AMINTA

Alas alas, love hath been with my tears Long since full fed, and now thirsts only for My blood; and long it shall not be, ere he And the fair Cruel drink it with their eyes. Alas how weary'a work were it for me Other to seek, that cannot find my self; And having lost my self, what can I gain With busie'st search that shall requite the pain? Oh but so long to hope and be delayed, Is worse then death to one in misery. Thyrsis, I am content to open to thee What the woods, hills, and floods ar privy to, But no man knows: so near alas I find Th'approaching perjod of this loathed breath, That reason it's I leave some one behind, That may relate occasion of my death, And leave it written on some Beech-tree bark, Near where my bloodless carcase shall be laid; That as the cruel Fair shall pass along, She may at pleasure spurn with her proud foot The unhappy bones, And smiling say; lo here, lo where he lies; The triumph and the trophy of mine eyes; And (to increase her fame,) rejoice to see In my sad end her beauty's victory Known to the Nymph's, and Shepherd's far and near, Whom the report may thither guide: perhaps (Ab Hope's too high) she may bestow a sighs, And though too late, with some compassion rue The lose of him dead, whom she living slew, And wish he lived again. But I digress. Being but a Lad, so young as yet scarce able To reach the fruit from the low-hanging boughs Of new grown trees; Inward I grew to be With a young maid, fullest of love and sweetness, That ere displayed pure gold tress to the wind; Thou knowest her mother hight Cidippe; no? Montano the rich Goteheard is her father: Silvia, fair Silvia it's I mean, the glory Of all these woods, and flame of every heart; It's she, it's she I speak of; long alas Lived I soneare her, and then lou'de of her, As Like two turtles each in other joy'de; Near our abodes, and nearer were our bearts; Well did our years agree, better our thoughts; Together wove we nets t'intrapp the fish In floods and sedgy fleets; together set Pitfalls for birds; together the pye'd Buck And flying Do over the plains we chac'de; And in the quarry', as in the pleasure shar'de: But as I made the beasts my pray, I found My heart was lost, and made a pray to other. By little' and little in my breast began To spring, I know not from what hidden root (Like th'her be that of it self is seen to grow) A strange desire, and love still to be near And hourly drink from the fair Silvia's eyes A sweetness passed all thought, but it had still (Me thought) a bitter farewell; oft I sighed, Yet knew no cause I had to sighs; and so Became betimes a lover, ere I knew What love meant; but alas I knew too soon; And in what sort, mark, and I'll tell thee All in the shade of a broad Beech-tree sitting, Silvia, Phillis, and my self together; A Be, that all about the flowery mede Had honey gathered; flow to Phillis cheek; The rosy cheek mistaking for a rose, And there (belike) his little needle left: Phillis cries out, impatient of the pain Of her sharp sting; but the euerlouely Silvia Bade her be patient; Phillis (said she) peace, And with a word or two I'll heal thy hurt, And take the sting, and soon the grief away; This secret erst the graven Aretia taught me, And her I gave (in recompense) the horn Of Ivory tipped with gold I wont to were; This said, the libs of her fair sweetest mouth Upon the offended cheek she laid; and strait, (Oh strange effect) whither with the found it were Of her soft murmured verse of Magic pour, Or rather (as I rather do believe) The virtue of her mouth, That what it touches, cures, Phillis was cured; And with the pain soon was the swelling gone. I, that till then never dreamt of more delight, Then on the shine of her bright eyes to gaze, And joy to hear her speak, (music more sweet, Then makes the murmur of a slow pac'de brook, When 'tis with thousand little pebbles crossed; Or the wind pratling' amongst the wanton leaves) Gan then, even then to feel a new desire Possess me, of touching those deer lips with mine; And grown more subtle then I was before, (So love perhaps imagination whets,) I found this new deceit, whereby to 'aspire With greater ease to th'end of my desire; I feigned my self stung on the neither lip, In Like sort with a Be as Phillis was; And in such manner gan to moan myself, As th'helpe my tongue craved not, my looks implored; The harmless Silvia, pitying stratt my case, Offered her ready cure to my feigned hurt; But the unfeigned wound I bleed of, deeper made, And far more deadly, when those coral twins On mine she laid. Nor do the giddy Bees Gather from any flower honey so sweet, As I did from those freshest roses gather; Though bashful shame, and fear had taught to bar, Hight kisses from desire to press too far, T'imbathe themselves; and did their heat withhold And kill, or made them slower and less bold. But while down to my beart that sweetness glided, Mixed with a secret poison, such delight I inly felt, that feigning still the grief Of the sting had not left me yet; so dealt, That she the charm repeated sundry times: Since when till now, still more and more I find, For all her charm, she'has left the sting behind. Whose pain ere since hath so increased upon me, As my loue-labouring breast could hold no longer, But that upon a time, when diverse Nymphs And Shepherd's of us in a ring were sitting, While the play was, each one should softly whisper Some word in th'eare of her