Amyntas, A Tale of the Woods/Act II
ACT SECOND.
SCENE I.
THE SATYR.
SATYR.Small is the bee, and yet with a small sting Makes grave and troublesome wounds. But what is smallerThan love, who lurks in the minutest things, And strays in the minutest? now beneath The shadow of an eye-brow; now amongThreads of fine hair; and now in the small wells, Which a sweet smile forms in a lovely cheek. And yet what great and mortal wounds are his, And past all remedy! Alas! all wound And bleeding havoc is he in my nature; And millions of sharp spears does he keep stored In Sylvia's eyes. Oh cruel love! Oh Sylvia, More hard and without sense, than are the woods, How rightly dost thou bear that sylvan name! What foresight his who gave it thee! The woods Hide with their lovely leaves, lions, and bears, And snakes; and thou in thy fair bosom hidest Hate, and disdain, and hard impiety;Things wilder far than lions, bears, and snakes; For those are tameable, but to tame theeDefies the power of present and of prayer. Ah me! when I would give thee flowers new-blown, Thou drawest thyself back; perhaps because Thou hast more lovely flowers in thy own looks. Ah me! when I present thee sweet young apples,Thou puttest them away; perhaps because Thou hast more sweet young apples in thy bosom. Alas! when I would please thee with sweet honey,Thou treatest it as nought; perhaps because Thou hast a sweeter honey in thy lips.If my poor means can give thee nothing better,I give thee my own self. And why, unjust one, Scorn and abhor the gift? I am not one To be despised, if truly t'other day I saw myself reflected in the sea,When the winds hushed, and there was not a wave. This ruddy sanguine visage, these broad shoulders,This hairy breast, and these my shaggy thighs, Are marks of strength and manhood. If thou dost notBelieve them, try them. What dost thou expectOf those young dainty ones, whose girlish cheeks Are scarcely tinged with down, and who dispose Their pretty locks in order,—girls indeedIn strength as well as look? Will any of them Follow thee through the woods, and up the mountains, And combat for thy sake with bears and boars?I am no brute thing; no, nor dost thou scorn me Because I am thus shaped, but simply and solelyBecause I am thus poor. Oh, that the woods Should take this vile example from the town. This is indeed the age of gold; for gold Is conqueror of all, and gold is king. Oh thou, whoe'er thou wert, that first did shewThe way to make love venal, be thou accurst. Curst may thine ashes be, and cold thy bones;And never may'st thou find shepherd or nymph To say to them in passing "Peace be with ye;"But may the sharp rains wash them, and the winds Blow on their bareness; and the herd's foul footTrample them, and the stranger. Thou did'st first Put shame upon the nobleness of love; And thine was the vile hand that first did putBitterness in his cup. A venal love! A love that waits on gold! It is the greatest, And most abominable, and filthiest monster,That ever land or sea shuddered at bearing.But why in vain lament me? Every creature Uses the helping arms which nature gave it; The stag betakes himself to flight, the lion Ramps with his mighty paws, the foaming boar Turns with his tusks; and loveliness and grace Are woman's weapons and her potency. If nature made me then fitted for deedsOf violence and rapine, why not I Use violence for my ends? I will do so: I will go force from that ungrateful one What she denies my love. A goatherd, who Has watched her ways, tells me that she is used To bathe her in a fountain; and has shewn me The very spot. There will I plant me close Among the shrubs and bushes, and so waitUntil she come; then seize my opportunity, And run upon her. What can she oppose, The tender thing, either by force or flight, To one so swift and powerful? She may useHer sighs and tears, and all that is of force In beauty to move pity. I will twist This hand of mine in her thick locks; nor stirOne step till I have drank my draught of vengeance.
SCENE II.
DAPHNE AND THYRSIS.
DAPHNE.As I have told thee, Thyrsis, I knew well How warmly Amyntàs loved: and heaven knows How many offices of kindness, I Have done him, and how many more would do. Thy prayers have now been added; but as soon Mightst thou expect to tame a sullen bull, Or bear, or tyger, as this simple girl, As foolish as she's fair. She never heeds,How hot or sharp the darts may be, that strike From her fair hands; but whether grave or merry,Goes slaying on; and slays, and knows it not.
THYRSIS.Nay, where is to be found the girl so simple, That if she has but left her leading-strings,Learns not the art of striking and of pleasing, And killing with those pleasing arts, and knowing What arms she wears, and which dispenses death, And which is healing and restores to life?
DAPHNE.And who is master, pray, of all those arts?
THYRSIS.Thou feignest ignorance to try me. Well:The master is the same that teaches birdsTheir singing and their flight, fishes their swimming,The ram his butting, tossing to the bull, And shews the stately-loving peacock how To open wide the pomp of his eyed plumes.
DAPHNE.And this great master's name?
THYRSIS.Daphne.
DAPHNE.Fine words!
THYRSIS. Why so? Art thou not fit to open school For thousands of thy sex? Though, to say truth, There is no need of master. Nature is master;But then the mother and the nurse bear part
DAPHNE.Truly thou'rt both a simple and a sad one.— But to our business. I must own to thee,I half suspect that Sylvia is not quiteSo simple as she seems. I witnessed something But yesterday which makes me doubt. I found herIn those large meadows neighbouring the city, Where there's a little isle among the pools.She looked on one of them, and hung right over Its clear unruffled glass, as if to see How beautiful she looked, and how to bestAdvantage she might set the dropping curls About her brow, and on her curls her net, And on her net some flowers that filled her bosom.And now she would take out some privet-blossom, And now a rose, and hold it to her fair Fine neck, or her vermillion cheeks, to makeComparison of their hues. Then she would dartA smile, as if in gladsome victory, Which seemed to say, "I conquer nevertheless;And I will wear ye, not for my adorning,But solely to your shame, that ye may find How I surpass ye far." As she was thusAdorning and admiring her, she chanced To turn her eyes, and finding I had seen her, Let fall her flowers, and rose covered with blushes. I laughed to see her blush; she blushed the more To see me laugh; and yet, having her locksBut partly gathered up, she had recourse Once or twice more to her fair friend, the lake, And stole admiring glances: till afraid That I espied her spyings, she was pleased To let herself remain thus partly dressed,Seeing how negligence became her too. I saw it, and said nothing.
THYRSIS.'Tis exactly As I supposed. Now dost thou understand me?
DAPHNE.I understand thee well. But I have heard,That nymphs and shepherdesses formerly Were not thus knowing, yet reserved. I was not In my own youth. The world methinks, grows old, And growing old, grows sad.
THYRSIS.In those good times The town, I guess, did not so often spoil The woods and fields; nor on the other hand Our foresters so often go to town. Manners and tribes are mingled now-a-days.But let us leave this talk. Tell me now, Daphine, Can'st thou not so contrive, some day or other,That Sylvia shall consent to see Amyntas Alone,—or if not so, at least with thee?
DAPHNE.I know not. She is now more coy than ever.
THYRSIS.And he, no doubt, more full of his respect.
DAPHNE.Respectful loving is a desperate trade. He should set up another. The first stepIn learning love, is to unlearn respect. The scholar then must dare, demand, intreat,Importune, run away with; and if thatBe not sufficient, there is one thing more. Knowest thou not the stuff that woman's made of?She flies, and flying would provoke pursuit: Refuses; and refusing, would be plundered: Combats; and combating, would be overthrown.Ah, Thyrsis, 'tis in confidence I speak To thee. Deride it not; nor above all,Put it in rhyme. Thou knowest I know how To give thee for thy verses, something better.
THYRSIS.Thou hast no reason to suspect me capable Of ever uttering syllable thou lik'st not.But now I pray thee, gentle Daphne mine,By the sweet memory of thy fresh youth, That thou wilt help me to help poor Amyntas. He will die else.
DAPHNE.O gallant adjuration!To remind woman of her younger days;Of her delights gone by, and present sadness Well: what wouldst have me do?
THYRSIS.Thou wantest notWit nor advice, suffice it that thou wilt.
DAPHNE.Well then. We two (Sylvia and I,) shall go To the fountain which is call'd Diana's fountain, Thou know'st it,—where the plane-tree is, that holdsSweet shade to the sweet waters, and invitesThe nymphs to seat them freshly from the chace. There, I know well, she will engulf her fair And naked limbs.
THYRSIS. What then?
DAPHNE.What then! O brainOf little wit! Think, and thou'lt know what then.
THYRSIS. I see. But then his courage,———I doubt that.
DAPHNE.Nay, if he have not that, he must needs stay, And wait till people fetch him.
THYRSIS.And even thatHis nature would deserve.
DAPHNE.A little nowTo talk of thyself, Thyrsis. Come; hast thou No wish to be in love? Thou art still young,Not more than four years over the fourth lustre, If I remember rightly. Would'st thou lead A life of insipidity and denial?Man knows not what delight is, till he loves.
THYRSIS.The man that avoids love, need not be ignorant Of the delights of Venus. He but culls And tastes the sweets of love without the bitter.
DAPHNE.Insipid is the sweet undashed with bitter: And satiates too soon.
THYRSIS. Better be satiateThan ever hungering,—hungering during food, And after food,
DAPHNE.Not if the food so pleases,And so possesses one, that every relish Invites, but to another.
THYRSIS.Aye, but whoPossesses such a food, and has it always At hand, to feast his hunger?
DAPHNE.Who is he Finds what he does not look for?
