Techne , vvho would trie her wit on me;
For she had promis'd me, to meete me there
At such an houre, and thither bring vvith her
A new strange dressing she had made for me,
Which there close out of sight, I should trie on:
Thither vvent I poore foole, at th'houre decreed,
And there expecting Technes company,
In rushes fleering Colax after me;
Whom sure she sent of purpose to the place.
And there with his affected apish grace
And strained speach, offring to seaze on me,
Out rusht I from him, as indeed amaz'd
At his so sodaine and vnexpected sight.
And after followes he, vowes, sweares, protests
By all the gods, he neuer lou'd before
Any one liuing in the world but me;
And for me onely, would he spend his life.
Do. Alas, and what am I forgotten then?
Why these were euen the words he spake to me.
Clo. And then inueighes against Amyntas loue,
Vantes his owne parts, and his great knowledges;
And all so idle, as, in troth me thought
I neuer heard a man (more vainely talke,
For so much as I heard) for vp the hill
I went with such a pace, and neuer stayd
To giue regard to anything he sayd:
As at the last I scarse had left him breath
Sufficient to forsweare himselfe withall.
Do. Ah what hath then my silly ignorance done
To be deceiu'd, and mockt by such a one?
Clo. And when I had recouered vp the hill,
I fairely ran away and left my man
In midd'st of his coniuring periuries;
All empty to returne with mighty losse
Of breath and labour, hauing cast away
Much foolish paines in tricking vp himselfe
For this exploit, and goes without his game;
Which he in hope deuour'd before he came;
I, I, too, mist my dressing by this meanes.
But I admire how any woman can
Be so vnwise to like of such a man!
For I protest I see nought else but froth,
And shallow impudence, affected grace,
And some few idle practise complement:
And all the thing he is without he is,
For affection striues but to appeare,
And neuer is of Substance, or Sincere.
And yet this dare of falshood hath beguil'd
A thousand foolish vvenches in his dayes.
Do. The more vvretch he, and more hard hap was theirs.
Clo. Why do you sigh Dorinda ? are you toucht
VVith any of these passages of mine?
Do. No truly not of yours, but I haue cause
In my particular that makes me sigh.
Clo. Well, vvell, come one to put vs from this talke;
Let vs deuise some sport to passe the time.
Am. Faith I haue no great list to any sport.
Do. Nor I in troth, tis farthest from my minde.
Clo. Then let vs tell old tales, repeate our dreames,
Or any thing rather then thinke of loue.
Am. And now you speake of dreames, in troth last night
I vvas much troubled with a fearefull dreame.
Do. And truely Amarillis so was I.
Clo. And now I do remember too, I had
A foolish idle dreame, and this it was:
Me thought the fairest of Montanus lambs,
And one he lou'd the best of all his flocke,
VVas singled out, and chac'd b'a cruell curre,
And in his hot pursuit makes towards me,
(Me thought) for succour, and about me ran,
As if it beg'd my ayde to haue his life;
Which I long time deferr'd, and still lookt on,
And would not rescue it, vntill at length
I saw it euen quite wourried out of breath.
And panting at my feete, and could no more:
And then me thought, I tooke it vp from death,
And cherisht it with me, and brought it backe
Home to Montanus , who vvas glad to see
The poore recouer'd creature thus restor'd;
And I my selfe was greatly pleas'd, me thought,
That by my hand so good a deed vvas wrought;
And Amarillis now tell vs your dreame?
Am. Me thought as I in Eremathus walkt,
A fearefull vvoolfe rusht forth from out a brake,
And towards me makes with open hideous iawes.
From whom I ranne with all the speed I could,
T'escape my danger, and t'ouertake
One vvhom I saw before, that might lend ayde
To me distrest; but he me thought did runne
As fast from me, as I did from the beast.
I cride to him (but all in vaine) to stay;
The more I cride, the more he ranne away;
And after I, and after me the woolfe,
So long, as I began to faint in minde;
Seeing my despaire before, my death behind:
Yet ranne I still, and loe, me thought, at length
A little he began to slacke his pace;
Which I perceiuing, put to all my strength
And ranne, as if desire had wing'd my heeles;
And in the end me thought recouer'd him.
