Anton. Faith 'tis true, we must at length;But yet,Petronius, while we may awhileWe would enjoy them; those we have w'are sure of,When that thou talke of's doubtful and to come.
Petron. Perhaps thou thinkst to live yet twenty yeeres,Which may unlookt for be cut off, as mine;If not, to endlesse time compar'd is nothing.What you endure must ever, endure now;Nor stay not to be last at table set.Each best day of our life at first doth goe,To them succeeds diseased age and woe;Now die your pleasures, and the dayes you[91] prayYour rimes and loves and jests will take away.Therefore, my sweet, yet thou wilt goe with mee,And not live here to what thou wouldst not see.
Enan. Would y'have me then [to] kill my selfe, and die, And goe I know not to what places there?
Petron. What places dost thou feare? Th'ill-favoured lake they tell thee thou must passe, And the[92] blacke frogs that croake about the brim?
Enan. O, pardon, Sir, though death affrights a woman, Whose pleasures though you timely here divine, The paines we know and see.
Petron. The paine is lifes; death rids that paine away.Come boldly, there's no danger in this foord;Children passe through it. If it be a paineYou have this comfort that you past it are.
Enan. Yet all, as well as I, are loath to die.
Petron. Judge them by deed, you see them doe't apace.
Enan. I, but 'tis loathly and against their wils.
Petron. Yet know you not that any being deadRepented them and would have liv'd againe.They then there errors saw and foolish prayers,But you are blinded in the love of life;Death is but sweet to them that doe approach it.To me, as one that tak'n withDelphickrage,When the divining God his breast doth fill,He sees what others cannot standing by,It seemes a beauteous and pleasant thing.—Where is my deaths Phisitian?
Phisi. Here, my Lord.
Petron. Art ready?
Phisi. I, my Lord.
Petron. And I for thee: Nero, my end shall mocke thy tyranny.
[Exeunt.
Finis Actus Quarti.
Actus Quintus.
Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus,Epaphroditus and other attendants.
Nero. Enough is wept,Poppaea, for thy death,Enough is bled: so many teares of othersWailing their losses have wipt mine away.Who in the common funerall of the worldCan mourne on[e] death?
Tigell. Besides, Your Maiestie this benefitIn their diserved punishment shall reape,From all attempts hereafter to be freed.Conspiracy is how for ever dasht,Tumult supprest, rebellion out of heart;InPisoesdeath danger it selfe did die.
Nimph.Pisothat thought to climbe by bowing downe,By giving a way to thrive, and raising othersTo become great himselfe, hath now by deathGiven quiet to your thoughts and feare to theirsThat shall from treason their advancement plot;Those dangerous heads that his ambition leand on;And they by it crept up and from their meannesseThought in this stirre to rise aloft, are off.Now peace and safetie waite upon your throne;Securitie hath wall'd your seat about;There is no place for feare left.
Nero. Why, I never feard them.
Nimph. That was your fault:Your Maiestie might give us leave to blameYour dangerous courage and that noble souleTo prodigall[93] of it selfe.
Nero. A Princes mind knowes neither feare nor hope:The beames of royall Maiestie are suchAs all eyes are with it amaz'd and weakened,But it with nothing. I at first contemn'dTheir weak devises and faint enterprise.Why, thought they against him to have prevail'dWhose childhood was fromMessalinasspightBy Dragons[94] (that the earth gave up), preserv'd?Such guard my cradle had, for fate had thenPointed me out to be what now I am.Should all the Legions and the provinces,In one united, against me conspireI could disperce them with one angry eye;My brow's an host of men. Come,Tigellinus,Let turne this bloody banquetPisomeant usInto a merry feast; weele drink and challengeFortune.—Whose thatNeophilus?
Enter a Roman.
Neoph. A Currier from beyond the Alpes, my Lord.
Nero. Newes of some German victory, belike, Or Britton overthrow.
Neoph. The letters come from France.
Nimph. Why smiles your Maiestie?
Nero. So, I smile? I should be afraid; there's one In Armes,Nimphidius.
Nimph. What, arm'd against your Maiestie?
Nero. Our lieutenant of the Province,Julius Vindex.
Tigell. Who? that guiddy French-man?
Nimph. His Province is disarm'd, my Lord; he hath No legion nor a souldier under him.
Epaphr. One that by blood and rapine would repaire His state consum'd in vanities and lust.
Enter another Roman.
Tigell. He would not find out three to follow him.
A Mess. More newes, my Lord.
Nero. Is it ofVindexthat thou hast to say?
Mess.Vindexis up and with him France in Armes;The Noblemen and people throng to th'cause;Money and Armour Cities doe conferre;The countrey doth send in provision;Young men bring bodies, old men lead them forth;Ladies doe coine their Iewels into pay;The sickle now is fram'd into a swordAnd drawing horses are to manage taught;France nothing doth but warre and fury breath.
Nero. All this fierce talk's but "Vindex doth rebell"; And I will hang him.
Tigell. How long came you forth after the other messenger?
Mess. Foure dayes, but by the benefit of sea and Weather am arrivd with him.
Nimph. How strong wasVindexat your setting forth?
Mess. He was esteem'd a hundred thousand.
Tigell. Men enough.
Nimph. And souldiers few enough;Tumultuary troops, undisciplin'd,Untrain'd in service; to wast victuals good,But when they come to look on warres black wounds,And but afarre off see the face of death—
Nero. It falles out for my empty coffers well, The spoyle of such a large and goodly Province Enricht with trade and long enioyed peace.
Tigell. What order will your Maiestie have taken For levying forces to suppresse this stirre?
Nero. What order should we take? weele laugh and drinke.Thinkst thou it fit my pleasures be disturb'dWhen any French-man list to breake his necke!They have not heard ofPisoesfortune yet;Let that Tale fight with them.
Nimph. What order needs? Your Maiestie shal finde This French heat quickly of it selfe grow cold.
Nero. Come away: Nothing shall come that this nights sport shall stay.
[Ex. Ner. Nimph. Tig. and attendants.
Mane[n]t Neophilus, Epaphroditus.
Neoph. I wonder what makes him so confidentIn this revolt now growne unto a warre,And ensignes in the field; when in the other,Being but a plot of a conspiracie,He shew'd himselfe so wretchedly dismaid?
