ERGASTO

Nor needs you envy him That pity more then envy does deserve. Because he loves her not. For that the heavens the health of Arcady Do promise at these nuptials. Know you not How we do still appease our goddess wrath, Each year with guiltless blood of some poor Nymph? A mortal and a miserable tribute. I will report the doleful tragedy From the beginning of our misery, That able are pity and plaints to draw From these hard rocks, much more from humane breasts. In that same golden age when holy priesthood, and The temples charge was not prohibited To youth. A noble swain Amintas called, Priest at that time, loved Lucrina bright: A beauteous Nymph, exceeding fair: but therewithal Exceeding false, and light. Long time she loved him, Orat the least, she seemed so, with feigned face Nursing his pure affections with false Hope's. While she no other suitors had. But see the unconstant wretch! no sooner was she wooed By a rude shepherd, but at first assault, At his first sigh, she yielded up her love: Before Amintas dreamt of Jealousy. At last Amintas was forlorn, despide, So that the wicked woman would nor see, nor hear Him speak, now if the wretch did sighs, Be thou the judge that knowest his pain by proof. Knowest thou not Silvio Montane's only son? Diana's priest: that rich and famous shepherd, That gallant youth? He is the very same. Oh day of wonders, day all love, all grace, All joy, o happy land, o heavens benign. Love (deer Mirtillo )is Like a fire enclosed, Which straightly kept, more fiercely flames at last, Thou shouldst not have so long concealed from me The fire, since it thou couldst not hide. How often have I said Mirtillo burns, But in a silent flame and so consumes. A poor desire of love; and light reward Of him that die: but dangerous enterprise. Wretched were she, should but her father know She had bowed down her ears to her lovers words, Or should she be accused to the priest Her father in law, for this perhaps she shuns To speak with you, that else does love you well, Although she it conceals; for women though They be more frail in their desires, Yet are they craftier in hiding them; If this be true, how can she show more love Then thus in shunning you? she hears in vain, And shuns with pity that can give no help. It is found counsel, soon to cease desiring, When we cannot attain to our aspiring. After he had his heart recovered From his complaints, he to his goddess turns, And praying saves: Great Cinthia if I have At any time kindled with guiltless hands The holy flames, revenge thou then for me This broken faith of my unconstant Nymph. Diana hears the prayers of her priest, And straight out-breathing rage, she takes her bow And shoots shafts of mennitable death Into the bowels of Arcadia. People of every sex, of every age, Soon perished, no succour could be found, Was bootless art to search for remedies, For often on the patient the physician died. One only remedy did rest, which was Strait to the nearest Oracle they went, From whom they had and answer very clear, But above measure deadly horrible. Which was, our Cinthia was displeased, and to Appease herire, either Lucrina or some else for her, Must by Amintas hands be sacrificed. Who when she had long time in vain complained, And looked for help from her new friend in vain, Was to the sacred Altars led with solemn pomp, A woeful sacrifice. Where at those feet Which had pursued her long time in vain At her betrayed Lovers feet she bends Her rtembling knees, attending cruel death. Amintas stretcheth out the holy sword, Seeming to breath from his inflamed lips, Rage and revenge; turning to her his face, Speaks with a sighs, the messenger of death: Lucrina for thy further pains, behold What Lover thou hast left, and what pursued Judge by this blow. And with that very word Striketh the blade into his woeful breast, Falling a sacrifice upon the sacrifice. At such a strange and cruel spectacle, The Nymph amazed stand betwixt life and death, Scarce yet assured whither she wounded were With grief, or with the sword. At last, assoon As she recovered had, her spright, and speech, She plaining says. Oh faithful valiant love! Oh too late known! that by thy death hast given Me life and death at once. If to were a fault To leave thee so? behold I'll mend it now, Eternally uniting both our souls, And therewithal she takes the sword, all warm, With the blood of her too late loved friend, And strikes it through her heart, falling upon Amintas, that was scarcely dead as yet, And felt perchance that fallen. Such was their end, To such a wretched end did too much love, And too much treachery conduct them both. Somewhat it slaked, but yet not quite put out: For after that a year was finished, Her rage began a fresh, so that of force They driven were, unto the Oracle: To ask new counsel, but brought back again And answer much more woeful then the first. Which was, to sacrifice them: and each after year, A maid, or woman, to our angry power, Even till the third and passed the fourth degree: So should ones blood for many satisfy. Beside, she did upon the unhappy sex, Impose a wretched and a cruel law. And (if you mark their nature) in observable. A law recorded with vermilian blood: What ever maid or woman