LINCO

Silvio I praise Thy worshipping the Gods, but yet to trouble them That are their ministers I do not praise. The keepers of the temple are a sleep, They cannot see the day break for the mountains top. Oh Silvio, Did nature on these youthful years of thine Bestow such beauty to be cast away? Had I but such a ruddy cheek? so fresh? Farewell to woods, I'd follow other sports: I'd wear my days in mirth: all summer tide In dainty shades, winter by the fire side. At other pleasures would I aim, were I Silvio. Oh fool, that seekest so far for hurtful beasts And ha'st one lodged so near thy dwelling house. Thou jests, not I. As near as t'is to thee. Silvio thou art the wood: the ugly beast That's harboured there, is this thy beastliness. A Nymph so fair, so delicate! but tush Why do I call her Nymph, a Goddess rather. More fresh, more dainty, then the morning rose. More soft, more purely white then swanny down. (For whom there's not a shepherd amongst us all so brave, But sighs, and sighs in vain) for thee alone Reserves her self, ordained by heaven and men: And yet thou neither thinkest of sighs or plaints. Oh happy boy (though most unworthily) Thou that mighst her enjoy, still sliest her Silvio, Still her despisest. Is not then thy heart Made of a beast, or or of hard Iron rather? How hast thou overcome that which thou never proved . Oh if thou hadst but proved it Silvio once, If thou but knewest what a high favour t'were, To be beloved, and loving to possess A loving heart, It'am sure thou then wouldst say, Sweet lovely life why hast thou stayed so long? These woods and beasts leave foolish child, and love. Dost thou taste ought, since love thou dost not taste, The only cause that the world tasteth all? Believe me boy, the time will one day come Thou wilt it taste. For love once in our life Will show what force he hath. Believe me child, No greater pain can any living prove, Then in old limbs the lively sting of love. Yet if in youth love wound, that love may heal: But come it once in that same frozen age, Wherefore oftentimes the disability, More then the wound we plain. Oh mortal then, And most intolerable are those pains. If thou seekest pity, ill if thou findest it not, But if thou findest it ten time worse, do not Protract it till thy better time be passed, For if love do assail thy hoary hears, Thy silly flesh a double torment tears. Of this which when thou wouldst thou canst not, These woods and beasts leave foolish boy & love. Tell me if in this pleasant time now flowers renew, And the world waxes young again; thou shouldst In stead of flowery valleys, fragrant fields, And well clad woods: see but the oak, the ash, the pine, Without their leafy hears: graslesse the ground The meadows want their flowers. Wouldst thou not say The world does languish? nature did decay? Now that same horror, that same miracle, That monstrous novelty thou hast thy self. As love in old men is ridiculous: So youth without love is unnatural. Look but about ( Silvio ) what the world hath Worthy to be admired. Love only made The heavens, the earth, the seas themselves do love. And that same star that the days. break foretells, Tasteth the flames of her thrice puissant son. And at that hour, because perhaps she leaves The stolen delights and bosom of her love: She darteth down abroad her sparkling smiles. Beasts in the woods do love; and in the seas The speedy Dolphins and the mighty Whale's. The bird that sweetly sings, and wantonly Does she, now from the oak unto the ash, Then from the ash unto the mirtill tree: Says in her language I in love do burn. (Would I might hear my Silvio answer her the same!) The Bull amid the herd does loudly low, Yet are those lowes but bidding to loves feasts. The Lion in the wood does bray, and yet Those brays are not the voice of rage, but love. Well to conclude, all things do love but thou, Thou only Silvio art in heaven, in earth, In seas, a soul vncaple of love. Leave, leave these woods, these beasts, and learn to love. I am a man, and humane me esteem, With thee a man, or rather shouldst be so, I speak of humane things. Which if thou scornest Take heed least in dishumaning thy self, A beast thou prove not sooner then a God. See blind child how thou erst: where hadst thou be Had not that famous Hercules first loved? The greatest cause he monsters tamed was love. Knowest thou not that fair Omphale to please, He did not only change his Lions skin Into a woman's gown; but also turned His knotty club into a spindle and a rock. So was he wont from trouble and from toil To take his ease, and all alone retire To her fair lap, the haven of happy love. As rugged Iron with purer mettle mixed Is made more fit (refined) for noble use: So fierce & untamed strength that in his properrage Does often break: yet with the sweets of love Well tempered proves truly generous. Then if thou dost desire to imitate Great Hercules, and to be worthy of his raze, Though that thou wilt not leave these savage woods Do: follow them: but do not leave to love, A Love so lawful as your Amarillis. That you Dorinda she I you excuse, For t'were unfit your mind on honour set, Should be made hight in these amorous thefts: A mighty wrong unto your worthy spouse. Hast thou not solemnly received her faith? Take heed proud boy, do not provoke the gods. Nay if thou wouldst but understand! the heavens Hereto do tie thee that have promised, So many favours at thy nuptial feast. Thou cruel boy descended of the gods, I scarce believe thou Wertenberg begotten by man, Which if thou Wertenberg, thou sooner Wertenberg begotten With venom of Meger and Ptisifo, Then Ʋ enus pleasure which men so commend. Cruel Amarillis, that with thy bitter name Most bitterly dost teach me to complain. Whiter then whitest Lilies and more fair, But deafer and more fierce then adder is. Since with my words I do so much offend, In silence will I die: but yet these plains These mountains and these woods, shall cry for me, Whom I so oft have learned to resound That loved name. For me my plaints shall tell The plaining fountains and the murmuring winds: Pity and grief shall speak out of my face, And in the end though all things else prove dumb, My very death shall tell my martyrdom. Who would have thought that in these rusty rags Gentle Dorinda had been ever hid. Were I some Dog, as I but Linco am, Unto thy cost I should