Epaphr. Faith, the right nature of a coward to set lightDangers that seeme farre off.Pisowas here,Ready to enter at the Presence dooreAnd dragge him out of his abused chaire;And then he trembled.Vindexis in France,And many woods and seas and hills betweene.
Neoph. 'Twas strange thatPisowas so soone supprest.
Epaphr. Strange? strange indeed; for had he but come upAnd taken the Court in that affright and stirreWhile unresolv'd for whom or what to doe,Each on [of?] the other had in iealousie(While as apaled Maiestie not yetHad time to set the countenance), he wouldHave hazarded the royall seat.
Neoph. Nay, had it without hazard; all the CourtHad for him bin and those disclos'd their loveAnd favour in the cause, which now to hideAnd colour their good meanings ready wereTo shew their forwardnesse against it most.
Epaphr. But for a stranger with a naked province,Without allies or friends ith' state, to challengeA Prince upheld with thirty Legions,Rooted in foure discents of AncestorsAnd foureteene yeares continuance of raigne,Why it is—
Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus to them.
Nero. Galba and Spaine? What? Spaine and Gal[b]a too?
[Ex. Ner. Nimph.
Epaph. I pray thee,Tigellinus, what furie's this? What strange event, what accident hath thus Orecast your countenances?
Tigell. Downe we were set at table and beganWith sparckling bowles to chase our feares away,And mirth and pleasure lookt out of our eyes;When, loe, a breathless messenger arrivesAnd tells howVindexand the powers of FranceHaveSergius Galbachosen Emperor;With what applause the Legions him receive;That Spaines revolted, Portingale hath ioyn'd;As much suspected is of Germany.ButNero, not abiding out the end,Orethrew the tables, dasht against the groundThe cuppe which he so much, you know, esteem'd;Teareth his haire and with incensed rageCurseth false men and Gods the lookers on.
Neoph. His rage, we saw, was wild and desperate.
Epaph. O you unsearched wisedomes which doe laughAt our securitie and feares alike,And plaine to shew our weaknesse and your powerMake us contemne the harmes which surest strike;When you our glories and our pride undoeOur overthrow you make ridiculous too.
[Exeunt.
Enter Nimphidius solus.
Slow making counsels and the sliding yeereHave brought me to the long foreseene destructionOf this misled young man. His State is shakenAnd I will push it on; revolted FranceNor the coniured Provinces of SpaineNor his owne guilt shall like to me oppresse him.I to his easie yeelding feares proclaimeNew German mutenys and all the worldRowsing it selfe in hate ofNeroesname;I his distracted counsels doe disperceWith fresh despaires; I animate the SenateAnd the people, to ingage them past recallIn preiudice ofNero: and in briefePerish he must,—the fates and I resolve it.Which to effect I presently will goeProclaime aDonativeinGalbaesname.
Enter Antoneus to him.
Anton. YondersNimphidius, our Commander, now. I with respect must speake and smooth my brow. —Captaine, all haile.
Nimph.Antoneus, well met. Your place ofTribunein this Anarchi.
Anton. This Anarchy, my Lord? isNerodead?
Nimph. This Anarchy, this yet unstiled time While Galba is unseased of the Empire WhichNerohath forsooke.
Anton. HathNerothen resign'd the Empire?
Nimph. In effect he hath for he's fled toEgypt.
Anton. My Lord, you tell strange newes to me.
Nimph. But nothing strange to mee,Who every moment knew of his despaires.The Curriers came so fast with fresh alarmesOf new revolts that he, unable quiteTo beare his feares which he had long conceal'd,Is now revolted from himselfe and fled.
Anton. Thrust with report and rumours from his seat! My Lord, you know the Campe depends on you As you determine.
Nimph. There it liesAntonius.What should we doe? it boots not to relieOn Neroes stinking fortunes; and to sitSecurely looking on were to receiveAn Emperor from Spaine: which how disgracefullIt were to us who, if we waigh our selves,The most materiall accessions areOf all the Roman Empire. Which disgraceTo cover we must ioyne ourselves betimes,And therefore seeme to have createdGalba.Therefore He straight proclaime aDonativeOf thirty thousand sesterces a man.
Anton. I thinke so great a gift was never heard of.Galba, they say, is frugally inclinde: Will he avow so great a gift as this?
Nimph. Howere he like of it he must avow it, If by our promise he be once ingaged; And since the souldiers care belongs to mee, I will have care of them and of their good. Let them thank me if I through this occasion Procure for them so great a donative. [Ex. Nimph.
Anton. So you be thankt it skils not who prevaile,GalbaorNero,—traitor to them both.You give it out thatNeroesfled toEgypt,Who, with the frights of your reports amaz'd,By our device doth lurke for better newes,Whilst you inevitably doe betray him.Workes he all this forGalbathen? Not so:I have long seene his climbing to the EmpireBy secret practises of gracious women.And other instruments of the late Court.That was his love to her that me refus'd;And now by this he would [gain?] give the souldiers favour.Now is the time to quitPoppaeasscorneAnd his rivallity. Ile straight revealeHis treacheries toGalbaesagents here.[Exit.
Enter Tigellinus with the Guard.
Tigell. You see what issue things doe sort unto; Yet may we hope not only impunitie But with our fellowes part oth' guift proclaim'd.
Nero meets them.
Nero. Whether goe you? stay, my friends; 'Tis Caesar calls you; stay, my loving friends.
Tigell. We were his slaves, his footstooles, and must crouch But now with such observance to his feet; It is his misery that calles us friends.
Nero. And moves you not the misery of a Prince? O stay, my friends, stay, harken to the voyce Which once yee knew.
Tigell. Harke to the peoples cryes, Harke to the streets thatGalba, Galba, ring.
Nero. The people may forsake me without blame,I did them wrong to make you rich and great,I tooke their houses to bestow on you;Treason in them hath name of libertie:Your fault hath no excuse, you are my faultAnd the excuse of others treachery.
Tigell. Shall we with staying seeme his tyranniesT'uphold, as if we were in love with them?We are excus'd (unlesse we stay too long)As forced Ministers and a part of wrong.
[Ex. praeter Nero.
