Classic Poem

ACT. II. SCEN. I.

Siluia. Cloris.

O Cloris , here haue thou and I full oft
Sate and beene merry, in this shady Groue.
Here haue we sung full many a Rundelay,
Told Riddles, and made Nosegayes, laught at loue,
And other passions, whilst my selfe was free,
From that intollerable misery,
Whereto affection now inuassels me.
Now Cloris I shall neuer more take ioy
To see, or to be seene, with mortall eye;
Now sorrow must be all my company.
Clo. Why Siluia , whence should all this griefe arise?
Sil. I am vndone Cloris , let that suffice
Clo. Tell me sweet Siluia , how comes that to passe?
Sil. O Cloris if thou be as once I was
Free, from that miserable plague of loue,
Keepe thee so still; let my affliction warne
Thy youth, that neuer man haue power to moue
Thy heart to liking; for beleeue me this,
They are the most vnfaithfull impious race
Of creatures on the earth; neuer beleeue
Their protestations, nor their vowes, nor teares:
All is deceit; none meanes the thing he sweares.
Trust a mans faith? nay rather will I goe
And giue my selfe a prey to sauage beasts;
For all they seeke, and all they labour for,
Is but t'vndoe vs; and when that is done,
They goe and triumph on the spoile the'haue won.
Trust men, or take compassion when they grieue,
O Cloris 'tis to cherish and relieue
The frozen Snake, which with our heat once warmd,
Will sting vs to the heart in recompence;
And O no maruell tho the Satyre shund
To liue with man, when he perceiu'd he could,
With one and the same breath blow heat and cold.
Who would haue euer thought Palaemons othes
Would haue prou'd false? who would haue iudgd the face
That promis'd so much faith, and honesty
Had beene the visor but of treachery?
Clo. Is't possible Palaemon should b'vntrue?
Sil. Tis possible, Palaemon is vntrue.
Clo. If it be so, deare Siluia , I thinke then
That thou saist truth, there is no trust in men.
For I protest I neuer saw a face
That promis'd better of a heart then his,
And if he faile, whose faith then constant is?
Sil. O Cloris , if thou didst but know how long,
And with what earnest suite, he sought my loue;
What vowes he vf'd, what othes, what teares among;
What shewes he made, his constancy to prooue,
You would admire: and then againe to see
How I although I lou'd him with my heart
Stood out, and would by no means vrged be,
To shew the least affection of my part.
For I had heard that, which (O now too well)
I finde, that men were cunning, and would not
Regard the thing that easily was got
Clo. Siluia , indeed and I haue heard so too.
Sil. And therefore I would try him, and not seeme
His vowes, nor protestations to esteeme:
At length one day, here in this selfe-same place,
(Which I shall euer, and good cause I haue
To thinke on whilst I liue) walking with me,
After he had vrged me most earnestly:
O Siluia , said he, since nor oath, nor vow,
Nor teares, nor prayers, haue the power to moue,
Nor all that I can doe, can make thee know
How true a heart, I offer to thy loue;
I must try some way else to shew the same,
And make thy vndiscerning wilfull youth
Know, though too late, (perhaps vnto thy shame)
Thy vvayward error, and my constant truth:
When thou maist sigh, and say in griefe of minde,
Palaemon lou'd, and Siluia vvas vnkinde.
With that vvringing my hand, he turnes away,
And though his teares vvould hardly let him looke,
Yet such a looke did through his teares make way,
He shew'd how sad a farewell there he tooke.
And vp towards yonder craggy rocke he goes,
His armes incross'd, his head downe on one side,
With such a mournfull pace, as shewd his woes
Way'd heauier then his passions could abide:
Faine vvould I haue recald him backe, but shame,
And modestie could not bring forth his name:
And faine vvould I haue followed, yet me thought
It did not fit the honour of a maide
To follow one, yet still I sent from me,
T'attend his going, feare, and a carefull eye.
At length vvhen he vvas gotten to the top,
I might perceiue how vvith infolded armes,
And lookes vp bent to heauen, he stands and turnes
His vvofull face vnto the other side,
Whereas that hideous fearefull downfall is:
And seem'd as if he vvould haue throwne him off:
And as I thought, vvas now vpon the point:
When my affrighted powers could hold no more,
But pitty breaking all those bands of shame,
That held me back, I shrikd, and ran, God knowes,
With all the speede my feeble feete could make,
And clammering vp at length (vvith much adoe)
Breathlesse, I got, and tooke him by the hand, —
And glad I had his hand, and vvas not come
Too late to haue it, — and I puld him backe:
But could not speake one vvord; no more did he:
Sense seem'd to faile in him, and breath in me.
And on before I vvent, and led him on,
And downe conducted him into this plaine,
And yonder loe, vnder that fatall tree, —
Looke Cloris there, euen in that very place, —
We sate vs downe, my arme about his necke;
Which Ioue thou know'st held neuer man before:
There onely did my teares conferre vvith his,
Words we had none: it vvas inough to thinke
For passion vvas too busie now vvithin,
And had no time to come abroad in speech.
And though I vvould haue spoken, yet me thought
I should not, but my silence told him this,
That told too much, that all I was was his.
Clo. Well Siluia , I haue heard so sad a tale,
As that I grieue to be a woman borne,
And that by nature we must be expos'd
Vnto the mercy of vnconstant men:
But what said then Palaemon in the ende?
Sil. Oh what he said, and what deepe vowes he made?
When ioy and griefe, had let his senses loose;
Witnesse O gentle tree vnder whose shade,
We sate the while; witnesse, if euer maide
Had more assurances by oathes of man.
And well may you beare witnesse of this deede,
For in a thousand of your barkes he hath
Incaru'd my name, and vnder wrote his vowes:
Which will remaine so long as you beare bowes.
But Cloris , learne this lesson well of mee;
Take heed of pitty; — pitty was the cause
Of my confusion: pitty hath vndone
Thousands of gentle natures, in our sexe;
For pitty is sworne seruant vnto loue:
And this be sure, where euer it begin
To make the way, it lets your maister in.
Clo. But what assurance haue you of his fraud?
It may be you suspect him without cause.
Sil. Ah Cloris, Cloris , would I had no cause!
He who beheld him wrong me in these woods,
And heard him courting Nifa , and protest
As deepe to her, as he had done to me,
Told me of all his wicked treachery,
Clo. Pray, who was that? tell me good Siluia , tell.
Sil. Why it was Colax , one I know full well
Would not report vntruths to gaine the world;
A man of vertue, and of worthy parts.
He told me all, and more then I will shew;
I would I knew not halfe of that I know.
Ah had he none but Nisa , that base trull,
The scorne and iest of all Arcadia now
To serue his lusts, and falsifie his vow?
Ah had it yet beene any else, the touch
Of my disgrace, had neuer beene so much;
But to [be] left for such a one as she,
The stale of all, what will folke thinke of me?
Cloris in troth, it makes me so much loath
My selfe, loath these woods, and euen hate the day,
As I must hide my griefes out of the way:
I will be gone, Cloris , I leaue thee here,
I cannot stay; and prethee, Cloris , yet
Pitty thy poore companion Siluias care,
And let her fortune make thee to beware.
Clo. Siluia adue, the Gods relieue thy woes,
Since men thus faile, and loue no pitty showes,

