MYRTILLUS

Palaemon no, she never made me vow, But I did ever hope she would be mine. For that I had delivered up my youth, My heart, my all, a tribute to her eyes, And had secured her of my constant truth, Under so many faithful specialties, As that although she did not grant again, With any show the acquittance of my love Yet did she ever feeme to entertain My affections, and my services approve. Till now of late I know not by what mean, (Ill fare that mean) she grew to that despite, As she not only clouds her favours clean, But also scorned to have me in her gsight. That now I am not for her love thus, moved But only that she will not be beloved. How may that be, Palaemon pray thee tell? Why what is Silvia false, or is she gone? But good Palaemon, tell what proofs hast thou Of her disloyalty, that makes thee show These heavy passion, and to grieve so much? Ah good Palaemon cease these sad complaints, And moderate thy passion, thou shalt see She may return, and these reports be found But idle fictions, on uncertain ground. Adue Palaemon, and thy sad distress, Shall make me weigh Dorinda's lose the less: For if I should be hers, and she prove so, Better to be mine own, and let her go. Well met Carinus, I can tell you news, Your rival, poor Amyntas, hath undone And spoiled himself, and lies in that weak case, As we think never more to see his face. But having there used all the help we could, And all in vain, and standing by with grief, (As we might well, to see so sad a sighed) (And such and worthy Shepherd in that plighted) We might perceive come running down the hill, Cloris, and Techne, with what speed they could, But Cloris had God ground, and was before, And made more haste, as it concerned her more. And nearer as she came, she faster went, As if she did desire to have be there Before her feet, too flow for her swift fear. And coming to the place, she suddenly Stopped, starts, and shrikt, and having made such haste To-have something done, now could she nothing do. Perhaps our presence might perplex her too, As being ashamed that any eye should see The new appearing of her naked heart, That never yet before was seen till now. For we perceived how Love and Modesty With several Ensigns, strove within her cheeks Which should be Lord that day, and charged hard Upon each other, with their fresh supplies Of different colours, that still came, and went, And much disturbed her but at length dissolved Into affection, down she casts her self Upon his senseless body, where she saw The mercy she had brought was come too late: And to him calls; o deer Amyntas speak, Look on me, sweet Amyntas, it is I That calls thee, fit is, that holds thee here, Within those arms thou haste esteemed so deer. And though that love were yet so young in her As that it knew not how to speak, or what, And that she never had that passion proved, Being first a lover ere she knew she loved, Yet what she could not utter, she supplied, With her poor busy hands that rubbed his face, Chafd his pale temples, wrung his fingers ends, Held up his head, and pulled him by the hands, And never leaft her work, nor ever ceased. But yet at length, as if those dainty hands, Had had a power to have awakened death, We might perceive him move his heavy eyes, Which had stood fixed all the whole time before, And fastens them directly upon her. Which when she saw, it struck her with that force, As that it pierced through all the spirits she had, Made all the powers and parts of her shrink up, With that convulsion of remorse and grief, As out she shriked, o deer, o my deer heart, Then shrinks again, and then again cries out. For now that look of his did shake her more, Then death or any thing had done before, That look did read t'her new conceiving heart, All the whole tragic Lecture of his love, All his sad sufferings, all his griefs, and fear, And now in th'end what he had done for her. And with that powerful force of moving too, As all a world of words could never do. Ah what a silly messenger is Speech, To be employed in that great Embassy Of our affections, in respect of th'eye? Ah it's the silent rhetoric of a look, That worker the league betwixt the states of hearts, Not words I see, nor knowledge of the book, Nor incantations made by hidden arts, For now this look so melts her into tears, As that she poured them down Like thunder drops, Or else did Nature taking pity now Of her distress, employ them in that store, To serve as vails, and to be interposed Betwixt her grief and her, t'impeach her sighed, From that full view of sorrow thus disclosed. And now with this came in Urania there, With other women, to employ their best To save his life, if b'any means they can. And so we came our way, being sent for now About some conference for our hunting sports, And with us Techne comes, who is supposed, To-have be a special cause of much of this. Ah would to God Dorinda had be there, To-have seen but Cloris act this woeful partly; It may be, it might have deterred her heart From cruelty, so long as she had lived. Ah Amarillis. I would that were true. But lo where come our chiefest herdsmen now, Of all Arcadia, we shall know more news. Dorinda then I likewise have my bliss And reckon all the sufferings I have passed Worthy of thee to have this joy at last. Ah out alas who ever would have thought, That modest look, so innocent a face, So chased a blush, that shamefast countenance, Could ever have told how to wantonise? Ah what shall we poor lovers hope for now Who must to win, consume, and having won With hard and much ado, must be undone? I will Carinus, though I grieve to tell. As Titcrus, M nalcas, and my self Were placing of our toils (against anon That we shall hunt) below within the straight, Betwixt Er manthus, and Lycaeus mount, We might perceive under a ragged cliff, In that most uncouth desert, all alone, Distressed Amyntas lying on the ground, With his sad face, turned close unto the rock, As if he loathed to see more of the world, Then that poor space, which was betwixt him and it: His right hand stretched, along upon his side, His leaft, he makes the pillor to support His careful head, his Pipe he had hung up Upon a Beach tree by, where he likewise Had placed his Sheephook, and his Knife, wherewith He had incarved and woeful Elegy, To show occasion of his misery. His dog Molampus sitting by his side, As if he were partaker of his woe: By which we knew 'twas he, and to him went, And after we had called, and shook him up, And found him not to answer, nor to stir And yet his eyes abroad, his body warm; We took him up, and held him from the ground, But could not make him stand by any means; And sinking down again, we searched to see If he had any wound, or blow, or wrinch, But none could find: at last by chance we spied A little horn which he had slung aside, Whereby we gest he had some poison took. And thereupon we sent out presently To fetch Urania, whose great skill in herbs Is such, as if there any means will be, As I fear none will be, her only art Must serve to bring him to himself again So I perceive Palaemon, and it seems But vain conceit that other wise esteems.