Chapter CII: Act IV: Scene I.3469

_Enter_ PERIGOT.

_Peri._ She is untrue, unconstant, and unkind;
She’s gone, she’s gone! Blow high, thou northwest wind,
And raise the sea to mountains; let the trees
That dare oppose thy raging fury leese[3470]
Their firm foundation; creep into the earth, 5
And shake the world, as at the monstrous birth
Of some new prodigy; whilst I constant stand,
Holding this trusty boar-spear in my hand,
And falling thus upon it. [_Offers to fall on his spear._]

_Enter_ AMARILLIS _running_.

_Amar._ Stay thy dead-doing hand! Thou art too hot 10
Against thyself. Believe me, comely swain,
If that thou diest, not all the showers of rain
The heavy clouds send down can wash away
That foul unmanly guilt the world will lay
Upon thee. Yet thy love untainted stands: 15
Believe me, she is constant; not the sands
Can be so hardly numb’red as she won.
I do not trifle, shepherd; by the moon,
And all those lesser lights our eyes do view,
All that I told thee, Perigot, is true. 20
Then, be a free man; put away despair
And will to die; smooth gently up that fair
Dejected forehead; be as when those eyes
Took the first heat.

_Peri._ Alas, he double dies
That would believe, but cannot! ’T is not well
You keep me thus from dying, here to dwell 26
With many worse companions. But, oh, death!
I am not yet enamour’d of this breath
So much but I dare leave it; ’t is not pain
In forcing of a wound, nor after-gain 30
Of many days, can hold me from my will.
’T is not myself, but Amoret, bids kill.

_Amar._ Stay but a little, little; but one hour;
And if I do not show thee, through the power
Of herbs and words I have, as dark as night, 35
Myself turn’d to thy Amoret, in sight,
Her very figure, and the robe she wears,
With tawny buskins, and the hook she bears
Of thine own carving, where your names are set,
Wrought underneath with many a curious fret,
The primrose-chaplet, tawdry-lace,[3471] and ring, 41
Thou gav’st her for her singing, with each thing
Else that she wears about her, let me feel
The first fell stroke of that revenging steel!

_Peri._ I am contented, if there be a hope, 45
To give it entertainment for the scope
Of one poor hour. Go; you shall find me next
Under yon shady beech, even thus perplext,
And thus believing.

_Amar._ Bind, before I go,
Thy soul by Pan unto me, not to do 50
Harm or outrageous wrong upon thy life,
Till my return.

_Peri._ By Pan, and by the strife
He had with Phoebus for the mastery,
When golden Midas judg’d their minstrelsy,
I will not! _Exeunt_ [_severally_]. 55

[SCENE II.][3472]

_Enter_ Satyr _with_ ALEXIS.

_Sat._ Softly gliding as I go,
With this burthen full of woe,
Through still silence of the night
Guided by the glow-worm’s light,
Hither am I come at last. 5
Many a thicket have I past;
Not a twig that durst deny me,
Not a bush that durst descry me
To the little bird that sleeps
On the slender spray; nor creeps 10
That hardy worm with pointed tail,
But if I be under sail,
Flying faster than the wind,
Leaving all the clouds behind,
But doth hide her tender head 15
In some hollow tree, or bed
Of seeded nettles; not a hare
Can be started from his fare
By my footing; nor a wish
Is more sudden, nor a fish 20
Can be found with greater ease
Cut the vast unbounded seas,
Leaving neither print nor sound,
Than I, when nimbly on the ground
I measure many a league an hour. 25
But, behold, the happy power[3473]
That must ease me of my charge,
And by holy hand enlarge
The soul of this sad man, that yet
Lies fast bound in deadly fit: 30
Heaven and great Pan succour it!—
Hail, thou beauty of the bower,
Whiter than the paramour
Of my master! Let me crave
Thy virtuous help, to keep from grave 35
This poor mortal, that here lies,
Waiting when the Destinies
Will undo[3474] his thread of life:
View the wound, by cruel knife
Trencht into him. 40

_Clo._ [_coming from the bower._] What art thou call’st me
from my holy rites,
And with the feared name of death affrights
My tender ears? Speak me thy name and will.

