Act 4 — [Scene II.][3472]

Sat. Softly gliding as I go, With this burthen full of woe, Through still silence of the night Guided by the glow-worm’s light, Hither am I come at last.5 Many a thicket have I past; Not a twig that durst deny me, Not a bush that durst descry me To the little bird that sleeps On the slender spray; nor creeps10 That hardy worm with pointed tail, But if I be under sail, Flying faster than the wind, Leaving all the clouds behind, But doth hide her tender head15 In some hollow tree, or bed Of seeded nettles; not a hare Can be started from his fare By my footing; nor a wish Is more sudden, nor a fish20 Can be found with greater ease Cut the vast unbounded seas, Leaving neither print nor sound, Than I, when nimbly on the ground I measure many a league an hour.25 But, behold, the happy power[3473] That must ease me of my charge, And by holy hand enlarge The soul of this sad man, that yet Lies fast bound in deadly fit:30 Heaven and great Pan succour it!— Hail, thou beauty of the bower, Whiter than the paramour Of my master! Let me crave Thy virtuous help, to keep from grave35 This poor mortal, that here lies, Waiting when the Destinies Will undo[3474] his thread of life: View the wound, by cruel knife Trencht into him.40 Clo. [coming from the bower.] What art thou call’st me from my holy rites, And with the feared name of death affrights My tender ears? Speak me thy name and will. Sat. I am the Satyr that did fill Your lap with early fruit; and will,45 When I hap to gather more, Bring you better and more store.[3475] Yet I come not empty now: See, a blossom from the bough; But beshrew his heart that pull’d it,50 And his perfect sight that cull’d it From the other springing blooms! For a sweeter youth the grooms Cannot show me, nor the downs, Nor the many neighbouring towns.55 Low in yonder glade I found him; Softly in mine arms I bound him; Hither have I brought him sleeping In a trance, his wounds fresh weeping, In remembrance such youth may60 Spring and perish in a day. Clo. Satyr, they wrong thee that do term thee rude; Though thou be’st outward-rough and tawny-hu’d, Thy manners are as gentle and as fair As his who brags himself born only heir65 To all humanity.—Let me see thy wound: This herb will stay the current, being bound Fast to the orifice, and this restrain Ulcers and swellings, and such inward pain As the cold air hath forc’d into the sore;70 This to draw out such putrefying gore As inward falls. Sat. Heaven grant it may do good! Clo. Fairly wipe away the blood. Hold him gently, till I fling75 Water of a virtuous[3476] spring On his temples; turn him twice To the moonbeams; pinch him thrice; That the labouring soul may draw From his great eclipse. Sat. I saw80 His eyelids moving. Clo. Give him breath; All the danger of cold death Now is vanisht! With this plaster And this unction do I master All the fest’red ill that may85 Give him grief another day. Sat. See, he gathers up his sprite, And begins to hunt for light; Now ’a gaps and breathes again: How the blood runs to the vein90 That erst was empty! Alexis. O my heart! My dearest, dearest Cloe! Oh, the smart Runs through my side! I feel some pointed thing Pass through my bowels, sharper than the sting Of scorpion.——95 Pan, preserve me!—What are you? Do not hurt me: I am true To my Cloe, though she fly, And leave me to this destiny. There she stands, and will not lend100 Her smooth white hand to help her friend. But I am much mistaken, for that face Bears more austerity and modest grace, More reproving and more awe, Than these eyes yet ever saw105 In my Cloe. Oh, my pain Eagerly renews again! Give me your help for his sake you love best. Clo. Shepherd, thou canst not possibly take rest, Till thou hast laid aside all heats, desires,110 Provoking thoughts that stir up lusty fires, Commerce with wanton eyes, strong blood, and will To execute; these must be purg’d until The vein grow whiter; then repent, and pray Great Pan to keep you from the like decay,115 And I shall undertake your cure with ease; Till when, this virtuous plaster will displease[3477] Your tender sides. Give me your hand, and rise! Help him a little, Satyr; for his thighs Yet are feeble. Alexis. [rising.] Sure, I have lost much blood. Sat. ’T is no matter; ’t was not good.121 Mortal, you must leave your wooing: Though there be a joy in doing, Yet it brings much grief behind it; They best feel it, that do find it.125 Clo. Come, bring him in; I will attend his sore.— When you are well, take heed you lust no more. [Alexis is led into the bower.] Sat. Shepherd, see, what comes of kissing; By my head, ’t were better missing. Brightest, if there be remaining130 Any service, without feigning I will do it; were I set To catch the nimble wind, or get Shadows gliding on the green, Or to steal from the great queen135 Of fairies all her beauty; I would do it, so much duty Do I owe those precious eyes. Clo. I thank thee, honest Satyr. If the cries Of any other, that be hurt or ill140 Draw thee unto them, prithee, do thy will To bring them hither. Sat. I will; and when the weather Serves to angle in the brook, I will bring a silver hook,145 With a line of finest silk, And a rod as white as milk, To deceive the little fish. So I take my leave, and wish On this bower may ever dwell150 Spring and summer! Clo. Friend, farewell. Exeunt.