Raise in coldest age a fire,
And give virgin-blood desire.
Then, if ever,
Now or never,
Come and have it:
Think not I
Dare deny,
If you crave it.
Enter Daphnis.
Thou god of blood! But certain, if I read
Not false, this is that modest shepherd, he
That only dare salute, but ne’er could be
Brought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing,
Whisper, or boldly ask that wishéed thing
We all are born for; one that makes loving faces,
And could be well content to covet graces,
Were they not got by boldness. In this thing
My hopes are frozen; and, but fate doth bring
Him hither, I would sooner choose
A man made out of snow, and freer use
An eunuch to my ends; but since he’s here,
Thus I attempt him.—[Aside.] Thou, of men most dear;
Welcome to her that only for thy sake
Hath been content to live! Here, boldly take
My hand in pledge, this hand, that never yet
Was given away to any; and but sit
Down on this rushy bank, whilst I go pull
Fresh blossoms from the boughs, or quickly cull
The choicest delicates from yonder mead,
To make thee chains or chaplets, or to spread
Under our fainting bodies, when delight
Shall lock up all our senses. How the sight
Of those smooth rising cheeks renew the story
Of young Adonis, when in pride and glory
He lay infolded ’twixt the beating arms
Of willing Venus! Methinks stronger charms
Dwell in those speaking eyes, and on that brow
More sweetness than the painters can allow
To their best pieces. Not Narcissus, he
That wept himself away in memory
Of his own beauty, nor Silvanus’ boy,
Nor the twice-ravished maid, for whom old Troy
Fell by the hand of Pyrrhus, may to thee
Be otherwise compared, than some dead tree
To a young fruitful olive.
Daph. I can love,
But I am loath to say so, lest I prove
Too soon unhappy.
Cloe. Happy, thou wouldst say.
My dearest Daphnis, blush not; if the day
To thee and thy soft heats be
enemy,
Then take the coming night; fair youth, ’tis free
To all the world. Shepherd, I’ll meet thee then
When
darkness hath shut up the eyes of men,
In yonder grove: speak, shall our meeting hold?
Indeed you are
too bashful; be more bold,
And tell me ay.
Daph. I am content to say so,
And would be glad to meet, might I but pray so
Much from your fairness,
that you would be true.
Cloe. Shepherd, thou hast thy wish.
Daph. Fresh maid, adieu.
Yet one word more: since you have drawn me on
To come this night, fear not
to meet alone
That man that will not offer to be ill,
Though your bright self would ask it, for his fill
Of this
world’s goodness; do not fear him, then,
But keep your ’pointed time. Let other men
Set up their bloods to
sale, mine shall be ever
Fair as the soul it carries, and unchaste never.
[Exit.
Cloe. Yet am I poorer than I was before.
Is it not strange, among so many a score
Of lusty bloods, I should
pick out these things,
Whose veins, like a dull river far from springs,
Is still the same, slow, heavy, and
unfit
For stream or motion, though the strong winds hit
With their continual power upon his sides?
Oh,
happy be your names that have been brides,
And tasted those rare sweets for which I pine!
And far more
heavy be thy grief and tine,
Thou lazy swain, that mayst relieve my needs,
Than his, upon whose liver
always feeds
A hungry vulture!
Enter Alexis.
Alex. Can such beauty be
Safe in his own guard, and not draw the eye
Of him that passeth on, to greedy
gaze
Or covetous desire, whilst in a maze
The better part contemplates, giving rein,
And wishèed freedom
to the labouring vein?
Fairest and whitest, may I crave to know
The cause of your retirement, why you
go
Thus all alone? Methinks the downs are sweeter,
And the young company of swains more meeter,
Than
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