_Sat._ I am the Satyr that did fill
Your lap with early fruit; and will, 45
When I hap to gather more,
Bring you better and more store.[3475]
Yet I come not empty now:
See, a blossom from the bough;
But beshrew his heart that pull’d it, 50
And his perfect sight that cull’d it
From the other springing blooms!
For a sweeter youth the grooms
Cannot show me, nor the downs,
Nor the many neighbouring towns. 55
Low in yonder glade I found him;
Softly in mine arms I bound him;
Hither have I brought him sleeping
In a trance, his wounds fresh weeping,
In remembrance such youth may 60
Spring and perish in a day.

_Clo._ Satyr, they wrong thee that do term thee rude;
Though thou be’st outward-rough and tawny-hu’d,
Thy manners are as gentle and as fair
As his who brags himself born only heir 65
To all humanity.—Let me see thy wound:
This herb will stay the current, being bound
Fast to the orifice, and this restrain
Ulcers and swellings, and such inward pain
As the cold air hath forc’d into the sore; 70
This to draw out such putrefying gore
As inward falls.

_Sat._ Heaven grant it may do good!

_Clo._ Fairly wipe away the blood.
Hold him gently, till I fling 75
Water of a virtuous[3476] spring
On his temples; turn him twice
To the moonbeams; pinch him thrice;
That the labouring soul may draw
From his great eclipse.

_Sat._ I saw 80
His eyelids moving.

_Clo._ Give him breath;
All the danger of cold death
Now is vanisht! With this plaster
And this unction do I master
All the fest’red ill that may 85
Give him grief another day.

_Sat._ See, he gathers up his sprite,
And begins to hunt for light;
Now ’a gaps and breathes again:
How the blood runs to the vein 90
That erst was empty!

_Alexis._ O my heart!
My dearest, dearest Cloe! Oh, the smart
Runs through my side! I feel some pointed thing
Pass through my bowels, sharper than the sting
Of scorpion.—— 95
Pan, preserve me!—What are you?
Do not hurt me: I am true
To my Cloe, though she fly,
And leave me to this destiny.
There she stands, and will not lend 100
Her smooth white hand to help her friend.
But I am much mistaken, for that face
Bears more austerity and modest grace,
More reproving and more awe,
Than these eyes yet ever saw 105
In my Cloe. Oh, my pain
Eagerly renews again!
Give me your help for his sake you love best.

_Clo._ Shepherd, thou canst not possibly take rest,
Till thou hast laid aside all heats, desires, 110
Provoking thoughts that stir up lusty fires,
Commerce with wanton eyes, strong blood, and will
To execute; these must be purg’d until
The vein grow whiter; then repent, and pray
Great Pan to keep you from the like decay, 115
And I shall undertake your cure with ease;
Till when, this virtuous plaster will displease[3477]
Your tender sides. Give me your hand, and rise!
Help him a little, Satyr; for his thighs
Yet are feeble.

_Alexis._ [_rising._] Sure, I have lost much blood.

_Sat._ ’T is no matter; ’t was not good. 121
Mortal, you must leave your wooing:
Though there be a joy in doing,
Yet it brings much grief behind it;
They best feel it, that do find it. 125

_Clo._ Come, bring him in; I will attend his sore.—
When you are well, take heed you lust no more.
[ALEXIS _is led into the bower_.]

_Sat._ Shepherd, see, what comes of kissing;
By my head, ’t were better missing.
Brightest, if there be remaining 130
Any service, without feigning
I will do it; were I set
To catch the nimble wind, or get
Shadows gliding on the green,
Or to steal from the great queen 135
Of fairies all her beauty;
I would do it, so much duty
Do I owe those precious eyes.

_Clo._ I thank thee, honest Satyr. If the cries
Of any other, that be hurt or ill 140
Draw thee unto them, prithee, do thy will
To bring them hither.

_Sat._ I will; and when the weather
Serves to angle in the brook,
I will bring a silver hook, 145
With a line of finest silk,
And a rod as white as milk,
To deceive the little fish.
So I take my leave, and wish
On this bower may ever dwell 150
Spring and summer!

_Clo._ Friend, farewell. _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][3478]

_Enter_ AMORET.

