The Faithful Shepherdess | Page 4

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 for my bend,?I must have quicker Souls, whose works may tend?To some free action: give me him dare love?At first encounter, and as soon dare prove.
The SONG.
_Come Shepherds, come,?Come away without delay?Whilst the gentle time dot[h] stay.?Green Woods are dumb,?And will never tell to any?Those dear Kisses, and those many?Sweet Embraces that