Sul.In this Fount be thy grave, thou wert not meantSure for a woman, thou art so innocent. [flings her into the wellShe cannot scape, for underneath the ground,In a long hollow the clear spring is bound,Till on yon side where the Morns Sun doth look,The strugling water breaks out in a Brook. [Exit.
[The God of the River riseth withAmoretin his arms.
God.What powerfull charms my streams do bringBack again unto their spring,With such force, that I their god,Three times striking with my Rod,Could not keep them in their ranks:My Fishes shoot into the banks,There's not one that stayes and feeds,All have hid them in the weeds.Here's a mortal almost dead,Faln into my River head,Hallowed so with many a spell,That till now none ever fell.'Tis a Female young and clear,Cast in by some Ravisher.See upon her breast a wound,On which there is no plaister bound.Yet she's warm, her pulses beat,'Tis a sign of life and heat.If thou be'st a Virgin pure,I can give a present cure:Take a drop into thy woundFrom my watry locks more roundThan Orient Pearl, and far more pureThan unchast flesh may endure.See she pants, and from her fleshThe warm blood gusheth out afresh.She is an unpolluted maid;I must have this bleeding staid.From my banks I pluck this flowerWith holy hand, whose vertuous powerIs at once to heal and draw.The blood returns. I never sawA fairer Mortal. Now doth breakHer deadly slumber: Virgin, speak.
Amo.Who hath restor'd my sense, given me new breath, And brought me back out of the arms of death?
God.I have heal'd thy wounds.
Amo.Ay me!
God.Fear not him that succour'd thee:I am this Fountains god; below,My waters to a River grow,And 'twixt two banks with Osiers set,That only prosper in the wet,Through the Meadows do they glide,Wheeling still on every side,Sometimes winding round about,To find the evenest channel out.And if thou wilt go with me,Leaving mortal companie,In the cool streams shalt thou lye,Free from harm as well as I:I will give thee for thy food,No Fish that useth in the mud,But Trout and Pike that love to swimWhere the gravel from the brimThrough the pure streams may be seen:Orient Pearl fit for a Queen,Will I give thy love to win,And a shell to keep them in:Not a Fish in all my BrookThat shall disobey thy look,But when thou wilt, come sliding by,And from thy white hand take a fly.And to make thee understand,How I can my waves command,They shall bubble whilst I singSweeter than the silver spring.
_The SONG.
Do not fear to put thy feetNaked in the River sweet;Think not Leach, or Newt or ToadWill bite thy foot, when thou hast troad;Nor let the water rising high,As thou wad'st in, make thee crieAnd sob, but ever live with me,And not a wave shall trouble thee._
Amo.Immortal power, that rul'st this holy flood,I know my self unworthy to be woo'dBy thee a god: for e're this, but for theeI should have shown my weak Mortalitie:Besides, by holy Oath betwixt us twain,I am betroath'd unto a Shepherd swain,Whose comely face, I know the gods aboveMay make me leave to see, but not to love.
God.May he prove to thee as true.Fairest Virgin, now adieu,I must make my waters fly,Lest they leave their Channels dry,And beasts that come unto the springMiss their mornings watering,Which I would not; for of lateAll the neighbour people sateOn my banks, and from the fold,Two white Lambs of three weeks oldOffered to my Deitie:For which this year they shall be freeFrom raging floods, that as they passLeave their gravel in the grass:Nor shall their Meads be overflown,When their grass is newly mown.
Amo.For thy kindness to me shown,Never from thy banks be blownAny tree, with windy force,Cross thy streams, to stop thy course:May no beast that comes to drink,With his horns cast down thy brink;May none that for thy fish do look,Cut thy banks to damm thy Brook;Bare-foot may no Neighbour wadeIn thy cool streams, wife nor maid,When the spawns on stones do lye,To wash their Hemp, and spoil the Fry.
God.Thanks Virgin, I must down again,Thy wound will put thee to no pain:Wonder not so soon 'tis gone:A holy hand was laid upon.
Amo.And I unhappy born to be, Must follow him that flies from me.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
EnterPerigot.
Per.She is untrue, unconstant, and unkind,She's gone, she's gone, blow high thou North-west wind,And raise the Sea to Mountains, let the TreesThat dare oppose thy raging fury, leeseTheir firm foundation, creep into the Earth,And shake the world, as at the monstrous birthOf some new Prodigy, whilst I constant stand,Holding this trustie Boar-spear in my hand,And falling thus upon it.
EnterAmaryllis,running.
Amar.Stay thy dead-doing hand, thou art too hotAgainst thy self, believe me comely Swain,If that thou dyest, not all the showers of RainThe heavy clods send down can wash awayThat foul unmanly guilt, the world will layUpon thee. Yet thy love untainted stands:Believe me, she is constant, not the sandsCan be so hardly numbred as she won:I do not trifle,Shepherd, by the Moon,And all those lesser lights our eyes do view,All that I told theePerigot, is true:Then be a free man, put away despair,And will to dye, smooth gently up that fairDejected forehead: be as when those eyesTook the first heat.
Per.Alas he double dyes,That would believe, but cannot; 'tis not wellYe keep me thus from dying, here to dwellWith many worse companions: but oh death,I am not yet inamour'd of this breathSo much, but I dare leave it, 'tis not painIn forcing of a wound, nor after gainOf many dayes, can hold me from my will:'Tis not my self, butAmoret, bids kill.
Ama.Stay but a little, little, but one hour,And if I do not show thee through the powerOf herbs and words I have, as dark as night,My self turn'd to thyAmoret, in sight,Her very figure, and the Robe she wears,With tawny Buskins, and the hook she bearsOf thine own Carving, where your names are set,Wrought underneath with many a curious fret,ThePrim-RoseChaplet, taudry-lace and Ring,Thou gavest her for her singing, with each thingElse that she wears about her, let me feelThe first fell stroke of that Revenging steel.
Per.I am contented, if there be a hopeTo give it entertainment, for the scopeOf one poor hour; goe, you shall find me nextUnder yon shady Beech, even thus perplext,And thus believing.
Ama.Bind before I goe,Thy soul byPanunto me, not to doeHarm or outragious wrong upon thy life,Till my return.
Per.ByPan, and by the strifeHe had withPhoebusfor the Mastery,When GoldenMidasjudg'd theirMinstrelcy,I will not. [Exeunt.
EnterSatyr,withAlexis,hurt.