broken had Their faith in love, and were contaminate, If they should find none that would die for them They were condemned without remission. To these our grievous great calamities, The father's hoped to find a happy end, By this desired marriage day. For afterwards Having demanded of the Oracle What end the heavens prescribed had our ill, Answer was given in such Like words as these: No end there is to that which you offends, Till two of heavens issue love unite; And for the ancient fault of that false wight, A faithful Shepherds pity make amends. Now is there not in all Arcadia Other bows left, of that celestial root: Save Amarillis, and this Silvio, the one of Pans seed, the other of Hercules. Nor to our mischief yet hath never happened, That male and female met at any time Till now. Therefore good reason Montane hath To hope, though all things sort not to the Oracle, Yet here's a good foundation laid: the rest High fates have in their bosoms bred, And will bring forth at this great marriage day. This cruel love ( Mirtillo ) feeds himself With tears, and grief, but's never satisfied. I promise thee to set my wits a work, That the fair Nymph shall hear thee speak. Lets go? These burning sighs do not as they do seem, Bring any cooling to inflamed heart: But rather are huge and impetuous winds, That blow the fire, and make it greater prove, With swelling whirlwinds of tempestuous love, Which unto wretched lovers always bears Thick clouds of grief, and showers of dreary tears. Who ever saw or herd a stranger, and A fonder passion of this foolish love? Both love, and hate, in one self heart combined, With such a wondrous mixture: as I know not how, Or which of them hath God the deeper root. If I Mirtilloes beauty do behold: His gracious countenance, good behaviour, Actions, customs, words and manly looks: Love me assails, with such a puissant fire, That I burn altogether. And it seems Other affections are quite vanquished with this. But when I think upon obstinate love He to another bears; and that for her He does despise ( I will be bold to say) My famous beauty of a thousand soft: I hate him so, I so abhor the man, That t's impossible me thinks at all, One spark of love for him should touch my heart. Thus with my self sometime I say: O if I could Enjoy my sweet Mirtillo! were he mine, And had not others interest in him, O more then any other happy Corisca. And then in me vpflames such great good will, And such a gentle love to him; that I resolve Straight to discover all my heart to him, To follow him, and humbly sue to him: Nay more, even to fallen down and worship him. On th'other side, I all reclaimed say, A niceproud fool? one that disdains me? One that can love another and despise my self? One that can look on me and not adore me? One that can so defend him from my look, That he die not for love. And I that should See him (as I have many more ere this) And humble suppliant before my feet, Am humble suppliant at his feet my self. Then such a rage at him possesses me, That I disdain my thoughts should think on him, Mine eyes should look on him. His very name And all my love, I worse then death do hate. Then would I have him the wofulst wight alive: And with these hands then could I kill the wretch. Thus hate, and love, spite, and desire make war. I that have be till now tormenting flame, To thousand hearts: must languish now my self, And in my ill, know others wretchedness. I that so many years in cities, streets, courts, Have be invincible to worthy friends, Mocking their many Hope's, their great desires: Now conquered am, with silly rustic love, Of a base shepherd's brat. O above all Wretched Corisca now. What shall I do To mitigate this amorous furious rage? While other women have a heap of loves, I have no other but Mirtillo only. Am I not stoutly furnished? O thousand times, Ill-counsell'd fool! that now reduced art Into the poverty of one sole love: Corisca was never such a fool before. What's faith? what's constancy? but fables feigned By jealous men: and names of vanity, Simple women to deceive. Faith in a woman's heart, (If faith in any woman's heart there be:) Can neither virtue nor yet goodness be. But hard necessity of love, a wretched law Of beauty weak that pleases only one, Because she is not gracious in the eyes of more. A beauteous Nymph, sought too by multitudes Of worthy lovers, if she be content With only one, and all the rest despise, Either she is no woman, or if so she be, She is a fool. What's beauty worth unseen? Or seen, unsought? or sought too but of one? The more our lovers be, the greater men, The surer pledge have we in this vild world. That we are creatures glorious and rare, The goodly splendour of a beauteous Nymph, Is to have many friends. So in good Towns Wise men ever do. It is a fault, A foolish trick, all to refuse for one. What one cannot, many can well perform: Some serve, some give, some fit for other use. So in the City lovely Ladies do, Where I by wit, and by example too, Of a great Lady learned the Art of love. Corisca would she say. Let thy Lovers and thy garments be alike. Have many, use, wear but one, and change often. Too much conversing breeds noisomeness, And noisomeness despite, which turns to hate: We cannot