Nero. O now I see the vizard from my face,So lovely and so fearefull, is fall'n off,That vizard, shadow, nothing, Maiestie,Which, like a child acquainted with his feares,But now men trembled at and now contemne.Neroforsaken is of all the world,The world of truth. O fall some vengeance downeEquall unto their falsehoods and my wrongs!Might I accept the Chariot of the SunneAnd like anotherPhaetonconsumeIn flames of all the world, a pile of DeathWorthy the state and greatnesse I have lost!Or were I now but Lord of my owne firesWherein false Rome yet once againe might smoakeAnd perish, all unpitied of her Gods,That all things in their last destruction mightPerforme a funerall honour to their Lord!OIovedissolve withCaesar Caesarsworld;Or you whomNerorather should invoke,BlackeChaosand you fearefull shapes beneath,That with a long and not vaine envy haveSought to destroy this worke of th'other Gods;Now let your darknesse cease the spoyles of day,And the worlds first contention end your strife.
Enter two Romanes to him.
1Rom. Though others, bound with greater benefits, Have left your changed fortunes and doe runne Whither new hopes doe call them, yet come we.
Nero. O welcome come you to adversitie;Welcome, true friends. Why, there is faith on earth;Of thousand servants, friends and followers,Yet two are left. Your countenance, me thinks,Gives comfort and new hopes.
2Rom. Doe not deceive your thoughts:My Lord, we bring no comfort,—would we could,—But the last duty to performe and bestWe ever shall, a free death to persuade,To cut off hopes of fearcer crueltyAnd scorne, more cruell to a worthy soule.
1Rom. The Senate have decreed you're punishableAfter the fashion of our ancestors,Which is, your necke being locked in a forke,You must be naked whipt and scourg'd to death.
Nero. The Senate thus decreed? they that so oftMy vertues flattered have and guifts of mine,My government preferr'd to ancient times,And challenge[d]Numato compare with me,—Have they so horrible an end sought out?No, here I beare which shall prevent such shame;This hand shall yet from that deliver me,And faithfull be alone unto his Lord.Alasse, how sharp and terrible is death!O must I die, must now my senses close?For ever die, and nere returne againe,Never more see the Sunne, nor Heaven, nor Earth?Whither goe I? What shall I be anone?What horred iourney wandrest thou, my soule,Under th'earth in darke, dampe, duskie vaults?Or shall I now to nothing be resolv'd?My feares become my hopes; O would I might.Me thinkes I see the boylingPhlegetonAnd the dull poole feared of them we feare,The dread and terror of the Gods themselves;The furies arm'd with linkes, with whippes, with snakes,And my owne furies farre more mad then they,My mother and those troopes of slaughtred friends.And now the Iudge is brought unto the throne,That will not leave unto AuthoritieNor favour the oppressions of the great!
1Rom. These are the idle terrors of the night, Which wise men (though they teach) doe not beleeve, To curbe our pleasures faine[d] and aide the weake.
2Rom. Deaths wrongfull defamation, which would make Us shunne this happy haven of our rest, This end of evils, as some fearefull harme.
1Rom. Shadowes and fond imaginations, Which now (you see) on earth but children feare.
2Rom. Why should our faults feare punishment from them? What doe the actions of this life concerne The tother world, with which is no commerce?
1Rom. Would Heaven and Starres necessitie compell Us to doe that which after it would punish?
2Rom. Let us not after our lives end beleeve More then you felt before it.
Nero. If any words had[95] made me confidentAnd boldly doe for hearing others speakeBoldly, this might.[96] But will you by exampleTeach me the truth of your opinionAnd make me see that you beleeve yourselves?Will you by dying teach me to beare deathWith courage?
1Rom. No necessitie of death Hangs ore our heads, no dangers threaten us Nor Senates sharpe decree norGalbaesarms.
2Rom. Is this the thankes, then, thou dost pay our love?Die basely as such a life deserv'd;Reserve thy selfe to punishment, and scorneOf Rome and of thy laughing enemies.
[Exeunt.
Manet Nero.
Nero. They hate me cause I would but live. What was'tYou lov'd, kind friends, and came to see my death?Let me endure all torture and reproachThat earth orGalbaesanger can inflict;Yet hell andRodamanthare more pittilesse.
The first Romane to him.
Rom. Though not deserv'd, yet once agen I comeTo warne thee to take pitie on thy selfe.The troopes by the Senate sent descend the hillAnd come.
Nero. To take me and to whip me unto death! O whither shall I flye?
Rom. Thou hast no choice.
Nero. O hither must I flye: hard is his happeWho from death onely must by death escape.Where are they yet? O may not I a littleBethinke my selfe?
Rom. They are at hand; harke, thou maist heare the noise.
Nero. ORome, farewell! farewell, you Theaters Where I so oft with popular applause In song and action—O they come, I die. (He falls on his sword.)
Rom. So base an end all iust commiseration Doth take away: yet what we doe now spurne The morning Sunne saw fearefull to the world.
Enter some of Galbaes friends, Antoneus and others, with Nimphidius bound.
Gal. You both shall die together, Traitors both He to the common wealth and thou to him And worse to a good Prince.—What? is he dead? Hath feare encourag'd him and made him thus Prevent our punishment? Then die with him: Fall thy aspiring at thy Master's feete. (He kils Nimph).
Anton. Who, though he iustly perisht, yet by thee Deserv'd it not; nor ended there thy treason, But even thought oth' Empire thou conceiv'st.Galbaesdisgrace[d] in receiving that Which the sonne ofNimphidiacould hope.
Rom. Thus great bad men above them find a rod: People, depart and say there is a God.
[Exeunt.
The anonymous comedy of theMaydes Metamorphosis(1600), usually attributed to Lilly, shews few traces of the mannerisms of the graceful but insipid Euphuist. It is just such a play as George Wither or William Browne might have written in very early youth. The writer was evidently an admirer of Spenser, and has succeeded in reproducing on his Pan-pipe some thin, but not unpleasing, echoes of his master's music. Mr. Edmund W. Gosse has suggested that theMaydes Metamorphosismay be an early work of John Day; and no one is better able to pronounce on such a point than Mr. Gosse. The scene at the beginning of Act ii., and the gossip of the pages in Acts ii. and iii., are certainly very much in Day's manner. The merciless harrying of the word "kind" at the beginning of Act v. reminds one of similar elaborate trifling inHumour out of Breath; and the amoebaean rhymes in the contention between Gemulo and Silvio (Act i.) are, in their sportive quaintness, as like Day's handiwork as they are unlike Lilly's. In reading the pretty echo-scene, in Act iv., the reader will recall a similar scene inLaw Trickes(Act v., Sc. I). On the other hand, the delightful songs of the fairies[97] (in Act iii.), if not written by Lilly, were at least suggested by the fairies' song inEndymion. It would be hard to say what Lilly might not have achieved if he had not stultified himself by his detestable pedantry: his songs (O si sic omnia) are hardly to be matched for silvery sweetness.