Satyr.Softly gliding as I goe,With this burthen full of woe,Through still silence of the night,Guided by the Gloe-worms light,Hither am I come at last,Many a Thicket have I pastNot a twig that durst deny me,Not a bush that durst descry me,To the little Bird that sleepsOn the tender spray: nor creepsThat hardy worm with pointed tail,But if I be under sail,Flying faster than the wind,Leaving all the clouds behind,But doth hide her tender headIn some hollow tree or bedOf seeded Nettles: not a HareCan be started from his fare,By my footing, nor a wishIs more sudden, nor a fishCan be found with greater ease,Cut the vast unbounded seas,Leaving neither print nor sound,Than I, when nimbly on the ground,I measure many a league an hour:But behold the happy power,That must ease me of my charge,And by holy hand enlargeThe soul of this sad man, that yetLyes fast bound in deadly fit;Heaven and greatPansuccour it!Hail thou beauty of the bower,Whiter than the ParamourOf my Master, let me craveThy vertuous help to keep from GraveThis poor Mortal that here lyes,Waiting when the destiniesWill cut off his thred of life:View the wound by cruel knifeTrencht into him.
Clor.What art thou call'st me from my holy rites, And with thy feared name of death affrights My tender Ears? speak me thy name and will.
Satyr.I am theSatyrthat did fillYour lap with early fruit, and will,When I hap to gather more,Bring ye better and more store:Yet I come not empty now,See a blossom from the bow,But beshrew his heart that pull'd it,And his perfect sight that cull'd itFrom the other springing blooms;For a sweeter youth the GroomsCannot show me, nor the downs,Nor the many neighbouring towns;Low in yonder glade I found him,Softly in mine Arms I bound him,Hither have I brought him sleepingIn a trance, his wounds fresh weeping,In remembrance such youth maySpring and perish in a day.
Clor.Satyr, they wrong thee, that do term thee rude,Though thou beest outward rough and tawny hu'd,Thy manners are as gentle and as fairAs his, who brags himself, born only heirTo all Humanity: let me see the wound:This Herb will stay the current being boundFast to the Orifice, and this restrainUlcers, and swellings, and such inward pain,As the cold air hath forc'd into the sore:This to draw out such putrifying goreAs inward falls.
Satyr.Heaven grant it may doe good.
Clor.Fairly wipe away the blood:Hold him gently till I flingWater of a vertuous springOn his temples; turn him twiceTo the Moon beams, pinch him thrice,That the labouring soul may drawFrom his great eclipse.
Satyr.I saw His eye-lids moving.
Clo.Give him breath,All the danger of cold deathNow is vanisht; with this Plaster,And this unction, do I masterAll the festred ill that mayGive him grief another day.
Satyr.See he gathers up his sprightAnd begins to hunt for light;Now he gapes and breaths again:How the blood runs to the vein,That erst was empty!
Alex.O my heart,My dearest, dearestCloe, O the smartRuns through my side: I feel some pointed thingPass through my Bowels, sharper than the stingOf Scorpion.
Pan preserve me, what are you?Do not hurt me, I am trueTo myCloe, though she flye,And leave me to thy destiny.There she stands, and will not lendHer smooth white hand to help her friend:
But I am much mistaken, for that faceBears more Austerity and modest grace,
More reproving and more aweThan these eyes yet ever sawIn my Cloe. Oh my painEagerly renews again.
Give me your help for his sake you love best.
Clor.Shepherd, thou canst not possibly take rest,Till thou hast laid aside all hearts desiresProvoking thought that stir up lusty fires,Commerce with wanton eyes, strong blood, and willTo execute, these must be purg'd, untillThe vein grow whiter; then repent, and prayGreatPanto keep you from the like decay,And I shall undertake your cure with ease.Till when this vertuous Plaster will displeaseYour tender sides; give me your hand and rise:Help him a littleSatyr, for his thighsYet are feeble.
Alex.Sure I have lost much blood.
Satyr.'Tis no matter, 'twas not good.Mortal you must leave your wooing,Though there be a joy in doing,Yet it brings much grief behind it,They best feel it, that do find it.
Clor.Come bring him in, I will attend his sore When you are well, take heed you lust no more.
Satyr.Shepherd, see what comes of kissing,By my head 'twere better missing.Brightest, if there be remainingAny service, without feigningI will do it; were I setTo catch the nimble wind, or getShadows gliding on the green,Or to steal from the great QueenOfFayries, all her beauty,I would do it, so much dutyDo I owe those precious Eyes.
Clor.I thank thee honestSatyr, if the cryesOf any other that be hurt or ill,Draw thee unto them, prithee do thy willTo bring them hither.
Satyr.I will, and when the weatherServes to Angle in the brook,I will bring a silver hook,With a line of finest silk,And a rod as white as milk,To deceive the little fish:So I take my leave, and wish,On this Bower may ever dwellSpring, and Summer.
Clo. Friend farewel. [Exit.
EnterAmoret,seeking her Love.
Amor. This place is Ominous, for here I lostMy Love and almost life, and since have crostAll these Woods over, never a Nook or Dell,Where any little Bird, or Beast doth dwell,But I have sought him, never a bending browOf any Hill or Glade, the wind sings through,Nor a green bank, nor shade where Shepherds useTo sit and Riddle, sweetly pipe, or chuseTheir Valentines, that I have mist, to findMy love in.Perigot, Oh too unkind,Why hast thou fled me? whither art thou gone?How have I wrong'd thee? was my love aloneTo thee worthy this scorn'd recompence? 'tis well,I am content to feel it: but I tellThee Shepherd, and these lusty woods shall hear,ForsakenAmoretis yet as clearOf any stranger fire, as Heaven isFrom foul corruption, or the deep AbysseFrom light and happiness; and thou mayst knowAll this for truth, and how that fatal blowThou gav'st me, never from desert of mine,Fell on my life, but from suspect of thine,Or fury more than madness; therefore, here,Since I have lost my life, my love, my dear,Upon this cursed place, and on this green,That first divorc'd us, shortly shall be seenA sight of so great pity, that each eyeShall dayly spend his spring in memoryOf my untimely fall.
EnterAmaryllis.
Amar. I am not blind,Nor is it through the working of my mind,That this showsAmoret; forsake me allThat dwell upon the soul, but what men callWonder, or more than wonder, miracle,For sure so strange as this the OracleNever gave answer of, it passeth dreams,Or mad-mens fancy, when the many streamsOf new imaginations rise and fall:'Tis but an hour since these Ears heard her callFor pity to youngPerigot; whilest he,Directed by his fury bloodilyLanc't up her brest, which bloodless fell and cold;And if belief may credit what was told,After all this, the Melancholy SwainTook her into his arms being almost slain,And to the bottom of the holy wellFlung her, for ever with the waves to dwell.'Tis she, the very same, 'tisAmoret,And living yet, the great powers will not letTheir vertuous love be crost. Maid, wipe awayThose heavy drops of sorrow, and allayThe storm that yet goes high, which not deprest,Breaks heart and life, and all before it rest:ThyPerigot—
Amor. Where, which isPerigot?
