AMYNTAS

That which I have not, may not, cannot have! — It is the moon! Urania, thou shalt wear The horned Goddess at thy beauteous ear. —Come hither Pegasus, I will mount thy back, And spur thee to her orb. —Why, art thou foundered Pegasus? Amaryllis, Fetch him a peck of provender. Would? dost thou laugh old Charon? firrah sculler, Prepare thy boat! Art thou my sister Helen? were we hatchd In the same eggshell?—Is your cockboat ready? Very well! Row me to hell!—no faster? I will have thee Chained unto Pluto's galleys! Would? Am I known here? Who calls Amyntas? beauteous Proserpine? 'Tis she.—Fair Empress of the Elysian shades, Ceres bright daughter intercede for me, To thy incensed mother: prithee bid her Leave talking riddles, wilt thou? Thanks Proserpine! I will: but Proserpine — So now he hast again. What at a fault you mongrel? will you never Start me this Oracle? If you will conceal it, And I by ignorance omit to pay Those sacred duties that I ought, be pleased To pardon me. For if he be A father that begotten this flesh, this clay, What's he to whom we owe our second birth Of soul and reason? Father, I must call you By that name, father. Oh Urania, Here, here he stands, to whom I owe my self, And thou owest me: we reverence in our Temples Marble, and brass, whose statues serve for nothing But to hang cobwebs on: o! how much rather Should we adore this Deity, that bestowed Such happiness upon us! Farewell father. Pray give me entrance: I am not mad, (and yet I would I were) Am I not mad to wish so? Let me come And see him, sure you had your self a father. Did you not wish to see him ere he died? If he be dead: we'll only pray a while, And weep; will tears pollute the hallowed Ompha? For we must shed them, yes, we cannot choose: Come sister, he will let us, for though Lalage Was our sad mother, yet the Gods will let us Weep for her: come, come Amarillis, come. Why Pilumnus, Why? By the dread Ompha, spare this guilty blood, And I'll expound the Oracle. What fire has yet his blood or quenched or kindled? Where? in what breast? No love in all Trinacria But under Cupid's sceptre faints and groans More now then ever. Thy unfortunate Damon, And more unfortunate Amarillis stand A sad example; Thy Urania (Oh sad sweet name!) may with her poor Amintas Witness his tyrannous reign: here in Sicilia Turtles grow jealous, Doves are turned unchaste, The very Pellicam S of Trinacria woods Are found unnatural, and thirst the blood Of their young brood, (alas who can believe it?) Whom they were wont to suckle with their own. Oh wretched season! Bitter fruits of love! The very Storks with us are Parricides. Nay even the senseless trees are sensible Of this imperious rage: the gentle Vine (The happy emblem once of happier Lovers) That with such amorous twines, and close embraces Did cling about the loved-loving elm, With slacker branches now falls down and withers: If then to add more fuel to the flame, To pour in oil and sulphur be to quench it, The flame is quenched. Nor are you he, Pilumnus, That must expound the Oracle, It's a wit Such as mine is neglected, that must hit The Goddess meaning: you, the living Oracle Of Sicily, the breathing Ompha of the Kingdom Will misconceive the Goddess; you are wise Skilled in the virtues of all herbs, and flowers, What makes our Ewes ean best, what keeps the ̄ found; Can tell us all the mysteries of heaven, The number, height, and motion of the stars; 'Tis a mad brain, and intellect, you scorn That must untie this riddle. But his blood Hath been already shed in Amarillis: She is his blood, so is Urania yours, And Damon is your blood; That is the blood The Goddess aims at, that must still her ire, For her blood hath both quenched and kindled fire. Love, the fire That must be quenched and kindled. Damons love To his Laurinda in that blood extinguished, Is by that powerful blood kindled anew To Amarillis, now grown his desire: Thus Claius blood hath quenched and kindled fire. Spare these blasphemies, For Damon is acquitted & affoil'd Of any trespass. Thus, Amarillis is the Sacrifice The Goddess aimed at: and the blood of Sacrifice (As you all know) may lawfully be spilled Even in the Holy vale, and so it