_Amo._ This place is ominous; for here I lost
My love and almost life, and since have crost
All these woods over; ne’er a nook or dell,
Where any little bird or beast doth dwell,
But I have sought it; ne’er a bending brow 5
Of any hill, or glade the wind sings through,
Nor a green bank nor shade where shepherds use
To sit and riddle, sweetly pipe, or choose
Their valentines, that I have mist, to find
My love in. Perigot! Oh, too unkind, 10
Why hast thou fled me? Whither art thou gone?
How have I wrong’d thee. Was my love alone
To thee worthy this scorn’d recompense? ’T is well;
I am content to feel it. But I tell
Thee, shepherd, and these lusty woods shall hear, 15
Forsaken Amoret is yet as clear
Of any stranger fire, as heaven is
From foul corruption, or the deep abyss
From light and happiness; and thou mayst know
All this for truth, and how that fatal blow 20
Thou gav’st me, never from desert of mine
Fell on my life, but from suspect of thine,
Or fury more than madness. Therefore here,
Since I have lost my life, my love, my dear,
Upon this cursed place, and on this green 25
That first divorc’d us, shortly shall be seen
A sight of so great pity, that each eye
Shall daily spend his spring in memory
Of my untimely fall.

_Enter_ AMARILLIS.

_Amar._ [_Aside._] I am not blind,
Nor is it through the working of my mind 30
That this shows Amoret. Forsake me, all
That dwell upon the soul, but what men call
Wonder, or, more than wonder, miracle!
For, sure, so strange as this, the oracle
Never gave answer of; it passeth dreams, 35
Or madmen’s fancy, when the many streams
Of new imaginations rise and fall.
’T is but an hour since these ears heard her call
For pity to young Perigot; whilst he
Directed by his fury, bloodily 40
Lanc’d up her breast, which bloodless fell and cold;
And, if belief may credit what was told,
After all this, the Melancholy Swain
Took her into his arms, being almost slain,
And to the bottom of the holy well 45
Flung her, for ever with the waves to dwell.
’T is she, the very same; ’t is Amoret,
And living yet; the great powers will not let
Their virtuous love be crost.—Maid, wipe away
Those heavy drops of sorrow, and allay 50
The storm that yet goes high, which, not deprest,
Breaks heart and life and all before it rest.
Thy Perigot——

_Amo._ Where, which is Perigot?

_Amar._ Sits there below, lamenting much, God wot,
Thee and thy fortune. Go, and comfort him; 55
And thou shalt find him underneath a brim
Of sailing pines, that edge yon mountain in.

_Amo._ I go, I run. Heaven grant me I may win
His soul again! _Exit._

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd.

_Sull. Shep._ Stay, Amarillis, stay!
You are too fleet; ’t is two hours yet to day. 60
I have perform’d my promise; let us sit
And warm our bloods together, till the fit
Come lively on us.

_Amar._ Friend, you are too keen;
The morning riseth, and we shall be seen;
Forbear a little.

_Sull. Shep._ I can stay no longer. 65

_Amar._ Hold, shepherd, hold! Learn not to be a wronger
Of your word. Was not your promise laid,
To break their loves first?

_Sull. Shep._ I have done it, maid.

_Amar._ No; they are yet unbroken, met again,
And are as hard to part yet as the stain 70
Is from the finest lawn.

_Sull. Shep._ I say they are
Now at this present parted, and so far
That they shall never meet.

_Amar._ Swain, ’t is not so;
For do but to yon hanging mountain go,
And there believe your eyes.

_Sull. Shep._ You do but hold 75
Off with delays and trifles.—Farewell, cold
And frozen bashfulness, unfit for men!—
Thus I salute thee, virgin! [_Attempts to seize her._]

_Amar._ And thus, then,
I bid you follow: catch me if you can! _Exit._

_Sull. Shep._ And, if I stay behind, I am no man!
_Exit, running after her._ 80

[SCENE IV.][3479]

_Enter_ PERIGOT.

_Peri._ Night, do not steal away; I woo thee yet
To hold a hard hand o’er the rusty bit
That guides thy lazy team. Go back again,
Boötes, thou that driv’st thy frozen wain
Round as a ring, and bring a second night, 5
To hide my sorrows from the coming light;
Let not the eyes of men stare on my face,
And read my falling; give me some black place,
Where never sunbeam shot his wholesome light,
That I may sit and pour out my sad sprite 10
Like running water, never to be known
After the forced fall and sound is gone.

