Classic Poem

ACTVS I. SCENA I.

Thirsis. Palaemon.

So to be rest of all the ioyes of life,
How is it possible Palaemon , I
Should euer more a thought retaine
Of the least comfort vpon earth againe?
No, I would hate this heart, that hath receiu'd
So deepe a wound, if it should euer come
To be recur'd, or would permit a roome
To let in any other thing then griefe.
Pal. But Thirsis you must tell me what is the cause?
Thi. Thinke but what cause I haue; when hauing pass'd
The heates, the colds, the trembling agonies
Of feares, and hopes, and all the strange assaults
Of passion, that a tender heart could feele
In the attempt, and pursuite of his loue:
And then to be vndone, when all was done;
To perish in the hauen, after all
Those Ocean suffrings, and euen then to haue
My hopefull Nuptiall bed, turn'd to a graue.
Pal. Good Thirsis by what meanes, I pray thee tell.
Thi. Tell thee? alas Palaemon , how can I tell
And liue? doest thou not see these fields haue lost
Their glory, since that time Siluia was lost?
Siluia , that onely deckt, that onely made
Arcadia shine; Siluia who was (ah woe the while)
So miserable rent from off the world,
So rapt away, as that no signe of her,
No peece was left to tell vs by what meanes:
Save onely this poore remnant of her vaile,
All torne, and this deere locke of her rent haire;
Which holy reliques here I keepe with me,
The sad memorialls of her dismall fate.
Who sure deuoured was vpon the shore
By rauenous beasts, as she was walking there
Alone, it seemes; perhaps in seeking me,
Or els retir'd to meditate apart
The story of our loues, and heauy smart.
Pal. This is no newes, you tell, of Siluias death.
That was long since: why should you waile her now?
Thi. Long since Palaemon? thinke you any length
Of time can euer haue a powre to make
A heart of flesh not mourne, not grieue, not pine?
That knows, that feels, that thinks as much as mine.
Pal. But Thirsis , you know how her father meant
To match her with Alexis , and a day
To celebrate the nuptials was prefixt.
Thi. True, he had such a purpose, but in vaine,
As oh it was best knowne vnto vs twaine.
And hence it grew that gaue vs both our feares,
That made our meeting stealth, our parting teares.
Hence was it, that with many a secret wile,
We rob'd our lookes th'onlookers to beguile.
This was the cause, oh miserable cause,
That made her by her selfe to stray alone,
Which els God knows, she neuer should haue done.
For had our liberty as open beene,
As was our loues, Siluia had not beene seene
VVithout her Thirsis , neuer had we gone
But hand in hand, nor euer had mischance
Tooke vs asunder; she had alwayes had
My body interpos'd betwixt all harmes
And her. But ah we had our liberty
Layd fast in prison when our loues were free.
Pal. But how knowst thou her loue was such to thee?
Thi. How do I know the Sun, the day from night?
Pal. Womens affections do like flashes proue,
They oft shew passion when they feele small loue.
Thi. Ah do not so prophane that precious sexe,
Which I must euer reuerence for her sake,
Who was the glory of her kind; whose heart
In all her actions so transparant was
As I might see it cleere and wholy mine,
Alwayes obseruing truth in one right line.
How oft hath she beene vig'd by fathers threats,
By friends perswasions, and Alexis sighs,
And teares and prayers, to admit his loue,
Yet neuer could be wonne! how oft haue I
Beheld the brauest heardsmen of these plaines,
(As what braue heardsman was there in the plaines
Of all Arcadia , that had not his heart
Warm'd with her beames) to seeke to win her loue!
Ah I remember well (and how can I
But euer more remember well) when first
Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was
The flame we felt, when as we sate and sigh'd
And look'd vpon each other, and conceiu'd
Not what we ayld; yet something we did ayle,
And yet were well, and yet we were not well;
And what was our disease we could not tell.
Then would we kisse, then sigh, then looke: and thus
In that first garden of our simplenesse
We spent our child-hood: but when yeeres began
To reape the fruite of knowledge; ah how then
Would she with grauer looks, with sweet stern brow
