ChasteClorisdoth disclose the shamesOf the Felician frantique Dames,Mertillastriues t' apease her woe,To golden wishes then they goe.Mertilla.Why how nowCloris, what, thy headBound with forsaken Willow?Is the cold ground become thy bed?The grasse become thy Pillow?O let not those life-lightning eyesIn this sad vayle be shrowded,Which into mourning puts the Skyes,To see them ouer-clowded.Cloris.O myMertilladoe not praise10These Lampes so dimly burning,Such sad and sullen lights as theseWere onely made for mourning:Their obiects are the barren RocksWith aged Mosse o'r shaded;Now whilst the Spring layes forth her LocksWith blossomes brauely braded.Mertilla.OCloris, Can there be a Spring,O my deare Nimph, there may not,Wanting thine eyes it forth to bring,20Without which Nature cannot:Say what it is that troubleth theeEncreast by thy concealing,Speake; sorrowes many times we seeAre lesned by reuealing.Cloris.Being of late too vainely bentAnd but at too much leisure;Not with our Groves and Downes content,But surfetting in pleasure;Felicia's Fields I would goe see,30Where fame to me reported,The choyce Nimphes of the world to beFrom meaner beauties sorted;Hoping that I from them might drawSome graces to delight me,But there such monstrous shapes I saw,That to this houre affright me.Throw the thick Hayre, that thatch'd their Browes,Their eyes vpon me stared,Like to those raging frantique Froes40ForBacchusFeasts prepared:Their Bodies, although straight by kinde,Yet they so monstrous make them,That for huge Bags blowne vp with wind,You very well may take them.Their Bowels in their Elbowes are,Whereon depend their Panches,And their deformed Armes by farreMade larger than their Hanches:For their behauiour and their grace,50Which likewise should haue priz'd them,Their manners were as beastly baseAs th' rags that so disguisd them;All Anticks, all so impudent,So fashon'd out of fashion,As blackeCocytusvp had sentHer Fry into this nation,Whose monstrousnesse doth so perplex,Of Reason and depriues me,That for their sakes I loath my sex,60Which to this sadnesse driues me.Mertilla.O my deareClorisbe not sad,Nor with these Furies danted,But let these female fooles be mad,With Hellish pride inchanted;Let not thy noble thoughts descendSo low as their affections;Whom neither counsell can amend,Nor yet the Gods corrections:Such mad folks ne'r let vs bemoane,70But rather scorne their folly,And since we two are here alone,To banish melancholly,Leaue we this lowly creeping vayneNot worthy admiration,And in a braue and lofty strayne,Lets exercise our passion,With wishes of each others good,From our abundant treasures,And in this iocund sprightly mood:80Thus alter we our measures.Mertilla.O I could wish this place were strewd with Roses,And that this Banck were thickly thrumd with GrasseAs soft as Sleaue, or Sarcenet euer was,Whereon myClorisher sweet selfe reposes.Cloris.O that these Dewes Rosewater were for thee,These Mists Perfumes that hang vpon these thicks,And that the Winds were all Aromaticks,Which, if my wish could make them, they should bee.Mertilla.O that my Bottle one whole Diamond were,90So fild with Nectar that a Flye might sup,And at one draught that thou mightst drinke it vp,Yet a Carouse not good enough I feare.Cloris.That all the Pearle, the Seas, or Indias haueWere well dissolu'd, and thereof made a Lake,Thou there in bathing, and I by to takePleasure to see thee cleerer than the Waue.Mertilla.O that the Hornes of all the Heards we see,Were of fine gold, or else that euery horneWere like to that one of the Vnicorne,100And of all these, not one but were thy Fee.Cloris.O that their Hooues were Iuory, or some thing,Then the pur'st Iuory farre more Christalline,Fild with the food wherewith the Gods doe dine,To keepe thy Youth in a continuall Spring.Mertilla.O that the sweets of all the Flowers that grow,The labouring ayre would gather into one,In Gardens, Fields, nor Meadowes leauing none,And all their Sweetnesse vpon thee would throw.Cloris.Nay that those sweet harmonious straines we heare,110Amongst the liuely Birds melodious Layes,As they recording sit vpon the Sprayes,Were houering still for Musick at thine eare.Mertilla.O that thy name were caru'd on euery Tree,That as these plants still great, and greater grow,Thy name deare Nimph might be enlarged so,That euery Groue and Coppis might speake thee.Cloris.Nay would thy name vpon their Rynds were set,And by the Nimphes so oft and lowdly spoken,As that the Ecchoes to that language broken120Thy happy name might hourely counterfet.Mertilla.O let the Spring still put sterne winter by,And in rich Damaske let her Reuell still,As it should doe if I might haue my will,That thou mightst still walke on her Tapistry;And thus since Fate no longer time alowesVnder this broad and shady Sicamore,Where now we sit, as we haue oft before;Those yet vnborne shall offer vp their Vowes.
ChasteClorisdoth disclose the shamesOf the Felician frantique Dames,Mertillastriues t' apease her woe,To golden wishes then they goe.
Mertilla.Why how nowCloris, what, thy headBound with forsaken Willow?Is the cold ground become thy bed?The grasse become thy Pillow?O let not those life-lightning eyesIn this sad vayle be shrowded,Which into mourning puts the Skyes,To see them ouer-clowded.
Cloris.O myMertilladoe not praise10These Lampes so dimly burning,Such sad and sullen lights as theseWere onely made for mourning:Their obiects are the barren RocksWith aged Mosse o'r shaded;Now whilst the Spring layes forth her LocksWith blossomes brauely braded.
Mertilla.OCloris, Can there be a Spring,O my deare Nimph, there may not,Wanting thine eyes it forth to bring,20Without which Nature cannot:Say what it is that troubleth theeEncreast by thy concealing,Speake; sorrowes many times we seeAre lesned by reuealing.
Cloris.Being of late too vainely bentAnd but at too much leisure;Not with our Groves and Downes content,But surfetting in pleasure;Felicia's Fields I would goe see,30Where fame to me reported,The choyce Nimphes of the world to beFrom meaner beauties sorted;Hoping that I from them might drawSome graces to delight me,But there such monstrous shapes I saw,That to this houre affright me.Throw the thick Hayre, that thatch'd their Browes,Their eyes vpon me stared,Like to those raging frantique Froes40ForBacchusFeasts prepared:Their Bodies, although straight by kinde,Yet they so monstrous make them,That for huge Bags blowne vp with wind,You very well may take them.Their Bowels in their Elbowes are,Whereon depend their Panches,And their deformed Armes by farreMade larger than their Hanches:For their behauiour and their grace,50Which likewise should haue priz'd them,Their manners were as beastly baseAs th' rags that so disguisd them;All Anticks, all so impudent,So fashon'd out of fashion,As blackeCocytusvp had sentHer Fry into this nation,Whose monstrousnesse doth so perplex,Of Reason and depriues me,That for their sakes I loath my sex,60Which to this sadnesse driues me.
Mertilla.O my deareClorisbe not sad,Nor with these Furies danted,But let these female fooles be mad,With Hellish pride inchanted;Let not thy noble thoughts descendSo low as their affections;Whom neither counsell can amend,Nor yet the Gods corrections:Such mad folks ne'r let vs bemoane,70But rather scorne their folly,And since we two are here alone,To banish melancholly,Leaue we this lowly creeping vayneNot worthy admiration,And in a braue and lofty strayne,Lets exercise our passion,With wishes of each others good,From our abundant treasures,And in this iocund sprightly mood:80Thus alter we our measures.
Mertilla.O I could wish this place were strewd with Roses,And that this Banck were thickly thrumd with GrasseAs soft as Sleaue, or Sarcenet euer was,Whereon myClorisher sweet selfe reposes.
Cloris.O that these Dewes Rosewater were for thee,These Mists Perfumes that hang vpon these thicks,And that the Winds were all Aromaticks,Which, if my wish could make them, they should bee.
Mertilla.O that my Bottle one whole Diamond were,90So fild with Nectar that a Flye might sup,And at one draught that thou mightst drinke it vp,Yet a Carouse not good enough I feare.
Cloris.That all the Pearle, the Seas, or Indias haueWere well dissolu'd, and thereof made a Lake,Thou there in bathing, and I by to takePleasure to see thee cleerer than the Waue.
Mertilla.O that the Hornes of all the Heards we see,Were of fine gold, or else that euery horneWere like to that one of the Vnicorne,100And of all these, not one but were thy Fee.
Cloris.O that their Hooues were Iuory, or some thing,Then the pur'st Iuory farre more Christalline,Fild with the food wherewith the Gods doe dine,To keepe thy Youth in a continuall Spring.
