Act 1 — [Scene III.][3427]

Cloe. How have I wrong’d the times or men, that thus, After this holy feast, I pass unknown And unsaluted? ’T was not wont to be Thus frozen with the younger company Of jolly shepherds; ’t was not then held good5 For lusty grooms to mix their quicker blood With that dull humour, most unfit to be The friend of man, cold and dull chastity. Sure I am held not fair, or am too old, Or else not free enough, or from my fold10 Drive not a flock sufficient great to gain The greedy eyes of wealth-alluring swain. Yet, if I may believe what others say, My face has foil[3428] enough; nor can they lay Justly too strict a coyness to my charge;15 My flocks are many, and the downs as large They feed upon. Then, let it ever be Their coldness, not my virgin-modesty Makes me complain.

The. Was ever man but I Thus truly taken with uncertainty;20 Where shall that man he found that loves a mind Made up in constancy, and dares not find His love rewarded? Here, let all men know, A wretch that lives to love his mistress so. Cloe. Shepherd, I pray thee stay. Where hast thou been?25 Or whither go’st thou? Here be woods as green As any; air [likewise][3429] as fresh and sweet As where smooth Zephyrus plays on the fleet Face of the curled streams; with flowers as many As the young spring gives, and as choice as any;30 Here be all new delights, cool streams and wells, Arbours o’ergrown with woodbines, caves, and dells; Choose where thou wilt, whilst I sit by and sing, Or gather rushes, to make many a ring For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love,— How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove,36 First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes She took eternal fire that never dies; How she convey’d him softly in a sleep, His temples bound with poppy, to the steep40 Head of old Latmus, where she stoops each night, Gilding the mountain with her brother’s light, To kiss her sweetest. The. Far from me are these Hot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease; I have forgot what love and loving meant;45 Rhymes, songs, and merry rounds, that oft are sent To the soft ear of maid, are strange to me: Only I live t’ admire a chastity, That neither pleasing age, smooth tongue, nor gold, Could ever break upon, so sure[3430] a mould50 Is that her mind was cast in; ’t is to her I only am reserv’d; she is my form I stir By, breathe and move; ’t is she, and only she, Can make me happy, or give misery. Cloe. Good shepherd, may a stranger crave to know55 To whom this dear observance[3431] you do owe? The. You may, and by her virtue learn to square And level out your life; for to be fair, And nothing virtuous, only fits the eye Of gaudy youth and swelling vanity.60 Then, know, she ’s call’d the Virgin of the Grove, She that hath long since buri’d her chaste love, And now lives by his grave, for whose dear soul She hath vow’d herself into the holy roll Of strict virginity: ’t is her I so admire,65 Not any looser blood or new desire. [Exit.] Cloe. Farewell, poor swain! thou art not for my bend;[3432] I must have quicker souls, whose words may tend To some free action. Give me him dare love At first encounter, and as soon dare prove!70

[Sings.] Come, shepherds, come! Come away Without delay, Whilst the gentle time doth stay. Green woods are dumb,75 And will never tell to any Those dear kisses, and those many Sweet embraces that are given; Dainty pleasures, that would even Raise is coldest age a fire,80 And give virgin-blood desire. Then, if ever, Now or never, Come and have it: Think not I85 Dare deny, If you crave it.