Mr. Gosse thinks that the rhymed heroics, in which theMaydes Metamorphosisis mainly written, bear strong traces of Day's style; and as Mr. Gosse, who is at once a poet and a critic, judges by his ear and not by his thumb, his opinion carries weight. Day's capital work, theParliament of Bees, is incomparably more workmanlike than theMaydes Metamorphosis; but the latter, it should be remembered, is beyond all doubt a very juvenile performance. Turning over some old numbers of a magazine, I found a reviewer of Mr. Tennyson'sPrincesscomplaining "that we could have borne rather more polish!" How the fledgling poet of theMaydes Metamorphosiswould have fared at the reviewer's hands I tremble to think. But though his rhymes are occasionally slipshod, and the general texture is undeniably thin, still there is something attractive in the young writer's shy tentativeness. The reader who comes to a perusal with the expectation of getting some substantial diet, will be grievously mistaken; but those who are content if they can catch and hold fast a fleeting flavour will not regret the half-hour spent in listening to the songs of the elves and the prattle of the pages in this quaint old pastoral.
As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles.
LONDON: Printed byThomas Creede, forRichard Oliue, dwelling in long Lane. 1600.
The manifold, great favours we have found,By you to us poore weaklings still extended;Whereof your vertues have been only ground,And no desert in us to be so friended;Bindes us some way or other to expresse,Though all our all be else defeated quiteOf any meanes save duteous thankefulnes,Which is the utmost measure of our might:Then, to the boundlesse ocean of your woorthThis little drop of water we present;Where though it never can be singled foorth,Let zeale be pleader for our good intent.Drops not diminish but encrease great floods,And mites impaire not but augment our goods_.
The Maydes Metamorphosis.
Actus Primus.
Enter Phylander, Orestes, Eurymine.
Eurymine.PhylanderandOrestes, what conceytTroubles your silent mindes? Let me intreat,Since we are come thus farre, as we do walkeYou would deuise some prettie pleasant talke;The aire is coole, the euening high and faire:Why should your cloudie lookes then shew dispaire?
Phy. Beleeue me, faireEurimine, my skill Is simple in discourse, and vtterance ill;Orestes, if he we were disposde to trie, Can better manage such affaires than I.
Eu. Why then,Orestes, let me crave of youSome olde or late done story to renew:Another time you shall request of meAs good, if not a greater, curtesie.
Or. Trust me, as now (nor can I shew a reason)All mirth vnto my mind comes out of season;For inward I am troubled in such sortAs all vnfit I am to make reportOf any thing may breed the least delight;Rather in teares I wish the day were night,For neither can myself be merry nowNor treat of ought that may be likte of you.
Eu. Thats but your melancholike old disease, That neuer are disposde but when ye please.
Phy. Nay, mistresse, then, since he denies the taske,My selfe will strait complish what ye aske;And, though the pleasure of my tale be small,Yet may it serue to passe the time withall.
Eu. Thanks, goodPhylander; when you please, say on: Better I deeme a bad discourse then none.
Phy. Sometime there liu'd a Duke not far from hence,Mightie in fame and vertues excellence;Subiects he had as readie to obeyAs he to rule, beloued eueryway;But that which most of all he gloried in(Hope of his age and comfort of his kin)Was the fruition of one onely sonne,A gallant youth, inferior vnto noneFor vertue shape or excellence of wit,That after him vpon his throne might sit.This youth, when once he came to perfect age,The Duke would faine have linckt in marriageWith diuers dames of honourable bloodBut stil his fathers purpose he withstood.
Eu. How? was he not of mettal apt to loue?
Phy. Yes, apt enough as wil the sequel proue;But so the streame of his affection layAs he did leane a quite contrary way,Disprouing still the choice his father made,And oftentimes the matter had delaid;Now giuing hope he would at length consent,And then again excusing his intent.
Eu. What made him so repugnant in his deeds?
Phy. Another loue, which this disorder breeds;For euen at home, within his father's Court,The Saint was shrinde whom he did honor most;A louely dame, a virgin pure and chaste,And worthy of a Prince to be embrac'te,Had but her birth (which was obscure, they said)Answerd her beautie; this their opinion staid.Yet did this wilful youth affect her stillAnd none but she was mistres of his will:Full often did his father him disswadeFrom liking such a mean and low-born mayde;The more his father stroue to change his mindeThe more the sonne became with fancy blinde.
Eu. Alas, how sped the silly Louers then?
Phy. As might euen grieue the rude vnciuilst men:When here vpon to weane his fixed heartFrom such dishonour to his high desertThe Duke had labourd but in vaine did striue,Thus he began his purpose to contriue:Two of his seruants, of vndoubted trvth,He bound by vertue of a solemne oathTo traine the silly damzel out of sightAnd there in secret to bereaue her quite—
Eu. Of what? her life?
Phy. Yes, Madame, of her life, Which was the cause of all the former strife.
Eu. And did they kill her?
Phy. You shall heare anon;The question first must be discided onIn your opinion: whats your iudgement? say.Who were most cruell, those that did obayOr he who gaue commandment for the fact?
Eu. In each of them it was a bloody act, Yet they deserue (to speake my minde of both) Most pardon that were bound thereto by oath.
Phy. It is enough; we do accept your doome To passe vnblam'd what ere of you become.
Eu. To passe vnblam'de what ere become of me! What may the meaning of these speeches be?
Phy.Eurymine, my trembling tongue doth faile,My conscience yrkes, my fainting sences quaile,My faltring speech bewraies my guiltie thoughtAnd stammers at the message we haue brought.