THYRSIS.'Tis a searchToo perilous, to look for what so cheats us, When it is found; and tortures more, when not. No; no more love for me; no slaveries moreOf sighs and tears before his reckless throne.I have had sighs and tears enough. Let others Play their part now.
DAPHNE.But not enough of joys.
THYRSIS.I wish them not, if they must cost so dear.
DAPHNE.Thou wilt be forced to love, whate'er thou wishest.
THYRSIS.But how can he be forced, who keeps at distance?
DAPHNE.Who keeps love distant?
THYRSIS. He who fears and flies.
DAPHNE.What use to fly, when the pursuer has wings?
THYRSIS.A love new born has but small wings. He scarcelyCan lift himself upon them, much less dare To spread them to the wind.
DAPHNE.Man seldom knowsWhen Love is born; and when he does, Love is Full grown at once, and plumed.
THYRSIS.Suppose he has seen Love born before?
DAPHNE.Well; we shall see, Thyrsis, Whether thine eyes will be so prompt for flight, As thou supposest. I protest to thee,That should I ever see thee call for help, When thou dost play the racer and the stag, I will not move a single step to help thee; No, not a finger, a syllable, or a wink.
THYRSIS.Cruel! And would it give thee pleasure then To see me dead? If thou wouldst have me love,Love me thyself. Let both be loved and loving.
DAPHNE.Thou mockest me, I fear; perhaps, in truth, Deserv'st a mistress more complete than I. Oh! the seductions of enamelled cheeks!
THYRSIS.I mock thee not, believe me. It is thouThat rather tak'st this method to refuse me.It is the way with all of ye. However, If thou wilt love me not, I wilt love on Without a love.
DAPHNE.Be happy then, dear Thyrsis,Happier than ever. Live in perfect ease; For love takes root in ease, and flourishes.
THYRSIS.O Daphne! 'twas a God gave me that ease. For well may he be deemed a God among us, Whose mighty flocks and herds feed every where, From sea to sea, both on the cultured smoothness,And glad amenity of fertile fields, And o'er the mountainous backs of Apennine. He said to me, when first he made me his, "Thyrsis, let others guard my walled folds,And chace the wolves and robbers; others give My servants their rewards and punishments; And others feed my flocks, and others manage The dairies and the shearings, and dispense Their wealth. Do thou, since thou art more at ease,Sing only." Therefore 'tis most just, my song Turn not upon the sports of earthly love, But sing the lineage of my great and true(Which name am I to chuse?) Apollo or Jove, For in his works and looks, both he resembles;A lineage worthy of Saturn and of Cœlus. Thus has a rustic muse, regal reward; And whether clear or hoarse, he scorns her not. I sing not of himself, being unable To honour his great nature worthily,Except with silence and with reverence. But not for ever shall his altars beWithout my flowers,—without the sweet uprolling Of odorous incense. And this faith of mine,Pure and devout, shall go not from my heart,Till stags shall go to feed themselves in air, And the old rivers run from out their paths, And Persians drink the Soane, and Gauls the Tigris.
DAPHNE.Truly thou fliest high. Now please descend A little to our work.
THYRSIS.The point is this; That thou should'st go into the fountain with her, And try to awake her tenderness. Meanwhile I will persuade Amyntas to come after. And I suspect my task is not less difficult Than thine, so let us go.
DAPHNE.I will; but mind;Forget not that we have a task besides.
THYRSIS.If I discern his countenance at this distance,It is Amyntas issuing there. 'Tis he.
SCENE III.
THYRSIS AND AMYNTAS.
AMYNTAS.I wish to know what Thyrsis may have done; If nothing, then, before I pass to nothing, I will go slay me right before the eyesOf this hard girl, She is displeased to see The wound in my heart's core, Struck by her own sweet eyes.She will be pleased to seeThe new wound in my bosom, Struck by my own poor hand.
THYRSIS.I bring thee comfortable news, Amyntas, Dry up thy tears for ever.
AMYNTAS.What! Ah, me,What dost thou say? What bring me? Life or death?
THYRSIS.Life and salvation, if thou darest to meet them; But thou must be a man, and dare indeed.
AMYNTAS.What dare, and against whom?
THYRSIS.Suppose thy lady Were in the middle of a wood, which girtWith lofty rocks, harboured wild beasts and lions: Would'st thou go join her?
AMYNTAS.Aye, as full of joy,And more, than holiday maiden to a dance.
THYRSIS.Suppose her too, in midst of arms and robbers, Woulds't thou go join her?
AMYNTAS.Aye, more headlong glad, Than thirsting stag to fountain.
THYRSIS.There is needOf greater daring then, than even this.
AMYNTAS.Why, I will go in middle of rapid torrents,When the great snows get loose, and swell them downSheer to the sea. I will go treading fires,The fires of hell itself, if she be there,And hell can be where there's a thing so fair. Now, tell me all.