worse do, then fill our friends, Let them go hungry rather from thee still. So did I always, always loving store, One for my hand, and other for mine eye: The best I ever for my bosom kept, None for my heart, as near as ere I could. And now I know not how Mirtillo comes Me to torment, now must I figh, and worse Sighs for my self, deceiving no man else. Now must I rob my limbs of their repose, Mine eyes of sleep, and watch the break of day: Now do I wander through these shadowed woods, Seeking the footsteps of my hated love. What must Corisca do? shall I entreat him? No: my hate not gives me leave. I'll give him over, Nor will my love consent. What shall I do? Prayers and subtleties I will attempt: I will bewray my love, but not as mine, If this prevail not, then I'll make disdain Find out a memorable huge revenge. Mirtillo if thou canst not Like my love, Then shalt thou try my hate. And Amarillis, Thou shalt repent thou ere my rival were't. Well, to your costs you both shall quickly prove, What rage in her can do that thus does love. SO help me Gods, I know I now do speak To one that understands more then I do. These Oracles are still more doubtful then We take them, for their words are Like to knives, Which taken by the hafts, are fit for use, But by the edges held, they may do harm. That Amarillis as you argue, is By the high heavenly Destinies elected for Arcadia's universal health: who ought More to desire, or to esteem the same Then I that am her father but when I regard That which the Oracle foretold, ill do the signs Agree with our great Hope's: since love should then Unite, how falls it out he slies from her? How can hate and despite bring forth loves fruit? Ill could he contradict had heavens ordained it. But since he does contrary it, t'is clear, Heavens do not will: for if so they would That Amarillis should be Silvio's wise, A Lover, not a Huntsman, him they would have made. This though I had I would not give it thee. That do I hope to give thee, though I have it not As yet. But fie, thou must not suffer grief To overthrow thy senses thus. Live man and hope. But to the purpose of my coming now, Ormino hath a sister, knowest her not? A tall big wench, a merry-countnaun'st Nymph With yellow hair, somewhat high-coloured. Corisca. Then know that she (and see withal your luck) Is now become ( I know not by what privilege) Companion to your beauteous Amarillis. I have discovered all your love to her, And this which you desire, and readily She me hath given her faith to bring't about. Nothing as yet, nor would she that conclude Until she knew the manner of your love. How it began, and what hath happened therein, That she might easilier spy into the heart Of your beloved Nymph, and better know How to dispose by prayers or by fraud Of her request. For this I came to you, And make me now acquainted from the head, With all the history of your deer Love. O in our breasts what mighty power hath love? Ther's none can tell, save they the same which prove In good time did you change into a Nymph, A happy token of good luck to come. O happy theft sweet kiss. But then how did you When it was your lot to kiss? This modesty molests Lovers still. Thou pity more then envy dost deserve, That Wertenberg another Tantalus in loves delights, That of a sport a torment true didst make. Thou payest too deer for thy stolen delicates. But did she ere perceive thy policies? Strange tale thou tellest ( Mirtillo ) thought be true. The only health to one that's desperate, Is to despair of health. And now t'is time I go communicate with our Corisca. Go to the fountain you, there stay for me, I'll make what haste I can. O doleful fortune! O most bitter chance! Immedicable wound, O mournful day! Stars foomen to our good, thus mock you us? Did you so high our Hope's lift up, that with Their fallen you might us plague the more? Why do I Stars accuse, accuse thy self, That broughtest the Iron to Loves Anvil so, Thou didst it strike, thou madest the sparks fly out From whence this fire grows so unquenchable: But heavens do know my pity brought me to't. O hapless Lovers, wretched Amarillis, Unfortunate Titirus, childless father, Sad Montanus, desolate Arcadia: O miserable we; and to conclude, All that I see, speak, hear, or think, most miserable. Dear friends, I plain us all the ruin of Arcadia. The prop of all our Hope's is down. Daughter of Titirus, The only branch of her decaying stock, Hope of our health, which to Montanus son, Was by the heavens promised and deste i'ld, Whose marriage should have freed Arcadia, Wise Amarillis, Nymph celestial, Pattern of honour, flower of chastetie: My heart will not give me leave to speak. Nay doomed to death. Nay worse, With infamy. Found with the adult'rour, & if hence you go not soon, You may her see led captive to the Temple. This day betime you know Montanus came, With hapless father of the wretched Nymph, Both by one self devotion led, which was By prayers, to haste the marriage to good end: For this the Sacrifices offered were, Which solemnly performed with good aspects: For never were there seen entrails more fair, Nor flames more bright, by which the blind Divine Moved, did to Montanus say: This day With Amarillis shall your son be wed: Go