SCEN. II.

Cloris. Techne.

Loue? nay, I'me taught from louing whilst I liue,
Siluia , thy counsell hath lockt vp my heart
So fast from loue, as let them sigh, and grieue,
And pine, and waile who vvill, I for my part
Will pitty none of all this race of men.
I see vvhat showes soeuer they pretend,
Their loue is neuer deadly; none of these
That languish thus haue dide of this disease
That euer I could heare; I see all do
Recouer soone, that happen thereinto.
And if they did not, there were no great hurt;
They may indure, they are of stronger powers;
Better their hearts should ake, then they break ours.
Well, had I not beene thus forewarnd to day,
Out of all question, I had shortly falne,
Into the melting humour of compassion too;
That tender pitty that betrayes vs thus.
For something I began to feele, me thought,
To moue vvithin me, when as I beheld
Amyntas walke, so sadly, and so pale;
And euer where I went, still in my way,
His lookes bent all to me, his care of mee:
Which well I saw, but would not seeme to see.
But now he hath his arrent, let him goe,
Pitty shall neuer cure that heart of his
T'vndoe mine owne; the griefe is best where tis.
Tec. What, Cloris , all alone, now fie for shame,
How ill doth this become so faire a face,
And that fresh youth to be without your loue?
Clo. Loue, Techne ? I haue here as many loues
As I intend to haue, whilst I haue breath.
Tec. Nay that you haue not, neuer hault with me;
For I know two at least possessors be
Of your kinde fauours, as themselues doe boast.
Clo. Bost of my fauours, no man rightly can;
And otherwise, let them doe what they can
Tec. No Cloris , did not you the other night
A gallant Nosegay to Amyntas giue?
Clo. I neuer gaue him Nosegay in my life.
Tec. Then trust me Cloris he doth wrong you much;
For he produc'd it there in open sight,
And vaunted to Carinus , that you first
Did kisse the same, then gaue it vnto him,
And tolde too how farre gone you were in loue;
What passion you would vse, when he was by;
How you would iest with him, and wantonly
Cast water in his face; call his dogge yours,
And shew him your affections by your eye.
And then Carinus on the other side
He vaunts, that since he had redeemed you
Out of the Satyres hands, he could command
Your loue and all; that you were onely his.
This and much more, I heard them I protest,
Giue out of you; how truly you know best.
Clo. Techne , their idle talke, shall not vexe me;
I know the ground I stand on, and how free
My heart, and I, inioy our liberty;
And if Amyntas , hath interpreted
My lookes according to his owne conceit,
He hath mistooke the text, and he shall finde
Great difference twixt his comment, & my minde.
And for his Nosegay, it shall make me take
More care hereafter how I scatter flowers:
Let him preserue it well, and let him make
Much of his gaines, he gets no more of ours.
But thus had I beene seru'd, had I reueal'd
The least regard of common courtesie
To such as these: but I doe thanke the gods
I haue reseru'd me, from that vanitie:
For euer I suspected this to be
The veine of men, and this now settles me.
And for Carinus , let him vaunt what good
He did for me, he can but haue againe
My hearty thankes, the payment for his paine;
And that he shall, and ought in womanhood.
And as for loue, let him goe looke on her
That sits, and grieues, and languishes for him,
Poore Amarillis ; who affects him deare,
And sought his loue with many a wofull teare.
And well deserues a better man then he:
Though he be rich Lupinus sonne, and stands
Much on his wealth, and his abilitie:
She is witty, faire, and full of modestie.
And were she of my minde, she rather would
Pull out her eyes, than that she would be seene,
To offer vp so deare a sacrifice
To his wilde youth, that scornes her in that wise.
Tec. Cloris in troth, I like thy iudgement well,
In not affecting of these home-bred Swaines,
That know not how to manage true delight;
Can neither hide their loue, nor shew it right.
Who would be troubled with grosse ignorance,
That vnderstands not truely how to loue?
No Cloris , if thou didst but know, how well
Thou art esteem'd, of one that knowes indeed
How to obserue thy worth, and his owne wayes;
How to giue true delight, how to proceed
With secrecy, and wit, in all assayes,
Perhaps you might thinke one day of the man.
Clo. What, is this creature then you praise, a man?
