Classic Poem

SCENE V.

DIONE. LYCIDAS.

LYCIDAS.

Say, my Alexis , can thy words impart
Kind rays of hope to cheer a doubtful heart?
How didst thou first my pangs of love disclose?
Did her disdainful brow confirm my woes?
Or did soft pity in her bosom rise,
Heave on her breast, and languish in her eyes?

DIONE.

How shall my tongue the fault'ring tale explain!
My heart drops blood to give the shepherd pain.

LYCIDAS.

Pronounce her utmost scorn; I come prepar'd
To meet my doom. Say, is my death declar'd?

DIONE.

Why should thy fate depend on woman's will?
Forget this tyrant, and be happy still.

LYCIDAS.

Didst thou beseech her not to speed her flight,
Nor shun with wrathful glance my hated sight?
Will she consent my sighing plaint to hear,
Nor let my piercing crys be lost in air?

DIONE.

Can mariners appease the tossing storm,
When foaming waves the yawning deep deform?
When o'er the sable cloud the thunder flies,
Say, who shall calm the terror of the skies?
Who shall the lion's famish'd roar asswage?
And can we still proud woman's stronger rage?
Soon as my faithful tongue pronounc'd thy name,
Sudden her glances shot resentful flame:
Be dumb, she crys, this whining love give o'er,
And vex me with the teazing theme no more.

LYCIDAS.

'Tis pride alone that keeps alive her scorn.
Can the mean swain in humble cottage born,
Can Poverty that haughty heart obtain,
Where avarice and strong ambition reign?
If Poverty pass by in tatter'd coat,
Curs vex his heels and stretch their barking throat;
If chance he mingle in the female croud,
Pride tosses high her head, Scorn laughs aloud;
Each nymph turns from him to her gay gallant.
And wonders at the impudence of Want.
'Tis vanity that rules all woman-kind,
Love is the weakest passion of their mind.

DIONE.

Though one is by those servile views possest,
O Lycidas , condemn not all the rest.

LYCIDAS.

Though I were bent beneath a load of years,
And seventy winters thin'd my hoary hairs;
Yet if my olive branches dropt with oil,
And crooked shares were brighten'd in my soil
If lowing herds my fat'ning meads possest,
And my white fleece the tawny mountain drest;
Then would she lure me with love-darting glance,
Then with fond mercenary smiles advance.
Though hell with ev'ry vice my soul had stain'd,
And froward anger in my bosom reign'd,
Though avarice my coffers cloath'd in rust,
And my joints trembled with enfeebled lust;
Yet were my ancient name with titles great,
How would she languish for the gawdy bait!
If to her love all-tempting wealth pretend,
What virtuous woman can her heart defend!

DIONE.

Conquests, thus meanly bought, men soon despise,
And justly slight the mercenary prize.

LYCIDAS.

I know these frailties in her breast reside,
Direct her glance and ev'ry action guide.
Still let Alexis ' faithful friendship aid,
Once more attempt to bend the stubborn maid.
Tell her, no base-born swain provokes her scorn,
No clown, beneath the sedgy cottage born:
Tell her, for her this sylvan dress I took,
For her my name and pomp of Courts forsook;
My lofty roofs with golden sculpture shine,
And my high birth descends from ancient line.

DIONE.

Love is a sacred voluntary fire,
Gold never bought that pure, that chast desire,
Who thinks true love for lucre to possess,
Shall grasp false flatt'ry and the feign'd caress;
Can we believe that mean, that servile wife,
Who vilely sells her dear-bought love for life,
Would not her virtue for an hour resign,
If in her sight the proffer'd treasure shine.

LYCIDAS.

Can reason (when by winds swift fires are born
O'er waving harvests of autumnal corn)
The driving fury of the flame reprove?
Who then shall reason with a heart in love!

DIONE.

Yet let me speak; O may my words persuade
The noble youth to quit this sylvan maid!
Resign thy crook, no more to plains resort,
Look round on all the beauties of the Court;
There shall thy merit find a worthy flame,
Some nymph of equal wealth and equal name.
Think, if these offers should thy wish obtain,
And should the rustick beauty stoop to gain:
Thy heart could ne'er prolong th' unequal fire,
The sudden blaze would in one year expire;
Then thy rash folly thou too late shalt chide,
To Poverty and base-born blood ally'd;
Her vulgar tongue shall animate the strife,
And hourly discord vex thy future life.

LYCIDAS.

Such is the force thy faithful words impart,
That like the galling goad they pierce my heart!
You think fair virtue in my breast resides,
That honest truth my lips and actions guides;
Deluded shepherd, could you view my soul,
You'd see it with deceit and treach'ry foul;
I'm base, perfidious. E'er from Court I came,
Love singled from the train a beauteous dame;
The tender maid my fervent vows believ'd,
My fervent vows the tender maid deceiv'd.
Why dost thou tremble? — — why thus heave thy sighs?
Why steal the silent sorrows from thy eyes?

DIONE.

Sure the soft lamb hides rage within his breast,
And cooing turtles are with hate possest;
When from so sweet a tongue flow fraud and lies,
And those meek looks a perjur'd heart disguise.
Ah! who shall now on faithless man depend?
The treach'rous lover proves as false a friend.

LYCIDAS.

When with Dione 's love my bosom glow'd,
Firm constancy and truth sincere I vow'd;
But since Parthenia 's brighter charms were known,
My love, my constancy and truth are flown.

DIONE.

Are not thy hours with conscious anguish stung?
Swift vengeance must o'ertake the perjur'd tongue.
The Gods the cause of injur'd love assert,
And arm with stubborn pride Parthenia 's heart.

LYCIDAS.

Go, try her; tempt her with my birth and state,
Stronger ambition will subdue her hate.

DIONE.

O rather turn thy thoughts on that lost maid,
Whose hourly sighs thy faithless oaths upbraid!
Think you behold her at the dead of night,
Plac'd by the glimm'ring taper's play light,
With all your letters spread before her view,
While trickling tears the tender lines bedew;
Sobbing she reads the perj'rys o'er and o'er,
And her long nights know peaceful sleep no more.

LYCIDAS.

Let me forget her.

DIONE.

— — — O false youth, relent;
Think should Parthenia to thy hopes consent;
When Hymen joins your hands, and musick's voice
Makes the glad ecchoes of thy domes rejoyce,
Then shall Dione force the crouded hall,
Kneel at thy feet and loud for justice call:
Could you behold her weltring on the ground,
The purple dagger reeking from the wound?
Could you unmov'd this dreadful sight survey?
Such fatal scenes shall stain thy bridal day.

LYCIDAS.

The horrid thought sinks deep into my soul,
And down my cheek unwilling sorrows roll.

DIONE.

From this new flame you may as yet recede.
Or have you doom'd that guiltless maid shall bleed?

LYCIDAS.

Name her no more. — — Haste, seek the sylvan Fair.

DIONE.

Should the rich proffer tempt her list'ning ear,
Bid all your peace adieu. O barb'rous youth,
Can you forgo your honour, love and truth?
Yet should Parthenia wealth and title slight,
Would justice then restore Dione 's right?
Would you then dry her ever-falling tears;

LYCIDAS.

I'll in yon' shade thy wish'd return attend;
Come, quickly come, and cheer thy sighing friend.

DIONE.

Should her proud soul resist the tempting bait,
Should she contemn his proffer'd wealth and state,
Then I once more his perjur'd heart may move,
And in his bosom wake the dying love.
As the pale wretch involv'd in doubts and fears,
All trembling in the judgment-hall appears;
So shall I stand before Parthenia 's eyes,
For as she dooms, Dione lives or dies.