was; Beside your Damon is a Priest by birth, And therefore by that Title, he may spill The sacrificed Amarillis blood. If this interpretation be not true, Speak you Sicilians, I'll be judged by you. Still my impossible Dowry for Urania Leaves me unfortunate in the midst of joy; Yet out of piety I will here a while (Though blessed I am not Till she be my bride) In public joys lay private griefs aside. Ceres, I do thank thee, That I am author of this public joy: But is it justice (Goddess) I alone Should have no share in't? Every one I see Is happy but my self that made they so, And my Urania that should most be so. I thirst amid the Bowls; when others fit Quaffing off Nectar, I but hold the cup; And stand a sadder Tantalus of love, Starving in all this plenty; Cere's Demand Feeds me with gall; stretching my doubtful thoughts On many thousand racks: I would my Dowry Was all the gold of Tagas, or the over Of bright Pactolus channel:—But, Urania, 'Tis hid, alas I know not what it is. How! in this habit! This me thinks befits not A Lover, my Urania. Oh is it just, so fair a one as you Should vow Virginity? must the sacred womb Of my Urania fit to have brought forth A fruitful raze of Gods, be ever barren? Never expect Lucina? shall this beauty Live but one age? how cursed is our posterity That shall have no Urania's! can one Tomb Contain all goodness? Ceres rather blast The corn thou gavest us: let the earth grow barren; These trees, and flowers wither eternally; Let our Plows toil in vain; and let there be No more a harvest: Every lose is small, Yea though the Phoenix self should burn to ashes And never revive again! But let there be Some more Urania's — But yet Urania, I hope we may sometime come pray together; It's not profane, and midst our sacred Orisons Change a chased kiss or two; or shall I too Turn Virgin with thee?—But I fool my self, The Gods intend to cross us, and in vain We strive ( Urania ) to cross them again. Why, will she answer me before Urania? No, 'twas the music of her Angels voice, Whose heavenly Accents with such charming notes Ravished the Goddess ears, she could not choose But bear a partly in that harmonious song; Yet if she will after such melody Endure to hear the harsh Amyntas speak. Should greater Queens woo me in all their Pride, And in their laps bring me the wealth of world's, I should prefer this portion before the best Thanks Ceres, that hast made us both be blessed. What says my Cytherea? wouldst thou eat A golden Apple? if thou wilt, by Venus I'll rob the Hesperian Orchard. Why? to borrow money! I there! they say there be more Usurers there Then all the world beside:—see how the winds Rise! Puff—puff Boreas.—what a cloud comes yonder? Take heed of that wave Charon! would? give me The oars!—so so: the boat is overthrown, Now Charon's drowned: but I will swim to shore— My arms are weary;—now I sink I sink! Farewell Urania. — Styx I thank thee! That curled wave Hath tossed me on the shore.—come Sysiphus. I'll roll thy stone a while: me thinks this labour Does look Like Love! does it not so, Tysiphone? I'st so, Erynnis? You are and idle huswife, go and spin At poor Ixion's wheel! Queen of darkness, Thousupreme Lady of eternal night, Grant my petitions! wilt thou beg of Ceres That I may have Urania? Should Pluto chance to spy me, would not he Be jealous of me? Tysiphone, Tell not Urania of it, least she fear I am in love with Proserpine: do not Fury! You Proserpine, There is in Sicily the fairest Virgin That everblest the land, that ever breathed, Sweeter then Zephyrus! didst thou never hear Of one Urania? This poor Urania Loves and unfortunate Shepherd, one that's mad, Tysiphone, Canst thou believe it? Elegant Urania (I cannot speak it without tears) still loves Amyntas, the distracted mad Amyntas. I'st not a constant Nymph?—But I will go And carry all Elysium on my back, And that shall be her jointure. Why weep you Proserpine? Does she so? Then will I lie as calm as does the sea, When all the winds are locked in Aeolus jail: I will not move a hair, not let a nerve Or Pulse to Beatrice, least I disturb her! Hush,— She sleeps! You talk too loud, You'll waken my Urania: Not so loud! Sayest thou so Centaur? — What a brave show The monsters brains would make? It is a madness: See how it stares?