THYRSIS.Listen.
AMYNTAS.I pray thee speak.
THYRSIS.Sylvia is waiting for thee at a fountain, Naked and alone.
AMYNTAS.Oh! what is it thou sayest? Naked and alone, and me!
THYRSIS.Alone; exceptDaphne be with her, who is in our interest.
AMYNTAS.Naked? and waits for me?
THYRSIS.Aye, naked; but—
AMYNTAS.Alas, that but! Thou speakest not; thou killest me.
THYRSIS.But she is not aware yet of thy coming.
AMYNTAS. Oh hard conclusion, which comes poisoning all! What arts are these to torture me, fierce friend?Does it seem little to thee I am wretched, That thus thou would'st increase my misery?
THYRSIS.Follow my counsel, and I'll make thee happy.
AMYNTAS.What counsel?
THYRSIS.That thou go directly, and seize What friendly fortune offers.
AMYNTAS.God forbid,That I should do the least thing to displease her. I never did, except in loving her; And that I could not help: her beauty made me. Therefore it is not the less true for that,That in all things I can, I seek to please her.
THYRSIS.Now answer me. Suppose 'twere in thy power To cease to love her, would'st thou please her so?
AMYNTAS.Love will not let me answer thee; no, nor sufferThe very imagination of the thing.
THYRSIS.Then thou would'st love her in her own despite, When thou could'st cease to love her, if thou would'st.
AMYNTAS.No, not in her despite; but I would love her.
THYRSIS.Against her will then?
AMYNTAS.Yes, undoubtedly.
THYRSIS.Why then not dare to take against her will That which however grievous to her at first, Will, when 'tis taken, be at last, at last, Both sweet and dear to her?
AMYNTAS.Ah, Thyrsis, loveMust answer for me. At my heart he speaks,At my heart's core; but I cannot repeat it.Custom has made thee talk of love too lightly. Thou art too used in art, to talk of love.What ties my heart, ties up my tongue.
THYRSIS.Thou wiltNot go then?
AMYNTAS.Yes, I will; but not where thou Would'st have me go.
THYRSIS. Where then?
AMYNTAS.To death:—if allThou hast to tell me for my good, be this.
THYRSIS.Does this then seem to thee so little? Think:Dost thou suppose that Daphne would have formed This plan herself, had she not partly known Sylvia's own mind? Sylvia may know of it, And yet not wish to be supposed to know. Now if thou seekest her express consent,Dost thou not see thou wilt displease her more? Where then is all this mighty wish of thineTo please her? If she wishes thy delight To be thy theft, thy rapine not her gift, Nor favour, foolish boy, what matters it, This mode or that?
AMYNTAS.And who will make me sure, That she does wish it?
THYRSIS.Now art thou a madman.See if thou dost not wish the very certainty Which she dislikes, and which she should dislike,And which thou should'st not look for. Oh but then, Who is to make thee sure she does not wish!Now grant she does, and that thou dost not go. The doubt and risk are equal. Oh! how noblerTo die like a brave man, than like a coward!Thou'rt dumb: thou'rt conquered. Come, confess as much,And thy defeat shall be thy cause of victory; Come, let us go.
AMYNTAS.Nay, stop.
THYRSIS.Why stop? Time flies.
AMYNTAS.Ah, let us first consider-let us think What we should do, and how.
THYRSIS.Upon the road then. To think too many things, is to do none.
CHORUS.Tell us, O Love, what school,What mighty master's rule, Can teach thine art, so doubtful and so long? Who shall enable senseTo know the intelligence,Which takes us heavenward on thy pinions strong? Not all that learned throng Among the Attic trees, Nor Phœbus on his hillWho sings of loving still, Could truly tell us of thy mysteries.Little he spoke, and cold, Of what we would be told; Nor had the voice of fireFit for the listening of our great desire. With thee, O Love, with thee, He raises not his yearnings equally.
It is thyself alone By whom thou can'st be shewn,Sole manifester thou of all thy sense: 'Tis thou, that by the rude Cans't render understoodThose admirable things, deep, sweet, and wise, Which thine own proper hand In amorous letters writes in others' eyes:Thou loosenest the tongues Of those that serve thee well Into a beauteous and a blandAbundant eloquence. And often (O divine And wondrous deed of thine!)In passion-broken words, And a confused saying,The struggling heart shall best Leap forth and be expressed, And more avail than rhetoric's whole displaying. Thy very silence wearsThe face of ended prayers.
Oh Love, let others read The old Socratic scrolls, Two lovely eyes out-master all their schools: And pens of learned markShall find it but lost time,Compared with this wild rhyme, Which a rude hand cuts on the rude tree bark.