AMARYLLIS

Cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy voice Then if the angry heavens with their quick flames, Had shot me through: I must not leave to love, I cannot, no I must enjoy thee boy, Though the great dangers betwixt my Hope's and that Be infinite: there is a Shepherd dwells Down by the More, whose life hath ever shown More fullen discontent then Saturn's brow, When he sits frowning on the births of men: One that does wear himself away in loneness, And never joys unless it be in breaking The holy pl ghted troths of mutual souls: One that lustest after every several beauty, But never yet was known to love or Like, Were the face fairer or more full of truth, Then Phoebe in her fullness, or the youth Of smooth Lyeus, whose nigh starved flocks Are always scabby, and infect all sheep They feed withal, whose lambs are ever last, And die before their weaning, and whose dog, Looks Like his Master, lean, and full of scurffe, Not caring for 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 Sullen. Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were found As thy words seem to be, means might be found To cure thee of thy long pains: for to me That heavy youth consuming misery, The love sick soul endures, never was pleasing, I could be well content with the quick easing Of thee & thy hight fires, might it procure Thy faith, and farther service to be sure. Name but that great work, danger, or what can Be compassed by the wit or art of man, And if I fail in my performance, may I never more kneel to the rising day, Then thus I try thee shepherd, this same night, That now comes stealing on, a gentle pair Have promised equal love, and do appoint To make yond wood the place, where hands and hearts Are to be tied for ever: break their meeting And their strong faith, and I am ever thine. Come, as we go I'll tell thee what they are, And give thee fit directions for thy work. exeunt. How have I wronged the times, or men, that thus, After this holy feast I pass unknown, And unsaluted? was not wont to be Thus frozen with the younger company Of jolly shepherd's: was 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 chastity: Sure I am held not fair, or am too old, Or else not free enough, or from my fouled Driven 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 foil 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 modesty Makes me complain. Hail Shepherd Pan bless both thy flock & thee, For being mindful of thy word to me. Loved swain I thank you, these tricks might pre vail With other rus icke shepherd's, but will fail Even once to stir, much more to overthrow, His fixed love from judgement, who does know, Your nature, my end, and his chosens merit, Therefore some stronger way must force his spirit Which I have found: give second, and my love Is everlasting thine. These happy pair of lovers meet straight way, Soon as they fouled their flocks up with the day In the thick grove bordering upon yond hill, In whose hard side Nature hath carved a well: And but that matchless spring which Poets know, Was never the Like to this: by it does grow About the sides, all herbs which witches use, All simples good for medicine or abuse, All sweets that crown the happy nuptial day. With all their colours, there the month of May Is ever dwelling, all is young and green, There's not a grass on which was ever seen, The falling Autume or cold winter's hand So full of heat and virtue is the land: About this fountain: which does slowly break Below yond Mountains foot, into a creek That waters all the valley, giving fish Of many sorts, to fill the shepherd's dish. This holy well, my Grandame that is dead, Right wise in charms, hath often to me said, Hath power to change the form of any creature, Being thrice dipped over the head, into what feature, Or shape would please the letter down to crave, Who must pronounce this charm to, which she gave Me on her death bed, told me what and how I should apply unto the patients brow, That would be changed, casting them thrice a sleep Before I trusted them into this deep. All this she showed me, and did charge me prove, This secret of her Art, if crossed in love, I'll this attempt, now Shepherd I have here All her prescriptions and I with l not fear To be my self dipped: come, my temples bind With these sad herbs, and when I sleep you find As you do speak your charm, thrice down me let, And bid the water raise me Amoret, Which being done, leave me to my affair, And ere the day shall quite it self out wear, I will return unto my Shepherds arm, Dip me again, and then repeat this charm, And pluck me up my self, whom freely take, And the hotst fire of thine affection slake. Thou blessed man, Honoured upon these plains and loved of Pan : Hear me, and save from endless infamy, My yet unblasted flower Virginity By all the Garlands that have crowned that head, By thy chased office, and the marriage bed, That still is blessed by thee: by all the rights Endue to our God: and by those virgin lights, That burn before his Altar: let me not, Fallen from my former state to gain the blot That never shall be purged. I am not now, That wanton Amarillis : here I vow, To Heaven, and thee graven father, if I may, Escape this unhappy Night, to know the day, A virgin, never after to endure The tongues, or company of men unpure. I hear him, come, save me. Shepherd may I desire to be believed, What I shall blushing tell? Then softly thus, I love thee Perigot, And would be gladder to be leved again, Then the cold earth is in his frozen arms To l p the wanton spring: nay do not start, Nor wonder that I woe thee! thou that art The prime of our young grooms, even the top Of all our lusty Shepherds: what dull eye That n ver was acquainted with desire, Hath S ene thee wrestle, run, or cast the stone, With h nimble strength and fair delivery, And hath not sparkled fire, and speedily Sent secret heat to all the neighbouring veins? Who ever herd thee sing, that brought again, That freedom back was lent unto thy voice? Then do not blame me (shepherd) if I be One to be numbered in this company, Since none that ever saw thee yet, were free. Shall I rewarded be so slenderly For my affection, most unkind of men? If I were old, or had agreed with Art, To give another nature to my cheeks, Or were I common mistress to the love Of every swain, or could I with such ease Call back my love, as many a wanton does, Thou mightest refuse me Shepherd, but to thee I am only fixed and set, let it not be A sport, thou gentle Shepherd, to abuse The love of silly maid. Bind before I go; Thy soul by Pan unto me, not to do, Harm or outrageous wrong upon thy life, Till my Return. I am not blind, Nor is it through the working of my Mind. That this shows Amoret, for sake me all, That dwell upon the soul, but what men call Wonder, or more then wonder Miracle, For sure so strange as this the Oracle, Never gave answer of, It passes dreams, Or maddmens fancy when the many streams, Of new Imagination rise and fallen: 'Tis but and hour since These Ears herd her call, For pity to young Perigot ? whiles he, Directed by his fury Bloodelye, Launched 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, slung her for ever with the waves to dwell, 'Tis she, the very same, 'tis Amoret. And living yet, the great powers will not let, Their virtuous love be Crossed, maid wipe away, Those heavy drops of sorrow, and allay, The storm that yet goes high, which not depressed, Breaks, heart, and life, and all before it rest: Thy Perigot : Friend you are to keen; The Morning, Riseth, and we shall be seen, For bear a little; Hold Sheapeard hold, learn not to be a wronger; Of your word, was not your promise laid, To break their loves first: No they are yet unbroken, met again, And are as hard to partly yet as the stain? Is from the finest lawn, And thus then, I bid you follow, Catch me if you can, Exit. Sits there below lamenting much God wot: Thee, and thy fortune, go and comfort him, And thou shalt find him under neath a brim, Of sailing Pynes that edge yond Mountaiue in, Swain 'tis not so, For do but to yond hanging Mountain go, And there believe your eyes, Come Perigot will show his power that he Can make his Amoret, though she weary be, Rise nimbly from her Couch and come to his. Here take thy Amoret embrace, and Kiss: