CHORUS

Oh Happy Age of Gold; happy' hours; Not for with milk the rivers ran, And honey dropped from every tree; Nor that the Earth boar fruits, and flowers, Without the toil or care of Man, And Serpents were from poison free; Nor for the Air (ever calm to see) Had quite exil'de the lowering Night; While clad in and eternal Spring (Now fiery hot, or else freezing) The cheeks of heaven smiled with clear light; Nor that the wandering Pine of yore Brought neither wars, nor wares from foreign shore; But therefore only happy Days, Because that vain and idle name, That cozening I doll of unrest, (Whom the mad vulgar first did raze, And called it Honour, whence it came To tyrannise over every breast,) Was then suffered to molest Poor lovers hearts with new debate; More happy they, by these his hard And cruel laws, were not debarred Their innate freedom; happy state; The golden laws of Nature, they Found in their breasts; and then they did obey. Amidd the silver streams and flowers, The winged Genii then would dance, Without their bow, without their brand; The Nymphs sat by their Paramours, Whispering love-sports, and dalliance, And joining lips, and hand to hand; The fairest Virgin in the land. Nor scorn'de, nor glor'yed to display Her cheeks fresh roses to the eye, Or open her fair breasts to the day, (Which now adays so veiled lie,) But men and maidens spent free hours In running Rivers, Lake's, or shady Bowers. Thou Honour, thou didst first devise To mask the face of Pleasure thus; Bar water to the thirst of Love, And lewdly didst instruct fair eyes They should be nice, and scrupulous, And from the gazing world remove Their beauty's; thy hands new nets wove T'intrap the wild curls, fair dispread To open air; thou madest the sweet Delights of Love seem thus unmeet; And (teaching how to look, speak, tread,) By thy ill laws this ill hast left, That what was first Loves gift, is now our theft. Nor ought thy mighty working brings, But more annoys, and woe to us; But thou (of Nature and of Love The Lord, and scourge of mighty Kings,) Why dost thou shroud thy greatness thus In our poor cells? hence, and remove Thy pour; and it display above. Disturbing great ones in their sleep; And let us meaner men alone Enjoy again, (when thou art gone) And laws of our Forefathers keep. Live we in love, for our lives hours Hast on to death, that all at length devours. Live we while we may; the wain Of Heaven can set, and rise again; But we (when once we looze this light) Must yield us to a never ending Night. SMall is the Be; but yet with his small sting Does greater mischief, then a greater thing. But what of all things can be less then Love, That through so narrow passages can pierce, And in so narrow room lie hid? sometime Under the shadow of and eyelids fault, Now in the small curl of a shining tress, Now in the little pits which form sweet smiles In and inamo'ring check; yet makes so deep, So deadly and immedicable wounds. Ay me my breast is all one bleeding wound; A thousand armed darts alas are lodged By that fell tyrant Love in Silvia's eyes; Cruel Love, cruel Silvia, sauadger Then the wild deserts; Oh how well thy name Suits with thy nature (Sylvan as thou art) The woods under their green roofs hide the Snake, The Bear, the Lion; and thou in thy breast Hidest disdain, hate, and impiety, More baleful then the Lion, Bear, or Snake; For they will someway be reclaim'de; thou neither With prayers or gifts; Alas when I present thee Fresh flowers, thou frowardly refusest them; Perhaps because th'hast in thy lovely face, Fairer then those; Alas when I present thee Fair Apples, thou dost scornfully reject them; Perhaps because thy bosom bears a pair Fairer then those; Ay me when I present thee Sweet honey, thou disdainfully deniest it, Perhaps because thy lips breathe sweeter honey Then the Be makes; but if my poverty Can give thee nought that thou hast not more fair, And lovely in thy self, my self I give thee; But thou unjust scornest, and abhorrest the gift. Yet I'm not so fowl, to be so dispiz'de, If well I marked my self, when th'other day I viewed my shadow in the watery main, When the wind blue not, and the sea lay still. The manly tincture of my sanguine brow, These muscled arms, and shoulders large enough; This hairy breast of mine, and hoary thighs Proclaim my able force, and manly hood; Make trial of me if thou doubtest of it. What wilt thou do with these same tederlings, On whose bore cheek the young down scarcely springs? With what and art they place their hair in order? Women in show, and women in their strength. Tell me, who wilt thou have to follow thee Over the bald hills, and through the leafy woods, And fight for thee with Bear, and armed Boar? No no, my shape's not it thou hatest me for, But it's my poverty thou dost abhor. Ah that poor Cottages will follow still Great Towns example in what ere is ill; This may be truly called the Golden age, For gold alone prevails, gold