Mertilla.O that the sweets of all the Flowers that grow,The labouring ayre would gather into one,In Gardens, Fields, nor Meadowes leauing none,And all their Sweetnesse vpon thee would throw.
Cloris.Nay that those sweet harmonious straines we heare,110Amongst the liuely Birds melodious Layes,As they recording sit vpon the Sprayes,Were houering still for Musick at thine eare.
Mertilla.O that thy name were caru'd on euery Tree,That as these plants still great, and greater grow,Thy name deare Nimph might be enlarged so,That euery Groue and Coppis might speake thee.
Cloris.Nay would thy name vpon their Rynds were set,And by the Nimphes so oft and lowdly spoken,As that the Ecchoes to that language broken120Thy happy name might hourely counterfet.
Mertilla.O let the Spring still put sterne winter by,And in rich Damaske let her Reuell still,As it should doe if I might haue my will,That thou mightst still walke on her Tapistry;And thus since Fate no longer time alowesVnder this broad and shady Sicamore,Where now we sit, as we haue oft before;Those yet vnborne shall offer vp their Vowes.
Of Garlands, Anadems, and Wreathes,This Nimphall nought but sweetnesse breathes,Presents you with delicious Posies,And with powerfull Simples closes.Claia.See where oldClarinaxis set,His sundry Simples sorting,From whose experience we may getWhat worthy is reporting.ThenLelipalet vs draw neere,Whilst he his weedes is weathering,I see some powerfull Simples thereThat he hath late bin gathering.Hail gentle Hermit,Iovethee speed,10And haue thee in his keeping,And euer helpe thee at thy need,Be thou awake or sleeping.Clarinax.Ye payre of most Celestiall lights,O Beauties three times burnisht,Who could expect such heauenly wightsWith Angels features furnisht;What God doth guide you to this place,To blesse my homely Bower?It cannot be but this high grace20Proceeds from some high power;The houres like hand-maids still attend,Disposed at your pleasure,Ordayned to noe other endBut to awaite your leasure;The Deawes drawne vp into the Aer,And by your breathes perfumed,In little Clouds doe houer thereAs loath to be consumed:The Aer moues not but as you please,30So much sweet Nimphes it owes you,The winds doe cast them to their ease,And amorously inclose you.Lelipa.Be not too lauish of thy praise,Thou good Elizian Hermit,Lest some to heare such words as these,Perhaps may flattery tearme it;But of your Simples something say,Which may discourse affoord vs,We know your knowledge lyes that way,40With subiects you haue stor'd vs.Claia.We know for Physick yours you get,Which thus you heere are sorting,And vpon garlands we are set,With Wreathes and Posyes sporting:Lelipa.The Chaplet and the Anadem,The curled Tresses crowning,We looser Nimphes delight in them,Not in your Wreathes renowning.Clarinax.The Garland long agoe was worne,50As Time pleased to bestow it,The Lawrell onely to adorneThe Conquerer and the Poet.The Palme his due, who vncontrould,On danger looking grauely,When Fate had done the worst it could,Who bore his Fortunes brauely.Most worthy of the Oken WreathThe Ancients him esteemed,Who in a Battle had from death60Some man of worth redeemed.About his temples Grasse they tye,Himselfe that so behauedIn some strong Seedge by th' Enemy,A City that hath saued.A Wreath of Vervaine Herhauts weare,Amongst our Garlands named,Being sent that dreadfull newes to beare,Offensiue warre proclaimed.The Signe of Peace who first displayes,70The Oliue Wreath possesses:The Louer with the Myrtle SprayesAdornes his crisped Tresses.In Loue the sad forsaken wightThe Willow Garland weareth:The Funerall man befitting night,The balefull Cipresse beareth.ToPanwe dedicate the Pine,Whose Slips the Shepherd graceth:Againe the Ivie and the Vine80On his, swolneBacchusplaceth.Claia.The Boughes and Sprayes, of which you tell,By you are rightly named,But we with those of pretious smellAnd colours are enflamed;The noble Ancients to exciteMen to doe things worth crowning,Not vnperformed left a Rite,To heighten their renowning:But they that those rewards deuis'd,90And those braue wights that wore themBy these base times, though poorely priz'd,Yet Hermit we adore them.The store of euery fruitfull FieldWe Nimphes at will possessing,From that variety they yeeldGet flowers for euery dressing:Of which a Garland Ile compose,Then busily attend me.These flowers I for that purpose chose,100But where I misse amend me.Clarinax.WellClaiaon with your intent,Lets see how you will weaue it,Which done, here for a monumentI hope with me, you'll leaue it.Claia.Here Damaske Roses, white and red,Out of my lap first take I,Which still shall runne along the thred,My chiefest Flower this make I:Amongst these Roses in a row,110Next place I Pinks in plenty,These double Daysyes then for show,And will not this be dainty.The pretty Pansy then Ile tyeLike Stones some Chaine inchasing,And next to them their neere Alye,The purple Violet placing.The curious choyce, Clove Iuly-flower,Whose kinds hight the CarnationFor sweetnesse of most soueraine power120Shall helpe my Wreath to fashion.Whose sundry cullers of one kindeFirst from one Root derived,Them in their seuerall sutes Ile binde,My Garland so contriued;A course of Cowslips then I'll stick,And here and there though sparelyThe pleasant Primrose downe Ile prickLike Pearles, which will show rarely:Then with these Marygolds Ile make130My Garland somewhat swelling,These Honysuckles then Ile take,Whose sweets shall helpe their smelling:The Lilly and the Flower delice,For colour much contenting,For that, I them doe only prize,They are but pore in senting:The Daffadill most dainty isTo match with these in meetnesse;The Columbyne compar'd to this,140All much alike for sweetnesse.These in their natures onely areFit to embosse the border,Therefore Ile take especiall careTo place them in their order:Sweet-Williams, Campions, Sops-in-WineOne by another neatly:Thus haue I made this Wreath of mine,And finished it featly.Lelipa.Your Garland thus you finisht haue,150Then as we haue attendedYour leasure, likewise let me craueI may the like be friended.Those gaudy garish Flowers you chuse,In which our Nimphes are flaunting,Which they at Feasts and Brydals vse,The sight and smell inchanting:A Chaplet me of Hearbs Ile makeThen which though yours be brauer,Yet this of myne I'le vndertake160Shall not be short in fauour.With Basill then I will begin,Whose scent is wondrous pleasing,This Eglantine I'le next put in,The sense with sweetnes seasing.Then in my Lauender I'le lay,Muscado put among it,And here and there a leafe of Bay,Which still shall runne along it.Germander, Marieram, and Tyme170Which vsed are for strewing,With Hisop as an hearbe most prymeHere in my wreath bestowing.Then Balme and Mynt helps to make vpMy Chaplet, and for Tryall,Costmary that so likes the Cup,And next it PenieryallThen Burnet shall beare vp with thisWhose leafe I greatly fansy,Some Camomile doth not amisse,180With Sauory and some Tansy,Then heere and there I'le put a sprigOf Rosemary into itThus not too little or too bigTis done if I can doe it.Clarinax.Claiayour Garland is most gaye,Compos'd of curious Flowers,And so most louelyLelipa,This Chaplet is of yours,In goodly Gardens yours you get190Where you your laps haue laded;My symples are by Nature set,In Groues and Fields vntraded.Your Flowers most curiously you twyne,Each one his place supplying.But these rough harsher Hearbs of mine,About me rudely lying,Of which some dwarfish Weeds there be,Some of a larger stature,Some by experience as we see,200Whose names expresse their nature,Heere is my Moly of much fame,In Magicks often vsed,Mugwort and Night-shade for the sameBut not by me abused;Here Henbane, Popy, Hemblock here,Procuring Deadly sleeping,Which I doe minister with Feare,Not fit for each mans keeping.Heere holy Veruayne, and heere Dill,210Against witchcraft much auailing.Here Horhound gainst the Mad dogs illBy biting, neuer failing.Here Mandrake that procureth loue,In poysning philters mixed,And makes the Barren fruitfull proue,The Root about them fixed.Inchaunting Lunary here lyesIn Sorceries excelling,And this is Dictam, which we prize220Shot shafts and Darts expelling,Here Saxifrage against the stoneThat Powerfull is approued,Here Dodder by whose helpe alone,Ould Agues are remouedHere Mercury, here Helibore,Ould Vlcers mundifying,And Shepheards-Purse the Flux most sore,That helpes by the applying;Here wholsome Plantane, that the payne230Of Eyes and Eares appeases;Here cooling Sorrell that againeWe vse in hot diseases:The medcinable Mallow here,Asswaging sudaine Tumors,The iagged Polypodium there,To purge ould rotten humors,Next these here Egremony is,That helpes the Serpents byting,The blessed Betony by this,240Whose cures deseruen writing:This All-heale, and so nam'd of right,New wounds so quickly healing,A thousand more I could recyte,Most worthy of Reuealing,But that I hindred am by Fate,And busnesse doth preuent me,To cure a mad man, which of lateIs from Felicia sent me.Claia.Nay then thou hast inough to doe,250We pity thy enduring,For they are there infected soe,That they are past thy curing.
