The Faithful Shepherdess Part 7

_Amo_. Can there be any Age, or dayes, or time, Or tongues of men, guilty so great a crime As wronging simple Maid? O _Perigot_, Thou that wast yesterday without a blot, Thou that wast every good, and every thing That men call blessed; thou that wast the spring From whence our looser grooms drew all their best; Thou that wast alwayes just, and alwayes blest In faith and promise; thou that hadst the name Of Vertuous given thee, and made good the same Ev'en from thy Cradle; thou that wast that all That men delighted in; Oh what a fall Is this, to have been so, and now to be The only best in wrong and infamie, And I to live to know this! and by me That lov'd thee dearer than mine eyes, or that Which we esteem'd our honour, Virgin state; Dearer than Swallows love the early morn, Or Dogs of Chace the sound of merry Horn; Dearer than thou canst love thy new Love, if thou hast Another, and far dearer than the last; Dearer than thou canst love thy self, though all The self love were within thee that did fall With that coy Swain that now is made a flower, For whose dear sake, Echo weeps many a shower.

And am I thus rewarded for my flame?

Lov'd worthily to get a wantons name?

Come thou forsaken Willow, wind my head, And noise it to the world my Love is dead: I am forsaken, I am cast away.

And left for every lazy Groom to say, I was unconstant, light, and sooner lost Than the quick Clouds we see, or the chill Frost When the hot Sun beats on it. Tell me yet, Canst thou not love again thy _Amoret_?

_Per_. Thou art not worthy of that blessed name, I must not know thee, fling thy wanton flame Upon some lighter blood, that may be hot With words and feigned pa.s.sions: _Perigot_ Was ever yet unstain'd, and shall not now Stoop to the meltings of a borrowed brow.

_Amo_. Then hear me heaven, to whom I call for right, And you fair twinkling stars that crown the night; And hear me woods, and silence of this place, And ye sad hours that move a sullen pace; Hear me ye shadows that delight to dwell In horrid darkness, and ye powers of h.e.l.l, Whilst I breath out my last; I am that maid, That yet untainted _Amoret_, that plaid The careless prodigal, and gave away My soul to this young man, that now dares say I am a stranger, not the same, more wild; And thus with much belief I was beguil'd.

I am that maid, that have delaid, deny'd, And almost scorn'd the loves of all that try'd To win me, but this swain, and yet confess I have been woo'd by many with no less Soul of affection, and have often had Rings, Belts, and Cracknels sent me from the lad That feeds his flocks down westward; Lambs and Doves By young _Alexis; Daphnis_ sent me gloves, All which I gave to thee: nor these, nor they That sent them did I smile on, or e're lay Up to my after-memory. But why Do I resolve to grieve, and not to dye?

Happy had been the stroke thou gav'st, if home; By this time had I found a quiet room Where every slave is free, and every brest That living breeds new care, now lies at rest, And thither will poor _Amoret_.

_Per_. Thou must.

Was ever any man so loth to trust His eyes as I? or was there ever yet Any so like as this to _Amoret_?

For whose dear sake, I promise if there be A living soul within thee, thus to free Thy body from it. [_He hurts her again_.

_Amo_. So, this work hath end: Farewel and live, be constant to thy friend That loves thee next.

_Enter_ Satyr, Perigot _runs off_.

_Satyr_. See the day begins to break, And the light shoots like a streak Of subtil fire, the wind blows cold, Whilst the morning doth unfold; Now the Birds begin to rouse, And the Squirril from the boughs Leaps to get him Nuts and fruit; The early Lark that erst was mute, Carrols to the rising day Many a note and many a lay: Therefore here I end my watch, Lest the wandring swain should catch Harm, or lose himself.

_Amo_. Ah me!

_Satyr_. Speak again what e're thou be, I am ready, speak I say: By the dawning of the day, By the power of night and _Pan_, I inforce thee speak again.

_Amo_. O I am most unhappy.

_Satyr_. Yet more blood!

Sure these wanton Swains are wode.

Can there be a hand or heart Dare commit so vile a part As this Murther? By the Moon That hid her self when this was done, Never was a sweeter face: I will bear her to the place Where my G.o.ddess keeps; and crave Her to give her life, or grave. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Clorin.