Tec. A man? yes Cloris , what should he be else?
Clo. Nought else, it is enough he be a man.
Tec. Yea and so rare a man as euer yet
Arcadia bred, that may be proud she bred
A person of so admirable parts;
A man that knowes the world, hath seene abrod,
Brings those perfections that doe truly moue;
A gallant spirit, an vnderstanding loue.
O if you did but know how sweet it were,
To come vnto the bed of worthinesse,
Of knowledge, of conceits, — where strange delights
With strange discourses still shall entertaine
Your pleased thoughts with fresh varietie, —
Ah you would loath to haue your youth confin'de,
For euer more betweene the vnskilfull armes
Of one of these rude vnconceiuing Swaines,
Who would but seeme a trunke without a minde;
As one that neuer saw but these poore plaines,
Knowes but to keepe his sheepe, and set his fold,
Pipe on an Oaten Reede some Rundelayes,
And daunce a Morrice on the holy dayes.
And so should you be alwayes sweetly sped
With ignorance, and two fooles in a bed.
But with this other gallant spirit you should
Be sure to ouerpasse that tediousnesse,
And that saciety which cloyes this life,
With such a variable cheerefulnesse,
As you will blesse the time t'haue beene his wife.
Clo. What, hath this man you thus commend, a name?
Tec. A name? why yes, no man but hath a name:
His name is Colax ; and is one I sweare
Doth honour euen the ground whereon you tread,
And oft, and many times God knowes,
Hath he with tender passion, talkt of you;
And said, Well, there is one vvithin these vvoods
(Meaning by you) that yet of all the Nymphes
Mine eyes haue euer seene vpon the earth,
In all perfections doth exceede them all.
For all the beauties in that glorious Court
Of Telos , vvhere I liu'd, nor all the Starres
Of Greece beside, could sparkle in my heart
The fire of any heate, but onely shee.
Then vvould he stay, and sigh; and then againe:
Ah vvhat great pitty such a creature should,
Be tide vnto a clogge of ignorance;
Whose body doth deserue to be imbrac'd,
By the most mighty Monarch vpon earth.
Ah that she knew her vvorth, and how vnfit
That priuate woods should hide that face, that wit.
Thus hath he often said, and this I say,
Obserue him vvhen you vvill, you shall not see
From his hye fore-head to his slender foote,
A man in all parts, better made then he.
Clo. Techne , me thinkes, the praises that you giue
Shewes your owne loue; and if he be that man
You say, 'tvvere good you kept him for your selfe.
Tec. I must not loue impossibilities;
Cloris , he vvere a most fit man for you.
Clo. For me? alas Techne you moue too late.
Tec. Why haue you past your promise t'any yet?
Clo. Yes sure, my promise is already past.
Tec. And if it be, I trust you are so wise
T'vnpasse the same againe for your owne good.
Clo. No, that I may not when it is once past.
Tec. No Cloris , I presume that wit of yours
That is so piersiue, can conceiue how that
Our promise must not preiudice our good:
And that it is no reason that the tongue,
Tie the whole body to eternall wrong,
Clo. The Tongue is but the Agent of the heart,
And onely as commissioner allowd
By reason, and the will, for the whole state,
Which warrants all it shall negotiate.
Tec. But prithee tell me to what rusticke Swaine
You pass'd your word to cast away your selfe?
Clo. No, I haue past my word to saue my selfe
From the deceiptfull, impious periuries
Of treacherous men, and vow'd vnto my heart
Vntill I see more faith then yet I see,
None of them all shall triumph ouer me.
Tec. Nay then, and be no otherwise, tis well;
We shall haue other time to talke of this.
But Cloris I haue fitted you in faith,
I haue here brought, the most conceipted tyre,
The rarest dressing euer Nymph put on;
Worth ten of that you weare; that, now me thinkes
Doth not become you; and besides, tis stale.
Clo. Stale why? I haue not worne it scarce a moneth.
Tec. A moneth? why you must change them twise a day:
Hold hither Cloris , this was not well laid;
Here is a fault, you haue not mixt it well
To make it take, or else it is your haste
To come abroad so soone into the Ayre.
But I must teach you to amend these faults,
And ere I shall haue done with you, I thinke,
I shall make some of these inamored youthes
To hang themselues, or else runne madde for loue,
But goe, let's trie this dressing I haue brought.