Of Garlands, Anadems, and Wreathes,This Nimphall nought but sweetnesse breathes,Presents you with delicious Posies,And with powerfull Simples closes.
Claia.See where oldClarinaxis set,His sundry Simples sorting,From whose experience we may getWhat worthy is reporting.ThenLelipalet vs draw neere,Whilst he his weedes is weathering,I see some powerfull Simples thereThat he hath late bin gathering.Hail gentle Hermit,Iovethee speed,10And haue thee in his keeping,And euer helpe thee at thy need,Be thou awake or sleeping.
Clarinax.Ye payre of most Celestiall lights,O Beauties three times burnisht,Who could expect such heauenly wightsWith Angels features furnisht;What God doth guide you to this place,To blesse my homely Bower?It cannot be but this high grace20Proceeds from some high power;The houres like hand-maids still attend,Disposed at your pleasure,Ordayned to noe other endBut to awaite your leasure;The Deawes drawne vp into the Aer,And by your breathes perfumed,In little Clouds doe houer thereAs loath to be consumed:The Aer moues not but as you please,30So much sweet Nimphes it owes you,The winds doe cast them to their ease,And amorously inclose you.
Lelipa.Be not too lauish of thy praise,Thou good Elizian Hermit,Lest some to heare such words as these,Perhaps may flattery tearme it;But of your Simples something say,Which may discourse affoord vs,We know your knowledge lyes that way,40With subiects you haue stor'd vs.
Claia.We know for Physick yours you get,Which thus you heere are sorting,And vpon garlands we are set,With Wreathes and Posyes sporting:
Lelipa.The Chaplet and the Anadem,The curled Tresses crowning,We looser Nimphes delight in them,Not in your Wreathes renowning.
Clarinax.The Garland long agoe was worne,50As Time pleased to bestow it,The Lawrell onely to adorneThe Conquerer and the Poet.The Palme his due, who vncontrould,On danger looking grauely,When Fate had done the worst it could,Who bore his Fortunes brauely.Most worthy of the Oken WreathThe Ancients him esteemed,Who in a Battle had from death60Some man of worth redeemed.About his temples Grasse they tye,Himselfe that so behauedIn some strong Seedge by th' Enemy,A City that hath saued.A Wreath of Vervaine Herhauts weare,Amongst our Garlands named,Being sent that dreadfull newes to beare,Offensiue warre proclaimed.The Signe of Peace who first displayes,70The Oliue Wreath possesses:The Louer with the Myrtle SprayesAdornes his crisped Tresses.In Loue the sad forsaken wightThe Willow Garland weareth:The Funerall man befitting night,The balefull Cipresse beareth.ToPanwe dedicate the Pine,Whose Slips the Shepherd graceth:Againe the Ivie and the Vine80On his, swolneBacchusplaceth.
Claia.The Boughes and Sprayes, of which you tell,By you are rightly named,But we with those of pretious smellAnd colours are enflamed;The noble Ancients to exciteMen to doe things worth crowning,Not vnperformed left a Rite,To heighten their renowning:But they that those rewards deuis'd,90And those braue wights that wore themBy these base times, though poorely priz'd,Yet Hermit we adore them.The store of euery fruitfull FieldWe Nimphes at will possessing,From that variety they yeeldGet flowers for euery dressing:Of which a Garland Ile compose,Then busily attend me.These flowers I for that purpose chose,100But where I misse amend me.
Clarinax.WellClaiaon with your intent,Lets see how you will weaue it,Which done, here for a monumentI hope with me, you'll leaue it.
Claia.Here Damaske Roses, white and red,Out of my lap first take I,Which still shall runne along the thred,My chiefest Flower this make I:Amongst these Roses in a row,110Next place I Pinks in plenty,These double Daysyes then for show,And will not this be dainty.The pretty Pansy then Ile tyeLike Stones some Chaine inchasing,And next to them their neere Alye,The purple Violet placing.The curious choyce, Clove Iuly-flower,Whose kinds hight the CarnationFor sweetnesse of most soueraine power120Shall helpe my Wreath to fashion.Whose sundry cullers of one kindeFirst from one Root derived,Them in their seuerall sutes Ile binde,My Garland so contriued;A course of Cowslips then I'll stick,And here and there though sparelyThe pleasant Primrose downe Ile prickLike Pearles, which will show rarely:Then with these Marygolds Ile make130My Garland somewhat swelling,These Honysuckles then Ile take,Whose sweets shall helpe their smelling:The Lilly and the Flower delice,For colour much contenting,For that, I them doe only prize,They are but pore in senting:The Daffadill most dainty isTo match with these in meetnesse;The Columbyne compar'd to this,140All much alike for sweetnesse.These in their natures onely areFit to embosse the border,Therefore Ile take especiall careTo place them in their order:Sweet-Williams, Campions, Sops-in-WineOne by another neatly:Thus haue I made this Wreath of mine,And finished it featly.
Lelipa.Your Garland thus you finisht haue,150Then as we haue attendedYour leasure, likewise let me craueI may the like be friended.Those gaudy garish Flowers you chuse,In which our Nimphes are flaunting,Which they at Feasts and Brydals vse,The sight and smell inchanting:A Chaplet me of Hearbs Ile makeThen which though yours be brauer,Yet this of myne I'le vndertake160Shall not be short in fauour.With Basill then I will begin,Whose scent is wondrous pleasing,This Eglantine I'le next put in,The sense with sweetnes seasing.Then in my Lauender I'le lay,Muscado put among it,And here and there a leafe of Bay,Which still shall runne along it.Germander, Marieram, and Tyme170Which vsed are for strewing,With Hisop as an hearbe most prymeHere in my wreath bestowing.Then Balme and Mynt helps to make vpMy Chaplet, and for Tryall,Costmary that so likes the Cup,And next it PenieryallThen Burnet shall beare vp with thisWhose leafe I greatly fansy,Some Camomile doth not amisse,180With Sauory and some Tansy,Then heere and there I'le put a sprigOf Rosemary into itThus not too little or too bigTis done if I can doe it.
Clarinax.Claiayour Garland is most gaye,Compos'd of curious Flowers,And so most louelyLelipa,This Chaplet is of yours,In goodly Gardens yours you get190Where you your laps haue laded;My symples are by Nature set,In Groues and Fields vntraded.Your Flowers most curiously you twyne,Each one his place supplying.But these rough harsher Hearbs of mine,About me rudely lying,Of which some dwarfish Weeds there be,Some of a larger stature,Some by experience as we see,200Whose names expresse their nature,Heere is my Moly of much fame,In Magicks often vsed,Mugwort and Night-shade for the sameBut not by me abused;Here Henbane, Popy, Hemblock here,Procuring Deadly sleeping,Which I doe minister with Feare,Not fit for each mans keeping.Heere holy Veruayne, and heere Dill,210Against witchcraft much auailing.Here Horhound gainst the Mad dogs illBy biting, neuer failing.Here Mandrake that procureth loue,In poysning philters mixed,And makes the Barren fruitfull proue,The Root about them fixed.Inchaunting Lunary here lyesIn Sorceries excelling,And this is Dictam, which we prize220Shot shafts and Darts expelling,Here Saxifrage against the stoneThat Powerfull is approued,Here Dodder by whose helpe alone,Ould Agues are remouedHere Mercury, here Helibore,Ould Vlcers mundifying,And Shepheards-Purse the Flux most sore,That helpes by the applying;Here wholsome Plantane, that the payne230Of Eyes and Eares appeases;Here cooling Sorrell that againeWe vse in hot diseases:The medcinable Mallow here,Asswaging sudaine Tumors,The iagged Polypodium there,To purge ould rotten humors,Next these here Egremony is,That helpes the Serpents byting,The blessed Betony by this,240Whose cures deseruen writing:This All-heale, and so nam'd of right,New wounds so quickly healing,A thousand more I could recyte,Most worthy of Reuealing,But that I hindred am by Fate,And busnesse doth preuent me,To cure a mad man, which of lateIs from Felicia sent me.
Claia.Nay then thou hast inough to doe,250We pity thy enduring,For they are there infected soe,That they are past thy curing.