Amar. Sits there below, lamenting much, god wot,Thee [and thy] fortune, go and comfort him,And thou shalt find him underneath a brimOf sailing Pines that edge yon Mountain in.
Amo. I go, I run, Heaven grant me I may win His soul again. [ExitAmoret.
EnterSullen.
Sull. StayAmaryllis, stay,Ye are too fleet, 'tis two hours yet to day.I have perform'd my promise, let us sitAnd warm our bloods together till the fitCome lively on us.
Amar. Friend you are too keen, The morning riseth and we shall be seen, Forbear a little.
Sull. I can stay no longer.
Amar. HoldShepherdhold, learn not to be a wronger Of your word, was not your promise laid, To break their loves first?
Sull. I have done it Maid.
Amar. No, they are yet unbroken, met again, And are as hard to part yet as the stain Is from the finest Lawn.
Sull. I say they are Now at this present parted, and so far, That they shall never meet.
Amar. Swain 'tis not so, For do but to yon hanging Mountain go, And there believe your eyes.
Sull. You do but holdOff with delayes and trifles; farewell coldAnd frozen bashfulness, unfit for men;Thus I salute thee Virgin.
Amar. And thus then, I bid you follow, catch me if you can. [Exit.
Sull. And if I stay behind I am no man. [Exit running after her.
EnterPerigot.
Per. Night do not steal away: I woo thee yetTo hold a hard hand o're the rusty bitThat guides the lazy Team: go back again,Bootes, thou that driv'st thy frozen WainRound as a Ring, and bring a second NightTo hide my sorrows from the coming light;Let not the eyes of men stare on my face,And read my falling, give me some black placeWhere never Sun-beam shot his wholesome light,That I may sit and pour out my sad sprightLike running water, never to be knownAfter the forced fall and sound is gone.
EnterAmoretlooking forPerigot.
Amo. This is the bottom: speak if thou be here, MyPerigot, thyAmoret, thy dear Calls on thy loved Name.
Per. What art thou [dare] Tread these forbidden paths, where death and care Dwell on the face of darkness?
Amo. 'Tis thy friend,ThyAmoret, come hither to give endTo these consumings; look up gentle Boy,I have forgot those Pains and dear annoyI suffer'd for thy sake, and am contentTo be thy love again; why hast thou rentThose curled locks, where I have often hungRiband and Damask-roses, and have flungWaters distil'd to make thee fresh and gay,Sweeter than the Nosegayes on a Bridal day?Why dost thou cross thine Arms, and hang thy faceDown to thy bosom, letting fall apaceFrom those two little Heavens upon the groundShowers of more price, more Orient, and more roundThan those that hang upon the Moons pale brow?Cease these complainings, Shepherd, I am nowThe same I ever was, as kind and free,And can forgive before you ask of me.Indeed I can and will.
Per. So spoke my fair.O you great working powers of Earth and Air,Water and forming fire, why have you lentYour hidden vertues of so ill intent?Even such a face, so fair, so bright of hueHadAmoret; such words so smooth and new,Came flying from her tongue; such was her eye,And such the pointed sparkle that did flyeForth like a bleeding shaft; all is the same,The Robe and Buskins, painted Hook, and frameOf all her Body. O me,Amoret!
Amo. Shepherd, what means this Riddle? who hath setSo strong a difference 'twixt my self and meThat I am grown another? look and seeThe Ring thou gav'st me, and about my wristThat curious Bracelet thou thy self didst twistFrom those fair Tresses: knowst thouAmoret?Hath not some newer love forc'd thee forgetThy Ancient faith?
Per. Still nearer to my love;These be the very words she oft did proveUpon my temper, so she still would takeWonder into her face, and silent makeSigns with her head and hand, as who would say,Shepherd remember this another day.
Amo. Am I notAmaret? where was I lost?Can there be Heaven, and time, and men, and mostOf these unconstant? Faith where art thou fled?Are all the vows and protestations dead,The hands [held] up, the wishes, and the heart,Is there not one remaining, not a partOf all these to be found? why then I seeMen never knew that vertue Constancie.
Per. Men ever were most blessed, till crass fateBrought Love and Women forth, unfortunateTo all that ever tasted of their smiles,Whose actions are all double, full of wiles:Like to the subtil Hare, that 'fore the HoundsMakes many turnings, leaps and many rounds,This way and that way, to deceive the scentOf her pursuers.
Amo. 'Tis but to preventTheir speedy coming on that seek her fall,The hands of cruel men, more Bestial,And of a nature more refusing goodThan Beasts themselves, or Fishes of the Flood.
Per. Thou art all these, and more than nature meant,When she created all, frowns, joys, content;Extream fire for an hour, and presentlyColder than sleepy poyson, or the Sea,Upon whose face sits a continual frost:Your actions ever driven to the most,Then down again as low, that none can findThe rise or falling of a Womans mind.
Amo. Can there be any Age, or dayes, or time,Or tongues of men, guilty so great a crimeAs wronging simple Maid? OPerigot,Thou that wast yesterday without a blot,Thou that wast every good, and every thingThat men call blessed; thou that wast the springFrom whence our looser grooms drew all their best;Thou that wast alwayes just, and alwayes blestIn faith and promise; thou that hadst the nameOf Vertuous given thee, and made good the sameEv'en from thy Cradle; thou that wast that allThat men delighted in; Oh what a fallIs this, to have been so, and now to beThe only best in wrong and infamie,And I to live to know this! and by meThat lov'd thee dearer than mine eyes, or thatWhich we esteem'd our honour, Virgin state;Dearer than Swallows love the early morn,Or Dogs of Chace the sound of merry Horn;Dearer than thou canst love thy new Love, if thou hastAnother, and far dearer than the last;Dearer than thou canst love thy self, though allThe self love were within thee that did fallWith that coy Swain that now is made a flower,For whose dear sake, Echo weeps many a shower.And am I thus rewarded for my flame?Lov'd worthily to get a wantons name?Come thou forsaken Willow, wind my head,And noise it to the world my Love is dead:I am forsaken, I am cast away.And left for every lazy Groom to say,I was unconstant, light, and sooner lostThan the quick Clouds we see, or the chill FrostWhen the hot Sun beats on it. Tell me yet,Canst thou not love again thyAmoret?
Per. Thou art not worthy of that blessed name,I must not know thee, fling thy wanton flameUpon some lighter blood, that may be hotWith words and feigned passions:PerigotWas ever yet unstain'd, and shall not nowStoop to the meltings of a borrowed brow.