that next him sat; Silvia (quoth I soft in her ear) for thee I pine, and die, unless thou pity me. No sooner herd she this, but down she hangs The fair look, whence I might perceive to break A sudden and unwonted ruddiness, That seemed to breat he forth anger mixed with shame; Nor would shee' in other language answer me, Then such a troubled silence, as appeared Threatening and deadly; nor since then would ever Willingly see, or hear me: Thrice the Sun His yearly course hath run, thrice the green fields Hath the naked Sythman barbed; and three times hath The Winter robbed the trees of their green locks; That I have tried all means I could, t'appease her, And nought remains, but that I die to please her; And gladly would I die, were I but sure 'Twould either please, or but draw pity from her; Each were a blessing to me, though no doubt Her pity were of both the greater meed, And worthier recompense for all my love, And for my death; yet I were loath to wish Ought, that too rudely might those eyes molest, Or do the least offence to that deer breast. I neither know, nor can I hope so much: She flies my speech, as the Adder does the charm, It'll come to nought; to beg such grace were vain, For me to speak, where speech no grace will gain. If ought by proof thou knowest of him, good swain Hide it not from me? I'm glad to hear this troth of him; but now I leave my life, and my lives care to you. What is't thou sayest Thyrsis, what bringest thou me, Life, or death? new joy, or new misery? Why against whom should I advance my force? Yes, more cheerfully, Then village-lasse to the dance o'holly days. Yes more greedily, Then runs the thirsty Heart to the cool streeme. Why I would pass through the devouring torre ̄ ts, When the dissolu'de snows down the mountains rain: And headlong run engulf them in the main: Or through the fire; or indeed down to hell; If any place a hell may termed be, That shall contain so heavenly a thing as she. But prithee tell me all. Say on. Silvia? and all alone? and stays for me? Naked? But what? Mangle me thus. Bitter conclusion; that infects, and poisons What ever sweet thy former speeches promised, Why with such art Dost thou delude me, cruel as thou art? Is't not enough Thinkest thou for me thus full of grief to be, But thou must come to mock my misery? What should I do? The beau'ns forbid that ever I should do Ought to displease her; nor yet ever did I The thing that justly merited her frown; Vulesse it were my loving her so much; Which yet if'twere a fault, was none of mine; It was her beauty's; and by beau'n I vow I mean not to begin to'offend her now. No sure; love will not let me say, or think That ere I should desist from loving her, Though'twere in my own pour. No, no, not in spite of her, But I would love her. Why yes, against her will. Thyrsis, let love that speaks within my breast Make answer for me; thou, (through thy long use Of reasoning much of love) too subtle art For me; love ties my tongue, who tied my heart. Yes, yes, I'll go; But not where you would have me: What certainty' have I that her mind is such? Stay. Prithee let's think first what, and how to do. Ah that my only friend must be Despair, Seeing that only Hope hath bred my ruin: And yet it would be breeding in my breast Again, and bid me live; when, what can be A greater ill to so great misery, Then still to live, but to be still unhappy? 'Twas not enough For love, and fortune, that I was before, So wretched, as I scarcely could be more; But that I must be showed (augment my ill) Partly of my bliss, yet go without it still. I hear the name of Silvia, That strikes mine ear, and my heart through at once; But who is't names her? Ay me, what means this Nymph? what say's she? Ay me I feel, I feel my breast so full Of ice, my breath half stopped; lives she, or no? Ah sorrowful beginning, I fear, I fear a sad conclusion. Th'hast said, th'hast said enough; Oh blood, Oh vail, Oh Silvia, 'dead dead — Oh grief, Why dost, why dost thou thus torment me? And wilt not end me? th'art unjust. Perhaps Thou leavest the work to my own hand: I am, I am content it shall be my own care; Since thou wilt not, or canst not doe't; Ay me, Ay me if nothing want to make this clear, And nothing want to make my Misery's Now brimful; why do' I linger? why do I stay? Oh Daphne Daphne, was it to this end, This bitter, bitter end thou didst reserve me? My death had then been sweet, and pleasing to me, When thou and heaven held back my Dart, and saved me; Heaven that was loath (belike) I should prevent With death, the woes it has prepared for me; But now't has done the very worst it can, I hope both heaven, and you may suffer me To die in peace. Ah the truth is such, 'Iue stayed too long, alas I've herd too much. Gentle Nymph, let me crave that vail of thee, The poor remainder of her; they it may Accompany me for these few sad hours Of way, and life yet left me; and increase That martyrdom, that were no martyrdom Were it not much more then enough to kill me. Cruel Nymph, to deny Me a grace so small In my extremity; and even I see How in each trifle fortune crosseth me. I yield, I yield; long may it bide with thee: Long live ye; my way to my death must be. Alas joust cause Bids me despair; my cruel destiny Was read by the graven Mopso long agon, Mopso that knows the hid language of birds, And understands the force of herbs and founts. To death; if this be all y'haue done for me.