A Woodman, Fisher, and a SwaineThis Nimphall through with mirth maintaine,Whose pleadings so the Nimphes doe please,That presently they giue them Bayes.Cleere had the day bin from the dawne,All chequerd was the Skye,Thin Clouds like Scarfs of Cobweb LawneVayld Heauen's most glorious eye.The Winde had no more strength then this,That leasurely it blew,To make one leafe the next to kisse,That closly by it grew.The Rils that on the Pebbles playd,10Might now be heard at will;This world they onely Musick made,Else euerything was still.The Flowers like braue embraudred Gerles,Lookt as they much desired,To see whose head with orient Pearles,Most curiously was tyred;And to it selfe the subtle Ayre,Such souerainty assumes,That it receiu'd too large a share20From natures rich perfumes.When the Elizian Youth were met,That were of most account,And to disport themselues were setVpon an easy Mount:Neare which, of stately Firre and PineThere grew abundant store,The Tree that weepeth Turpentine,And shady Sicamore.Amongst this merry youthfull trayne30A Forrester they had,A Fisher, and a Shepheards swayneA liuely Countrey Lad:Betwixt which three a question grew,Who should the worthiest be,Which violently they pursue,Nor stickled would they be.That it the Company doth pleaseThis ciuill strife to stay,Freely to heare what each of these40For his braue selfe could say:When first this Forrester (of all)ThatSilviushad to name,To whom the Lot being cast doth fall,Doth thus begin the Game.Silvius.For my profession then, and for the life I lead,All others to excell, thus for my selfe I plead;I am the Prince of sports, the Forrest is my Fee,He's not vpon the Earth for pleasure liues like me;The Morne no sooner puts her rosye Mantle on,50But from my quyet Lodge I instantly am gone,When the melodious Birds from euery Bush and Bryer,Of the wilde spacious Wasts, make a continuall quire;The motlied Meadowes then, new vernisht with the SunneShute vp their spicy sweets vpon the winds that runne,In easly ambling Gales, and softly seeme to pace,That it the longer might their lushiousnesse imbrace:I am clad in youthfull Greene, I other colour, scorne,My silken Bauldrick beares my Beugle, or my Horne,Which setting to my Lips, I winde so lowd and shrill,60As makes the Ecchoes showte from euery neighbouring Hill:My Doghooke at my Belt, to which my Lyam's tyde,My Sheafe of Arrowes by, my Woodknife at my Syde,My Crosse-bow in my Hand, my Gaffle or my RackTo bend it when I please, or it I list to slack,My Hound then in my Lyam, I by the Woodmans artForecast, where I may lodge the goodly Hie-palm'd Hart,To viewe the grazing Heards, so sundry times I vse,Where by the loftiest Head I know my Deare to chuse,And to vnheard him then, I gallop o'r the ground70Vpon my wel-breath'd Nag, to cheere my earning Hound.Sometime I pitch my Toyles the Deare aliue to take,Sometime I like the Cry, the deep-mouth'd Kennell make,Then vnderneath my Horse, I staulke my game to strike,And with a single Dog to hunt him hurt, I like.The Siluians are to me true subiects, I their King,The stately Hart, his Hind doth to my presence bring,The Buck his loued Doe, the Roe his tripping Mate,Before me to my Bower, whereas I sit in State.The Dryads, Hamadryads, the Satyres and the Fawnes80Oft play at Hyde and Seeke before me on the Lawnes,The frisking Fayry oft when horned Cinthia shinesBefore me as I walke dance wanton Matachynes,The numerous feathered flocks that the wild Forrests hauntTheir Siluan songs to me, in cheerefull dittyes chaunte,The Shades like ample Sheelds, defend me from the Sunne,Through which me to refresh the gentle Riuelets runne,No little bubling Brook from any Spring that fallsBut on the Pebbles playes me pretty Madrigals.I' th' morne I clime the Hills, where wholsome winds do blow,90At Noone-tyde to the Vales, and shady Groues below,T'wards Euening I againe the Chrystall Floods frequent,In pleasure thus my life continually is spent.As Princes and great Lords haue Pallaces, so IHaue in the Forrests here, my Hall and GalleryThe tall and stately Woods, which vnderneath are Plaine,The Groues my Gardens are, the Heath and Downes againeMy wide and spacious walkes, then say all what ye can,The Forrester is still your only gallant man.He of his speech scarce made an end,100But him they load with prayse,The Nimphes most highly him commend,And vow to giue him Bayes:He's now cryde vp of euery one,And who but onely he,The Forrester's the man alone,The worthyest of the three.When some then th' other farre more stayd,Wil'd them a while to pause,For there was more yet to be sayd,110That might deserve applause,WhenHalciushis turne next plyes,And silence hauing wonne,Roome for the fisher man he cryes,And thus his Plea begunne.Halcius.No Forrester, it so must not be borne away,But heare what for himselfe the Fisher first can say,The Chrystall current Streames continually I keepe,Where euery Pearle-pau'd Foard, and euery Blew-eyd deepeWith me familiar are; when in my Boate being set,120My Oare I take in hand, my Augle and my NetAbout me; like a Prince my selfe in state I steer,Now vp, now downe the Streame, now am I here, now ther,The Pilot and the Fraught my selfe; and at my easeCan land me where I list, or in what place I please,The Siluer-scaled Sholes, about me in the Streames,As thick as ye discerne the Atoms in the Beames,Neare to the shady Banck where slender Sallowes grow,And Willows their shag'd tops downe t'wards the waters bowI shove in with my Boat to sheeld me from the heat,130Where chusing from my Bag, some prou'd especiall bayt,The goodly well growne Trout I with my Angle strike,And with my bearded Wyer I take the rauenous Pike,Of whom when I haue hould, he seldome breakes awayThough at my Lynes full length, soe long I let him playTill by my hand I finde he well-nere wearyed be,When softly by degrees I drawe him vp to me.The lusty Samon to, I oft with Angling take,Which me aboue the rest most Lordly sport doth make,Who feeling he is caught, such Frisks and bounds doth fetch,140And by his very strength my Line soe farre doth stretch,As draws my floating Corcke downe to the very ground,And wresting at my Rod, doth make my Boat turne round.I neuer idle am, some tyme I bayt my Weeles,With which by night I take the dainty siluer Eeles,And with my Draughtnet then, I sweepe the streaming Flood,And to my Tramell next, and Cast-net from the Mud,I beate the Scaly brood, noe hower I idely spend,But wearied with my worke I bring the day to end:The Naijdes and Nymphes that in the Riuers keepe,150Which take into their care, the store of euery deepe,Amongst the Flowery flags, the Bullrushes and Reed,That of the Spawne haue charge (abundantly to breed)Well mounted vpon Swans, their naked bodys lendTo my discerning eye, and on my Boate attend,And dance vpon the Waues, before me (for my sake)To th' Musick the soft wynd vpon the Reeds doth makeAnd for my pleasure more, the rougher Gods of SeasFromNeptune'sCourt send in the blew Neriades,Which from his bracky Realme vpon the Billowes ride160And beare the Riuers backe with euery streaming Tyde,Those Billowes gainst my Boate, borne with delightfull Gales,Oft seeming as I rowe to tell me pretty tales,Whilst Ropes of liquid Pearle still load my laboring Oares,As streacht vpon the Streame they stryke me to the Shores:The silent medowes seeme delighted with my Layes,As sitting in my Boate I sing my Lasses praise,Then let them that like, the Forrester vp cry,Your noble Fisher is your only man say I.This speech ofHalciusturn'd the Tyde,170And brought it so about,That all vpon the Fisher cryde,That he would beare it out;Him for the speech he made, to clapWho lent him not a hand,And said t'would be the Waters hap,Quite to put downe the Land.This whileMelanthussilent sits,(For so the Shepheard hight)And hauing heard these dainty wits,180Each pleading for his right;To heare them honor'd in this wise,His patience doth prouoke,When for a Shepheard roome he cryes,And for himselfe thus spoke.Melanthus.Well Fisher you haue done, and Forrester for youYour Tale is neatly tould, s'are both's to giue you due,And now my turne comes next, then heare a Shepherd speak:My watchfulnesse and care giues day scarce leaue to break,But to the Fields I haste, my folded flock to see,190Where when I finde, nor Woolfe, nor Fox, hath iniur'd me,I to my Bottle straight, and soundly baste my Throat,Which done, some Country Song or Roundelay I roateSo merrily; that to the musick that I make,I Force the Larke to sing ere she be well awake;ThenBaullmy cut-tayld Curre and I begin to play,He o'r my Shephooke leapes, now th'one, now th'other way,Then on his hinder feet he doth himselfe aduance,I tune, and to my note, my liuely Dog doth dance,Then whistle in my Fist, my fellow Swaynes to call,200Downe goe our Hooks and Scrips, and we to Nine-holes fall,At Dust-point, or at Quoyts, else are we at it hard,All false and cheating Games, we Shepheards are debard;Suruaying of my sheepe if Ewe or Wether lookeAs though it were amisse, or with my Curre, or CrookeI take it, and when once I finde what it doth ayle,It hardly hath that hurt, but that my skill can heale;And when my carefull eye, I cast vpon my sheepeI sort them in my Pens, and sorted soe I keepe:Those that are bigst of Boane, I still reserue for breed,210My Cullings I put off, or for the Chapman feed.When the Euening doth approach I to my Bagpipe take,And to my Grazing flocks such Musick then I make,That they forbeare to feed; then me a King you see,I playing goe before, my Subiects followe me,My Bell-weather most braue, before the rest doth stalke,The Father of the flocke, and after him doth walkeMy writhen-headed Ram, with Posyes crowned in prideFast to his crooked hornes with Rybands neatly ty'dAnd at our Shepheards Board that's cut out of the ground,220My fellow Swaynes and I together at it round,With Greencheese, clouted Cream, with Flawns, and Custards, stord,Whig, Sider, and with Whey, I domineer a Lord,When shering time is come I to the Riuer driue,My goodly well-fleec'd Flocks: (by pleasure thus I thriue)Which being washt at will; vpon the shering day,My wooll I foorth in Loaks, fit for the wynder lay,Which vpon lusty heapes into my Coate I heaue,That in the Handling feeles as soft as any Sleaue,When euery Ewe two Lambes, that yeaned hath that yeare,230About her new shorne neck a Chaplet then doth weare;My Tarboxe, and my Scrip, my Bagpipe, at my back,My Sheephooke in my hand, what can I say I lacke;He that a Scepter swayd, a sheephooke in his hand,Hath not disdaind to haue, for Shepheards then I stand;Then Forester and you my Fisher cease your strifeI say your Shepheard leads your onely merry life,They had not cryd the Forester,And Fisher vp before,So much: but now the Nimphes preferre,240The Shephard ten tymes more,And all the Ging goes on his side,Their Minion him they make,To him themselues they all apply'd,And all his partie take;Till some in their discretion cast,Since first the strife begunne,In all that from them there had pastNone absolutly wonne;That equall honour they should share;250And their deserts to showe,For each a Garland they prepare,Which they on them bestowe,Of all the choisest flowers that weare,Which purposly they gather,With which they Crowne them, parting there,As they came first together.