Amo. Then hear me heaven, to whom I call for right,And you fair twinkling stars that crown the night;And hear me woods, and silence of this place,And ye sad hours that move a sullen pace;Hear me ye shadows that delight to dwellIn horrid darkness, and ye powers of Hell,Whilst I breath out my last; I am that maid,That yet untaintedAmoret, that plaidThe careless prodigal, and gave awayMy soul to this young man, that now dares sayI am a stranger, not the same, more wild;And thus with much belief I was beguil'd.I am that maid, that have delaid, deny'd,And almost scorn'd the loves of all that try'dTo win me, but this swain, and yet confessI have been woo'd by many with no lessSoul of affection, and have often hadRings, Belts, and Cracknels sent me from the ladThat feeds his flocks down westward; Lambs and DovesBy youngAlexis; Daphnissent me gloves,All which I gave to thee: nor these, nor theyThat sent them did I smile on, or e're layUp to my after-memory. But whyDo I resolve to grieve, and not to dye?Happy had been the stroke thou gav'st, if home;By this time had I found a quiet roomWhere every slave is free, and every brestThat living breeds new care, now lies at rest,And thither will poorAmoret.
Per. Thou must.Was ever any man so loth to trustHis eyes as I? or was there ever yetAny so like as this toAmoret?For whose dear sake, I promise if there beA living soul within thee, thus to freeThy body from it. [He hurts her again.
Amo. So, this work hath end: Farewel and live, be constant to thy friend That loves thee next.
EnterSatyr, Perigotruns off.
Satyr. See the day begins to break,And the light shoots like a streakOf subtil fire, the wind blows cold,Whilst the morning doth unfold;Now the Birds begin to rouse,And the Squirril from the boughsLeaps to get him Nuts and fruit;The early Lark that erst was mute,Carrols to the rising dayMany a note and many a lay:Therefore here I end my watch,Lest the wandring swain should catchHarm, or lose himself.
Amo. Ah me!
Satyr. Speak again what e're thou be,I am ready, speak I say:By the dawning of the day,By the power of night andPan,I inforce thee speak again.
Amo. O I am most unhappy.
Satyr. Yet more blood!Sure these wanton Swains are wode.Can there be a hand or heartDare commit so vile a partAs this Murther? By the MoonThat hid her self when this was done,Never was a sweeter face:I will bear her to the placeWhere my Goddess keeps; and craveHer to give her life, or grave. [Exeunt.
EnterClorin.
Clor. Here whilst one patient takes his rest secureI steal abroad to doe another Cure.Pardon thou buryed body of my love,That from thy side I dare so soon remove,I will not prove unconstant, nor will leaveThee for an hour alone. When I deceiveMy first made vow, the wildest of the woodTear me, and o're thy Grave let out my blood;I goe by wit to cure a lovers painWhich no herb can; being done, I'le come again. [Exit.
EnterThenot.
The. Poor Shepherd in this shade for ever lye,And seeing thy fairClorinsCabin, dye:0 hapless love, which [being] answer'd, ends;And as a little infant cryes and bendsHis tender Brows, when rowling of his eyeHe hath espy'd some thing that glisters nighWhich he would have, yet give it him, awayHe throws it straight, and cryes afresh to playWith something else: such my affection, setOn that which I should loath, if I could get.
EnterClorin.
Clor. See where he lyes; did ever man but heLove any woman for her ConstancieTo her dead lover, which she needs must endBefore she can allow him for her friend,And he himself must needs the cause destroy,For which he loves, before he can enjoy?PoorShepherd, Heaven grant I at once may freeThee from thy pain, and keep my loyaltie:Shepherd, look up.
The. Thy brightness doth amaze!SoPhoebusmay at noon bid mortals gaze,Thy glorious constancie appears so bright,I dare not meet the Beams with my weak sight.
Clor. Why dost thou pine away thy self for me?
The. Why dost thou keep such spotless constancie?
Clor. Thou holyShepherd, see what for thy sakeClorin, thyClorin, now dare under take. [He starts up.
The. Stay there, thou constantClorin, if there be Yet any part of woman left in thee, To make thee light: think yet before thou speak.
Clor. See what a holy vow for thee I break. I that already have my fame far spread For being constant to my lover dead.
The. Think yet, dearClorin, of your love, how true, If you had dyed, he would have been to you.
Clor. Yet all I'le lose for thee.
The. Think but how blest A constant woman is above the rest.
Clor. And offer up my self, here on this ground, To be dispos'd by thee.
The. Why dost thou woundHis heart with malice, against woman more,That hated all the Sex, but thee before?How much more pleasant had it been to meTo dye, than to behold this change in thee?Yet, yet, return, let not the woman sway.
Clor. Insult not on her now, nor use delay, Who for thy sake hath ventur'd all her fame.
The. Thou hast not ventur'd, but bought certain shame,Your Sexes curse, foul falshood must and shall,I see, once in your lives, light on you all.I hate thee now: yet turn.
Clor. Be just to me: Shall I at once both lose my fame and thee?
The. Thou hadst no fame, that which thou didst like good,Was but thy appetite that sway'd thy bloodFor that time to the best: for as a blastThat through a house comes, usually doth castThings out of order, yet by chance may come,And blow some one thing to his proper room;So did thy appetite, and not thy zeal,Sway thee [by] chance to doe some one thing well.Yet turn.
Clor. Thou dost but try me if I would Forsake thy dear imbraces, for my old Love's, though he were alive: but do not fear.
The. I do contemn thee now, and dare come near,And gaze upon thee; for me thinks that grace,Austeritie, which sate upon that faceIs gone, and thou like others: false maid see,This is the gain of foul inconstancie. [Exit.
Clor. 'Tis done, greatPanI give thee thanks for it, What art could not have heal'd, is cur'd by wit.
EnterThenot,again.
The. Will ye be constant yet? will ye remove Into the Cabin to your buried Love?
Clor. No let me die, but by thy side remain.
The. There's none shall know that thou didst ever stainThy worthy strictness, but shall honour'd be,And I will lye again under this tree,And pine and dye for thee with more delight,Than I have sorrow now to know the light.
Clor. Let me have thee, and I'le be where thou wilt.
The. Thou art of womens race, and full of guilt.Farewel all hope of that Sex, whilst I thoughtThere was one good, I fear'd to find one naught:But since their minds I all alike espie,Henceforth I'le choose as others, by mine eye.
Clor. Blest be ye powers that give such quick redress,And for my labours sent so good success.I rather choose, though I a woman be,He should speak ill of all, than die for me.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
EnterPriest,and oldShepherd.