SCEN. III.

Palaemon. Mirtillus.

M irtillus , did Dorinda euer vow,
Or make thee any promise to be thine?
Mir. Palaemon no, she neuer made me vow,
But I did euer hope she would be mine;
For that I had deliuered vp my youth,
My heart, my all, a tribute to her eyes,
And had secur'd her of my constant truth,
Vnder so many faithfull specialties,
As that although she did not graunt againe,
With any shew the acquittance of my loue,
Yet did shee euer seeme to entertaine
My affections, and my seruices t'approoue;
Till now of late I know not by what meane,
(Ill fare that meane) she grew to that dispight,
As she not onely clowds her fauours cleane,
But also scorn'd to haue me in her sight;
That now I am not for her loue thus mou'd,
But onely that she will not be belou'd.
Pal. If this be all th'occasion of thy griefe,
Mirtillus , thou art then in better case
Then I suppos'd, and therefore cheere thy heart;
And good cause too, being in the state thou art,
For if thou didst but heare the History
Of my distresse, and what part I haue shar'd
Of sad affliction, thou wilt then soone see
There is no misery vnlesse compar'd.
For all Arcadia, all these hills, and plaines,
These holts, and woods and euery Christall spring,
Can testifie my teares, and tell my flames,
And with how cleane a heart, how cleere a faith
Palaemon loued Siluia , and how long.
And when consum'd with griefe, and dri'd with care,
Euen at the point to sacrifice my life
Vnto her cruelty, then lo she yeelds,
And was content for euer to be mine:
And gaue m'assurance vnderneath her hand,
Sign'd with a faithfull vow, as I conceiu'd,
And witnessed with many a louely kisse,
That I thought sure I had attain'd my blisse.
And yet (aie me) I got not what I got,
Siluia I haue, and yet I haue her not.
Mir. How may that be, Palaemon pray thee tell?
Pal. O know Mirtillus that I rather could
Runne to some hollow caue, and burst and die
In darknes, and in horror, then vnfold
Her shamefull staine, and mine owne infamy.
But yet it will abroad, her impudence
Will be the trumpet of her owne disgrace,
And fill the wide and open mouth of fame
So full, as all the world shall know the same.
Mir. Why, what is Siluia false, or is she gone?
Pal. Siluia is false and I am quite vndone.
Mir. Ah out alas, who euer would haue thought
That modest looke, so innocent a face,
So chast a blush, that shame-fast countenance,
Could euer haue told how to wantonise?
Ah what shall we poore louers hope for now
Who must to win, consume, and hauing wonne
With hard and much adoe, must be vndone?
Pal. Ah but Mirtillus if thou didst know who
Is now the man, her choice hath lighted on,
How would'st thou wonder? for that passes all;
That I abhore to tell, yet tell I shall;
For all that would will shortly know't too well:
It is base Thirsis , that wild hare-braine youth
Whom euery milk-maid in Arcadia skornes:
Thyrsis is now the man with vvhome she walkes
Alone, in thickets, and in groues remote.
Thyrsis is all in all, and none but he;
With him she dallies vnder euery tree.
Trust women? ah Mirtillus , rather trust
The Summer windes, th'Oceans constancy;
For all their substance is but leuity.
Light are their wauing vailes, light their attires,
Light are their heads, and lighter their desires:
Let them lay on vvhat couerture they will
Vpon themselues, of modesty and shame,
They cannot hide the woman with the same.
Trust women? ah Mirtillus rather trust
The false deuouring Crocodiles of Nile ;
For all they worke is but deceipt and guile:
What haue they but is fain'd? their haire is fain'd,
Their beauty fain'd, their stature fain'd, their pace,
Their iesture, motion, and their grace is fain'd:
And if that all be fain'd without, vvhat then