A Woodman, Fisher, and a SwaineThis Nimphall through with mirth maintaine,Whose pleadings so the Nimphes doe please,That presently they giue them Bayes.
Cleere had the day bin from the dawne,All chequerd was the Skye,Thin Clouds like Scarfs of Cobweb LawneVayld Heauen's most glorious eye.The Winde had no more strength then this,That leasurely it blew,To make one leafe the next to kisse,That closly by it grew.The Rils that on the Pebbles playd,10Might now be heard at will;This world they onely Musick made,Else euerything was still.The Flowers like braue embraudred Gerles,Lookt as they much desired,To see whose head with orient Pearles,Most curiously was tyred;And to it selfe the subtle Ayre,Such souerainty assumes,That it receiu'd too large a share20From natures rich perfumes.When the Elizian Youth were met,That were of most account,And to disport themselues were setVpon an easy Mount:Neare which, of stately Firre and PineThere grew abundant store,The Tree that weepeth Turpentine,And shady Sicamore.Amongst this merry youthfull trayne30A Forrester they had,A Fisher, and a Shepheards swayneA liuely Countrey Lad:Betwixt which three a question grew,Who should the worthiest be,Which violently they pursue,Nor stickled would they be.That it the Company doth pleaseThis ciuill strife to stay,Freely to heare what each of these40For his braue selfe could say:When first this Forrester (of all)ThatSilviushad to name,To whom the Lot being cast doth fall,Doth thus begin the Game.
Silvius.For my profession then, and for the life I lead,All others to excell, thus for my selfe I plead;I am the Prince of sports, the Forrest is my Fee,He's not vpon the Earth for pleasure liues like me;The Morne no sooner puts her rosye Mantle on,50But from my quyet Lodge I instantly am gone,When the melodious Birds from euery Bush and Bryer,Of the wilde spacious Wasts, make a continuall quire;The motlied Meadowes then, new vernisht with the SunneShute vp their spicy sweets vpon the winds that runne,In easly ambling Gales, and softly seeme to pace,That it the longer might their lushiousnesse imbrace:I am clad in youthfull Greene, I other colour, scorne,My silken Bauldrick beares my Beugle, or my Horne,Which setting to my Lips, I winde so lowd and shrill,60As makes the Ecchoes showte from euery neighbouring Hill:My Doghooke at my Belt, to which my Lyam's tyde,My Sheafe of Arrowes by, my Woodknife at my Syde,My Crosse-bow in my Hand, my Gaffle or my RackTo bend it when I please, or it I list to slack,My Hound then in my Lyam, I by the Woodmans artForecast, where I may lodge the goodly Hie-palm'd Hart,To viewe the grazing Heards, so sundry times I vse,Where by the loftiest Head I know my Deare to chuse,And to vnheard him then, I gallop o'r the ground70Vpon my wel-breath'd Nag, to cheere my earning Hound.Sometime I pitch my Toyles the Deare aliue to take,Sometime I like the Cry, the deep-mouth'd Kennell make,Then vnderneath my Horse, I staulke my game to strike,And with a single Dog to hunt him hurt, I like.The Siluians are to me true subiects, I their King,The stately Hart, his Hind doth to my presence bring,The Buck his loued Doe, the Roe his tripping Mate,Before me to my Bower, whereas I sit in State.The Dryads, Hamadryads, the Satyres and the Fawnes80Oft play at Hyde and Seeke before me on the Lawnes,The frisking Fayry oft when horned Cinthia shinesBefore me as I walke dance wanton Matachynes,The numerous feathered flocks that the wild Forrests hauntTheir Siluan songs to me, in cheerefull dittyes chaunte,The Shades like ample Sheelds, defend me from the Sunne,Through which me to refresh the gentle Riuelets runne,No little bubling Brook from any Spring that fallsBut on the Pebbles playes me pretty Madrigals.I' th' morne I clime the Hills, where wholsome winds do blow,90At Noone-tyde to the Vales, and shady Groues below,T'wards Euening I againe the Chrystall Floods frequent,In pleasure thus my life continually is spent.As Princes and great Lords haue Pallaces, so IHaue in the Forrests here, my Hall and GalleryThe tall and stately Woods, which vnderneath are Plaine,The Groues my Gardens are, the Heath and Downes againeMy wide and spacious walkes, then say all what ye can,The Forrester is still your only gallant man.
He of his speech scarce made an end,100But him they load with prayse,The Nimphes most highly him commend,And vow to giue him Bayes:He's now cryde vp of euery one,And who but onely he,The Forrester's the man alone,The worthyest of the three.When some then th' other farre more stayd,Wil'd them a while to pause,For there was more yet to be sayd,110That might deserve applause,WhenHalciushis turne next plyes,And silence hauing wonne,Roome for the fisher man he cryes,And thus his Plea begunne.
Halcius.No Forrester, it so must not be borne away,But heare what for himselfe the Fisher first can say,The Chrystall current Streames continually I keepe,Where euery Pearle-pau'd Foard, and euery Blew-eyd deepeWith me familiar are; when in my Boate being set,120My Oare I take in hand, my Augle and my NetAbout me; like a Prince my selfe in state I steer,Now vp, now downe the Streame, now am I here, now ther,The Pilot and the Fraught my selfe; and at my easeCan land me where I list, or in what place I please,The Siluer-scaled Sholes, about me in the Streames,As thick as ye discerne the Atoms in the Beames,Neare to the shady Banck where slender Sallowes grow,And Willows their shag'd tops downe t'wards the waters bowI shove in with my Boat to sheeld me from the heat,130Where chusing from my Bag, some prou'd especiall bayt,The goodly well growne Trout I with my Angle strike,And with my bearded Wyer I take the rauenous Pike,Of whom when I haue hould, he seldome breakes awayThough at my Lynes full length, soe long I let him playTill by my hand I finde he well-nere wearyed be,When softly by degrees I drawe him vp to me.The lusty Samon to, I oft with Angling take,Which me aboue the rest most Lordly sport doth make,Who feeling he is caught, such Frisks and bounds doth fetch,140And by his very strength my Line soe farre doth stretch,As draws my floating Corcke downe to the very ground,And wresting at my Rod, doth make my Boat turne round.I neuer idle am, some tyme I bayt my Weeles,With which by night I take the dainty siluer Eeles,And with my Draughtnet then, I sweepe the streaming Flood,And to my Tramell next, and Cast-net from the Mud,I beate the Scaly brood, noe hower I idely spend,But wearied with my worke I bring the day to end:The Naijdes and Nymphes that in the Riuers keepe,150Which take into their care, the store of euery deepe,Amongst the Flowery flags, the Bullrushes and Reed,That of the Spawne haue charge (abundantly to breed)Well mounted vpon Swans, their naked bodys lendTo my discerning eye, and on my Boate attend,And dance vpon the Waues, before me (for my sake)To th' Musick the soft wynd vpon the Reeds doth makeAnd for my pleasure more, the rougher Gods of SeasFromNeptune'sCourt send in the blew Neriades,Which from his bracky Realme vpon the Billowes ride160And beare the Riuers backe with euery streaming Tyde,Those Billowes gainst my Boate, borne with delightfull Gales,Oft seeming as I rowe to tell me pretty tales,Whilst Ropes of liquid Pearle still load my laboring Oares,As streacht vpon the Streame they stryke me to the Shores:The silent medowes seeme delighted with my Layes,As sitting in my Boate I sing my Lasses praise,Then let them that like, the Forrester vp cry,Your noble Fisher is your only man say I.
