Two Duets

From "Arion," an unpublished Masque

I


He. Aglai-a! Aglai-a!
            Sweet, awaken and be glad.
She. Who is this that calls Aglaia?
            Is it thou, my dearest lad?
He. 'Tis Arion, 'tis Arion,
            Who calls thee from sleep--
        From slumber who bids thee
        To follow and number
            His kids and his sheep.
She. Nay, leave to entreat me!
            If mother should spy on
        Us twain, she would beat me.
He. Then come, my love, come!
        And hide with Arion
            Where green woods are dumb!

She. Ar-i-on! Ar-i-on!
                Closer, list! I am afraid!

He. Whisper, then, thy love Arion,
                From thy window, lily maid.

She. Yet Aglaia, yet Aglaia
                Hath heard them debate
            Of wooing repenting--
            "Who trust to undoing,
                Lament them too late."

He. Nay, nay, when I woo thee,
                Thy mother might spy on
            All harm I shall do thee.

She. I come, then--I come!
            To follow Arion
                Where green woods be dumb.




SONG

            Sparrow of Love, so sharp to peck,
            Arrow of Love--I bare my neck
            Down to the bosom. See, no fleck

            Of blood! I have never a wound; I go
            Forth to the greenwood. Yet, heigh-ho!
            What 'neath my girdle flutters so?

            'Tis not a bird, and yet hath wings,
            'Tis not an arrow, yet it stings;
            While in the wound it nests and sings--
                Heigh-ho!

He. Of Arion, of Arion
                That wound thou shalt learn;
            What nothings 'tis made of,
            And soft pretty soothings
                In shade of the fern.

She. When maids have a mind to,
                Man's word they rely on,
            Old warning are blind to--
                I come, then--I come
                    To walk with Arion
                Where green woods are dumb!


                                                        II


He. Dear my love, and O my love,
                And O my love so lately!
            Did we wander yonder grove
                And sit awhile sedately?
            For either you did there conclude
                To do at length as I did,
            Or passion's fashion's turn'd a prude,
                And troth's an oath derided.

She. Yea, my love--and nay, my love--
                And ask me not to tell, love,
            While I delay'd an idle day
                What 'twixt us there befell, love.
            Yet either I did sit beside
                And do at length as you did,
            Or my delight is lightly by
                An idle lie deluded!