The Tragedy of Phillis , Complaining of the Disloyal
love of Amintas . To a New Court Tune.
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AMintas on a Summers Day,
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to shun Apollo's Beams,
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Was driving of his Flock away,
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to take some cooling Streams:
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And through a Forrest as they went,
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hard by a Rivers side,
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A voice which from a Grove was sent,
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invited him to bide.
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The voice well seem'd for to bewray,
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some Male-contented mind,
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For oft-times did he hear it say,
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ten thousand times unkind:
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The remnant of that raging moan,
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did all escape his ear,
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For every word brought forth a groan,
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and every groan a tear.
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And nearer when it did repair,
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both face and voice he knew,
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He saw that Phillis was come there,
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her plaints for to renew:
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Thus leaving her unto her plaints,
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and sorrow slaying groans,
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He heard her deadly discontents,
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thus all breakt forth at once.
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Amintas is thy Love to me
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of such a light account,
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That thou disdain'st to lnok on me,
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or Love as thou was wont:
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Were those the Oaths that thou didst make,
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the Vows thou didst conceive,
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When I for thy contentment sake,
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my hearts delight did leave.
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How oft didst thou protest to me,
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the Heaven should turn to naught,
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The Sun should first obscured be,
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e're thou wouldst change thy thought.
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Then Heaven dissolve without delay,
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Sun shew thy face no more,
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Amintas Love is lost for aye,
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and wo is me therefore.
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Well might I if I had been wise,
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foreseen what I now find,
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But too much Love did dull mine eyes,
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and made my judgement blind:
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But O alas! the effect doth prove,
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that it was plain deceit,
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For true and Undefiled Love,
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will never turn to hate.
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All thy behaviours were (God knows)
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too smooth and too discreet,
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Like Sugar which impoysoned grows,
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suspects because it's sweet?
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Thine oaths and vows did promise more,
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then well thou couldst perform,
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Much like a Calm that comes before
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an unexpected Storm.
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God knows it would not grieve me much,
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for to be kill'd for thee,
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But oh, too near it doth me touch,
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that thou shouldst murther me:
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God knows I care not for the pain,
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can come for loss of breath,
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'Tis thy unkindness, cruel Swain,
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that grieves me to the death.
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Amintas tell me if thou may,
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if any fault of mine,
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Hath given thee cause for to betray
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mine hearts delight and thine:
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No, no, alas, it could not be,
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my love to thee was such,
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Unless that I if urged thee,
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in loving thee too much.
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But ah, alas, what do I gain,
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by this my fond complaint,
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My dolour doubles my disdain,
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my grief thy joy augment:
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Although it yields no greater good,
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it oft doth ease my mind,
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For to reproach the ingratitude,
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of him that is unkind.
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With that her hand, cold, wan, and pale,
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upon her breast she lays,
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And seeing that her breath did fail,
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she sighs and then she says,
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Amintas , and with that poor Maid,
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she sigh'd again full sore,
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But after that she never said,
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nor sigh'd, nor breath'd no more.
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FINIS.
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The Complaint of the Shepherd Harpalus.
To a New Tune.
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P OOR Harpalus opprest with Love,
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sat by a Christial Brook,
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Thinking his sorrows to remove,
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oft times therein did look:
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And hearing how on pibble stones,
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the murmuring River ran,
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As if he had bequeath'd his groans,
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unto it thus he began.
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Fair streams, quoth he, that pitties me,
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and hears my matchless moan,
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If thou be going to the Sea,
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as I do now suppone:
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Attend my plaints past all relief,
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which dolefully I breath,
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Acquaint the Sea-Nymphs with the grief,
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which still procures my death.
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Who sitting in the clifty Rocks,
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may in their Songs express,
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While as they comb their Golden Locks,
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poor Harpalus distress:
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And so perhaps some Passengers,
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that passeth by the way,
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May stand and listen for to hear,
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them Sing this doleful lay.
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Poor Harpalus a Shepherd Swain,
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more rich in Youth then store,
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Lov'd fair Philenea hapless man,
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Philenea O therefore.
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Who still remorceless hearted Maid,
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took pleasure in his pain,
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And his good will poor soul repaid,
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with undeserv'd disdain.
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Ne'r Shepherd Loved Shepherdess,
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more faithfully then he,
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Ne'r Shepherd yet beloved less,
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of Shepherdess could be.
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How oft did he with dying looks,
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to her his woes impart,
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How oft his sight did testifie,
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the dolour of his heart.
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How oft from Vallies to the Hills,
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did he his grief rehearse,
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How often ecchoed they his ills,
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a back again alas.
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How oft on barks of staely pines,
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of Beech. of Holly green,
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Did he ingage on mournful Lines,
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the grief he did sustain.
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Yet all his plaint could have no place,
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to change Philena's mind,
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The more his sorrows did increase,
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the more she prov'd unkind.
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The thought thereof hath wearied care,
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poor Harpalus did move,
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That overcome with high dispair
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he lost both life and Love.
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