Shall we suppose can be sincere within?
For if they doe but vveepe, or sing, or smile,
Smiles, teares, and tunes, are ingins to beguile;
And all they are, and all they haue of grace,
Consists but in the outside of a face.
O loue and beauty, how are you ordain'd
Like vnto fire, vvhose flames farre off delight,
But if you be imbrac'd consume vs quite?
Why cannot vve make at a lower rate
A purchase of you, but that we must giue
The treasure of our hearts, and yet not haue
What we haue bought so dearely for all that?
O Siluia if thou needs wouldst haue beene gone,
Thou should'st haue taken all away of thee;
And nothing left to haue remain'd with me.
Thou should'st haue carried hence the portraiture
VVhich thou hast left behind within my heart,
Set in the table-frame of memory,
That puts me still in minde of what thou wert,
VVhilst thou wert honest, and thy thoughts were pure;
So that I might not thus in euery place,
VVhere I shall set my carefull foote, conferre
VVith it of thee, and euermore be told,
That here sate Siluia vnderneath this tree;
And here she walkt, and lean'd vpon mine arme;
There gathered flowers, and brought them vnto me;
Here by the murmurs of this rusling spring,
She sweetly lay, and in my bosome slept;
Here first she shewd me comforts when I pinde;
As if in euery place her foote had stept,
It had left Siluia in a print behind.
But yet, O these were Siluias images,
Then whilst her heart held faire, and she was chaste;
Now is her face all sullied with her fact;
And why are not those former prints defac'd?
VVhy should she hold, still in the forme she was,
Being now deform'd, and not the same she was?
O that I could Mirtillus locke her out
Of my remembrance, that I might no more
Haue Siluia here, vvhen she will not be here.
Mir. But good Palaemon , tell vvhat proofes hast thou
Of her disloyalty, that makes thee show
These heauy passions, and to grieue so much?
Pal. Mirtillus , proofes that are alas too plaine;
For Colax , one thou knowst can well obserue
And iudge of loue; a man both staid, and wise,
A gentle heardsman, out of loue, and care
He had of me, came and reported all;
And how he saw them diuers times alone,
Imbracing each the other in the woods.
Besides she hath of late with sullaine lookes,
That shew'd disliking, shunn'd my company,
Kept her a loose; and novv I thinke to day,
Is gone to hide her quite out of the vvay.
But Siluia though thou go and hide thy face,
Thou canst not hide thy shame, and thy disgrace;
No secret thicket, groue, nor yet close grot,
Can couer shame, and that immodest blot.
Ah didst thou lend thy hand in kind remorse
To saue me from one death, to giue m'a worse?
Had it not yet beene better I had died,
By thy vnspotted honest cruelty,
Then now by thy disgraced infamy?
That so I might haue carried to my graue
The image of chaste Siluia in my heart,
And not haue had these notions, to ingraue
A stained Siluia there, as now thou art?
Ah yes, it had beene better farre, I prooue,
T'haue perisht for thy loue, then vvith thy loue.
Mir. Ah good Palaemon , cease these sad complaints,
And moderate thy passions; thou shalt see
She may returne, and these reports be found
But idle fictions on vncertaine ground.
Pal. Mirtillus I perceiue my tedious tale,
Begins to be distastefull to thine eare;
And therefore will I to some desert vale,
To some close groue to waile, where none shall heare
But beasts, and trees, whose sense I shall not tyre
VVith length of mone; for length is my desire.
And therefore, gentle Sheepheard, now adieu,
And trust not women, for they are vntrue.
Mir. Adue Palaemon , and thy sad distresse,
Shall make me weigh Dorindas losse the lesse:
For if I should be hers, and she prooue so,
Better to be mine owne and let her go.