Priest. Shepherds, rise and shake off sleep,See the blushing Morn doth peepThrough the window, whilst the SunTo the mountain tops is run,Gilding all the Vales belowWith his rising flames, which growGreater by his climbing still.Up ye lazie grooms, and fillBagg and Bottle for the field;Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yieldTo the bitter North-east wind.Call the Maidens up, and findWho lay longest, that she mayGoe without a friend all day;Then reward your Dogs, and prayPanto keep you from decay:So unfold and then away.What not a Shepherd stirring? sure the groomsHave found their beds too easie, or the roomsFill'd with such new delight, and heat, that theyHave both forgot their hungry sheep, and day;Knock, that they may remember what a shameSloath and neglect layes on a Shepherds name.
Old Shep. It is to little purpose, not a swainThis night hath known his lodging here, or lainWithin these cotes: the woods, or some near town,That is a neighbour to the bordering Down,Hath drawn them thither, 'bout some lustie sport,Or spiced Wassel-Boul, to which resortAll the young men and maids of many a cote,Whilst the trim Minstrel strikes his merry note.
Priest. God pardon sin, show me the way that leads To any of their haunts.
Old Shep. This to the meads, And that down to the woods.
Priest. Then this for me; Come Shepherd let me crave your companie. [Exeunt.
EnterClorin,in her Cabin, Alexis,with her.
Clor. Now your thoughts are almost pure,And your wound begins to cure:Strive to banish all that's vain,Lest it should break out again.
Alex. Eternal thanks to thee, thou holy maid:I find my former wandring thoughts well staidThrough thy wise precepts, and my outward painBy thy choice herbs is almost gone again:Thy sexes vice and vertue are reveal'dAt once, for what one hurt, another heal'd.
Clor. May thy grief more appease,Relapses are the worst disease.Take heed how you in thought offend,So mind and body both will mend.
EnterSatyr,withAmoret.
Amo. Beest thou the wildest creature of the wood,That bearst me thus away, drown'd in my blood,And dying, know I cannot injur'd be,I am a maid, let that name fight for me.
Satyr. Fairest Virgin do not fearMe, that do thy body bear,Not to hurt, but heal'd to be;Men are ruder far than we.See fairGoddessin the wood,They have let out yet more blood.Some savage man hath struck her breastSo soft and white, that no wild beastDurst ha' toucht asleep, or wake:So sweet, thatAdder, Newte, orSnake,Would have lain from arm to arm,On her bosom to be warmAll a night, and being hot,Gone away and stung her not.Quickly clap herbs to her breast;A man sure is a kind of beast.
Clor. With spotless hand, on spotless brestI put these herbs to give thee rest:Which till it heal thee, will abide,If both be pure, if not, off slide.See it falls off from the wound,Shepherdess thou art not sound,Full of lust.
Satyr, Who would have thought it, So fair a face?
Clor. Why that hath brought it.
Amo. For ought I know or think, these words, my last: YetPanso help me as my thoughts are chast.
Clor. And so mayPanbless this my cure, As all my thoughts are just and pure; Some uncleanness nigh doth lurk, That will not let my Medicines work.Satyrsearch if thou canst find it.
Satyr. Here away methinks I wind it,Stronger yet: Oh here they be,Here, here, in a hollow tree,Two fond mortals have I found.
Clor. Bring them out, they are unsound.
EnterCloe,andDaphnis.
Satyr. By the fingers thus I wring ye,To myGoddessthus I bring ye;Strife is vain, come gently in,I scented them, they're full of sin.
Clor. HoldSatyr, take this Glass,Sprinkle over all the place,Purge the Air from lustfull breath,To save this Shepherdess from death,And stand you still whilst I do dressHer wound for fear the pain encrease.
Sat. From this glass I throw a dropOf Crystal water on the topOf every grass, on flowers a pair:Send a fume and keep the airPure and wholsom, sweet and blest,Till this Virgins wound be drest.
Clor. Satyr, help to bring her in.
Sat. ByPan, I think she hath no sin,She is so light: lye on these leaves.Sleep that mortal sense deceives,Crown thine Eyes, and ease thy pain,Maist thou soon be well again.
Clor. Satyr, bring the Shepherd near, Try him if his mind be clear.
Sat. Shepherd come.
Daph. My thoughts are pure.
Sat. The better trial to endure.
Clor. In this flame his finger thrust,Which will burn him if he lust;But if not, away will turn,As loth unspotted flesh to burn:See, it gives back, let him go,Farewel mortal, keep thee so.
Sat. Stay fairNymph, flye not so fast,We must try if you be chaste:Here's a hand that quakes for fear,Sure she will not prove so clear.
Clor.Hold her finger to the flame, That will yield her praise or shame.
Sat.To her doom she dares not stand,But plucks away her tender hand,And the Taper darting sendsHis hot beams at her fingers ends:O thou art foul within, and hastA mind, if nothing else, unchaste.
Alex.Is not thatCloe?'tis my Love, 'tis she!Cloe, fairCloe.
Clo.My Alexis.
Alex.He.
Clo.Let me embrace thee.
Clor.Take her hence, Lest her sight disturb his sence.
Alex.Take not her, take my life first.
Clor.See, his wound again is burst:Keep her near, here in the Wood,Till I ha' stopt these Streams of Blood.Soon again he ease shall find,If I can but still his mind:This Curtain thus I do display,To keep the piercing air away.
Enterold Shepherd,andPriest.
Priest. Sure they are lost for ever; 'tis in vainTo find 'em out with trouble and much pain,That have a ripe desire, and forward willTo flye the Company of all but ill,What shall be counsel'd now? shall we retire?Or constant follow still that first desireWe had to find them?
Old. Stay a little while;For if the Morning mist do not beguileMy sight with shadows, sure I see a Swain;One of this jolly Troop's come back again.
EnterThenot.
Pri.Dost thou not blush young Shepherd to be known,Thus without care, leaving thy flocks alone,And following what desire and present bloodShapes out before thy burning sense, for good,Having forgot what tongue hereafter mayTell to the World thy falling off, and sayThou art regardless both of good and shame,Spurning at Vertue, and a vertuous Name,And like a glorious, desperate man that buysA poyson of much price, by which he dies,Dost thou lay out for Lust, whose only gainIs foul disease, with present age and pain,And then a Grave? These be the fruits that growIn such hot Veins that only beat to knowWhere they may take most ease, and grow ambitiousThrough their own wanton fire, and pride delicious.
The. Right holy Sir, I have not known this night,What the smooth face of Mirth was, or the sightOf any looseness; musick, joy, and ease,Have been to me as bitter drugs to pleaseA Stomach lost with weakness, not a gameThat I am skill'd at throughly; nor a Dame,Went her tongue smoother than the feet of Time,Her beauty ever living like the RimeOur blessedTityrusdid sing of yore,No, were she more enticing than the storeOf fruitful Summer, when the loaden TreeBids the faint Traveller be bold and free,'Twere but to me like thunder 'gainst the bay,Whose lightning may enclose but never stayUpon his charmed branches; such am IAgainst the catching flames of Womans eye.