Eu. Ay me! what horror doth inuade my brest!
Or. Nay then,Phylander, I will tell the rest:Damzell, thus fares thy case; demand not why,You must forthwith prepare your selfe to dye;Therefore dispatch and set your mind at rest.
Eu.Phylander, is it true or doth he iest?
Phy. There is no remedie but you must dye:By you I framde my tragicke history.The Duke my maister is the man I meant,His sonne the Prince, the mayde of meane discentYour selfe, on whomAscanioso doth doateAs for no reason may remoue his thoughtYour death the Duke determines by vs two,To end the loue betwixt his sonne and you;And for this cause we trainde you to this wood,Where you must sacrifice your dearest blood.
Eu. Respect my teares.
Orest. We must regard our oath.
Eu. My tender yeares.
Or. They are but trifles both.
Eu. Mine innocency.
Or. That would our promise breake; Dispatch forthwith, we may not heare you speake.
Eu. If neither teares nor innocency moue, Yet thinke there is a heavenly power aboue.
Orest. A done, and stand not preaching here all day.
Eu. Then, since there is no remedie, I prayYet, good my masters, do but stay so longTill I haue tane my farewell with a songOf him whom I shall neuer see againe.
Phy. We will affoord that respit to your paine.
Eu. But least the feare of death appall my mind,Sweet gentlemen, let me this fauour find,That you wil vale mine eyesight with this scarfe;That, when the fatall stroke is aymde at me,I may not start but suffer patiently.
Orest. Agreed, giue me; Ile shadow ye from feare, If this may do it.
Eu. Oh, I would it might, But shadowes want the power to do that right.
Shee sings.
Ye sacred Fyres and powers aboue,Forge of desires, working loue,Cast downe your eye, cast downe your eye,Vpon a Mayde in miserie.My sacrifice is louers blood,And from eyes salt teares a flood;All which I spend, all which I spend,For thee,Ascanio, my deare friend:And though this houre I must feeleThe bitter power of pricking steele,Yet ill or well, yet ill or well,To thee,Ascanio, still farewell.
Orestes offers to strike her with his Rapier, and is stayed by Phylander.
Orest. What meanes,Phylander?
Phy. Oh, forbeare thy stroke; Her pitious mone and gesture might prouoke Hard flint to ruthe.
Orest. Hast thou forgot thy oath?
Phy. Forgot it? no!
Or. Then wherefore doest thou interrupt me so?
Phy. A sudden terror ouercomes my thought.
Or. Then suffer me that stands in feare of nought.
Phy. Oh, hold,Orestes; heare my reason first.
Or. Is all religion of thy vowe forgot? Do as thou wilt, but I forget it not.
Phy.Orestes, if thou standest vpon thine oath, Let me alone to answere for vs both.
Or. What answer canst thou giue? I wil not stay.
Phy. Nay, villain; then my sword shall make me way.
Or. Wilt thou in this against thy conscience striue?
Phy. I will defend a woman while I liue, A virgin and an innocent beside; Therefore put vp or else thy chaunce abide.
Or. Ile neuer sheath my sword vnles thou show, Our oath reserued, we may let her go.
Phy. That will I do, if truth may be of force.
Or. And then will I be pleasd to graunt remorse.
Eu. Litle thought I, when out of doore I went, That thus my life should stand on argument.
Phy. A lawfull oath in an vnlawfull causeIs first dispenc't withall by reasons lawes;Then, next, respect must to the end be had,Because th'intent doth make it good or bad.Now here th'intent is murder as thou seest,Which to perform thou on thy oath reliest;But, since the cause is wicked and vniust,Th'effect must likewise be held odious:We swore to kill, and God forbids to kill;Shall we be rulde by him or by man's will?Beside it is a woman is condemde;And what is he, that is a man indeed,That can endure to see a woman bleed?
Or. Thou hast preuaild;Eurymine, stand vp; I will not touch thee for a world of gold.
Phy. Why now thou seemst to be of humane mould;But, on our graunt, faire mayd, that you shall liue,Will you to vs your faithfull promise giueHenceforth t'abandon this your Country quite,And neuer more returne into the sightOf fierceTelemachus, the angry Duke,Where by we may be voyd of all rebuke?
Eur. Here do I plight my chaste vnspotted hand,I will abiure this most accursed land:And vow henceforth, what fortune ere betide,Within these woods and desarts to abide.
Phy. Now wants there nothing but a fit excuseTo sooth the Duke in his concern'd abuse;That he may be perswaded she is slaine,And we our wonted fauour still maintaine.
Orest. It shall be thus: within a lawne hard by,Obscure with bushes, where no humane eyeCan any way discouer our deceit,There feeds a heard of Goates and country neate.Some Kidde or other youngling will we takeAnd with our swords dispatch it for her sake;And, hauing slaine it, rip his panting breastAnd take the heart of the vnguiltie beast,Which, to th'intent our counterfeit reportMay seeme more likely, we will beare to courtAnd there protest, with bloody weapons drawne,It was her heart.
Phy. Then likewise take this Lawne,Which wellTelemachusdid know she wore,And let it be all spotted too with gore.How say you, mistresse? will you spare the vale?
Eur. That and what else, to verifie your tale. And thankes,PhylanderandOrestesboth, That you preserue me from a Tyrants wroth.
Phy. I would it were within my power, I wis,To do you greater curtesie than this;But what we cannot by our deeds expresseIn heart we wish, to ease your heauinesse.
Eur. A double debt: yet one word ere ye go,Commend me to my deareAscanio.Whose loyall loue and presence to forgoeDoth gall me more than all my other woe.
Orest. Our liues shall neuer want to do him good.
Phy. Nor yet our death if he in daunger stood:
Or. And, mistresse, so good fortune be your guide, And ought that may be fortunate beside.
[Exeunt.
Eu. The like I wish vnto your selues againe,And many happy days deuoyd of paine.—And nowEuryminerecord thy state,So much deiected and opprest by fate.What hope remaines? wherein hast thou to ioy?Wherein to tryumph but thine owne annoy?If euer wretch might tell of miserieThen I, alas, poore I, am only she;Vnknowne of parents, destitute of friends,Hopefull of nought but what misfortune sends;Banisht, to liue a fugitiue aloneIn vncoth[98] paths and regions neuer knowne.Behold,Ascanio, for thy only sake,These tedious trauels I must undertake.Nor do I grudge; the paine seemes lesse to meeIn that I suffer this distresse for thee.