SCEN. IV.

Ergastus. Melibaeus.

N O w Melibaeus ; who would haue suppos'd
That had not seene these impious passages,
That euer monstrous wretch could haue expos'd
T[w]o honest hearts to these extremities,
T'attaine his wicked ends? by hauing wrought
First in, vnto their easie confidence
A way, by an opinion to be thought,
Honest, discreet, of great experience.
Whereby we see open-fac't villanie
Without a maske, no mischiefe could haue done;
It was the couerture of honesty,
That laid the snare, whereby they were vndone,
And that's the ingine that confounds vs all;
That makes the breach whereby the world is sackt,
And made a prey to cunning, when we fall
Into the hands of wise dishonesty:
Whenas our weake credulity is rackt
By that opinion of sufficiency,
To all the inconueniences that guile,
And impious craft can practise to beguile.
And note but how these cankers alwayes seaze
The choysest fruits with their infections;
How they are still ordained to disease,
The natures of the best complections.
Mel. Tis true. And what an instrument hath he there got,
To be the Agent of his villany?
How truely she negotiats, and doth plot,
To vndermine fraile imbecillity.
How strong, these spirits combine them in a knot,
To circumvent plaine open honesty?
And what a creature there is to conuerse
With feeble maydes; whose vveaknes soone is led
VVith toyes, and new disguises, to reuerse
The course wherein by custome they vvere bred?
And then what fitnesse too her trade affoords,
To trafficke with the secrets of their heart,
And cheapen their affections vvith faire words,
VVhich vvomen straight to women vvill impart?
And then to see how soone example vvill
Disperse it selfe, being met with our desire?
How soone, it vvill inkindle others ill,
Like Neptha that takes fire by sight of fire?
So that vnlesse we runne vvith all the speed
VVe can, to quench this new arising flame
Of vanity, and lust, it will proceed
T'vndoe vs, ere vve shall perceiue the same:
How farre already is the mischiefe runne,
Before vve scarse perceiu'd it was begunne?