It will be seen that in spite of the description ‘pastoral’ which appears on the title-page of the play, there is little or nothing of this nature to be found in the plot, and in this it is typical of all the plays founded upon Sidney’s romance.  The only pastoral element indeed is a sort of show or masque, presented by the rustic characters in company with certain shepherds, and even here little of a pastoral nature is visible beyond the characters of the performers.  As a play, the Arcadia is distinctly pleasing; the action is bright and easy, the gulling scenes are very entertaining, and some of the love scenes, notably that in which Pyrocles endeavours to persuade Philoclea to escape with him, are charmingly written.  Take for instance the following passage, in which the princess confesses her love:[293]

                            such a truth
    Shines in your language, and such innocence
    In what you call affection, I must
    Declare you have not plac’d one good thought here,
    Which is not answer’d with my heart.  The fire
    Which sparkled in your bosom, long since leap’d
    Into my breast, and there burns modestly: 
    It would have spread into a greater flame,
    But still I curb’d it with my tears.  Oh, Pyrocles,
    I would thou wert Zelmane again! and yet,
    I must confess I lov’d thee then; I know not
    With what prophetick soul, but I did wish
    Often, thou were a man, or I no woman.

    Pyrocles. Thou wert the comfort of my sleeps.

Philoclea. And you The object of my watches, when the night Wanted a spell to cast me into slumber; Yet when the weight of my own thoughts grew heavy For my tear dropping eyes, and drew these curtains, My dreams were still of thee—­forgive my blushes—­ And in imagination thou wert then My harmless bedfellow.

Pyr. I arrive too soon At my desires.  Gently, oh gently, drop These joys into me! lest, at once let fall, I sink beneath the tempest of my blessings. (III. iv.)

Or again when he urges her to escape: 

                I could content myself
    To look on Pyrocles, and think it happiness
    Enough; or, if my soul affect variety
    Of pleasure, every accent of thy voice
    Shall court me with new rapture; and if these
    Delights be narrow for us, there is left
    A modest kiss, where every touch conveys
    Our melting souls into each other’s lips. 
    Why should not you be pleas’d to look on me? 
    To hear, and sometimes kiss, Philoclea? 
    Indeed you make me blush. [Draws a veil over her face.]

Pyr. What an eclipse Hath that veil made! it was not night till now.  Look if the stars have not withdrawn themselves, As they had waited on her richer brightness, And missing of her eyes are stolen to bed. (ib.)

These passages display the tenderer side of Shirley’s gift at its best, and prove that, had he but set himself the task, he possessed the very style needed for a successful imitation of the Italian pastoral adapted to the temper of the English romantic drama.