_Enter_ Amoret, _looking for_ PERIGOT.

_Amo._ This is the bottom.[3480]—Speak, if thou be here,
My Perigot! Thy Amoret, thy dear,
Calls on thy loved name.

_Peri._ What art thou dare 15
Tread these forbidden paths, where death and care
Dwell on the face of darkness?

_Amo._ ’T is thy friend,
Thy Amoret, come hither, to give end
To these consumings. Look up, gentle boy:
I have forgot those pains and dear annoy 20
I suffer’d for thy sake, and am content
To be thy love again. Why hast thou rent
Those curled locks, where I have often hung
Ribands and damask-roses, and have flung
Waters distill’d, to make thee fresh and gay, 25
Sweeter than nosegays on a bridal day?
Why dost thou cross thine arms, and hang thy face
Down to thy bosom, letting fall apace
From those two little heavens, upon the ground,
Showers of more price, more orient, and more round, 30
Than those that hang upon the moon’s pale brow?
Cease these complainings, shepherd: I am now
The same I ever was, as kind and free,
And can forgive before you ask of me;
Indeed, I can and will.

_Peri._ So spoke my fair! 35
Oh, you great working powers of earth and air,
Water and forming fire, why have you lent
Your hidden virtues of so ill intent?
Even such a face, so fair, so bright of hue,
Had Amoret: such words, so smooth and new,
Came flowing from her tongue; such was her eye, 41
And such the pointed sparkle that did fly
Forth like a bleeding shaft; all is the same,
The robe and buskins, painted hook, and frame
Of all her body. Oh me, Amoret! 45

_Amo._ Shepherd, what means this riddle? Why hath set
So strong a difference ’twixt myself and me,
That I am grown another? Look, and see
The ring thou gav’st me, and about my wrist
That curious bracelet thou thyself dist twist 50
From those fair tresses. Know’st thou Amoret?
Hath not some newer love forc’d thee forget
Thy ancient faith?

_Peri._ Still nearer to my love!
These be the very words she oft did prove
Upon my temper: so she still would take 55
Wonder into her face, and silent make
Signs with her head and hand, as who would say,
“Shepherd, remember this another day.”

_Amo._ Am I not Amoret? Where was I lost?
Can there be heaven, and time, and men, and most 60
Of these unconstant? Faith, where art thou fled?
Are all the vows and protestations dead,
The hands held up, the wishes and the heart?
Is there not one remaining, not a part
Of all these to be found? Why, then, I see 65
Men never knew that virtue, constancy.

_Peri._ Men ever were most blessed, till cross fate
Brought love and women forth, unfortunate
To all that ever tasted of their smiles;
Whose actions are all double, full of wiles; 70
Like to the subtle hare, that ’fore the hounds
Makes many turnings, leaps, and many rounds,
This way and that way, to deceive the scent
Of her pursuers.

_Amo._ ’T is but to prevent
Their speedy coming on, that seek her fall; 75
The hands of cruel men, more bestial,
And of a nature more refusing good
Than beasts themselves, or fishes of the flood.

_Peri._ Thou art all these, and more than nature meant
When she created all; frowns, joys, content; 80
Extreme fire for an hour, and presently
Colder than sleepy poison, or the sea
Upon whose face sits a continual frost;
Your actions ever driven to the most,
Then down again as low, that none can find 85
The rise or falling of a woman’s mind.

_Amo._ Can there be any age, or days, or time,
Or tongues of men, guilty so great a crime
As wronging simple maid? Oh, Perigot,
Thou that wast yesterday without a blot; 90
Thou that wast every good and every thing
That men call blessed; thou that wast the spring
From whence our looser grooms drew all their best;
Thou that wast always just and always blest
In faith and promise; thou that hadst the name 95
Of virtuous given thee, and made good the same
Ev’n from thy cradle; thou that wast that all
That men delighted in! Oh, what a fall
Is this, to have been so, and now to be
The only best in wrong and infamy! 100
And I to live to know this! and by me,
That lov’d thee dearer than mine eyes, or that
Which we esteem’d our honour, virgin state!
Dearer than swallows love the early morn,
Or dogs of chase the sound of merry horn; 105
Dearer than thou canst love thy new love, if thou hast
Another, and far dearer than the last;
Dearer than thou canst love thyself, though all
The self-love were within thee that did fall 109
With that coy swain that now is made a flower,
For whose dear sake Echo weeps many a shower!
And am I thus rewarded for my flame?
Lov’d worthily to get a wanton’s name?
Come, thou forsaken willow, wind my head,
And noise it to the world, my love is dead! 115
I am forsaken, I am cast away,
And left for every lazy groom to say
I was unconstant, light, and sooner lost
Than the quick clouds we see, or the chill frost
When the hot sun beats on it! Tell me yet, 120
Canst thou not love again thy Amoret?