But neuer woman felt more ioy, — it seem'd, —
To ouertake a man, then did I him,
By whom I scapte the danger I was in;
That when I wak'd, as presently I awak'd,
Toucht with that sudaine ioy, which my poore heart
God knowes, had not beene vi'd vnto of late:
I found my selfe all in a moyst faint sweate,
VVhich that affrighting horrour did beget;
And though I were deliu'red of my feare,
And felt this ioy, yet did the trembling last
Vpon my heart, when now the feare was past.
Clo. This Amarillis may your good portend,
That yet you shall haue comfort in the end.
Am. God grant I may, it is the thing I want.
Clo. And now Dorinda tell vs what you dream't.
Do. I dream't, that hauing gone to gather flowers,
And weary of my worke, reposing me
Vpon a banke neere to a Riuers side,
A subtile Serpent lurking in the grasse,
Came secretly, and seized on my breast;
Which, though I saw, I had no power to stirre,
But lay me still, till he had eate away
Into my bosome, whence he tooke my heart;
And in his mouth carrying the same away,
Returnes me thought againe, from whence he came;
Which I perceiuing presently arose,
And after it most wofully I went,
To see if I could finde my heart againe:
And vp and downe, I sought but all in vaine.
Clo. In troth 'tis no good lucke to dreame of Snakes;
One shall be sure t'heare anger after it.
Do. And so it may be I haue done to day.
Clo. Indeed, and I haue heard it neuer failes.

SCEN. IIII.

Come, you are talking here in iollity,
Whilst I haue sought you Cloris all about:
Come, come, good Cloris quickly come away
Clo. What is the newes? what haue we now to doo;
Haue you another Caue to send me too?
Tec. Ah talke no more of that, but come away,
As euer you will saue the wofull life
Of a distressed man that dies for you.
Clo. Why what doth Colax whom you sent to me
Into the Caue, faint now vvith his repulse?
Tec. I sent him not, you would so wisely goe,
In open sight, as men might see you goe,
And trace you thither all the way you went.
But come, ah t'is not he, it is the man
You ought to saue: Amyntas is the man
Your cruelty, and rigor hath vndone:
O quickly come, or it vvill be too late;
For 'twas his chance, and most vnluckely,
To see both you and Colax , as you came
Out of the Caue, and he thinkes verily
You are possest by him; which so confounds
His spirits, and sinkes his heart, that sure h'is runne
T'vndoe himselfe; and O I feare 'tis done.
Clo. If it be done, my help will come too late;
And I may stay, and saue that labour here.
Am. Ah Cloris haste away if it be so,
And doe not if thou hast a heart of flesh,
And of a woman, stay and trifle time;
Goe runne, and saue thine owne; for if he die,
'Tis thine that dies, his blood is shed for thee;
And what a horror this will euer be
Hereafter to thy guilty conscience, when
Yeares shall haue taught thee wit, and thou shalt find
This deed instampt in bloody Characters,
Within the blacke records of thine owne thoughts;
Which neuer will be raz'd whilst thou hast breath,
Nor yet will be forgotten by thy death.
Besides, wide Fame will trumpet forth thy wrong,
And thou shalt be with all posterity,
Amongst th'examples held of cruelty,
And haue this sauage deed of thine be made
A sullen subiect for a Tragedy,
Intitled Cloris ; that thereby thy name
May serue to be an euerlasting shame;
And therefore go preuent so soule a staine.
Do. Ah go, go Cloris , haste away with speede
Clo. Why, whether should I go? I know not where
To finde him now, and if he do this deed,
It is his error, and no fault of mine;
Yet pray thee Techne , which way went the man?
Tec. Come Cloris , I will shew which way he went,
In most strange fury, and most desperate speed;
Still crying, Cloris , hast thou done this deed?
Clo. Why had not you staid, and perswaded him?