Check my presumption and my forwardnes;
Yet still would giue me flowers, stil would me shew
What she would haue me, yet not haue me know.
Pal. Alas with what poore Coyne are louers paid,
And taken with the smallest bayte is laid?
Thi. And when in sport with other company,
Of Nimphes and shepheards we haue met abroade
How would she steale a looke: and watch mine eye
Which way it went? and when at Barley breake
It came vnto my turne to rescue her,
With what an earnest, swift, and nimble pace
Would her affection make her feet to run,
Nor farther run then to my hand? her race
Had no stop but my bosome, where no end.
And when we were to breake againe, how late
And loath her trembling hand wold part with mine,
And with how slow a pace would she set forth
To meet the 'ncountring party, who contends
T'attaine her, scarce affording him her fingers ends?
Pal. Fie Thirsis , with what fond remembrances
Doest thou these idle passions entertaine?
For shame, leaue off to wast your youth in vaine,
And feede on shadowes: make your choice anew.
You other Nimphes shall find, no doubt will be
As louely, and as faire, and sweete as she.
Thi. As faire and sweete as she? Palaemon peace:
Ah what can pictures be vnto the life?
What sweetnes can be found in Images?
Which all Nimphes els besides her seemes to me.
She only was a reall creature, she,
VVhose memory must take vp all of me.
Should I another loue, then must I haue,
Another heart, for this is full of her,
And euermore shall be: here is she drawne
At length, and whole, and more, this table is
A story, and is all of her; and all
Wrought in the liueliest colours of my blood;
And can there be a roome for others heere?
Should I disfigure such a peece, and blot
The perfectst workmanship that loue euer wrought?
Palaemon no, ah no, it cost too deere,
It must remaine intire whilst life remaines,
The monument of her and of my paines.
Pal. Thou maiest be such a fond Idolater
To die for loue; though that were very strange.
Loue hath few Saints, but many confessors.
And time no doubt will raze out all these notes,
And leaue a roome at length for other thoughts.
Thi. Yes, when there is no spring, no tree, no groue
In all Arcadia to record our loue:
And tell me where we were (the time we were)
How we did meete together, what we said,
Where we did ioy, and where we sat dismai'd;
And then I may forget her, not before.
Till then I must remember one so deere,
When euery thing I see tells me of her.
And you deere Reliques of that martred Saint,
My heart adores, you the perpetuall bookes
Whereon when teares permit, mine eyes still looks:
Ah you were with her last, and till my last
You must remaine with me; you were reseru'd
To tell me she was lost, but yet alas,
You cannot tell me how: I would you could:
White spotlesse vaile, cleane, like her womanhood,
Which whilome couerdst the most louely face
That euer eye beheld. VVas there no message sent
From her by thee? Ah yes, there seemes it was;
Here is a T made with her blood, as if
Shee would haue written, Thirsis , I am slaine
In seeking thee; sure so it should haue beene,
And so I reade it, and shall euer so.
And thou sweet remnant of the fairest haire,
That euer wau'd with winde! Ah thee I found
When her I hop'd to finde, wrapt in a round,
Like to an O , the character of woe;
As if to say, O Thirsis , I die thine.
This much you tell me yet, dumbe messengers,
Of her last minde; and what you cannot tell
That I must thinke, which is the most extreame
Of wosulnesse, that any heart can thinke.
Pal. There is no dealing with this man, I see,
This humour must be let to spend it selfe
Vnto a lesser substance, ere that we
Can any way apply a remedy.
But I lament his case, and so I know
Do all that see him in this wofull plight:
And therefore will I leaue him to himselfe,
For sorrow that is full, hates others sight.
Thir. Come boy, whilst I contemplate these remaines
Of my lost loue, vnder this myrtle tree,
Record the dolefull'st song, the sighingst notes,
That musicke hath to entertaine bad thoughts.
Let it be all at flats my boy, all graue,
The tone that best befits the griefe I haue.