Enter Siluio, a Raunger.
Sil. Well met, fair Nymph, or Goddesse if ye bee; Tis straunge, me thinkes, that one of your degree Should walke these solitary groues alone.
Eu. It were no maruel, if you knew my mone. But what are you that question me so far?
Sil. My habit telles you that, a Forrester; That, hauing lost a heard of skittish Deire, Was of good hope I should haue found them heere.
Eu. Trust me, I saw not any; so farewell.
Sil. Nay stay, and further of your fortunes tell; I am not one that meanes you any harme.
Enter Gemulo, the Shepheard.
Ge. I thinke my boy be fled away by charme. Raunger, well met; within thy walke, I pray, Sawst thou notMopsomy vnhappie boy.
Sil. Shepheard, not I: what meanst to seeke him heere?
Ge. Because the wagge, possest with doubtful feareLeast I would beate him for a fault he did,Amongst those trees I do suspect hees hid.But how now, Raunger? you mistake, I trowe;This is a Lady and no barren Dowe.
Sil. It is indeede, and (as it seemes) distrest; Whose griefe to know I humbly made request, But she as yet will not reueale the same.
Ge. Perhaps to me she will: speak, gentle dame;What daunger great hath driuen ye to this place?Make knowne your state, and looke what slender graceA Shepheards poore abilitee may yeeldYou shall be sure of ere I leaue the feeld.
Eur. Alas good Sir the cause may not be known That hath inforste me to be here alone.
Sil. Nay, feare not to discouer what you are; It may be we may remedie your care.
Eur. Since needs you will that I renew my griefe,Whether it be my chance to finde reliefeOr not, I wreake not: such my crosses areAs sooner I expect to meet despaire.Then thus it is: not farre from hence do dwellMy parents, of the world esteemed well,Who with their bitter threats my grant had wonThis day to marrie with a neighbours son,And such a one to whom I should be wifeAs I could neuer fancie in my life:And therefore, to auoid that endlesse thrall,This morne I came away and left them all.
Sil. Now trust me, virgin, they were much vnkinde To seeke to match you so against your minde.
Ge. It was, besides, vnnatural constraint:But, by the tenure of your just complaint,It seems you are not minded to returne,Nor any more to dwell where you were borne.
Eur. It is my purpose if I might obtaine A place of refuge where I might remain.
Sil. Why, go with me; my Lodge is not far off, Where you shall haue such hospitalitie As shall be for your health and safetie.
Ge. Soft, Raunger; you do raunge beyond your skill.My house is nearer, and for my good will,It shall exceed a woodmans woodden stuffe:Then go with me, Ile keep you safe enough.
Sil. Ile bring her to a bower beset with greene.
Ge. And I an arbour may delight a Queene.
Sil. Her dyet shall be Venson at my boord.
Ge. Young Kid and Lambe we shepheards can affoord.
Sil. And nothing else?
Ge. Yes; raunging, now and then A Hog, a Goose, a Capon, or a Hen.
Sil. These walkes are mine amongst the shadie trees.
Ge. For that I haue a garden full of Bees, Whose buzing musick with the flowers sweet Each euen and morning shall her sences greet.
Sil. The nightingale is my continuall clocke.
Ge. And mine the watchfull sin-remembring cocke.
Sil. A Hunts vp[99] I can tune her with my hounds.
Ge. And I can shew her meads and fruitfull grounds.
Sil. Within these woods are many pleasant springs.
Ge. Betwixt yond dales the Eccho daily sings.
Sil. I maruell that a rusticke shepheard dareWith woodmen then audaciously compare.Why, hunting is a pleasure for a King,And Gods themselves sometime frequent the thing.Dianawith her bowe and arrows keeneDid often vse the chace in Forrests greene,And so, alas, the good Athenian knightAnd swifteActeonherein tooke delight,AndAtalanta, the Arcadian dame,Conceiu'd such wondrous pleasure in the gameThat, with her traine of Nymphs attending on,She came to hunt the Bore ofCalydon.
Ge. So didApollowalke with shepheards crooke,And many Kings their sceptres haue forsookeTo lead the quiet life we shepheards tooke (?),Accounting it a refuge for their woe.
Sil. But we take choice of many a pleasant walke,And marke the Deare how they begin to stalke;When each, according to his age and time,[100]Pricks vp his head and bears a Princely minde.The lustie Stag, conductor of the traine,Leads all the heard in order downe the plaine;The baser rascals[101] scatter here and thereAs not presuming to approach so neere.
Ge. So shepheards sometimes sit vpon a hillOr in the cooling shadow of a mill,And as we sit vnto our pipes we singAnd therewith make the neighboring groues to ring;And when the sun steales downward to the westWe leave our chat and whistle in the fist,Which is a signall to our stragling flockeAs Trumpets sound to men in martiall shocke.
Sil. Shall I be thus outfaced by a swaine?Ile haue a guard to wayt vpon her traine,Of gallant woodmen clad in comely greene,The like whereof hath seldome yet bene seene.
Ge. And I of shepheards such a lustie crewAs neuer Forrester the like yet knew,Who for their persons and their neate arayShal be as fresh as is the moneth of May.Where are ye there, ye merry noted swaines?Draw neare a while, and whilst vpon the plainesYour flocks do gently feed, lets see your skillHow you with chaunting can sad sorrow kill.
Enter shepheards singing.
Sil. ThinksGemuloto beare the bell awayBy singing of a simple Rundelay?No, I have fellowes whose melodious throatsShall euen as far exceed those homely notesAs doth the Nightingale in musicke passeThe most melodious bird that euer was:And, for an instance, here they are at hand;When they have done let our deserts be scand.
Enter woodmen and sing.
Eu. Thanks to you both; you both deserue so wellAs I want skill your worthinesse to tell.And both do I commend for your good will,And both Ile honor, loue, and reuerence still;For neuer virgin had such kindnes showneOf straungers, yea, and men to her vnknowne.But more, to end this sudden controuersie,Since I am made an Vmpire in the plea,This is my verdite: Ile intreate of youA Cottage for my dwelling, and of youA flocke to tend; and so, indifferent,My gratefull paines on either shal be spent.