This speech ofHalciusturn'd the Tyde,170And brought it so about,That all vpon the Fisher cryde,That he would beare it out;Him for the speech he made, to clapWho lent him not a hand,And said t'would be the Waters hap,Quite to put downe the Land.This whileMelanthussilent sits,(For so the Shepheard hight)And hauing heard these dainty wits,180Each pleading for his right;To heare them honor'd in this wise,His patience doth prouoke,When for a Shepheard roome he cryes,And for himselfe thus spoke.
Melanthus.Well Fisher you haue done, and Forrester for youYour Tale is neatly tould, s'are both's to giue you due,And now my turne comes next, then heare a Shepherd speak:My watchfulnesse and care giues day scarce leaue to break,But to the Fields I haste, my folded flock to see,190Where when I finde, nor Woolfe, nor Fox, hath iniur'd me,I to my Bottle straight, and soundly baste my Throat,Which done, some Country Song or Roundelay I roateSo merrily; that to the musick that I make,I Force the Larke to sing ere she be well awake;ThenBaullmy cut-tayld Curre and I begin to play,He o'r my Shephooke leapes, now th'one, now th'other way,Then on his hinder feet he doth himselfe aduance,I tune, and to my note, my liuely Dog doth dance,Then whistle in my Fist, my fellow Swaynes to call,200Downe goe our Hooks and Scrips, and we to Nine-holes fall,At Dust-point, or at Quoyts, else are we at it hard,All false and cheating Games, we Shepheards are debard;Suruaying of my sheepe if Ewe or Wether lookeAs though it were amisse, or with my Curre, or CrookeI take it, and when once I finde what it doth ayle,It hardly hath that hurt, but that my skill can heale;And when my carefull eye, I cast vpon my sheepeI sort them in my Pens, and sorted soe I keepe:Those that are bigst of Boane, I still reserue for breed,210My Cullings I put off, or for the Chapman feed.When the Euening doth approach I to my Bagpipe take,And to my Grazing flocks such Musick then I make,That they forbeare to feed; then me a King you see,I playing goe before, my Subiects followe me,My Bell-weather most braue, before the rest doth stalke,The Father of the flocke, and after him doth walkeMy writhen-headed Ram, with Posyes crowned in prideFast to his crooked hornes with Rybands neatly ty'dAnd at our Shepheards Board that's cut out of the ground,220My fellow Swaynes and I together at it round,With Greencheese, clouted Cream, with Flawns, and Custards, stord,Whig, Sider, and with Whey, I domineer a Lord,When shering time is come I to the Riuer driue,My goodly well-fleec'd Flocks: (by pleasure thus I thriue)Which being washt at will; vpon the shering day,My wooll I foorth in Loaks, fit for the wynder lay,Which vpon lusty heapes into my Coate I heaue,That in the Handling feeles as soft as any Sleaue,When euery Ewe two Lambes, that yeaned hath that yeare,230About her new shorne neck a Chaplet then doth weare;My Tarboxe, and my Scrip, my Bagpipe, at my back,My Sheephooke in my hand, what can I say I lacke;He that a Scepter swayd, a sheephooke in his hand,Hath not disdaind to haue, for Shepheards then I stand;Then Forester and you my Fisher cease your strifeI say your Shepheard leads your onely merry life,
They had not cryd the Forester,And Fisher vp before,So much: but now the Nimphes preferre,240The Shephard ten tymes more,And all the Ging goes on his side,Their Minion him they make,To him themselues they all apply'd,And all his partie take;Till some in their discretion cast,Since first the strife begunne,In all that from them there had pastNone absolutly wonne;That equall honour they should share;250And their deserts to showe,For each a Garland they prepare,Which they on them bestowe,Of all the choisest flowers that weare,Which purposly they gather,With which they Crowne them, parting there,As they came first together.
The Nimphes, the Queene of loue pursue,Which oft doth hide her from their view:But lastly from th' Elizian Nation,She banisht is by Proclamation.Florimel.DeareLelipa, where hast thou bin so long,Was't not enough for thee to doe me wrong;To rob me of thy selfe, but with more spightTo take myNaijsfrom me, my delight?Yee lazie Girles, your heads where haue ye layd,Whil'stVenushere her anticke prankes hath playd?Lelipa.NayFlorimel, we should of you enquire,The onely Mayden, whom we all admireFor Beauty, Wit, and Chastity, that you10Amongst the rest of all our Virgin crue,In quest of her, that you so slacke should be,And leaue the charge to Naijs and to me.Florimel.Y'are much mistakenLelipa, 'twas I,Of all the Nimphes, that first did her descry,At our great Hunting, when as in the ChaseAmongst the rest, me thought I saw one faceSo exceeding faire, and curious, yet vnknowneThat I that face not possibly could owne.And in the course, so Goddesse like a gate,20Each step so full of maiesty and state;That with my selfe, I thus resolu'd that sheLesse then a Goddesse (surely) could not be:Thus asIdalia, stedfastly I ey'd,A little Nimphe that kept close by her sideI noted, as vnknowne as was the other,WhichCupidwas disguis'd so by his mother.The little purblinde Rogue, if you had seene,You would haue thought he verily had beeneOne ofDiana'sVotaries so clad,30He euery thing so like a Huntresse had:And she had put false eyes into his head,That very well he might vs all haue sped.And still they kept together in the Reare,But as the Boy should haue shot at the Deare,He shot amongst the Nimphes, which when I saw,Closer vp to them I began to draw;And fell to hearken, when they naught suspecting,Because I seem'd them vtterly neglecting,I heard her say, my littleCupidtoo't,40Now Boy or neuer, at the Beuie shoot,Haue at themVenusquoth the Boy anon,I'le pierce the proud'st, had she a heart of stone:With that I cryde out, Treason, Treason, whenThe Nimphes that were before, turning agenTo vnderstand the meaning of this cry,They out of sight were vanish't presently.Thus but for me, the Mother and the Sonne,Here in Elizium, had vs all vndone.Naijs.Beleeue me, gentle Maide, 'twas very well,50But now heare me my beauteousFlorimel,GreatMarshis Lemman being cryde out here,She toFeliciagoes, still to be neareTh' Elizian Nimphes, for at vs is her ayme,The fondFeliciansare her common game.I vpon pleasure idly wandring thither,Something worth laughter from those fooles to gather,Found her, who thus had lately beene surpriz'd,Fearing the like, had her faire selfe disguis'dLike an old Witch, and gaue out to haue skill60In telling Fortunes either good or ill;And that more nearly she with them might close,She cut the Cornes, of dainty Ladies Toes:She gaue them Phisicke, either to coole or mooue them,And powders too to make their sweet Hearts loue them:And her sonneCupid, as her Zany went,Carrying her boxes, whom she often sentTo know of her faire Patients how they slept.By which meanes she, and the blinde Archer creptInto their fauours, who would often Toy,70And tooke delight in sporting with the Boy;Which many times amongst his waggish tricks,These wanton Wenches in the bosome prickes;That they before which had some franticke fits,Were by his Witchcraft quite out of their wits.Watching this Wisard, my minde gaue me stillShe some Impostor was, and that this skillWas counterfeit, and had some other end.For which discouery, as I did attend,Her wrinckled vizard being very thin,80My piercing eye perceiu'd her cleerer skinThrough the thicke Riuels perfectly to shine;When I perceiu'd a beauty so diuine,As that so clouded, I began to pryA little nearer, when I chanc't to spyeThat pretty Mole vpon her Cheeke, which whenI saw; suruaying euery part agen,Vpon her left hand, I perceiu'd the skarreWhich she receiued in the Troian warre;Which when I found, I could not chuse but smile.90She, who againe had noted me the while,And, by my carriage, found I had descry'd her,Slipt out of sight, and presently doth hide her.Lelipa.Nay then my dainty Girles, I make no doubtBut I my selfe as strangely found her outAs either of you both; in Field and Towne,When like a Pedlar she went vp and downe:For she had got a pretty handsome Packe,Which she had fardled neatly at her backe:And opening it, she had the perfect cry,100Come my faire Girles, let's see, what will you buy.Here be fine night Maskes, plastred