[Aside.] Here comes another. Better be my speed, Thou god of blood! But certain, if I read Not false, this is that modest shepherd, he90 That only dare salute, but ne’er could be Brought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing, Whisper, or boldly ask that wished thing We all are born for; one that makes loving faces, And could be well content to covet graces,95 Were they not got by boldness. In this thing My hopes are frozen; and, but fate doth bring Him hither, I would sooner choose A man made out of snow, and freer use An eunuch to my ends; but since he ’s here,100 Thus I attempt him.—Thou, of men most dear, Welcome to her that only for thy sake Hath been content to live! Here, boldly take My hand in pledge, this hand, that never yet Was given away to any; and but sit105 Down on this rushy bank, whilst I go pull Fresh blossoms from the boughs, or quickly cull The choicest delicates from yonder mead, To make thee chains or chaplets, or to spread Under our fainting bodies, when delight110 Shall lock up all our senses. How the sight Of those smooth rising cheeks renew the story Of young Adonis, when in pride and glory He lay infolded ’twixt the beating arms Of willing Venus! Methinks stronger charms115 Dwell in those speaking eyes, and on that brow More sweetness than the painters can allow To their best pieces. Not Narcissus, he That wept himself away in memory Of his own beauty, nor Silvanus’ boy,[3433]120 Nor the twice-ravish’d maid, for whom old Troy Fell by the hand of Pyrrhus, may to thee Be otherwise compar’d, than some dead tree To a young fruitful olive. Daph. I can love, But I am loth to say so, lest I prove125 Too soon unhappy. Cloe. Happy, thou wouldst say. My dearest Daphnis, blush not; if the day To thee and thy soft heats be enemy, Then take the coming night; fair youth, ’t is free To all the world. Shepherd, I ’ll meet thee then130 When darkness hath shut up the eyes of men, In yonder grove. Speak, shall our meeting hold? Indeed you are too bashful; be more bold, And tell me ay. Daph. I am content to say so, And would be glad to meet, might I but pray so135 Much from your fairness, that you would be true. Cloe. Shepherd, thou hast thy wish. Daph. Fresh maid, adieu. Yet one word more: since you have drawn me on To come this night, fear not to meet alone That man that will not offer to be ill,140 Though your bright self would ask it, for his fill Of this world’s goodness; do not fear him, then, But keep your ’pointed time. Let other men Set up their bloods to sale, mine shall be ever Fair as the soul it carries, and unchaste never. Exit. Cloe. Yet am I poorer than I was before.146 Is it not strange, among so many a score Of lusty bloods, I should pick out these things Whose veins, like a dull river far from springs, Is still the same, slow, heavy, and unfit150 For stream or motion, though the strong winds hit With their continual power upon his sides? Oh, happy be your names that have been brides, And tasted those rare sweets for which I pine! And far more heavy be thy grief and tine,[3434]155 Thou lazy swain, that mayst relieve my needs, Than his, upon whose liver always feeds A hungry vulture!

Alex. Can such beauty be Safe in his[3435] own guard, and not draw the eye Of him that passeth on, to greedy gaze160 Or covetous desire, whilst in a maze The better part contemplates, giving rein, And wished freedom to the labouring vein? Fairest and whitest, may I crave to know The cause of your retirement, why you go165 Thus all alone? Methinks the downs are sweeter, And the young company of swains more meeter, Than these forsaken and untrodden places. Give not yourself to loneness, and those graces Hide from the eyes of men, that were intended To live amongst us swains. Cloe. Thou art befriended,171 Shepherd: in all my life I have not seen A man in whom greater contents hath been, Than thou thyself art. I could tell thee more, Were there but any hope left to restore175 My freedom lost. Oh, lend me all thy red, Thou shame-fast Morning, when from Tithon’s[3436] bed Thou risest ever-maiden! Alex. If for me, Thou sweetest of all sweets, these flashes be, Speak, and he satisfi’d. Oh, guide her tongue, My better angel; force my name among181 Her modest thoughts, that the first word may be—— Cloe. Alexis, when the sun shall kiss the sea, Taking his rest by the white Thetis’ side. Meet me in the holy wood, where I ’ll abide185 Thy coming, shepherd. Alex. If I stay behind, An everlasting dulness, and the wind, That as he passeth by shuts up the stream Of Rhine or Volga, whilst the sun’s hot beam Beats back again, seize me, and let me turn190 To coldness more than ice! Oh, how I burn And rise in youth and fire! I dare not stay. Cloe. My name shall be your word. Alex. Fly, fly, thou day! Exit. Cloe. My grief is great, if both these boys should fail:194 He that will use all winds must shift his sail. Exit.