only reins. Oh thou (who ere thou Wertenberg) that first didst teach To fell love thus, accursed be thy dust. And thy cold buried bones; nor ever may Shepherd or Nymph say to them, rest in peace; But be they washed with reins, and tossed with winds, And may the passers by, and all the rout Of beasts with fowl feet spurn them all about. Base mercenary love, thou hast deflowered Loves nobleness; and turned his happy joys Into such bitterness, and sharp annoys. Love to be slave to gold? Oh miracle More odious, and abominable far Then the large earth produces, or the Main. But why alas, why do I vex my self Thus all in vain? no, let each creature use Those arms that Nature for his aid hath given him, The Heart his speed, the Lion his strong paw, The foaming Boar his tusk; the woman's arms And pour lie in her beauty, and graceful shape; I, since my strength is the best help I have, And am by nature fit for deeds of force, Will for reward of all my love mispent, Force this proud cruel to my own content. And by so much as I can understand, (As yond Goteherd that hath observed her ways Hath lately told me) she does oft repair To water-fount to wash her self; the place He made me know, and there I mean to lie Close in a thicket near, t'attend her coming, And as occasion fits, I'll make her mine, What can she do then, what avail alas Can her hands give her, or her legs to fly (Poor wretch) from me so forcible, and swift? Let her a good year weep, and sighs, and rail, And put on all the pour her beauty hath; If once I catch her by the snary curls, We will not partly in hast, till I have bathed (For my revenge) my arms in her warm blood. Thyrsis (as I have told thee) well I know How well, Aminta Silvia loves; heaven knows How many friendly offices I have, And will do for him; and so much the rather For that thou dost entreat in his behalf; But I would sooner take in hand to tame A Bear, or Tygar then a found young wench; The silly thing (simple as fair) sees not How sharp and burning be her beauty's rays, But smiles or cries; yet wounds where ere she go, And fondly knows not if she hurt or no. Oh Love, of whom, and where is taught This thy so doubtful Art, and long Of loving, that instructs the tongue At ease to utter every thought. That the wild fant' sie does devise? While with thy wings above the heaven it flies. The learned Athens taught it not; Nor was it to Liceus known; Apollo, God of Helicon For all his knowledge knew it not. Faint and cold is what he speaks, Nor from his voice such a fire breaks As does thy greatness (Love) befit: Nor can his wit, Or thoughts unto the height arise Of thy profounder mysteries: Thou readest thine own lesson best (Great Love ) and onely'art by thy self expressed. Thou of thy grace and bounty daynest Instruct the vnlearnedest, and plainest Men of thousands, how to see And read those wondrous things that be Writ with thine own hand in and others eyes. Thou teachest those thou love best, A purer language then the rest, And with smooth ease to breath their fantasies. Nay often times, such is thy rare And most mysterious eloquence, That in a confusd'e broken sense And half words that imperfect are, The heart is best revealed and seen; And such perhaps move more by far Then many words that better pollisht been. Yea eu'ne Loves silence oft does more express Then words could do, the minds unhappiness. (Love) let others if they please Turn over the works of Socrates, And those great volumes of the wise; While I but read what's writ in two fair eyes. Perhaps the penn that higher climes, Will but halt after the rhymes, That in the rough and uncouth tree With my rude artless hand engraved be. Oh Savage cruelty'; Oh th'ungratefull mind Of a most most ungrateful Maid; Oh Sex Full of ingratitude: and thou lewd Nature, Nigligent mistress, and maker of things, Wherefore, ah wherefore madest thou womankind So fair, and sweet, and mild only without; And didst forget to make their insides good? Poor youth, I fear has made away himself Ere this; alas I cannot find him out: Three hours from place to place, & where I left him Have I been seeking him; but cannot find Or him, or any print of his strayed foot: Sure sure he's dead. I will go ask yond Swains I see, if they Can tell me any tidings of him. Friends Did you not see Aminta, or haply hear News of him lately? DEath, there is no need of thee: Love alone, and Constancy Ar enough (without thy Dart) To Tyre upon and honest heart. Yet so hard is not the way To Loves fame, as many say; For Lone no price but love regards; And with it self, it self rewards. And oft in seeking it, is found Glory that lives, when we are under ground. Now may the wind upon his wings bear hence All ill may happen thee; together with Th'accursed news so lately spread of thee. Thou art alive (the gods be thanked fort't) And even but now I did believe thee dead; So had Nerina painted to the life Thy late hap; but I would she