Sil. I am agreed, and, for the loue I beare, Ile boast I haue a Tenant is so faire.
Ge. And I will hold it as a rich possession That she vouchsafes to be of my profession.
Sil. Then, for a sign that no man here hath wrong, From hence lets all conduct her with a song.
The end of the First Act.
Actus Secundus.
Enter Ascanio, and Ioculo his Page.
Asca. Away,Ioculo.
Io. Here, sir, at hand.
Asca. Ioculo, where is she?
Io. I know not.
Asca. When went she?
Io. I know not.
Asca. Which way went she?
Io. I know not.
Asca. Where should I seeke her?
Io. I know not.
Asca. When shall I find her?
Io. I know not.
Asca. A vengeance take thee, slaue, what dost thou know?
Io. Marry, sir, that I doo know.
Asca. What, villiane?
Io. And[102] you be so testie, go looke. What a coyles here with you? If we knew where she were what need we seeke her? I think you are a lunaticke: where were you when you should haue lookt after her? now you go crying vp and downe after your wench like a boy that had lost his horne booke.
Asca. Ah, my sweet Boy!
Io. Ah, my sweet maister! nay, I can giue you as good words as you can giue me; alls one for that.
Asca. What canst thou giue me no reliefe?
Io. Faith, sir, there comes not one morsel of comfort from my lips to sustaine that hungry mawe of your miserie: there is such a dearth at this time. God amend it!
Asca. Ah,Ioculo, my brest is full of griefe, And yet my hope that only wants reliefe.
Io. Your brest and my belly are in two contrary kaies; you walke to get stomacke to your meate, and I walke to get meate to my stomacke; your brest's full and my belli's emptie. If they chance to part in this case, God send them merry meeting,—that my belly be ful and your brest empty.
Asca. Boy, for the loue that euer thou didst oweTo thy deare master, pooreAscanio.Racke thy proou'd wits vnto the highest straine,To bring me backeEurymineagaine.
Io. Nay, master, if wit could do it I could tell you more; but if it euer be done the very legeritie[103] of the feete must do it; these ten nimble bones must do the deed. Ile trot like a little dog; theres not a bush so big as my beard, but Ile be peeping in it; theres not a coate[104] but Ile search every corner; if she be aboue, or beneath, ouer the ground or vnder, Ile finde her out.
Asca. Stay,Ioculo; alas, it cannot be:If we should parte I loose both her and thee.The woods are wide; and, wandering thus about,Thou maist be lost and not my loue found out.
Io. I pray thee let me goe.
Asca. I pray thee stay.
Io. I faith Ile runne.
Asca. And doest not know which way.
Io. Any way, alls one; Ile drawe drie foote;[105] if you send not to seeke her you may lye here long enough before she comes to seeke you. She little thinkes that you are hunting for her in these quarters.
Asca. Ah,Ioculo, before I leaue my Boy,Of this worlds comfort now my only ioy.Seest thou this place? vpon this grassie bed,With summers gawdie dyaper bespred, (He lyes downe.)Vnder these shadowes shall my dwelling be,Till thou returne, sweetIoculo, to me.
Io. And, if my conuoy be not cut off by the way, it shall not be long before I be with you. (He speakes to the people.) Well, I pray you looke to my maister, for here I leaue him amongst you; and if I chaunce to light vpon the wench, you shall heare of me by the next winde. [Exit Ioculo.
Ascanio solus.
Asca. In vaine I feare, I beate my braines about,Proouing by search to finde my mistresse out.Eurymine, Eurymine, retorne,And with thy presence guild the beautious morne!And yet I feare to call vpon thy name:The pratling Eccho, should she learne the same,The last words accent shiele no more prolongBut beare that sound vpon her airie tong.Adorned with the presence of my loueThe woods, I feare, such secret power shal proueAs they'll shut vp each path, hide euery way,Because they still would haue her go astray,And in that place would alwaies haue her seeneOnly because they would be euer greene,And keepe the wingged Quiristers still thereTo banish winter cleane out of the yeare.But why persist I to bemone my state,When she is gone and my complaint too late?A drowsie dulnes closeth vp my sight;O powerfull sleepe, I yeeld vnto thy might.(He falls asleepe.)
Enter Iuno and Iris.
Iuno. Come hither,Iris.
Iris.Irisis at hand, To attendIoueswife, greatIunoshie command.
Iuno.Iris, I know I do thy seruice proue,And euer since I was the wife ofIoueThou hast bene readie when I called still,And alwayes most obedient to my will:Thou seest how that imperiall Queene of loueWith all the Gods how she preuailes aboue,And still against greatIunoshests doth standTo haue all stoupe and bowe at her command;Her Doues and Swannes and Sparrowes must be gracedAnd on Loues Aultar must be highly placed;My starry Peacocks which doth beare my state,Scaresly alowd within his pallace gate.And since herselfe she doth preferd doth see,Now the proud huswife will contend with mee,And practiseth her wanton pranckes to playWith thisAscanioandEurymine.But Loue shall know, in spight of all his skill,Iuno's a woman and will haue her will.
Iris. What is my Goddesse will? mayIrisaske?
Iuno.Iris, on thee I do impose this taskeTo crosse proudVenusand her purblind LadVntill the mother and her brat be mad;And with each other set them so at odsTill to their teeth they curse and ban the Gods.
Iris. Goddes, the graunt consists alone in you.
Iuno. Then mark the course which now you must pursue.Within this ore-growne Forrest there is foundA duskie Caue[106], thrust lowe into the ground,So vgly darke, so dampie and [so] steepeAs, for his life, the sunne durst neuer peepeInto the entrance; which doth so afrightThe very day that halfe the world is night.Where fennish fogges and vapours do aboundThereMorpheusdoth dwell within the ground;No crowing Cocke or waking bell doth call,Nor watchful dogge disturbeth sleepe at all;No sound is heard in compasse of the hill;But euery thing is quiet, whisht,[107] and still.Amid the caue vpon the ground doth lieA hollow plancher,[108] all of Ebonie,Couer'd with blacke, whereon the drowsie GodDrowned in sleepe continually doth nod.Go,Iris, go and my commandment takeAnd beate against the doores till sleepe awake:Bid him from me in vision to appeareVntoAscanio, that lieth slumbring heare,And in that vision to reueale the way,How he may finde the faireEurymine.
