The Faithful Shepherdess | Page 7

or hidden skill?May cure thee of disease or festred ill,?Whose grief or greenness to anothers eye?May seem impossible of remedy,?I dare yet undertake it.
The. 'Tis no pain?I suffer through disease, no beating vein?Conveyes infection dangerous to the heart,?No part impostum'd to be cur'd by Art,?This body holds; and yet a feller grief?Than ever skilfull hand did give relief?Dwells on my soul, and may be heal'd by you,?Fair beauteous Virgin.
Clor. Then Shepherd, let me sue?To know thy grief; that man yet never knew?The way to health, that durst not shew his sore.
Then. Then fairest, know, I love you.
_C[l]or_. Swain, no more,?Thou hast abus'd the strictness of this place,?And offred Sacrilegious foul disgrace?To the sweet rest of these interred bones,?For fear of whose ascending, fly at once,?Thou and thy idle passions, that the sight?Of death and speedy vengeance may not fright?Thy very soul with horror.
Then. Let me not?(Thou all perfection) merit such a blot?For my true zealous faith.
Clor. Dar'st thou abide?To see this holy Earth at once divide?And give her body up? for sure it will,?If thou pursu'st with wanton flames to fill?This hallowed place; therefore repent and goe,?Whilst I with praise appease his Ghost below,?That else would tell thee what it were to be?A rival in that vertuous love that he?Imbraces yet.
Then. 'Tis not the white or red?Inhabits in your cheek that thus can wed?My mind to adoration; nor your eye,?Though it be full and fair, your forehead high,?And smooth as Pelops shoulder; not the smile?Lies watching in those dimples to beguile?The easie soul, your hands and fingers long?With veins inamel'd richly, nor your tongue,?Though it spoke sweeter than Arions Harp,?Your hair wove into many a curious warp,?Able in endless errour to infold?The wandring soul, nor the true perfect mould?Of all your body, which as pure doth show?In Maiden whiteness as the Alpsian snow.?All these, were but your constancie away,?Would please me less than a black stormy day?The wretched Seaman toyling through the deep.?But whilst this honour'd strictness you dare keep,?Though all the plagues that e're begotten were?In the great womb of air, were setled here,?In opposition, I would, like the tree,?Shake off those drops of weakness, and be free?Even in the arm of danger.
Clor. Wouldst thou have?Me raise again (fond man) from silent grave,?Those sparks that long agoe were buried here,?With my dead friends cold ashes?
Then. Dearest dear,?I dare not ask it, nor you must not grant;?Stand strongly to your vow, and do not faint:?Remember how he lov'd ye, and be still?The same Opinion speaks ye; let not will,?And that great god of women, appetite,?Set up your blood again; do not invite?Desire and fancie from their long exile,?To set them once more in a pleasing smile:?Be like a rock made firmly up 'gainst all?The power of angry Heaven, or the strong fall?Of Neptunes battery; if ye yield, I die?To all affection; 'tis that loyaltie?Ye tie unto this grave I so admire;?And yet there's something else I would desire,?If you would hear me, but withall deny.?O Pan, what an uncertain destiny?Hangs over all my hopes! I will retire,?For if I longer stay, this double fire?Will lick my life up.
Clor. Doe, let time wear out?What Art and Nature cannot bring about.
Then. Farewel thou soul of vertue, and be blest?For ever, whilst that here I wretched rest?Thus to my self; yet grant me leave to dwell?In kenning of this Arbor; yon same dell?O'retopt with morning Cypress and sad Yew?Shall be my Cabin, where I'le early rew,?Before the Sun hath kist this dew away,?The hard uncertain chance which Fate doth lay?Upon this head.
Clor. The gods give quick release?And happy cure unto thy hard disease. [Exeunt.
Enter Sullen Shepherd.
Sullen. I do not love this wench that I should meet,?For ne'r did my unconstant eye yet greet?That beauty, were it sweeter or more fair,?Than the new blossoms, when the morning air?Blows gently on the[m], or the breaking light,?When many maiden blushes to our sight?Shoot from his early face: were all these set?In some neat form before me, 'twould not get?The least love from me; some desire it might,?Or present burning: all to me in sight?Are equal, be they fair, or black, or brown,?Virgin, or careless wanton, I can crown?My appetite with any; swear as oft?And weep, as any, melt my words as soft?Into a maiden[s] ears, and tell how long?My heart has been her servant, and how strong?My passions are: call her unkind and cruel,?Offer her all I have to gain the Jewel?Maidens so highly prize: then loath, and fly:?This do I hold a blessed destiny.
Enter Amaryllis.
Amar_. Hail Shepherd, _Pan bless both thy flock and thee, For being mindful of thy word to me.
Sul. Welcom fair Shepherdess, thy loving swain?Gives thee the self same wishes back again,?Who till this present hour ne're knew that eye,?Could make me cross mine arms, or daily dye?With fresh consumings: boldly tell