Act 4 — [Scene III.][3478]

Amo. This place is ominous; for here I lost My love and almost life, and since have crost All these woods over; ne’er a nook or dell, Where any little bird or beast doth dwell, But I have sought it; ne’er a bending brow5 Of any hill, or glade the wind sings through, Nor a green bank nor shade where shepherds use To sit and riddle, sweetly pipe, or choose Their valentines, that I have mist, to find My love in. Perigot! Oh, too unkind,10 Why hast thou fled me? Whither art thou gone? How have I wrong’d thee. Was my love alone To thee worthy this scorn’d recompense? ’T is well; I am content to feel it. But I tell Thee, shepherd, and these lusty woods shall hear,15 Forsaken Amoret is yet as clear Of any stranger fire, as heaven is From foul corruption, or the deep abyss From light and happiness; and thou mayst know All this for truth, and how that fatal blow20 Thou gav’st me, never from desert of mine Fell on my life, but from suspect of thine, Or fury more than madness. Therefore here, Since I have lost my life, my love, my dear, Upon this cursed place, and on this green25 That first divorc’d us, shortly shall be seen A sight of so great pity, that each eye Shall daily spend his spring in memory Of my untimely fall.

Amar. [Aside.] I am not blind, Nor is it through the working of my mind30 That this shows Amoret. Forsake me, all That dwell upon the soul, but what men call Wonder, or, more than wonder, miracle! For, sure, so strange as this, the oracle Never gave answer of; it passeth dreams,35 Or madmen’s fancy, when the many streams Of new imaginations rise and fall. ’T is but an hour since these ears heard her call For pity to young Perigot; whilst he Directed by his fury, bloodily40 Lanc’d up her breast, which bloodless fell and cold; And, if belief may credit what was told, After all this, the Melancholy Swain Took her into his arms, being almost slain, And to the bottom of the holy well45 Flung her, for ever with the waves to dwell. ’T is she, the very same; ’t is Amoret, And living yet; the great powers will not let Their virtuous love be crost.—Maid, wipe away Those heavy drops of sorrow, and allay50 The storm that yet goes high, which, not deprest, Breaks heart and life and all before it rest. Thy Perigot—— Amo. Where, which is Perigot? Amar. Sits there below, lamenting much, God wot, Thee and thy fortune. Go, and comfort him;55 And thou shalt find him underneath a brim Of sailing pines, that edge yon mountain in. Amo. I go, I run. Heaven grant me I may win His soul again! Exit.

Sull. Shep. Stay, Amarillis, stay! You are too fleet; ’t is two hours yet to day.60 I have perform’d my promise; let us sit And warm our bloods together, till the fit Come lively on us. Amar. Friend, you are too keen; The morning riseth, and we shall be seen; Forbear a little. Sull. Shep. I can stay no longer.65 Amar. Hold, shepherd, hold! Learn not to be a wronger Of your word. Was not your promise laid, To break their loves first? Sull. Shep. I have done it, maid. Amar. No; they are yet unbroken, met again, And are as hard to part yet as the stain70 Is from the finest lawn. Sull. Shep. I say they are Now at this present parted, and so far That they shall never meet. Amar. Swain, ’t is not so; For do but to yon hanging mountain go, And there believe your eyes. Sull. Shep. You do but hold75 Off with delays and trifles.—Farewell, cold And frozen bashfulness, unfit for men!— Thus I salute thee, virgin! [Attempts to seize her.] Amar. And thus, then, I bid you follow: catch me if you can! Exit. Sull. Shep. And, if I stay behind, I am no man!80 Exit, running after her.