_Peri._ Thou art not worthy of that blessed name;
I must not know thee. Fling thy wanton flame
Upon some lighter blood that may be hot
With words and feigned passions; Perigot 125
Was ever yet unstain’d, and shall not now
Stoop to the meltings of a borrowed brow.

_Amo._ Then hear me, Heaven, to whom I call for right,
And you, fair twinkling stars, that crown the night; 129
And hear me, woods, and silence of this place,
And ye, sad hours, that move a sullen pace;
Hear me, ye shadows, that delight to dwell
In horrid darkness, and ye powers of hell,
Whilst I breathe out my last! I am that maid,
That yet-untainted Amoret, that play’d 135
The careless prodigal, and gave away
My soul to this young man that now dares say
I am a stranger, not the same, more vild;[3481]
And thus with much belief I was beguil’d.
I am that maid, that have delay’d, deni’d, 140
And almost scorn’d the loves of all that tri’d
To win me, but this swain; and yet confess
I have been woo’d by many with no less
Soul of affection; and have often had
Rings, belts, and cracknels,[3482] sent me from the lad 145
That feeds his flocks down westward; lambs and doves
By young Alexis; Daphnis sent me gloves;
All which I gave to thee: nor these nor they
That sent them did I smile on, or e’er lay
Up to my after-memory. But why 150
Do I resolve to grieve, and not to die?
Happy had been the stroke thou gav’st, if home;
By this time had I found a quiet room,
Where every slave is free, and every breast,
That living bred new care, now lies at rest; 155
And thither will poor Amoret.

_Peri._ Thou must.
Was ever any man so loth to trust
His eyes as I? or was there ever yet
Any so like as this to Amoret?
For whose dear sake I promise, if there be 160
A living soul within thee, thus to free
Thy body from it? _He hurts her again._

_Amo._ [_falling._] So, this work hath end.
Farewell, and live; be constant to thy friend
That loves thee next.

_Enter_ Satyr; PERIGOT _runs off_.

_Sat._ See, the day begins to break, 165
And the light shoots like a streak
Of subtle fire; the wind blows cold,
Whilst the morning doth unfold;
Now the birds begin to rouse,
And the squirrel from the boughs 170
Leaps, to get him nuts and fruit.
The early lark, that erst was mute,
Carols to the rising day
Many a note and many a lay:
Therefore here I end my watch, 175
Lest the wand’ring swain should catch
Harm, or lose himself.

_Amo._ Ah me!

_Sat._ Speak again, whate’er thou be;
I am ready; speak, I say;
By the dawning of the day, 180
By the power of night and Pan,
I enforce thee speak again!

_Amo._ Oh, I am most unhappy.

_Sat._ Yet more blood!
Sure, these wanton swains are wood.[3483] 185
Can there be a hand or heart
Dare commit so vild a part
As this murder? By the moon,
That hid herself when this was done,
Never was a sweeter face: 190
I will bear her to the place
Where my goddess keeps, and crave
Her to give her life or grave. _Exit_ [_carrying_ AMORET].

[SCENE V.][3484]

_Enter_ CLORIN.

_Clo._ Here whilst one patient takes his rest secure,
I steal abroad to do another cure.—
Pardon, thou buried body of my love,
That from thy side I dare so soon remove;
I will not prove unconstant, nor will leave 5
Thee for an hour alone. When I deceive
My first-made vow, the wildest of the wood
Tear me, and o’er thy grave let out my blood!
I go by wit to cure a lover’s pain,
Which no herb can; being done, I ’ll come again. _Exit._ 10

_Enter_ THENOT.