Priest. Then wherefore hast thou wandred?
The. 'Twas a VowThat drew me out last night, which I have nowStrictly perform'd, and homewards go to giveFresh pasture to my Sheep, that they may live.
Pri. 'Tis good to hear ye, Shepherd, if the heart In this well sounding Musick bear his part. Where have you left the rest?
The. I have not seen,Since yesternight we met upon this greenTo fold our Flocks up, any of that train;Yet have I walkt these Woods round, and have lainAll this same night under an aged Tree,Yet neither wandring Shepherd did I see,Or Shepherdess, or drew into mine earThe sound of living thing, unless it wereThe Nightingale among the thick leav'd springThat sits alone in sorrow, and doth singWhole nights away in mourning, or the Owl,Or our great enemy that still doth howlAgainst the Moons cold beams.
Priest. Go and beware Of after falling.
The. Father 'tis my care. [ExitThenot.
EnterDaphnis.
Old. Here comes another Stragler, sure I see A Shame in this young Shepherd.Daphnis!
Daph. He.
Pri. Where hast thou left the rest, that should have been Long before this, grazing upon the green Their yet imprison'd flocks?
Daph. Thou holy man,Give me a little breathing till I canBe able to unfold what I have seen;Such horrour that the like hath never beenKnown to the ear of Shepherd: Oh my heartLabours a double motion to impartSo heavy tidings! You all know the BowerWhere the chastClorinlives, by whose great powerSick men and Cattel have been often cur'd,There lovelyAmoretthat was assur'dTo lustyPerigot, bleeds out her life,Forc'd by some Iron hand and fatal knife;And by her youngAlexis.
EnterAmaryllisrunning from herSullen Shepherd.
Amar. If there beEver a Neighbour Brook, or hollow tree,Receive my Body, close me up from lustThat follows at my heels; be ever just,Thou god of Shepherds,Pan, for her dear sakeThat loves the Rivers brinks, and still doth shakeIn cold remembrance of thy quick pursuit:Let me be made a reed, and ever mute,Nod to the waters fall, whilst every blastSings through my slender leaves that I was chast.
Pri. This is a night of wonder,AmaryllBe comforted, the holy gods are still Revengers of these wrongs.
Amar. Thou blessed man,Honour'd upon these plains, and lov'd ofPan,Hear me, and save from endless infamieMy yet unblasted Flower,Virginitie:By all the Garlands that have crown'd that head,By the chaste office, and the Marriage bedThat still is blest by thee, by all the rightsDue to our gods; and by those Virgin lightsThat burn before his Altar, let me notFall from my former state to gain the blotThat never shall be purg'd: I am not nowThat wantonAmaryllis: here I vowTo Heaven, and thee grave Father, if I may'Scape this unhappy Night, to know the Day,To live a Virgin, never to endureThe tongues, or Company of men impure.I hear him come, save me.
Pri. Retire a while Behind this Bush, till we have known that vile Abuser of young Maidens.
EnterSullen.
Sul. Stay thy pace,Most lovedAmaryllis, let the ChaseGrow calm and milder, flye me not so fast,I fear the pointed Brambles have unlac'dThy golden Buskins; turn again and seeThy Shepherd follow, that is strong and free,Able to give thee all content and ease.I am not bashful, Virgin, I can pleaseAt first encounter, hug thee in mine arm,And give thee many Kisses, soft and warmAs those the Sun prints on the smiling CheekOf Plums, or mellow Peaches; I am sleekAnd smooth asNeptune, when sternEolusLocks up his surly Winds, and nimbly thusCan shew my active Youth; why dost thou flye?RememberAmaryllis, it was IThat kill'dAlexisfor thy sake, and setAn everlasting hate 'twixtAmoretAnd her belovedPerigot: 'twas IThat drown'd her in the Well, where she must lyeTill Time shall leave to be; then turn again,Turn with thy open arms, and clip the SwainThat hath perform'd all this, turn, turn I say:I must not be deluded.
Pri. Monster stay,Thou that art like a Canker to the StateThou liv'st and breath'st in, eating with debateThrough every honest bosome, forcing stillThe Veins of any that may serve thy Will,Thou that hast offer'd with a sinful handTo seize upon this Virgin that doth standYet trembling here.
Sull. Good holiness declare,What had the danger been, if being bareI had embrac'd her, tell me by your Art,What coming wonders would that sight impart?
Pri. Lust, and a branded Soul.
Sull. Yet tell me more,Hath not our Mother Nature for her storeAnd great encrease, said it is good and just,And wills that every living Creature mustBeget his like?
Pri. Ye are better read than I,I must confess, in blood and Lechery.Now to the Bower, and bring this Beast along,Where he may suffer Penance for his wrong. [Exeunt.
EnterPerigotwith his hands bloody.
Per. Here will I wash it in this mornings dew,Which she on every little grass doth strewIn silver drops against the Sun's appear:'Tis holy water, and will make me clear.My hands will not be cleans'd. My wronged Love,If thy chaste spirit in the air yet move,Look mildly down on him that yet doth standAll full of guilt, thy blood upon his hand,And though I struck thee undeservedly,Let my revenge on her that injur'd theeMake less a fault which I intended not,And let these dew drops wash away my spot.It will not cleanse. O to what sacred FloodShall I resort to wash away this blood?Amid'st these Trees the holyClorindwellsIn a low Cabin of cut Boughs, and healsAll Wounds; to her I will my self address,And my rash faults repentantly confess;Perhaps she'll find a means by Art or Prayer,To make my hand with chaste blood stained, fair:That done, not far hence underneath some Tree,I'll have a little Cabin built, since sheWhom I ador'd is dead, there will I giveMy self to strictness, and likeClorinlive. [Exit.
The Curtain is drawn, Clorinappears sitting in the Cabin,Amoretsitting on the one side of her, AlexisandCloeon the other, theSatyrstanding by.
Clo. Shepherd, once more your blood is staid,Take example by this Maid,Who is heal'd ere you be pure,So hard it is lewd lust to cure.Take heed then how you turn your eyeOn each other lustfully:And Shepherdess take heed lest youMove his willing eye thereto;Let no wring, nor pinch, nor smileOf yours his weaker sense beguile.Is your Love yet true and chaste,And for ever so to last?
Alex. I have forgot all vain desires,All looser thoughts, ill tempred fires,True Love I find a pleasant fume,Whose moderate heat can ne'r consume.