_Clor_. Here whilst one patient takes his rest secure I steal abroad to doe another Cure.

Pardon thou buryed body of my love, That from thy side I dare so soon remove, I will not prove unconstant, nor will leave Thee for an hour alone. When I deceive My first made vow, the wildest of the wood Tear me, and o're thy Grave let out my blood; I goe by wit to cure a lovers pain Which no herb can; being done, I'le come again. [_Exit_.

_Enter_ Thenot.

_The_. Poor Shepherd in this shade for ever lye, And seeing thy fair _Clorins_ Cabin, dye: 0 hapless love, which [being] answer'd, ends; And as a little infant cryes and bends His tender Brows, when rowling of his eye He hath espy'd some thing that glisters nigh Which he would have, yet give it him, away He throws it straight, and cryes afresh to play With something else: such my affection, set On that which I should loath, if I could get.

_Enter_ Clorin.

_Clor_. See where he lyes; did ever man but he Love any woman for her Constancie To her dead lover, which she needs must end Before she can allow him for her friend, And he himself must needs the cause destroy, For which he loves, before he can enjoy?

Poor _Shepherd_, Heaven grant I at once may free Thee from thy pain, and keep my loyaltie: _Shepherd_, look up.

_The_. Thy brightness doth amaze!

So _Phoebus_ may at noon bid mortals gaze, Thy glorious constancie appears so bright, I dare not meet the Beams with my weak sight.

_Clor_. Why dost thou pine away thy self for me?

_The_. Why dost thou keep such spotless constancie?

_Clor_. Thou holy _Shepherd_, see what for thy sake _Clorin_, thy _Clorin_, now dare under take. [_He starts up_.

_The_. Stay there, thou constant _Clorin_, if there be Yet any part of woman left in thee, To make thee light: think yet before thou speak.

_Clor_. See what a holy vow for thee I break.

I that already have my fame far spread For being constant to my lover dead.

_The_. Think yet, dear _Clorin_, of your love, how true, If you had dyed, he would have been to you.

_Clor_. Yet all I'le lose for thee.

_The_. Think but how blest A constant woman is above the rest.

_Clor_. And offer up my self, here on this ground, To be dispos'd by thee.

_The_. Why dost thou wound His heart with malice, against woman more, That hated all the s.e.x, but thee before?

How much more pleasant had it been to me To dye, than to behold this change in thee?

Yet, yet, return, let not the woman sway.

_Clor_. Insult not on her now, nor use delay, Who for thy sake hath ventur'd all her fame.

_The_. Thou hast not ventur'd, but bought certain shame, Your s.e.xes curse, foul falshood must and shall, I see, once in your lives, light on you all.

I hate thee now: yet turn.

_Clor_. Be just to me: Shall I at once both lose my fame and thee?

_The_. Thou hadst no fame, that which thou didst like good, Was but thy appet.i.te that sway'd thy blood For that time to the best: for as a blast That through a house comes, usually doth cast Things out of order, yet by chance may come, And blow some one thing to his proper room; So did thy appet.i.te, and not thy zeal, Sway thee [by] chance to doe some one thing well.

Yet turn.

_Clor_. Thou dost but try me if I would Forsake thy dear imbraces, for my old Love's, though he were alive: but do not fear.

_The_. I do contemn thee now, and dare come near, And gaze upon thee; for me thinks that grace, Austeritie, which sate upon that face Is gone, and thou like others: false maid see, This is the gain of foul inconstancie. [_Exit_.

_Clor_. 'Tis done, great _Pan_ I give thee thanks for it, What art could not have heal'd, is cur'd by wit.

_Enter_ Thenot, _again_.

_The_. Will ye be constant yet? will ye remove Into the Cabin to your buried Love?

_Clor_. No let me die, but by thy side remain.

_The_. There's none shall know that thou didst ever stain Thy worthy strictness, but shall honour'd be, And I will lye again under this tree, And pine and dye for thee with more delight, Than I have sorrow now to know the light.

_Clor_. Let me have thee, and I'le be where thou wilt.

_The_. Thou art of womens race, and full of guilt.