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 Apollos beams,
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Was driving of his flock away,
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to tast some cooling streams.
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And through a Forest 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 voyce well seemd for to be wray
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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 slaking 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 disdainst to look 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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ere thou wouldst change thy thought.
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Then heaven desolve 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 now I 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 its 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 kild for thee,
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But oh, too near it doth me touch
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that thou shouldst murder 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 grives 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 oh, 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 brest she layes
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And seeing that her breath did fail,
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she sighs and then she sayes,
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Amintas, and with that poor Maid
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she sighd again full sore,
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But after that she never said,
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nor sighd, nor breathd no more:
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