Clo. And I a new fire feel in me, Whose chaste flame is not quencht to be.
Clor. Join your hands with modest touch, And for ever keep you such.
EnterPerigot.
Per. Yon is her Cabin, thus far off I'll stand, And call her forth; for my unhallowed hand I dare not bring so near yon sacred place.Clorincome forth, and do a timely grace To a poor Swain.
Clo. What art thou that dost call?Clorinis ready to do good to all: Come near.
Peri. I dare not.
Clor. Satyr, see Who it is that calls on me.
Sat. There at hand, some Swain doth stand, Stretching out a bloudy hand.
Peri. ComeClorin, bring thy holy waters clear, To wash my hand.
Clo. What wonders have been hereTo night? stretch forth thy hand young Swain,Wash and rub it whilest I rainHoly water.
Peri. Still you pour, But my hand will never scower.
Clor. Satyr, bring him to the Bower, We will try the Soveraign power Of other waters.
Satyr. Mortal, sure 'Tis the Blood of Maiden pure That stains thee so.
[TheSatyrleadeth him to the Bower, where he spiethAmoret,and kneeling down, she knoweth him.
Peri. What e're thou be,Be'st thou her spright, or some divinitie,That in her shape thinks good to walk this grove,Pardon poorPerigot.
Amor. I am thy love,ThyAmoret, for evermore thy love:Strike once more on my naked breast, I'le proveAs constant still. O couldst thou love me yet;How soon should I my former griefs forget!
Peri. So over-great with joy, that you live, now I am, that no desire of knowing how Doth seize me; hast thou still power to forgive?
Amo. Whilest thou hast power to love, or I to live; More welcome now than hadst thou never gone Astray from me.
Peri. And when thou lov'st alone And not I, death, or some lingring pain That's worse, light on me.
Clor. Now your stainThis perhaps will cleanse again;See the blood that erst did stay,With the water drops away.All the powers again are pleas'd,And with this new knot appeas'd.Joyn your hands, and rise together,Panbe blest that brought you hither.
EnterPriest,andOld Shephe[rd].
Clor. Go back again what ere thou art, unlessSmooth Maiden thoughts possess thee, do not pressThis hallowed ground. GoSatyr, take his hand,And give him present trial.
Satyr. Mortal stand,Till by fire I have made knownWhether thou be such a one,That mayst freely tread this place.Hold thy hand up; never wasMore untainted flesh than this.Fairest, he is full of bliss.
Clor. Then boldly speak, why dost thou seek this place?
Priest. First, honour'd Virgin, to behold thy faceWhere all good dwells that is: Next for to tryThe truth of late report was given to me:Those Shepherds that have met with foul mischance,Through much neglect, and more ill governance,Whether the wounds they have may yet endureThe open Air, or stay a longer cure.And lastly, what the doom may be shall lightUpon those guilty wretches, through whose spightAll this confusion fell: For to this place,Thou holy Maiden, have I brought the raceOf these offenders, who have freely told,Both why, and by what means they gave this boldAttempt upon their lives.
Clor. Fume all the ground,And sprinkle holy water, for unsoundAnd foul infection 'gins to fill the Air:It gathers yet more strongly; take a pairOf Censors fill'd with Frankincense and Mirrh,Together with cold Camphyre: quickly stirThee, gentleSatyr, for the place beginsTo sweat and labour with the abhorred sinsOf those offenders; let them not come nigh,For full of itching flame and leprosieTheir very souls are, that the ground goes back,And shrinks to feel the sullen weight of blackAnd so unheard of venome; hie thee fastThou holy man, and banish from the chastThese manlike monsters, let them never moreBe known upon these downs, but long beforeThe next Suns rising, put them from the sightAnd memory of every honest wight.Be quick in expedition, lest the soresOf these weak Patients break into new gores. [Ex. Priest.
Per. My dear, dearAmoret, how happy areThose blessed pairs, in whom a little jarHath bred an everlasting love, too strongFor time, or steel, or envy to do wrong?How do you feel your hurts? Alas poor heart,How much I was abus'd; give me the smartFor it is justly mine.
Amo. I do believe.It is enough dear friend, leave off to grieve,And let us once more in despight of illGive hands and hearts again.
Per. With better willThan e're I went to find in hottest dayCool Crystal of the Fountain, to allayMy eager thirst: may this band never break.Hear us O Heaven.
Amo. Be constant.
Per. ElsePanwreak,With [d]ouble vengeance, my disloyalty;Let me not dare to know the companyOf men, or any more behold those eyes.
Amo. Thus Shepherd with a kiss all envy dyes.
EnterPriest.
Priest. Bright Maid, I have perform'd your will, the SwainIn whom such heat and black rebellions raignHath undergone your sentence, and disgrace:Only the Maid I have reserv'd, whose faceShews much amendment, many a tear doth fallIn sorrow of her fault, great fair recalYour heavy doom, in hope of better daies,Which I dare promise; once again upraiseHer heavy Spirit that near drowned lyesIn self consuming care that never dyes.
Clor. I am content to pardon, call her in;The Air grows cool again, and doth beginTo purge it self, how bright the day doth showAfter this stormy Cloud! goSatyr, go,And with this Taper boldly try her hand,If she be pure and good, and firmly standTo be so still, we have perform'd a workWorthy the Gods themselves. [Satyr bringsAmaryllisin.
Satyr. Come forward Maiden, do not lurkNor hide your face with grief and shame,Now or never get a nameThat may raise thee, and recureAll thy life that was impure:Hold your hand unto the flame,If thou beest a perfect dame,Or hast truely vow'd to mend,This pale fire will be thy friend.See the Taper hurts her not.Go thy wayes, let never spotHenceforth seize upon thy blood.Thank the Gods and still be good.
Clor. Young Shepherdess now ye are brought againTo Virgin state, be so, and so remainTo thy last day, unless the faithful loveOf some good Shepherd force thee to remove;Th[e]n labour to be true to him, and liveAs such a one, that ever strives to giveA blessed memory to after time.Be famous for your good, not for your crime.Now holy man, I offer up againThese patients full of health, and free from pain:Keep them from after ills, be ever nearUnto their actions, teach them how to clearThe tedious way they pass through, from suspect,Keep them from wronging others, or neglectOf duty in themselves, correct the bloudWith thrifty bits and labour, let the floud,Or the next neighbouring spring give remedyTo greedy thirst, and travel not the treeThat hangs with wanton clusters, [let] not wine,Unless in sacrifice, or rites divine,Be ever known of Shepherd, have a careThou man of holy life. Now do not spareTheir faults through much remissness, nor forgetTo cherish him, whose many pains and swetHath giv'n increase, and added to the downs.Sort all your Shepherds from the lazy clownsThat feed their Heifers in the budded Brooms:Teach the young Maidens strictness, that the groomsMay ever fear to tempt their blowing youth;Banish all complements, but single truthFrom every tongue, and every Shepherds heart,Let them still use perswading, but no Art:Thus holyPriest, I wish to thee and these,All the best goods and comforts that may please.
