PALAEMON

Mirtillus did Dorinda ever vow, Or make thee any promise to be thine? I this be all occasion of thy grief, Mirtillus, thou art then in better case Then I supposed, and therefore cheer thy heart, And good cause too, being in the state thou art. For if thou didst but hear the history Of my distress, and whatpart I have shared Of sad affliction, thou wilt then soon see There is no misery unless compared. For all Arcadia, all these hills, and plains, These holts and woods and every Crystal spring. Can testify my tears, and tell my flames, And with how clean a heart, how clear a faith Palaemon loved Silvia, and how long. And when consumed with grief, and dried with care. Even at the point to sacrifice my life Unto her cruelty, then lo she yields, And was content for ever to be mine: And gave m'assurance underneath her hand, Signed with a faithful vow, as I conceived, And witnessed with many a lovely kiss, That I thought sure I had attaine'd my bliss. And yet (aye me) I goat not what I God, Silvia I have, and yet I have her not. Oh know Mirtillus that I rather could Run to some hollow cave, and burst and die In darkness, and in horror, then unfold Her shameful stain, and mine own infamy. But yet it will abroad, her impudence willbe the trumpet of her own disgrace, And fill the wide, and open mouth of fame So full, as all the world shall know the same. Silvia is false and I am quite undone. Ah but Mirtillus if thou didst know who Is now the man, her choice hath lighted on, How wouldst thou wonder? for that passes all, That I abhor to tell: yet tell I shall; For all that would will shortly know't too well: It is base Thyrsis that wild harebrain youth Whom every milkmaid in Arcadia skornes: Thyrsis is now the man with whom she walks Alone, in thickets, and in groves remote. Thyrsis is all in all, and none but he, With him she dally, under every tree. Trust women? ah Mirtillus, rather trust The Summer winds, oceans constancy, For all their substance is but le city: Light are their waving vails, light their attires, Light are their heads, and lighter their desires: Let them lay on what coverture they will Upon themselves, of modesty and shame, They cannot hide the woman with the same. Trust women? ah Mirtillus rather trust The false devouring Crocodiles of Nile, For all they work is but deceit and guile: What have they but is feigned? their hair is feigned, Their beauty feigned, their stature feigned, then pace, Their gesture, motion, and their grace is feigned And if that all be feigned without, what then Shall we suppose can be sincere within? For if they do but weep, or sing, or smile, Smiles, tears, and tunes, are engines to beguile. And all they are, and all they have of grace, Consists but in the outside of a face. Oh love and beauty, how are you ordained Like unto fire, whose flames far of delight, But if you be embraced consume us quite? Why cannot we make at a lower rate A purchase of you, but that we must give The treasure of our hearts, and yet not have What we have bought so dearly for all that? Oh Silvia if thou needs wouldst have be gone, Thou shouldst have taken all away of thee; And nothing leaft to have remained with me. Thou shouldst have carried hence the portraiture Which thou hast left behind within my heart, Set in the table-frame of memory, That puts me still in mind of what thou Wertenberg, While thou Wertenberg honest, and thy thoughts were pure, So that I might not thus in every place, Where I shall set my careful foot, confer With it of thee, and evermore be told, That here sat Silvia underneath this tree, And here she walked, and len't upon mine arm, There gathered flowers, and brought them unto me. Here by the murmur of this rusling spring, She sweetly lay, and in my bosom slept: Here first she showed me comforts when I pin'de: As if in every place her foot had S ept, It had least Silvia in a print behind. But yet, o these were Silvia's images, Then while her heart held fair, and she was chaste, Now is her face all sullied with her fact, And why are not those former prints defaced? Why should she hold, still in the form she was, Being now deformed, and not the same she was? Oh that I could Mirtillus lock her out Of my remembrance, that I might no more Have Silvia here, when she will not be here. Mirtillus, proofs, that are alas too plain; For Colax one thou knowest can well observe And judge of love, a man both stayed, and wise, A gentle herdsman, out of love, and care He had of me, came and reported all: And how he saw them diverse times alone, Embracing each the other in the woods, Beside she hath of late with sullaine looks, That showed disliking, shunned my company, Kept her aloof, and now I think to day, Is gone to hide her quite our of the way. But Silvia though thou goo and hide thy face, Thou canst not idem thy shame, and thy disgrace, No secret thicket, grove, nor yet close grott, Can cover shame, and that immodest blot. Ah didst thou lend thy hand in kind remorse, To save me from one death, to give m'a worse? Had it not you be better I had died, By thy unspotted honest cruelty, Then now by thy disgraced infamy? That so I might have carried to my graven, The image of chaste Silvia in my heart, And not have had these notions, to engrave A stained Silvia there, as now thou art? Ah yes, it had be better far, I prove, To-have perished for thy love, then with thy love. Mirtillus I perceive my tedious tale, Begins to be distasteful to thine ear, And therefore will I to some desert vale, To some close Grove to wail, where none shall hear But beasts, and trees, whose sense I shall not Tyre, With length of moan, for length is my desire. And therefore, gentle Shepherd, now adieu, And trust not women, for they are untrue. Silvia, there in the greater wrong you do. Silvia, you see your fault cannot be hid. But there stands one can tell what you have be. I have not sought to manifest your shame Which Silvia, rather then have done I would Have be content t'indure the worst of death's, I having such and interest in the same. why Colax, did not Silvia entertain The love of Thyrsis then as you told me? Oh let not this be made some cunning bait To take my griefs with false belief, for I Had rather live with sorrow then deceit, And still b'vndone, then to have such relief. Ah Silvia now, how were I cleared of grief, Had I the power to unbelieve belief. But ah my heart hath dwelled so long in house With that first tale, at this which is come new, Cannot be put in trust with my desire So soon, beside it's too good to be true. And pardon me you glorious company You stars of women, if raged Have ought profan'de your reverent dignity, And thou bright Pullas sovereign of at Nymph , The royal Mistress of our Pastoral Muse And thou Diana honour of the wood S To whom I vow my songs, and vow my self, Forgive me mine offence and be you pleased T'accept of my repentance now therefore, And grace me still, and I desire no more. Look here Mirtillus look what I told you Is now proved false, and women they are rue, Is't possible, and is this true you say, And do I live, and do I see the day? Ah then come Silvia, for I find this wound That pierced into the centre of my heart, Hath let in love far deeper then it was.