Tec. I could not stay him by no meanes I vs'd,
Though all the meanes I could deuise I vs'd.
Clo. VVell, I will go, poore man to seeke him out
Though I can do him else no other good.
I know indeed he hath deseru'd my loue,
And if I would like any, should be him,
So that I thought he would be true to me.
But thus my dreame may now chance come to passe,
And I may happen to bring home indeed
Montanus sonne, Amyntas that deere Lambe
He loues so well, and by my gracious deed,
He may escape the danger he was in.
VVhich if I do, and thereby do inthrall
My selfe, to free anothers misery,
Then will I sit and sigh, and talke of loue
As well as you, and haue your company.
For something I do feele begin to moue;
And yet I hope 'tis nothing else but feare;
Yet what know I that feare may hap to loue?
VVell Techne , come, I would not haue him yet
To perish, poore Amyntas , in this fit.
Ama. VVell Cloris yet he may, for ought I see
Before you come, vnlesse you make more hast.
Ah cruell maide, she little knowes the griefe
Of such a heart that's desperate of reliefe;
Nor vnderstands she her owne happinesse,
To haue so true a louer as he is.
And yet I see sh'is toucht, if not too late,
For I perceiu'd her colour come and goe;
And though in pride she would haue hid her woe,
Yet I saw sorrow looke out at her eyes
And poore Amyntas if thou now be gone,
Thou hast (like to the Bee that stinging dies,
And in anothers wound left his owne life)
Transpierced by the death, that marble heart,
Which liuing thou couldst touch by no desert.
And if thou shalt escape, thou hast suruiu'd
Her cruelty, which now repents her wrong,
And thou shalt by her fauours be reuiu'd.
After the affliction thou hast suffred long;
Which makes me thinke, that time, and patience may
Intenerat at length the hardest heart,
And that I may yet after all my woe,
Liue t'ouertake Carinus mercy too.
Do. And here this sad distresse of such a true
And constant louer ouercome with griefe
Presents vnto my guilty memory
The wrongs Mirtillus hath indur'd of me.
And O I would I knew now how he doth:
I feare he is not vvell; I saw him not
Scarse these three dayes; I meruaile vvhere he is:
And yet vvhat need I meruaile, vvho haue thus
Chac'd him from me vvith frownes and vsage vile,
And fondly left the substance of his faith,
To catch the shadow of deceipt and guile?
Was Colax he I thought the onely man,
And is he now prou'd to be such a one?
O that I euer lent an easie eare,
Vnto so false a wretches flatteries,
Whose very name I now abhorre to heare;
And loath my selfe, for being so vnwise.
What shall I doe sweet Amarillis now?
Which way shall I betake me to recouer
The losse of shame, and losse of such a louer?
Am. Indeed Dorinda you haue done him wrong,
But your repentance, and compassion now
May make amends, and you must learne to do
As I long time haue done, indure and hope,
And on that turne of Fortunes Scene depend,
VVhen all extremities must mend, or end.

SCEN. V.

VVell, come Ergastus , we haue seene ynow,
And it is more then time, that we prepare
Against this Hydra of confusion now,
Which still presents new hideous heads of feare:
And euery houre we see begets new broyles,
And intricates our youth in desperate toyles.
And therefore let th'aduantage of this day,
Which is the great and generall hunting day
In Eremanthus , serue for this good deed:
And when we meete (as all of vs shall meet
Here in this place anone, as is decreed)
We will aduise our Shepheards to intermit
That worke, and fall to this imports vs more;
To chase out these wilde mischiefes that do lurke,
And worse infect, then th' Erimanthian Boare,
Or all Beasts else; which onely spoile our fields,
Whilst these which are of more prodigious kinds,
Bend all their forces to destroy our mindes.
Erg. And this occasion will be very fit
Now to be tooke; for one day lost may lose
More by example, then we shall reget
In thousands; for when men shall once disclose
The way of ill that lay vnknowne before,
Scarce all our paines will euer stop it more.
Man is a creature of a wilfull head,
And hardly is driuen, but easily is lead.