Alex. And all those blessings Heaven did ever give, We pray upon this Bower may ever live.
Priest. Kneel every Shepherd, whilest with powerful handI bless your after labours, and the LandYou feed your flocks upon. GreatPandefend youFrom misfortune, and amend you,Keep you from those dangers still,That are followed by your will,Give ye means to know at lengthAll your riches, all your strength,Cannot keep your foot from fallingTo lewd lust, that still is callingAt your Cottage, till his powerBring again that golden hourOf peace and rest to every soul.May his care of you controulAll diseases, sores or painThat in after time may raignEither in your flocks or you,Give ye all affections new,New desires, and tempers new,That ye may be ever true.Now rise and go, and as ye pass awaySing to the God of Sheep, that happy lay,That honestDorustaught ye,Dorus, heThat was the soul and god of melodie.
The SONG. [_They all Sing
All ye woods, and trees and bowers,All you vertues and ye powersThat inhabit in the lakes,In the pleasant springs or brakes,Move your feetTo our sound,Whilest we greetAll this ground,With his honour and his nameThat defends our flocks from blame.
He is great, and he is Just,He is ever good, and mustThus be honour'd: Daffodillies,Roses, Pinks, and loved Lillies,Let us fling,Whilest we sing,Ever holy,Ever holy,Ever honoured ever young,Thus great_ Pan _is ever sung. [Exeunt.
Satyr._ Thou divinest, fairest, brightest,Thou m[o]st powerful Maid, and whitest,Thou most vertuous and most blessed,Eyes of stars, and golden tressedLikeApollo, tell me sweetestWhat new service now is meetestFor theSatyr? shall I strayIn the middle Air, and stayThe sayling Rack, or nimbly takeHold by the Moon, and gently makeSute to the pale Queen of nightFor a beam to give thee light?Shall I dive into the Sea,And bring thee Coral, making wayThrough the rising waves that fallIn snowie fleeces; dearest, shallI catch the wanton Fawns, or Flyes,Whose woven wings the Summer dyesOf many colours? get thee fruit?Or steal from Heaven oldOrpheusLute?All these I'le venture for, and more,To do her service all these woods adore.
Clor. No other service,Satyr, but thy watch About these thickets, lest harmless people catch Mischief or sad mischance.
Satyr. Holy Virgin, I will danceRound about these woods as quickAs the breaking light, and prickDown the Lawns, and down the vailsFaster than the Wind-mill sails.So I take my leave, and prayAll the comforts of the day,Such asPhoebusheat doth sendOn the earth, may still befriendThee, and this arbour.
Clo. And to thee, All thy Masters love be free. [Exeunt.
To my Friend MasterJOHN FLETCHERupon his Faithfull Shepherdess.
I know too well, that, no more than the manThat travels through the burning Desarts, canWhen he is beaten with the raging Sun,Half smothered in the dust, have power to runFrom a cool River, which himself doth find,E're he be slacked; no more can he whose mindJoyes in the Muses, hold from that delight,When nature, and his full thoughts bid him write:Yet wish I those whom I for friends have known,To sing their thoughts to no ears but their own.Why should the man, whose wit ne'r had a stain,Upon the publick Stage present his [vein,]And make a thousand men in judgment sit,To call in question his undoubted wit,Scarce two of which can understand the lawsWhich they should judge by, nor the parties cause?Among the rout there is not one that hathIn his own censure an explicite faith;One company knowing they judgement lack,Ground their belief on the next man in black:Others, on him that makes signs, and is mute,Some like as he does in the fairest sute,He as his Mistress doth, and she by chance:Nor want there those, who as the Boy doth danceBetween the Acts, will censure the whole Play;Some if the Wax-lights be not new that day;But multitudes there are whose judgement goesHeadlong according to the Actors cloathes.For this, these publick things and I, agreeSo ill, that but to do a right for thee,I had not been perswaded to have hurl'dThese few, ill spoken lines, into the world,Both to be read, and censur'd of, by those,Whose very reading makes Verse senseless Prose:Such as must spend above an hour, to spellA Challenge on a Past, to know it well:But since it was thy hap to throw awayMuch wit, for which the people did not pay,Because they saw it not, I not dislikeThis second publication, which may strikeTheir consciences, to see the thing they scorn'd,To be with so much wit and Art adorned.Besides one vantage more in this I see,Tour censurers now must have the qualitieOf reading, which I am afraid is moreThan half your shrewdest Judges had before.
Fr. Beaumont.
To the worthy AuthorM'r. Jo. FLETCHER.
The wise, and many headedBench,that sits Upon the Life, and Death ofPlayes,andWits, (Composed ofGamester, Captain, Knight, Knight's man, Lady,orPusill,that wears mask or fan, Velvet,orTaffatacap, rank'd in the dark With the shopsForeman,or some suchbrave spark,That may judge for hissix-pence_) had, before They saw it half, damn'd thy whole Play, and more, Their motives were, since it had not to doe With vices, which they look'd for, and came to.
I, that am glad, thy Innocence was thy Guilt,And wish that all the_ Musesblood were spiltIn such aMartyrdome,to vex their eyes,Do crown thy murdredPoeme:which shall riseA glorified work to Time, when Fire,Or mothes shall eat, what all these Fools admire.
This Dialogue newly added, was spoken by way of Prologue to both theirMajesties, at the first acting of this Pastoral atSomerset-houseonTwelfth-night, 1633.
Priest.
A broiling Lamb onPanschief Altar lies,My Wreath, my Censor, Virge, and Incense by:But I delayed the pretious Sacrifice,To shew thee here, a Gentle Deity.
Nymph.
Nor was I to thy sacred Summons slow,Hither I came as swift as th' Eagles wing,Or threatning shaft from vextDianaesbow,To see this Islands God; the worlds best King.
Priest.
Bless then that Queen, that doth his eyes invite And ears, t'obey her Scepter, half this night.
Nymph.
_Let's sing such welcomes, as shall make Her sway Seem easie to Him, though it last till day.
Welcom as Peace t'unwalled Cities, whenFamine and Sword leave them more graves than men.As Spring to Birds, or Noon-dayes Sun to th' oldPoor mountain Muscovite congeal'd with cold.As Shore toth' Pilot in a safe known CoastWhen's Card is broken and his Rudder lost.