—Have at thee thou blind Archer! —Oh I have missed him!—now I 'le stand thee Cupid! Look how the rascal winks a one eye, Thestylis! Nay draw your arrow home boy! just i'th heart! —Oh I am slain! Dost not see? My blood runs round about me, I lie soaking In a read Sea, take heed! see Thestylis, Whata fine Crimson it's? Here you puppet! Dost thou not see it? Then thou art a mole. Strangely! Have at thee— How think you now? Would, would, he! Who can choose but laugh? The bird cried Horns! This is a man of skill, and Oedipus, Apollo, Reverend Phœbus, Done of Delphos. Thou canst resolve By thy great Art all questions: What is that, That which I have not, may not, cannot have? Where lies that skill? Fetch me my wood-knife I will cut it off, And send it to Urania for a dowry. You dolt, you ass, you cuckoe: No, the children may Be Like the Father. Such will I make Urania! There boy, so, ho, ho. I have the bravest spaniel in the world, Of a sharp sent and quick. so ho ho, so ho ho! Ringwood, Jowler, Whitefoot, so ho ho! so ho ho! Juno, Vulcan, Venus! so ho ho, so ho ho! There Lady there! Beauty, Beauty. Now Virtue Virtue! Dost thou not sent it yet? Close, close you rogue! By Pan the cur Hunt's counter. So it's, And skuds away so swift we cannot take it. Start me this Oracle. Then unkennel it. I, 'tis a Fox a Fox, A cunning crafty rogue: no body knows Which way to find him. would? what sent is this? Dost thou not smell? The meaning of the Oracle? Unkennel it, or I will lease thee. And wilt thou do it? spring me then this Oracle! Look how my hawk of understanding soars About the Partridge Oracle!—ill luck! 'Tis at retreat again. I think the world Cannot afford his equal. True Spartan I 'le assure you. No, as I remember He was and Irish Greyhound, but the dam Came of Acteons brood. Why thus; Melampus was the sire of Laelaps, Laelaps to Lagon, Lagon to Ichnobates, Ichnobates to Pamphagus, and Pamphagus To Dorceus, he to Labros, that was sire To Oresitrophus, Oresitrophus To fleet Theridamas, Theridamas To swift Nebrophonos, Nebrophonos To the quick-nosed Aellus; he to Dromas, Dromas to Tygris, Tygris to Orybasus, Orybasus to Pterelas, he to Nape, The dam of Mopsus. Take him. Cur be quiet, I have said it, and my will shall be a law. You shall see him. Fetch sirrah:—there:—the cur is run away, Help me to catch my dog: you'll bring you mongrel? Why wep't he Thestylis! It was a mote in's eye: I'll kiss it out; I 'le curl thy shackled locks, and crisp thy hair Like the strait-growing Cypress. Come let's put Our heads together. Thou art more then mortal, And shalt expound to Ceres what she asks. It is a gallant Sylvan, Thestylis. My dog again? dost read it in the stars? What a strange man is this? I do you mean? with a very-very-very mad trick — By making verses. I'll feast thee with some Venison, brave Montano. Come Sylvan, if the dogs do bark I'll brain they; We'll sleep to night together, and to morrow, We'll go a hunting, so ho ho! so ho ho! What Deity lives here? the soul of Phœbus Breathes in this powerful man: sure Aeculapius Revisits earth again; and in this shape Deals health amongst us! I before was nothing But brui and beast: Oh tell me by what relics Of heavenly fire have you inspired me with This better soul of reason! worthy sir, If you're some God (as less I cannot deem you) That pitying of my Misery's, came down From heaven to cure me, tell me, that I may With sacrifice adore you. Oh my Urania, welcome, Amyntas bids thee so, I that Till now Was not Amyntas: come my joy, and meet me Full of our happiness! Stay, stay that impious hand, whose hasty zeal Thinks murder can appease the Goddess wrath! If it be murder must appease her wrath, What is't can move her anger? Do not then, Do not pollute her Altar, least it keep The crimson stain of blood, and blush for ever, At this too cruel, ignorant devotion. So it is. Go about it, I am quiet! Oh admirable! This is it for certain! Never, I would willingly Have sacrificed unto him, but his modesty Will not permit it: though he will not suffer us T'adore him as a God; yet we may pay A reverence to him as a father.