well within,To supple wrinckles, and to smooth the skin:Heer's Christall, Corall, Bugle, Iet, in Beads,Cornelian Bracelets for my dainty Maids:Then Periwigs and Searcloth-Gloues doth show,To make their hands as white as Swan or Snow:Then takes she forth a curious gilded boxe,Which was not opened but by double locks;Takes them aside, and doth a Paper spred,110In which was painting both for white and red:And next a piece of Silke, wherein there lyesFor the decay'd, false Breasts, false Teeth, false EyesAnd all the while shee's opening of her Packe,Cupidwith's wings bound close downe to his backe:Playing the Tumbler on a Table gets,And shewes the Ladies many pretty feats.I seeing behinde him that he had such things,For well I knew no boy but he had wings,I view'd his Mothers beauty, which to me120Lesse then a Goddesse said, she could not be:With that quoth I to her, this other day,As you doe now, so one that came this way,Shew'd me a neate piece, with the needle wrought,HowMarsandVenuswere together caughtBy polt-footVulcanin an Iron net;It grieu'd me after that I chanc't to let,It to goe from me: whereat waxing red,Into her Hamper she hung downe her head,As she had stoup't some noueltie to seeke,130But 'twas indeed to hide her blushing Cheeke:When she her Trinkets trusseth vp anon,E'r we were 'ware, and instantly was gone.Florimel.But hearke you Nimphes, amongst our idle prate,Tis current newes through the Elizian State,ThatVenusand her Sonne were lately seeneHere inElizium, whence they oft haue beeneBanisht by our Edict, and yet still merry,Were here in publique row'd o'r at the Ferry,Where as 'tis said, the Ferryman and she140Had much discourse, she was so full of glee,Codrusmuch wondring at the blind Boyes Bow.Naijs.And what it was, that easly you may know,Codrushimselfe comes rowing here at hand.Lelipa.CodrusCome hither, let your Whirry stand,I hope vpon you, ye will take no stateBecause two Gods haue grac't your Boat of late;Good Ferry-man I pray thee let vs heareWhat talke ye had, aboard thee whilst they were.Codrus.Why thus faire Nimphes.150As I a Fare had lately past,And thought that side to ply,I heard one as it were in haste;A Boate, a Boate, to cry,Which as I was aboute to bring,And came to view my Fraught,Thought I; what more then heauenly thing,Hath fortune hither brought.She seeing mine eyes still on her were,Soone, smilingly, quoth she;160Sirra, looke to your Roother there,Why lookst thou thus at me?And nimbly stept into my Boat,With her a little LadNaked and blind, yet did I note,That Bow and Shafts he had,And two Wings to his Shoulders fixt,Which stood like little Sayles,With farre more various colours mixt,Then be your Peacocks Tayles;170I seeing this little dapper Elfe,Such Armes as these to beare,Quoth I thus softly to my selfe,What strange thing haue we here,I neuer saw the like thought I:Tis more then strange to me,To haue a child haue wings to fly,And yet want eyes to see;Sure this is some deuised toy,Or it transform'd hath bin,180For such a thing, halfe Bird, halfe Boy,I thinke was neuer seene;And in my Boat I turnd about,And wistly viewd the Lad,And cleerely saw his eyes were out,Though Bow and Shafts he had.As wistly she did me behold,How likst thou him, quoth she,Why well, quoth I; and better should,Had he but eyes to see.190How sayst thou honest friend, quoth she,Wilt thou a Prentice take,I thinke in time, though blind he be,A Ferry-man hee'll make;To guide my passage Boat quoth I,His fine hands were not made,He hath beene bred too wantonlyTo vndertake my trade;Why helpe him to a Master then,Quoth she, such Youths be scant,200It cannot be but there be menThat such a Boy do want.Quoth I, when you your best haue done,No better way you'll finde,Then to a Harper binde your Sonne,Since most of them are blind.The louely Mother and the Boy,Laught heartily thereat,As at some nimble iest or toy,To heare my homely Chat.210Quoth I, I pray you let me know,Came he thus first to light,Or by some sicknesse, hurt, or blow,Depryued of his sight;Nay sure, quoth she, he thus was borne,Tis strange borne blind, quoth I,I feare you put this as a scorneOn my simplicity;Quoth she, thus blind I did him beare,Quoth I, if't be no lye,220Then he 's the first blind man Ile sweare,Ere practisd Archery,A man, quoth she, nay there you misse,He 's still a Boy as now,Nor to be elder then he is,The Gods will him alow;To be no elder then he is,Then sure he is some spriteI straight replide, againe at this,The Goddesse laught out right;230It is a mystery to me,An Archer and yet blinde;Quoth I againe, how can it be,That he his marke should finde;The Gods, quoth she, whose will it wasThat he should want his sight,That he in something should surpasse,To recompence their spight,Gaue him this gift, though at his GameHe still shot in the darke,240That he should haue so certaine ayme,As not to misse his marke.By this time we were come a shore,When me my Fare she payd,But not a word she vttered more,Nor had I her bewrayd,OfVenusnor ofCupidIBefore did neuer heare,But that Fisher comming byThen, told me who they were.250Florimel.Well: against them then proceedAs before we haue decreed,That the Goddesse and her Child,Be for euer hence exild,WhichLelipayou shall proclaimeIn our wiseApollo'sname.Lelipa.To all th' Elizian Nimphish Nation,Thus we make our Proclamation,AgainstVenusand her SonneFor the mischeefe they haue done,260After the next last of May,The fixt and peremtory day,If she orCupidshall be foundVpon our Elizian ground,Our Edict, meere Rogues shall make them,And as such, who ere shall take them,Them shall into prison put,Cupidswings shall then be cut,His Bow broken, and his ArrowesGiuen to Boyes to shoot at Sparrowes,270And this Vagabund be sent,Hauing had due punishmentTo mountCytheron, which first fed him:Where his wanton Mother bred him,And there out of her protectionDayly to receiue correction;Then her Pasport shall be made,And toCyprusIsle conuayd,And atPaphosin her Shryne,Where she hath been held diuine,280For her offences found contrite,There to liue an Anchorite.
The Nimphes, the Queene of loue pursue,Which oft doth hide her from their view:But lastly from th' Elizian Nation,She banisht is by Proclamation.
Florimel.DeareLelipa, where hast thou bin so long,Was't not enough for thee to doe me wrong;To rob me of thy selfe, but with more spightTo take myNaijsfrom me, my delight?Yee lazie Girles, your heads where haue ye layd,Whil'stVenushere her anticke prankes hath playd?
Lelipa.NayFlorimel, we should of you enquire,The onely Mayden, whom we all admireFor Beauty, Wit, and Chastity, that you10Amongst the rest of all our Virgin crue,In quest of her, that you so slacke should be,And leaue the charge to Naijs and to me.
Florimel.Y'are much mistakenLelipa, 'twas I,Of all the Nimphes, that first did her descry,At our great Hunting, when as in the ChaseAmongst the rest, me thought I saw one faceSo exceeding faire, and curious, yet vnknowneThat I that face not possibly could owne.And in the course, so Goddesse like a gate,20Each step so full of maiesty and state;That with my selfe, I thus resolu'd that sheLesse then a Goddesse (surely) could not be:Thus asIdalia, stedfastly I ey'd,A little Nimphe that kept close by her sideI noted, as vnknowne as was the other,WhichCupidwas disguis'd so by his mother.The little purblinde Rogue, if you had seene,You would haue thought he verily had beeneOne ofDiana'sVotaries so clad,30He euery thing so like a Huntresse had:And she had put false eyes into his head,That very well he might vs all haue sped.And still they kept together in the Reare,But as the Boy should haue shot at the Deare,He shot amongst the Nimphes, which when I saw,Closer vp to them I began to draw;And fell to hearken, when they naught suspecting,Because I seem'd them vtterly neglecting,I heard her say, my littleCupidtoo't,40Now Boy or neuer, at the Beuie shoot,Haue at themVenusquoth the Boy anon,I'le pierce the proud'st, had she a heart of stone:With that I cryde out, Treason, Treason, whenThe Nimphes that were before, turning agenTo vnderstand the meaning of this cry,They out of sight were vanish't presently.Thus but for me, the Mother and the Sonne,Here in Elizium, had vs all vndone.
