English

ACT IV. SCENE I.

LYCIDAS. PARTHENIA asleep in a bower.

LYCIDAS.

May no rude wind the rustling branches move;
Breathe soft, ye silent gales, nor wake my Love.
Ye shepherds, piping homeward on the way,
Let not the distant ecchoes learn your lay;
Strain not, ye nightingales, your warbling throat,
May no loud shake prolong the shriller note,
Lest she awake; O sleep, secure her eyes,
That I may gaze; for if she wake, she flies.
While easy dreams compose her peaceful soul,

SCENE V.

DIONE. LYCIDAS.

LYCIDAS.

Say, my Alexis , can thy words impart
Kind rays of hope to cheer a doubtful heart?
How didst thou first my pangs of love disclose?
Did her disdainful brow confirm my woes?
Or did soft pity in her bosom rise,
Heave on her breast, and languish in her eyes?

DIONE.

How shall my tongue the fault'ring tale explain!
My heart drops blood to give the shepherd pain.

LYCIDAS.

Pronounce her utmost scorn; I come prepar'd

SCENE IV.

LAURA. DIONE.

DIONE.

I found her laid beside the crystal brook,
Nor rais'd she from the stream her settled look,
Till near her side I stood; her head she rears,
Starts sudden, and her shrieks confess her fears.

LAURA.

Did not thy words her thoughtful soul surprise,
And kindle sparkling anger in her eyes?

DIONE.

Thus she reply'd, with rage and scorn possest.
" Will importuning love ne'er give me rest?

SCENE III.

LAURA. CLEANTHES.

LAURA.

But see! some hasty stranger bends his way;
His broider'd vest reflects the sunny ray:
Now through the thinner boughs I mark his mien,
Now veil'd, in thicker shades he moves unseen
Hither he turns; I hear a mutt'ring sound;
Behind this rev'rend oak with ivie bound
Quick I'll retire; with busy thought possest,
His tongue betrays the secrets of his breast.

CLEANTHES.

The skillful hunter with experienc'd care

SCENE II.

DIONE. LAURA.

LAURA.

Why thus beneath the silver willow laid,
Weeps fair Dione in the pensive shade?
Hast thou yet found the over-arching bower,
Which guards Parthenia from the sultry hour?

DIONE.

With weary step in paths unknown I stray'd,
And sought in vain the solitary maid.

LAURA.

Seest thou the waving tops of yonder woods,
Whose aged arms imbrown the cooling floods?
The cooling floods o'er breaking pebbles flow,

ACT III. SCENE I.

DIONE.

Here let me rest: and in the liquid glass
View with impartial look my fading face.
Why are Parthenia 's striking beauties priz'd?
And why Dione 's weaker glance despis'd?
Nature in various molds has beauty cast,
And form'd the feature for each different taste:
This sighs for golden locks and azure eyes;
That, for the gloss of sable tresses, dyes.
Let all mankind these locks, these eyes detest,
So I were lovely in Evander 's breast!

SCENE VI.

DIONE. LAURA.

DIONE.

Methinks I'm now surrounded by despair,
And all my with'ring hopes are lost in air.
Thus the young linnet on the rocking bough
Hears through long woods autumnal tempests blow,
With hollow blasts the clashing branches bend,
And yellow show'rs of rustling leaves descend;
She sees the friendly shelter from her fly,
Nor dare her little pinions trust the sky;
But on the naked spray in wintry air,
All shiv'ring, hopeless, mourns the dying year.

SCENE V.

LYCIDAS. DIONE. LAURA.

LAURA.

Recall thy scatter'd sense, bid reason wake,
Subdue thy passion.

LYCIDAS.

— — — Shall I never speak?
She 's gone, she 's gone. — Kind shepherd, let me rest
My troubled head upon thy friendly breast.
The forest seems to move. — O cursed state!
I doom'd to love, and she condemn'd to hate!
Tell me, Alexis , art thou still the same?
Did not her brighter eyes put out the flame

SCENE IV.

PARTHENIA. LYCIDAS. DIONE. LAURA.

PARTHENIA.

This melancholy scene demands a groan.
Hah! what inscription marks the weeping stone?
O pow'r of beauty! here Menalcas lies .
Gaze not, ye shepherds, on Parthenia's eyes .
Why did heav'n form me with such polish'd care?
Why cast my features in a mold so fair?
If blooming beauty was a blessing meant,
Why are my sighing hours deny'd content?
The downy peach, that glows with sunny dyes,

SCENE III.

LYCIDAS. DIONE. LAURA.

LAURA.

— — — Fly, fly this place;
Beware of love; the proudest of her race
This way approaches: from among the pines,
Where from the steep the winding path declines,
I saw the nymph descend.

LYCIDAS.

— — — She comes, she comes;
From her the passing Zephyrs steal perfumes,
As from the vi'let's bank; with odours sweet
Breaths ev'ry gale; spring blooms beneath her feet.
Yes, 'tis my fairest; here she 's wont to rove.