The Song.

Had sorrow euer fitter place
To act his part,
Then is my heart,
Where it takes vp all the space?
Where is no veine
To entertaine
A thought that weares another face.
Nor will I sorrow euer haue,
Therein to be,
But onely thee,
To whom I full possession gaue:
Thou in thy name
Must holde the same,
Vntill thou bring it to the graue.

Thir. So boy, now leaue me to my selfe, that I
May be alone to griefe, entire to misery.

SCEN. II.

Cloris. Clarindo.

N O w gentle boy Clarindo , hast thou brought
My flockes into the field?
Cla. Mistris I haue.
Clo. And hast thou told them?
Cla. Yes.
Clo. And are there all?
Cla. All.
Clo. And hast thou left them safe my boy?
Cla. Safe.
Clo. Then whilst they seede, Clarindo , I must vse
Thy seruice in a serious businesse;
But thou must doe it well my boy.
Cla. The best I can.
Clo. Do'st thou know Thirsis?
Cla. Yes.
Clo. But know'st him well?
Cla. I haue good reason to know Thirsis well.
Clo. What reason boy?
Cla. I oft haue seene the man.
Clo. Why then he knowes thee too?
Cla. Yes I suppose, vnlesse he hath forgotten me of late.
Clo. But hath he heard thee sing my boy?
Cla. He hath.
Clo. Then doubtles he doth well remember thee.
Well, vnto him thou must a message do
From thy sad mistres Cloris ; but thou must
Doe it exactly well, with thy best grace,
Best choice of language, and best countenance.
I know thou canst doe well, and hast a speech
And fashion pleasing to performe the same.
Nor can I haue a fitter messenger
In this imployment then thy selfe my boy.
For sure me thinkes, nothing thy forme and grace,
That thou hast much of Siluia in thy face:
Which if he shall perceiue as well as I,
Sure, he will giue thee audience willinglie.
And for her sake, if not for mine, heare out
Thy message; for he still (though she be dead)
Holds sparkles of her vnextinguished.
And that is death to me: for though sometimes
Siluia and I most deere companions were,
Yet when I saw he did so much preferre
Her before me, I deadly hated her;
And was not sorry for her death, and yet
Was sorry she should come to such a death.
But to the purpose: goe to Thirsis , boy:
Say, thou art Cloris seruant, sent to be
The messenger of her distressed teares:
Who languishes for him, and neuer shall
Haue comfort more, vnlesse he giue it her.
Cla. I will.
Clo. Nay but stay boy, ther's something else:
Tell him, his cruelty makes me vndoe
My modesty, and to put on that part
Which appertaines to him, that is to wooe:
And to disgrace my Sexe, to shew my heart,
Which no man else could haue had powre to doe.
And that vnlesse he doe restore me backe
Vnto my selfe, by his like loue to me,
I cannot liue.
Cla. All this I'le tell him too.
Clo. Nay but stay boy, there is yet more:
Tell him, it will no honour be to him,
When euer it shall come to be made knowne,
That he hath beene her death that was his owne.
And how his loue hath fatall beene to two
Distressed Nymphes.
Cla. This will I tell him too.
Clo. Nay but stay boy, wilt thou say nothing else?
As of thy selfe, to waken vp his loue?
Thou mayst say something which I may not say,
And tell him how thou holdst me full as faire,
Yea and more faire, more louely, more compleate
Then euer Siluia was; more wise, more stai'd:
How shee was but a light and wauering maid.
Cla. Nay there I leaue you, that I cannot say.
Clo. What sayst thou boy?
Cla. Nothing, but that I will
Endeauour all I can to worke his loue.
Clo. Doe good my boy: but thou must yet adde more,
As from thy selfe, and say, what an vnkind
And barbarous part it is to suffer thus
So beauteous and so rare a Nymph to pine
And perish for his loue; and such a one,
As if shee would haue stoop'd to others flame,
Hath had the gallantst heardsmen of these fields
Fall at her feete: all which she hath despis'd,
Hauing her heart before by thee surpriz'd;
And now doth nothing else, but sit and mourne,
Speake Thirsis , weepe Thirsis , sigh Thirsis , and
Sleepe Thirsis when she sleepes, which is but rare.
Besides, good boy thou must not sticke to sweare,
Thou oft hast seene me sowne, and sinke to ground
In these deepe passions, wherein I abound.
For something thou maist say beyond the truth,
By reason of my loue, and of thy youth:
Doe, good Clarindo sweare, and vow thus much.
But do'st thou now remember all I say,
Do'st thou forget no parcell of my speech,
Shall I repeate the same againe to thee?
Or els wilt thou rehearse it vnto mee?
That I may know thou hast it perfect, boy.
Cla. It shall not need: be sure I will report,
What you enioyne me, in most earnest sort.
Clo. Ah doe good boy. Although I feare it will,
Auaile me little: for I doubt his heart
Is repossessed with another loue.
Cla. Another loue? Who may that be, I pray?
Clo. With Amarillis , I haue heard: for they
'Tis thought, will in the end make vp a match.
Cla. With Amarillis? Well, yet will I goe,
And try his humour whether it be so?
Clo. Goe good Clarindo , but thou must not faile
To worke effectually for my auaile.
And doe not stay, returne with speed good boy,
My passions are to great, t'indure delay.

ACT. I. SCEN. III.