had been dumb, Or some that herd her deaf. Love; thou reioyn'st what Death unbinds? (Thou friend of Peace but she of Blood;) Yet thou her Triumphs over reignest; And in uniting gentle minds, Makest Earth so heavenly and abided, As thou to dwell among us daynest: Thou smoothest the rugged hearts of men; And inward rancors drivest away (Great prince of happy peace;) and when Mild breasts are troubled, dost allay Their woes; and by thy working strange, Framst of things mortal, and eternal change. Doubtless the laws where with Love governeth His Empire evermore, are neither hard To follow, nor unjust; and those his works Which many men do condemn wrongfully, Are full of providence, and mystery, Lo with what art, And by how many unknown ways, he leads His votaries unto their happiness; And places them among the highest joys And pleasures of his amorous Paradise, When oftentimes they feel themselves sunk down Eu'ne to the very bottom of all ills. Behold Aminta with his headlong fallen, Aspires unto the top of all delight; Oh happy' Aminta; and so much the more Happy now, as unfortunate before. This thy example makes me hope no less, That once at last my loveless fair (that covers Under those friendly smiles, such cruelty) Will with true pity heal the wounds, that she Hath with her feigned pity made in me. I Know not whither the much sour This (now blessed) Lover (serving, burning, Now despairing, and still mourning) Hath felt; may in one happy' hour Be thoroughly repaid again With pleasure equal to his pain. But if the good more pleasing be, And come more welcome, after we Have felt the ill; I do not crave (Oh Love ) this happiness to have. Let others be so blessed by thee, And grant the Nymph I love, may be Won with a little less adooe; Less prayers, less service when I woo; And let the sauce to our loves, be Not so much pain, and misery: But sweet disdains, repulses sweet; Fallen off a little, and strait meet. That after a short frown or twain, New peace, or truce may knit our hearts again. Thou dost seem to me Full of distraction, what is't troubles thee? How camest thou so'out of breath, and to sweat so? What ailest thou? say what is't thou fearest or wantest; Not since he went with you A while agon, but what d'yee fear in him. Slain with his own hand? how so? what might cause Such vengeance on himself? Ah tell thy story out; This is a way of passage, and ere long Perhaps some one will bring us news of him, Or himself come. Words that would mollify a heart of flint; But what reply made she? Ah that the soft best of a maid should harbour Such pride; Oh Courtesy full ill repaid. Why fled she then? Her foul ingratitude: but what did then, What said the poor Aminta? It is the common use and art of Lovers To threaten their own death's; but rarely shall We see effect in any of them all. Tush fear him not. It's often times the property of love When he would creep unseen into young hearts Which austere Chastity hath long time shut And barred against him, to assume the habit And semblance of his handmaid Pitty', and so Deceives them ere they be aware, and gets Into their breasts unknown and vndiscry'de. Dear bargain for the buyer; And all unprofitable, and infamous Unto the cruel seller. What strange news brings this man, that seems to me So troubled in his looks, and in his speech? Ah of what death? Tell us, ah tell all; that we may in one Lament with thee his mischief, and our own. Why didst not hinder him? Perhaps the oath thou tookest barred thee to doo't? And what became Of the unhappy carcase? Oh strange fate. Content thee (thou sad soul) it's Fortune's fault, And not by thy mean, that this ill is wrought. Yond is the reverend Elpine; and me thinks Speaks of Aminta' as if he were alive, Calling him happy, blessed, and fortunate, Ah hard condition of unhappy lovers; He belike counts him fortunate, that die For love, and is beloved (when he is dead) Of her he lou'de so well; and this he calls The paradise of love; Oh with how light And poor rewards the winged Love-god contents His servants. Art thou (Elpine) then indeed In such a pitiful estate, as that Thou canst term fortunate, the miserable Death of the poor Aminta? and wouldst thou So far thy life to loves subjection bow, And undergo the Like fate? That were a welcome news. Did he not throw himself down headlong then From yond high Mountains top? Their age, their blood and birth, their mutual loves, And all agree; and the good old Montano Will he glad doubtless of posterity, And to arm his grey hairs with so sweet a guard, So that his will no doubt shall second theirs. But thou (good Elpine) tell what God, what fate In that so dangerous, and deadly fallen Prescru'd Aminta. And did not bashful shame restrain Her more, who is so strict and so severe? Is then Aminta safe belike, and well, And so clear from all danger of his death? Two powerful enemies: What cannot they do, when they meet together? But speak yet clearer.