Iris. Madam, my service is at your command.
Iuno. Dispatch it then, goodIris, out of hand, My Peacocks and my Charriot shall remaine About the shore till thou returne againe. [Exit Iuno.
Iris. About the businesse now that I am sent,To sleepes black Caue I will incontinent;[109]And his darke cabine boldly will I shakeVntill the drowsie lumpish God awake,And such a bounsing at his Caue Ile keepeThat if pale death seaz'd on the eyes of sleepeIle rowse him up; that when he shall me heareHe make his locks stand vp on end with feare.Be silent, aire, whilstIrisin her prideSwifter than thought vpon the windes doth ride.WhatSomnus! whatSomnus, Somnus!(Strikes. Pauses a little)What, wilt thou not awake? art thou still so fast?Nay then, yfaith, Ile haue another cast.What,Somnus! Somnus! I say.(Strikes againe)
Som. Who calles at this time of the day? What a balling dost thou keepe! A vengeance take thee, let me sleepe.
Iris. Vp thou drowsie God I sayAnd come presently away,Or I will beate vpon this dooreThat after this thou sleep'st no more.
Som. Ile take a nap and come annon.
Iris. Out, you beast, you blocke, you stone! Come or at thy doore Ile thunder Til both heaven and hel do wonder.Somnus, I say!
Som. A vengeance split thy chaps asunder!
Enter Somnus.
Iris. What,Somnus!
Som.Iris, I thought it should be thee. How now, mad wench? what wouldst with me?
Iris. From mightieIuno, Iouesimmortall wife,Somnus, I come to charge thee on thy life That thou vnto this Gentleman appeere And in this place, thus as he lyeth heere, Present his mistres to his inward eies In as true manner as thou canst deuise.
Som. I would thou wert hangd for waking me. Three sonnes I haue; the eldestMorpheushight, He shewes of man the shape or sight; The second,Icelor, whose beheasts Doth shewe the formes of birds and beasts;Phantasorfor the third, things lifeles hee: Chuse which like thee of these three.
Iris.Morpheus; if he in humane shape appeare.
Som.Morpheus, come forth in perfect likenes heere Of—how call ye the Gentlewoman?
Iris. Eurymine.
Som. OfEurymine; and shewe this Gentleman What of his mistres is become. (Kneeling downe by Ascanio.)
Enter Eurymine, to be supposed Morpheus.
Mor. My deareAscanio, in this vision seeEuryminedoth thus appeare to thee.As soone as sleepe hath left thy drowsie eiesFollow the path that on thy right hand lies:An aged Hermit thou by chaunce shalt findThat there hath bene time almost out of mind,This holy man, this aged reuerent Father,There in the woods doth rootes and simples gather;His wrinckled browe tells strenghts past long ago,His beard as white as winters driuen snow.He shall discourse the troubles I haue past,And bring vs both together at the lastThus she presents her shadow to thy sightThat would her person gladly if she might.
Iris. See how he catches to embrace the shade.
Mor. This vision fully doth his powers inuade; And, when the heate shall but a little slake, Thou then shalt see him presently awake.
Som. Hast thou ought else that I may stand in sted?
Iris. No,Somnus, no; go back unto thy bed;Iuno, she shall reward thee for thy paine.
Som. Then good night,Iris; Ile to rest againe.
Iris.Morpheus, farewell; toIunoI will flie.
Mor. And I to sleepe as fast as I can hie.
[Exeunt.
Ascanio starting sayes.
Eurymine! Ah, my good Angell, stay!O vanish not so suddenly away;O stay, my Goddess; whither doest thou flie?Returne, my sweetEurymine, tis I.Where art thou? speake; Let me behold thy face.Did I not see thee in this very place,Euen now? Here did I not see thee stand?And heere thy feete did blesse the happie land?Eurymine, Oh wilt thou not attend?Flie from thy foe,Ascaniois thy friend:The fearfull hare so shuns the labouring hound,And so the Dear eschues the Huntsman wound;The trembling Foule so flies the Falcons gripe,The Bond-man so his angry maisters stripe.I follow not asPhoebus Daphnedid,Nor as the Dog pursues the trembling Kid.Thy shape it was; alas, I saw not thee!That sight were fitter for the Gods then mee.But, if in dreames there any truth be found,Thou art within the compas of this ground.Ile raunge the woods and all the groues about,And neuer rest vntill I find thee out. [Exit.
Enter at one doore Mopso singing.
Mop. Terlitelo,[110] Terlitelo, tertitelee, terlo.So merrily this sheapheards BoyHis home that he can blow,Early in a morning, late, late in an euening;And euer sat this little BoySo merrily piping.
Enter at the other doore Frisco singing.
Fris. Can you blow the little home?Weell, weell and very weell;And can you blow the little homeAmongst the leaues greene?
Enter Ioculo in the midst singing.
Io. Fortune,[111] my foe, why doest thou frowne on mee?And will my fortune neuer better bee?Wilt thou, I say, for euer breed my paine,And wilt thou not restore my Ioyes againe?
Frisco. Cannot a man be merry in his owne walke But a must be thus encombred?
Io. I am disposed to be melancholly, And I cannot be priuate for one villaine or other.
Mop. How the deuel stumbled this case of rope-ripes[112] into my way?
Fris. Sirrha what art thou? and thou?
Io. I am a page to a Courtier.
Mop. And I a Boy to a Shepheard.
Fris. Thou art the Apple-Squier[113] to an Eawe, And thou sworne brother to a bale[114] of false dice.
Io. What art thou?
Fris. I am Boy to a Raunger.
Io. An Out-lawe by authoritie, one that neuer sets marke of his own goods nor neuer knowes how he comes by other mens.
Mop. That neuer knowes his cattell but by their hornes.
Fris. Sirrha, so you might haue said of your maister sheep.
Io. I, marry, this takes fier like touch powder, and goes off with a huffe.
Fris. They come of crick-cracks, and shake their tayles like a squib.
Io. Ha, you Rogues, the very steele of my wit shall strike fier from the flint of your vnderstandings; haue you not heard of me?