The Faithful Shepherdess | Page 4

the Pipe or Whistle: this man may
(If he be well
wrought) do a deed of wonder,
Forcing me passage to my long
desires:
And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose,
As my quick
thoughts could wish for.
Enter Shepherd.
Shep. Fresh Beauty, let me not be thought uncivil,
Thus to be Partner
of your loneness: 'twas
My Love (that ever working passion) drew

Me to this place to seek some remedy
For my sick Soul: be not
unkind and fair,
For such the mighty Cupid in his doom
Hath sworn
to be aveng'd on; then give room
To my consuming Fires, that so I
may
Enjoy my long Desires, and so allay
Those flames that else
would burn my life away.
Ama. Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were sound

As thy words
seem to be, means might be found
To cure thee of thy long pains; for
to me
That heavy youth-consuming Miserie
The love-sick Soul
endures, never was pleasing;
I could be well content with the quick
easing
Of thee, and thy hot fires, might it procure
Thy faith and

farther service to be sure.
Shep. Name but that great work, danger, or what can
Be compass'd by
the Wit or Art of Man,
And if I fail in my performance, may
I never
more kneel to the rising Day.
Ama. Then thus I try thee, Shepherd, this same night,
That now
comes stealing on, a gentle pair
Have promis'd equal Love, and do
appoint
To make yon Wood the place where hands and hearts
Are
to be ty'd for ever: break their meeting
And their strong Faith, and I
am ever thine.
Shep. Tell me their Names, and if I do not move
(By my great power)
the Centre of their Love
From his fixt being, let me never more

Warm me by those fair Eyes I thus adore.
Ama. Come, as we go, I'll tell thee what they are,
And give thee fit
directions for thy work. [Exeunt.
Enter Cloe.
Cloe. How have I wrong'd the times, or men, that thus
After this holy
Feast I pass unknown
And unsaluted? 'twas not wont to be
Thus
frozen with the younger companie
Of jolly Shepherds; 'twas not then
held good,
For lusty Grooms to mix their quicker blood
With that
dull humour, most unfit to be
The friend of man, cold and dull
Chastitie.
Sure I am held not fair, or am too old,
Or else not free
enough, or from my fold
Drive not a flock sufficient great, to gain

The greedy eyes of wealth-alluring Swain:
Yet if I may believe what
others say,
My face has soil enough; nor can they lay
Justly too
strict a Coyness to my Charge;
My Flocks are many, and the Downs
as large
They feed upon: then let it ever be
Their Coldness, not my
Virgin Modestie
Makes me complain.
Enter Thenot.

The. Was ever Man but I
Thus truly taken with uncertainty?
Where
shall that Man be found that loves a mind
Made up in Constancy, and
dare not find
His Love rewarded? here let all men know
A Wretch
that lives to love his Mistress so.
Clo. Shepherd, I pray thee stay, where hast thou been?
Or whither
go'st thou? here be Woods as green
As any, air likewise as fresh and
sweet,
As where smooth Zephyrus plays on the fleet
Face of the
curled Streams, with Flowers as many
As the young Spring gives,
and as choise as any;
Here be all new Delights, cool Streams and
Wells,
Arbors o'rgrown with Woodbinds, Caves, and Dells,
Chase
where thou wilt, whilst I sit by, and sing,
Or gather Rushes to make
many a Ring
For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of Love,
How the
pale Phoebe hunting in a Grove,
First saw the Boy Endymion, from
whose Eyes
She took eternal fire that never dyes;
How she
convey'd him softly in a sleep,
His temples bound with poppy to the
steep
Head of old Latmus, where she stoops each night,
Gilding the
Mountain with her Brothers light,
To kiss her sweetest.
The. Far from me are these
Hot flashes, bred from wanton heat and
ease;
I have forgot what love and loving meant:
Rhimes, Songs, and
merry Rounds, that oft are sent
To the soft Ears of Maids, are strange
to me;
Only I live t' admire a Chastitie,
That neither pleasing Age,
smooth tongue, or Gold,
Could ever break upon, so pure a Mold
Is
that her Mind was cast in; 'tis to her
I only am reserv'd; she is my
form I stir
By, breath and move, 'tis she and only she

Can make me
happy, or give miserie.
Clo. Good Shepherd, may a Stranger crave to know
To whom this
dear observance you do ow?
The. You may, and by her Vertue learn to square
And level out your
Life; for to be fair
And nothing vertuous, only fits the Eye
Of gaudy
Youth, and swelling Vanitie.
Then know, she's call'd the Virgin of the

Grove,
She that hath long since bury'd her chaste Love,
And now
lives by his Grave, for whose dear Soul
She hath vow'd her self into
the holy Roll
Of strict Virginity; 'tis her I so admire,
Not any looser
Blood, or new desire.
Clo. Farewel poor Swain, thou art not