CHORUS OF HUNTSMEN

Oh glorious child of great Alcides raze, That monster, killest, and wild Beasts dost deface. Until this time I nener durst believe, That which the Satire of Corisea said, Imagining his tale had been but fordg'd, Maliciously to work me injury: Far from the to oath it seemed to me that place, Where she appointed I with her should meet, (If that be true which was on her behalf, Delivered me by young Lisetta late) Should be the place to take th'Adult ou in: But see a sign that may confirm the same, Even as he told me, so it is in deed. O what a Stone is this, which shuts up thus The huge mouth of this Cave? O Corisea, All in good time I have found out your guiles, Which after so long use, at last return With damage to your self. So many lies, So many treacheries, must needs presage Some mortal disadventure at the least, To him that was not mad, or blind with love: Was good for me stayed away so long, Great fortune that my father me detained So with a tedious stay, as then me thought, Had I kept time but as Lisetta bade, Surely some strange adventure had I had. What shall I do? shall I attired with spleen, S eke with outrageous fury for revenge? F no, I honour her too much: so be The case with reason waighd; it rather would Have pity and compassion, then revenge. And shall I pity her, that me betrays? She rather does betray her self, that thus Abandons me, whose faith to her was pure, And give her self in pray To a poor Shepherd stranger vagaband, That shall to morrow be more perfidious then she. Should I according to the Satires counsel, her accuse, Of the faith broken, which to me she swore: Then must she die: My hart's not half so base, Let her then live for me: or to say better, Let her die unto me, and live unto others: Live to her shame, live to her infamy; Since she is such, she never can in me Kindle one spark of fearful iealowsie. Oh Goddess, that no Goddess art, but of And idle people, blind and vain: who with Impurest minds and found Religion, Hallows the Altars and great Temples too. What, said I Temples? wicked Theaters Oh beastly deeds, to colour their dishonest acts With titles of thy famous Deity, Because thy shames in others shames made less, Let loose the reins of their lasciviousness. Thou foe to Reason, plotter of mildeedes, Corrupter to our souls, calamity To the whole world; thou daughter of the Sea, And of that treacherous monster rightly born, That with the breath of hope dost first entice These humane breasts, but afterwards dost move A thousand storms of sighs, of tears, of plaints: Thou mayest be better called Mother of tempests and Oh rage, then Mother of Love. To what a misery hast thou thrown down Those wretched Lovers? now mayest thou vaunt thy self To be omnipotent, if thou canst save That poor Nymph's life, whom with thy snares thou hast Conducted to this miserable death. Oh happy day I hallowd my chased mind To thee my only Goddess Cinthia, Such power on earth to souls of better sort, As thou art light in heaven above the Stars. Much better are those studious practises Then those which Venus unchaste servants use: Thy servants kill both Bears and ugly Boors, Her servants are of Bears and Boors still slain. O Bow and matchless Shafts, my power and my delight, Vain fantastiue Love, come prove thine arms, sseminate with mine: but fie, too much I honour thee poor weak and wreckling child, And for thou shalt me hear, I'll speak aloud. A rod to chastise thee will be enough.—enough. What art thou L ho that so sounds again? Or rather Love, that answerest loudly so?—y so. I could have wished no better match; but tell Me then, Art thou (by heaven) he—eauen he The son of her that for Aaenis did So miserably burn, in whom nought good it.—Goddess. A Goddess? no, the Concubine of Mars, In whom does wholly lie— holly a lie. Oh fine, thy tongue does , Wilt thou come forth? thou do but darkly dare,—y dare, I held thee for a coward , art thou a Dost thou that title bravely scorn—y scorn. Oh God, then art thou Ʋ ul a es son, by that Lame Smith begotten.—God, A God? of what? of Winds, mad with base earth—earth. God of the earth? makes thou thy foes to rue:—to we. With what dost thou still punish those that strive, And obstinately do contend with Love?—with Love. Nay soft, when shall crook't Love (tell me good fool) Enter my breast? I warrent t'is too straight.—straight, What, shall I fallen in love so suddenly?—suddenly, What is her name that I must then adore?—Door. Dorind fool, thou canst not speak out yet, But dost not thou mean her —ee'n her. Dorinda whom I hate; but who shall force my will —I will. What weapons wilt thou use? perhaps thy Bow,—thy Bow My Bow? not till it be by thy lewd folly broken,—broken My broken arms encounter me, and who Shall break them? thou?—thou. Fie fie thou art drunk, go sleep go sleep: but stay, These marvels must be done: but where?—hear. Oh fool, and I am gone, how thou art laden with Wit-robbing Grapes that grew upon the Vine.—Divine But soft, I see, or else me thinks I see Something that's Like a Wolf in yonder Grove. T'is sure a Wolf: How monstrous great it is. This day for me is desteni to praise: Good Goddess, with great favours dost thou show To triumph in one day over two Beasts: In thy great name, I lose this shaft, the swiftest and The sharpest which my Q iue holds. Great Archeresse, direct thou my right hand, And here I vow to sacrifice the spoils Unto thy name. Oh dainty blow, blow fallen Even where my hand and eye it destinied. Ah that I had my Dart, it to dispatch, Before it get into the Woods away. But here be Stones, what needs I any else? Here's scarcely one, I needs none now: here is Another Shaft will pierce it to the quick. What's this I see? unhappy Silvio? I'haue shot a Shepherd in a Wolvish shape. Oh bitter chance! Oh ever miserable! thinks I know the wretch, ti's Linco that Does hold him up. O deadly shaft! O most Unhappy Vow! I guilty of another's blood? I thus the causer of another's death? I that have been so liberal of my life, So large a spender of my blood for others health? So, cast away thy weapons, and go live All glorilesse. But see where he does come, A great deal less unhappy then thy self. Lean thou thy self (my Daughter) on this arm. Unfortunate Dorinda. Sil. Oh me! Dorinda? I am dead. Oh glorious child of great Alcides raze, That Monsters killest, and Wild-beasts dost deface. Oh glorious child of great Alcides raze, That monsters , and wild Beasts dost deface. Oh Glorious child of great Alci es raze, That Monsters killest, and Wild-beasts dost deface.