Clarindo solus

T H irsis in loue with Amarillis? then
In what a case am I? what doth auaile,
This altred habite, that belies my Sexe?
What boots it t'haue escap'd from Pirats hands
And with such wiles to haue deceiu'd their wills,
If I returne to fall on worser ills?
In loue with Amarillis? is that so?
Is Siluia then forgot? that hath endur'd
So much for him? doe all these miseries
(Caus'd by his meanes) deserue no better hire?
VVas it the greatest comfort of my life,
To haue return'd, that I might comfort him?
And am I welcom'd thus? ah did mine eyes
Take neuer rest, after I was arriu'd
Till I had seene him, though vnknowne to him?
Being hidden thus, and couer'd with disguise
Of masculine attire, to temporize
Vntill Alexis mariage day be past,
VVhich shortly as I heare will be: and which
VVould free me wholly from my fathers feare:
VVho if he knew I were return'd, would yet
Vndoe I doubt that match, to match me there;
Which would be more then all my suffrings were.
Indeed me thought when I beheld the face
Of my deere Thirsis , I beheld a face
Confounded all with passion, which did much
Afflict my heart: but yet I little thought
It could haue beene for any others loue.
I did suppose the memory of me,
And of my rapture, had possest him so,
As made him shew that countenance of woe.
And much adoe had I then to forbeare
From casting me into his armes, and yeild
What comfort my poore selfe could yeild, but that
I thought our ioyes would not haue bin complete,
But might haue yeilded vs anoyes as great,
Vnlesse I could come wholly his, and cleer'd
From all those former dangers which we fear'd:
Which now a little stay (though any stay
Be death to me) would wholly take away.
And therefore I resolu'd my selfe to beare
This burthen of our sufferings yet a while,
And to become a feruant in this guise,
To her I would haue scorned otherwise:
And be at all commands, to goe, and come,
To trudge into the fields, early, and late;
Which though I know, it misbecomes my state,
Yet it becomes my fortune, which is that,
Not Phillis , whom I serue: but since I serue,
I will doe what I doe most faithfully.
But Thirsis , is it possible that thou
Shouldst so forget me, and forgoe thy vow?
Or is it but a flying vaine report,
That slanders thine affection in this sort?
It may be so, and God grant it be so:
I shall soone finde if thou be false or no:
But ah here comes my Fury, I must flie.

ACT. I. SCEN. IIII.

Phillis. Clarindo.

A H cruell youth, whither away so fast?
Cla. Good Phillis do not stay me, I haue hast.
Phi. What hast shoudst thou haue but to comfort me,
Who hath no other comfort but in thee?
Cla. Alas thou do'st but trouble me in vaine,
I cannot helpe thee: t'is not in my powre.
Phil. Not in thy powre Clarindo? ah if thou
Hadst any thing of manlines, thou wouldst.
Cla. But if I haue not, what doth it auaile
In this sort to torment thy selfe and me?
And therefore pre-thee Phillis , let me goe.
Phil. Ah whither canst thou go, where thou shalt be
More deerely lou'd and cherisht then with me?
Cla. But that my purpose cannot satisfie,
I must be gone, there is no remedie.
Phi. O cruell youth, will thy heart nothing moue?
Shew me yet pittie, if thou shew not loue.
Cla. Beleeue me Phillis I doe pittie thee;
And more, lament thy error, so farewell.
Phi. And art thou gone hard-hearted youth? hast thou
Thus disappointed my desires, and let
My shame t'afflict me worser then my loue?
Now in what case am I, that neither can
Recall my modestie, nor thee againe?
Ah were it now to do againe, my passions should
Haue smothred me to death, before I would
Haue shew'd the smallest sparkle of my flame:
But it is done, and I am now vndone.
Ah hadst thou beene a man, and had that part
Of vnderstanding of a womans heart,
My words had beene vnborne, onely mine eies
Had beene a tongue enough to one were wise.
But this it is, to loue a boy, whose yeares
Conceiues not his owne good, nor weighes my teares:
But this disgrace I iustly haue deseru'd.

SCEN. V.

S O Phillis haue you, and y'are rightly seru'd.
Haue you disdain'd the gallanst Forresters,
And brauest heardsmen all Arcadia hath,
And now in loue with one is not a man?
Assure your selfe this is a iust reuenge
Loue takes, for your misprision of his powre.
I told you often there would come a time,
When you would sure be plagu'd for such a crime:
But you would laugh at me, as one you thought
Conceiu'd not of what mettall you were wrought.
Is this you, who would wonder any nimphes
Could euer be so foolish as to loue?
Who is so foolish now?
Phil. Peace Lidia , peace,
Adde not more griefe t'a heart that hath too much:
Do not insult vpon her misery,
VVhose flame, God wot, needs water, and not oyle.
Thou seest I am vndone, caught in the toyle
Of an intangling mischiefe: tell me how
I may recouer, and vnwinde me now.
Lid. That doth require more time; we wil apart
Consult thereof, be you but rul'd by me,
And you shall finde, I, yet, will set you free.

The song of the first Chorus.

Loue is a sicknesse full of woes ,
All remedies refusing:
A plant that with most cutting growes,
Most barren with best vsing.
Why so?
More we enioy it, more it dyes,
If not enioy'd, it sighing cries,
Hey ho .
Loue is a torment of the minde,
A tempest euerlasting,
And Ioue hath made it of a kinde,
Not well, nor full nor fasting.
Why so?
More we enioy it, more it dies
If not enioyd, it sighing cries,
Hey ho .