thee know too well. What do I see? Dor. Linco, thou seest great love, Working effects both strange and miserable. One Like thy self, so soft so tender yet, That were't but now (as one would say) a babe, And still me thinks it was but yesterday Since in mine arms I had thee little wretch, Ruling thy tender cries, and taught thee too To call thy Father Dad, thy Mother Mamme: When in your house I was a Servant hired, Thou that so Like a fearful Do wast wont To fear earch thing before thou feltst this love, Why, on a sudden thee would scar each blast, Each Bird that stirred a bush, each Mouse that from Her hold did run, each Leaf would make thee start, Now wanderest all alone by hills, by woods, Fearing no Beast that haunts the Forests wild? Love had great power, that could not only thee Into a Man, but to a Wolf transeforme. And who's that Wolf? Silvio. Do. Ah thou hast said. O desperate Silvio! O cruel Boy! What didst thou then? Disdaind'st thou not his deed? Wentest thou to hunt in likeness of a Wolf, Seen by the Dogs, and yet return 'st safe? Domida, thou hast done . But what became of that same fearful beast? And mean you not to change these rusty clothes? I go, and stir not you till I return. Shepherds, have you not herd our Demigod Montanus, worthy son of Hercules dissent, Hath slain the dreadful Boor, that did infest All Arcady, and now he does prepare To satisfy his Vows, if we will thankful be For such a benefit, lets go and meet him, And give him all the reverence that we can. Oh child more deer Then if thou were't mine own. I cannot speak, Grief hath my words dissolved into tears. Be of good cheer, thy wound not mortal is, Let us care for the soar, not for the essence, For never did Revenge yet heal a wound. It Silvio is. I know his shaft. See where he is, with countenance him accusing. Now heavens be praised, you're at good pass, With this your bow and shafts omnipotent, Hast thou not Like a cunning Woodman shot? Tell me, thou that of Sil liust; was it not I That shot this dainty shoot? O Boy too wise, Hadst thou believed this foolish aged man, Had it not better been Answer me wretch. What can thy life be worth, if thee do die? I know thou'st say thou thoughtest to-have shot a Wolf, As though it were no fault to shoot Not knowing (careless wandering chi'd) if t'were A man or beast thou shotst at: what Herdsman, or What Plougsman dost thou see attired in other clothes? Ah Silvio, Silvio, who ever soweth with to so green, Does ever reap ripe fruit of ignorance. Think you (vain Boy) this chance by chance did come? Never without the powers divine did such Like happen: Heaven is enraged at your supportlesse spite, To love and deep despising so humane affects. Gods will not have companions on the earth, They are not pleased with this austerity: Now thou art dumb, thou Wertenberg not wont t'indure. So wounded both, yet wounds most fortunate, Were but Dorinda's sound. Let's soon go seek Some remedy. And in good time, Since Amarillis hath lost life and marriage too. Oh blessed couple! Oh eternal Gods! Give two their lives, giving but one her health. Hold there it is. Do not you stagger, but go forward right, This is a better triumph then a head. We carried her To Silvio's house, whose mother her embraced With tears of joy or grief I know not whither, Glad that her son is waxed a loving spouse, But sorry for the Nymphs mishap, and that She is a stepdame evil furnished Of two daughters in law: plaining one dead, And other wounded. She must die straight, for so does fame report, For this, I go to comfort old Montanus, Who l esing one sons wife, hath found and other. Had she be dead, yet Silvio's cunning would Have her . From top to toe isle tell the wondrous cure. About the wounded Nymph stood men and women, Each with a ready hand, but trembling heart. But fair Dorinda would not any should Save Silvio touch her, saying that the hand Which was her hurt, should be her remedy. Silvio, his mother, and I, stayed there alone, Working with counsel too one with his hand, Silvio when gently he had wiped away The bloody streams that stained her Ivory flesh, Assays to draw the shaft out of the wound, But the vild steal yielding unto his hand, Left hidden in the wound the harmful head. Hence came the grief, for was impossible With cunning hand, or dainty instrument, Or other means, to draw it out from thence. Opening the wound perhaps with wider wound He might have found the steel with other steel. So might he do, or so he must have done, But too too piteous, and too loving now Was Silvio's hand, for such Like cruel pity By such hard means, love never heals wounds. Although it seemed to her that pain it self Was pleasant now between her Silvio's hands. He not amazed says thus: this head shall out, And with less pain then any will believe. I put it there, and though I be not able straight To take it out, yet with the use of hunting I will restore the lose I have by hunting. I do remember now and herb that is well known Unto the savage Goat, when he is wounded With some Huntsman's shaft: this they to us, Nature to them bewrayed, and t'is hard by. All suddenly he parts unto a neighbour hill, And there a bundle gathers, straight to us He comes, and out he draws the juice thereof, And mingles it with veruine seed, and root Of Centaur's blood, making a plaster soft, Which on the wound he lays: virtue miraculous, The pain straight ceased, the blood was quickly stayed, The steel straightway without or toil or pain, The workman's hand obeying, issues out. And now her strength returns to her again, As though she had not suffered wound at all: Nor was it mortal, for it had untouched Both left the bones and bellies outward run, And only pie st into the musclouse slanke. That which between them passed when this was done, Is better to be gesl'd at then be told. Dorinda sure is well, and with her side Can serve her self to any use she likes. Thou thinkest she hath endured more wounds by this, But as the piercing weapons diverse are, So are the wounds: of some the grief is sharp, Of some t'is sweet, one healing waxes found, The less and other heals, the sounder t'is. In hunting he to shoot such pleasure found, That now he loves he cannot choose but wound. In mind but not in force my deer Corisca, Green blooms worser sire within this aged trunk. Live. I t'were well Thou Wertenberg so well.