MEDORUS

So, you'll all please her, I wonder who'l please me? you all for her Can run on errants, carry lovesick letters, And amorous eglogues from her howling suitors, To her, and back again, be Cupid's Heralds, And point out meetings for her. You'll in! Pilumnus having lost this hopeful Son, Though he had two more children, fair Urania And noble Damon; yet the death of Lalage Sufficed not his revenge, but he a new implores His goddess wrath against Claius: —Does Ceres prize me thus? Shall Claius tread upon the flowery Plain, And walk upon the Ashes of my boy? Will I be Archyflamen where the Gods Are so remiss? let wolves approach their shrines; Their howlings are as powerful as the Prayers Of sad Pilumnus! —Such disgusts at last Awakened Ceres: with hollow murmuring noise Her Ompha Like a thunder'gins to roar. (The Ompha if it menace speaks at large In copious language, but perplexed terms.) And laid this curse on all Trinacria. Sicilian swains, ill luck shall long betide To every bridegroom, and to every bride: No sacrifice, no vow shall still mine Ire, Till Claius blood both quench and kindle fire. The wise shall misconceive me, and the wit Scorned, and neglected shall my meaning hit. Do so then: For now you see with what unfortunate choice Pilumnus daughter, delicate Urania loves The mad Amyntas: for the angry Goddess, Though she repaid the wrong done to Philaebus, Yet not approving the revengeful mind Of great Pilumnus, scourged him with his own asking, By threatening and unhappy marriage To his Urania, unless he that wooes her Pay and impossible Dowry; for as others Give Portions with their daughters, Ceres Priests Use to receive for theirs. The words are these, That which thou hast not, mayest not, canst not have Amyntas, is the Dowry that I crave Rest hopeless in thy love, or else divine To give Urania this, and she is thine: Which while the poor Amyntas would Interpret, He lost his wits. Take heed of love, Laurinda, You see unhappiness of it in others; Let not experience in thy self instruct thee. Be wise my Girl: so come and follow me. How sweet a folly is this love? But rash youth, Alexis, (As youth is rash) runs indiscreetly on While mature judgement ripened by experience Stays for loves season. Yes, Alexis, Nothing's born ripe, all things at first are green, You are to hasty reapers that do call For Sickles in the spring: Women indeed too soon begin their fallen. Yet till cursed Claius die, as now he must, Alexis, and Laurinda, let my counsel Assuage the heat of youth; pray be persuaded A while for to defer your nuptial bliss; It's but a while. Temper loves fire. Yet, loving pair, stay Till a fairer gale; He deserves shipwreck, (it's the Mariners flout) And justly too, that in a storm sets out. 'Tis well; now let's go take our place, to see For our sad griefs a sadder remedy. He that's a woman's keeper, should have eyes A hundred more then Argus, and his ears Double the number: Now the news, what letters? What posy, ring or bracelet wooes to day? What Grove to night is conscious of your whispers? Come tell me, for I know your trusty squire, Your little closet blabbes into your ear Some secret, let me know it. Indeed I do, Cupid's a dangerous boy, and often wounds The wanton roving eye. So I would have thee, but not yet my Girl, Till loves prove happier, till the wretched Claius Hath satisfied the Gods. Hast thou not herd it? 'Tis impossible. Why I will tell thee, Thou knowest Pilumnus? Yes: This Pilumnus had a son Philaebus, Who was, while yet he was, the only joy The staff and comfort of his father's age, And might have still been so, had not found love Undone him. Why thus; one Lalage, a beauteous Nymph As ever eye admired, Alphestus daughter, Was by her father promised him in marriage. But only promised: for the Shepherd Claius, (A name accursed in Sicilian fields!) Being rich, obtained the beauteous Lalage From sweet Philaebus: he sad heart being robbed, Of all his comfort, having lost the beauty Which gave him life and motion; seeing Claius Enjoy those lips, whose cherries were the food That nursed his soul, spent all his time in sorrow, In melancholy sighs and discontents; Looked Like a withered tree oregrowne with moss, His eyes were ever dropping Iceacles. Disdain and sorrow made Pilumnus rage, And in this rage, he makes his moan to Ceres, ( Ceres most sacred of Sicilian powers;) And in those moans he prosecutes revenge, And that revenge to fallen on Lalage. Silly maid, His passion were not causeless; and with what justice Could she deny Pilumnus? how oft hath he sprinkled, The finest flower of wheat, and sweetest myrrh Upon her Altars! Lalage rued the time She flouted brave Philaebus. Now she was great With two sweet twins, the fair chased Amaryllis, And mad Amyntas; (and unlucky pair!) These she brought forth, but never lived to see them: Lucina caused her sorrows stop her breath. Leaving this matchless pair of beauteous infants, In whom till now she lives. Worse Then ever: She being dead whose life was his, Whose looks did hold his eyes from shutting up, He pined away in sorrows, grief it was To see she was not his, but greater far That she was not at all. Her Exequies being passed, He casts him down upon that turf of earth, Under whose roof his Lalage was housed, And parleyed with her ashes, Till his own lamp Was quite extinguished with a fatal damp. Here ended noble Shepherd. Why the Ompha, Having denounced against him, and he knowing The hate of old Pilumnus fled away, I think he's sailed to the Antipodes. No tidings can be brought what ground receives him, Unless Corymbus make a happy voyage; Corymbus that will search both East and Occident And when he finds him spill his captive blood. Which Ceres grant he may! Tender Laurinda Now dost thou see the reason of my care, And why my watchful eyes so close observe Thy steps and actions.