quickly and prepare the marriage feast. O blindly done, blind Prophets to believe, The father's and the standers by were glad, And wept, their hearts made tender with this joy. Titirus was no sooner gone, but straight we herd And saw unhappy fearful signs, the messengers Of sacredire: at which so sudden and so fierce, Each stood amazed, the Priests enclosed were Within the greater Cloysture, we without, Weeping were saying holy prayers, when lo The wicked Satire audience earnest craves Of the chief Priest: and for this was my charge, I let him in, to whom he thus begins, Father's, if to your Vows the Incense and The Sacrifices be not answerable, If on your Altars purely burn no flames, Wonder not, for in Ericina's Cave, A treacherous Nymph profanes your holy Laws: And in adultery her faith does break. Come Ministers with me, we'll take in the fact. A while the unhappy father breathes, thinking he had Found out the cause of this so dismal signs, Straight he commands chief Minister Nacander go With that same Satire, and captived to bring Them to the Temple both: him straight accompanied With all our troop of under Ministers, The Satire by a dark and crooked way, Conducts into the Cave: the youngman scared Without torchlight, so suddenly assailed: Assays to fly unto that outward issue, But it the Satire closed hath too fast. I can not tell you how Amazed we were, to see her that we taken had, To be Titirus daughter, whom no sooner we Had laid hold on, but out Mirtillo steps, And throws his Dart, thinking to wound Nicander: And had the steel hit as he did direct, Nicander had been slain: but shrinking back, Whither by chance or wit, he shunned the harm: But the strong Dart pierced his hairy clothes, And there stuck fast, Mirtillo not being able It to recover, captive taken was. He by and other way is led. To get more out of him, Beside, perhaps he shall not skotfree escape: For having so offended our high Priest, Yet would I could have comforted the wretch. Because the Law forbids Us under Ministers to speak with guilty folks: For this I came about, and left the rest, Provoking heavens with tears and prayers devout, To turn away this dreadful storm from us: And so pray ye, and therewithal farewell. Now all things joyful are, the earth, the air, The skies, the fire, the world, and all things laugh. Our joys have pierced the lowest hell, nor is There any place that not partakes our bliss. Oh happy woods That often sighed and wept out woeful case, Enjoy our joys, and use as many tongues As leaves that leap at found of these sweet winds, Which led with our rejoicings calmly smile, Sing they the sweet adventures of these friends. Even so, but hast thou herd the happy chance Of the two fortunate Lovers? is't not rare Corisca? Why Amarillis? Of whom thinkest thou I speak? What Silvio? what Dorinda? thou knowest nought, My joy grows from a higher nobler root. I Amarillis and Mirtillo sing, The best contented subjects of loves ring. How dead? I tell thee she's a bright and merry B idem. Thine eyes shall tell thee if thou'lt stay a while, Soon shalt thou see her with her faithful friend Come from the Temple, where they plighted have Their marriage troth, and so go to Montanus h use To reap sweet fruit of their long amorous toils. Oh hadst thou seen ( Corisca ) the huge joy, The mighty noise of joy full voices, and Th'innumerable troops of men and women, Thou shouldst have seen, old, young, sacred and profane, But little less then mad or drunk with . With wonder who ran not to see the Lovers? Each reverence to each them embraced there. Some praised their pity, some their constancy. Some praised the gifts that Jove, and some that nature gave. The hills, the dales, the meadows did resound, The glorious name of faithful Shepherd, From a poor Shepherd to become so soon A Demigod, and in a moment pass From life to death, the neighbour obsequies To change for unexpected and despaired nuptials. This is some what ( Corisca ) but not half Her to enjoy, for whom he sought to die, Her that disdained to live if he had died, This is fortune, this is such a sweet As thought prevents, and yet thou art not glad. Is not thy Amarillis then as deer to thee, As my Mirtillo is to me? Oh hadst thou seen but Amarillis when She gave Mirtill her hand for pledge, and took His hand again, thou easily hadst perceived A sweet but unseen kiss: I could not say Whither she took it, or she gave it him. Her cheeks would have the purest colour stained, Purple or Roses Art, or nature brings, How modesty was armed in dainty shield Of sanguine beauty, with force of that stroke Unto the strikor turned, while she all nice Seemed as though she fled, but to recover force She might more sweetly encounter that same blow, Leaving it doubtful if this kiss were given or taken, With such a wondrous Art it granted was. This taken sweet, was Like and Actium mixed With rapine and with yielding both at once, A oh so courteous, that it seemed to crave The very thing that it denying gave: Such a retreat, and such a speedless flight, As mend the pace of the pursuer, might, Oh sweetest kiss, I cannot stay Corisca, I go directly I to find a wife: For amongst the joys there is no pleasure sure, If gentl love do not the same procure.