Naijs.Beleeue me, gentle Maide, 'twas very well,50But now heare me my beauteousFlorimel,GreatMarshis Lemman being cryde out here,She toFeliciagoes, still to be neareTh' Elizian Nimphes, for at vs is her ayme,The fondFeliciansare her common game.I vpon pleasure idly wandring thither,Something worth laughter from those fooles to gather,Found her, who thus had lately beene surpriz'd,Fearing the like, had her faire selfe disguis'dLike an old Witch, and gaue out to haue skill60In telling Fortunes either good or ill;And that more nearly she with them might close,She cut the Cornes, of dainty Ladies Toes:She gaue them Phisicke, either to coole or mooue them,And powders too to make their sweet Hearts loue them:And her sonneCupid, as her Zany went,Carrying her boxes, whom she often sentTo know of her faire Patients how they slept.By which meanes she, and the blinde Archer creptInto their fauours, who would often Toy,70And tooke delight in sporting with the Boy;Which many times amongst his waggish tricks,These wanton Wenches in the bosome prickes;That they before which had some franticke fits,Were by his Witchcraft quite out of their wits.Watching this Wisard, my minde gaue me stillShe some Impostor was, and that this skillWas counterfeit, and had some other end.For which discouery, as I did attend,Her wrinckled vizard being very thin,80My piercing eye perceiu'd her cleerer skinThrough the thicke Riuels perfectly to shine;When I perceiu'd a beauty so diuine,As that so clouded, I began to pryA little nearer, when I chanc't to spyeThat pretty Mole vpon her Cheeke, which whenI saw; suruaying euery part agen,Vpon her left hand, I perceiu'd the skarreWhich she receiued in the Troian warre;Which when I found, I could not chuse but smile.90She, who againe had noted me the while,And, by my carriage, found I had descry'd her,Slipt out of sight, and presently doth hide her.
Lelipa.Nay then my dainty Girles, I make no doubtBut I my selfe as strangely found her outAs either of you both; in Field and Towne,When like a Pedlar she went vp and downe:For she had got a pretty handsome Packe,Which she had fardled neatly at her backe:And opening it, she had the perfect cry,100Come my faire Girles, let's see, what will you buy.Here be fine night Maskes, plastred well within,To supple wrinckles, and to smooth the skin:Heer's Christall, Corall, Bugle, Iet, in Beads,Cornelian Bracelets for my dainty Maids:Then Periwigs and Searcloth-Gloues doth show,To make their hands as white as Swan or Snow:Then takes she forth a curious gilded boxe,Which was not opened but by double locks;Takes them aside, and doth a Paper spred,110In which was painting both for white and red:And next a piece of Silke, wherein there lyesFor the decay'd, false Breasts, false Teeth, false EyesAnd all the while shee's opening of her Packe,Cupidwith's wings bound close downe to his backe:Playing the Tumbler on a Table gets,And shewes the Ladies many pretty feats.I seeing behinde him that he had such things,For well I knew no boy but he had wings,I view'd his Mothers beauty, which to me120Lesse then a Goddesse said, she could not be:With that quoth I to her, this other day,As you doe now, so one that came this way,Shew'd me a neate piece, with the needle wrought,HowMarsandVenuswere together caughtBy polt-footVulcanin an Iron net;It grieu'd me after that I chanc't to let,It to goe from me: whereat waxing red,Into her Hamper she hung downe her head,As she had stoup't some noueltie to seeke,130But 'twas indeed to hide her blushing Cheeke:When she her Trinkets trusseth vp anon,E'r we were 'ware, and instantly was gone.
Florimel.But hearke you Nimphes, amongst our idle prate,Tis current newes through the Elizian State,ThatVenusand her Sonne were lately seeneHere inElizium, whence they oft haue beeneBanisht by our Edict, and yet still merry,Were here in publique row'd o'r at the Ferry,Where as 'tis said, the Ferryman and she140Had much discourse, she was so full of glee,Codrusmuch wondring at the blind Boyes Bow.
Naijs.And what it was, that easly you may know,Codrushimselfe comes rowing here at hand.
Lelipa.CodrusCome hither, let your Whirry stand,I hope vpon you, ye will take no stateBecause two Gods haue grac't your Boat of late;Good Ferry-man I pray thee let vs heareWhat talke ye had, aboard thee whilst they were.
Codrus.Why thus faire Nimphes.150As I a Fare had lately past,And thought that side to ply,I heard one as it were in haste;A Boate, a Boate, to cry,Which as I was aboute to bring,And came to view my Fraught,Thought I; what more then heauenly thing,Hath fortune hither brought.She seeing mine eyes still on her were,Soone, smilingly, quoth she;160Sirra, looke to your Roother there,Why lookst thou thus at me?And nimbly stept into my Boat,With her a little LadNaked and blind, yet did I note,That Bow and Shafts he had,And two Wings to his Shoulders fixt,Which stood like little Sayles,With farre more various colours mixt,Then be your Peacocks Tayles;170I seeing this little dapper Elfe,Such Armes as these to beare,Quoth I thus softly to my selfe,What strange thing haue we here,I neuer saw the like thought I:Tis more then strange to me,To haue a child haue wings to fly,And yet want eyes to see;Sure this is some deuised toy,Or it transform'd hath bin,180For such a thing, halfe Bird, halfe Boy,I thinke was neuer seene;And in my Boat I turnd about,And wistly viewd the Lad,And cleerely saw his eyes were out,Though Bow and Shafts he had.As wistly she did me behold,How likst thou him, quoth she,Why well, quoth I; and better should,Had he but eyes to see.190How sayst thou honest friend, quoth she,Wilt thou a Prentice take,I thinke in time, though blind he be,A Ferry-man hee'll make;To guide my passage Boat quoth I,His fine hands were not made,He hath beene bred too wantonlyTo vndertake my trade;Why helpe him to a Master then,Quoth she, such Youths be scant,200It cannot be but there be menThat such a Boy do want.Quoth I, when you your best haue done,No better way you'll finde,Then to a Harper binde your Sonne,Since most of them are blind.The louely Mother and the Boy,Laught heartily thereat,As at some nimble iest or toy,To heare my homely Chat.210Quoth I, I pray you let me know,Came he thus first to light,Or by some sicknesse, hurt, or blow,Depryued of his sight;Nay sure, quoth she, he thus was borne,Tis strange borne blind, quoth I,I feare you put this as a scorneOn my simplicity;Quoth she, thus blind I did him beare,Quoth I, if't be no lye,220Then he 's the first blind man Ile sweare,Ere practisd Archery,A man, quoth she, nay there you misse,He 's still a Boy as now,Nor to be elder then he is,The Gods will him alow;To be no elder then he is,Then sure he is some spriteI straight replide, againe at this,The Goddesse laught out right;230It is a mystery to me,An Archer and yet blinde;Quoth I againe, how can it be,That he his marke should finde;The Gods, quoth she, whose will it wasThat he should want his sight,That he in something should surpasse,To recompence their spight,Gaue him this gift, though at his GameHe still shot in the darke,240That he should haue so certaine ayme,As not to misse his marke.By this time we were come a shore,When me my Fare she payd,But not a word she vttered more,Nor had I her bewrayd,OfVenusnor ofCupidIBefore did neuer heare,But that Fisher comming byThen, told me who they were.
250Florimel.Well: against them then proceedAs before we haue decreed,That the Goddesse and her Child,Be for euer hence exild,WhichLelipayou shall proclaimeIn our wiseApollo'sname.
Lelipa.To all th' Elizian Nimphish Nation,Thus we make our Proclamation,AgainstVenusand her SonneFor the mischeefe they haue done,260After the next last of May,The fixt and peremtory day,If she orCupidshall be foundVpon our Elizian ground,Our Edict, meere Rogues shall make them,And as such, who ere shall take them,Them shall into prison put,Cupidswings shall then be cut,His Bow broken, and his ArrowesGiuen to Boyes to shoot at Sparrowes,270And this Vagabund be sent,Hauing had due punishmentTo mountCytheron, which first fed him:Where his wanton Mother bred him,And there out of her protectionDayly to receiue correction;Then her Pasport shall be made,And toCyprusIsle conuayd,And atPaphosin her Shryne,Where she hath been held diuine,280For her offences found contrite,There to liue an Anchorite.