_The._ Poor shepherd, in this shade for ever lie,
And seeing thy fair Clorin’s cabin, die! [_Lying down_.]
Oh, hapless love, which being answer’d, ends!
And, as a little infant cries and bends
His tender brows, when, rolling of his eye, 15
He hath espi’d something that glisters nigh,
Which he would have; yet, give it him, away
He throws it straight, and cries afresh to play
With something else, such my affection, set
On that which I should loathe, if I could get. 20

_Re-enter_ CLORIN.

_Clo._ [_Aside._] See, where he lies! Did ever man but he
Love any woman for her constancy
To her dead lover, which she needs must end
Before she can allow him for her friend,
And he himself must needs the cause destroy 25
For which he loves, before he can enjoy?
Poor shepherd, Heaven grant I at once may free
Thee from thy pain, and keep my loyalty!—
Shepherd, look up.

_The._ Thy brightness doth amaze;
So Phoebus may at noon bid mortals gaze; 30
Thy glorious constancy appears so bright,
I dare not meet the beams with my weak sight.

_Clo._ Why dost thou pine away thyself for me?

_The._ Why dost thou keep such spotless constancy?

_Clo._ Thou holy shepherd, see what for thy sake 35
Clorin, thy Clorin, now dare undertake. _He starts up._

_The._ Stay there, thou constant Clorin! If there be
Yet any part of woman left in thee,
To make thee light, think yet before thou speak.

_Clo._ See, what a holy vow for thee I break;
I, that already have my fame far spread 41
For being constant to my lover dead.

_The._ Think yet, dear Clorin, of your love; how true,
If you had died, he would have been to you.

_Clo._ Yet, all I ’ll lose for thee——

_The._ Think but how blest 45
A constant woman is above the rest!

_Clo._ And offer up myself, here on this ground,
To be dispos’d by thee.

_The._ Why dost thou wound,
His heart with malice against women more,
That hated all the sex but thee before? 50
How much more pleasant had it been to me
To die than to behold this change in thee!
Yet, yet return; let not the woman sway!

_Clo._ Insult not on her now, nor use delay,
Who for thy sake hath ventur’d all her fame. 55

_The._ Thou hast not ventur’d, but bought certain shame;
Your sex’s curse, foul falsehood, must and shall,
I see, once in your lives, light on you all.
I hate thee now. Yet turn!

_Clo._ Be just to me:
Shall I at once lose both my fame and thee? 60

_The._ Thou hadst no fame; that which thou didst like good
Was but thy appetite that sway’d thy blood
For that time to the best: for as a blast
That through a house comes, usually doth cast
Things out of order, yet by chance may come,
And blow some one thing to his proper room, 66
So did thy appetite, and not thy zeal,
Sway thee by chance to do some one thing well.
Yet turn!

_Clo._ Thou dost but try me, if I would
Forsake thy dear embraces for my old 70
Love’s, though he were alive: but do not fear.

_The._ I do contemn thee now, and dare come near.
And gaze upon thee; for methinks that grace,
Austerity, which sate upon that face,
Is gone, and thou like others. False maid, see.
This is the gain of foul inconstancy! _Exit._ 76

_Clo._ ’T is done: great Pan, I give thee thanks for it!—
What art could not have heal’d is cur’d by wit.

_Re-enter_ THENOT.

_The._ Will ye be constant yet? Will ye remove
Into the cabin to your buried love? 80

_Clo._ No, let me die, but by thy side remain.

_The._ There ’s none shall know that thou didst ever stain
Thy worthy strictness, but shall honour’d be,
And I will lie again under this tree,
And pine and die for thee with more delight 85
Than I have sorrow now to know thee light.

_Clo._ Let me have thee, and I ’ll be where thou wilt.

_The._ Thou art of women’s race, and full of guilt.
Farewell all hope of that sex! Whilst I thought
There was one good, I fear’d to find one naught:
But since their minds I all alike espy, 91
Henceforth I ’ll choose, as others, by mine eye. _Exit._

_Clo._ Blest be ye powers that gave such quick redress,
And for my labours sent so good success!
I rather choose, though I a woman be, 95
He should speak ill of all than die for me. [_Exit into the bower_.]