The Queenes Arcadia A pastorall trage-comedie presented to her Maiestie and her ladies, by the Vniuersitie of Oxford in Christs Church, in August last. 1605.

The Queenes Arcadia A pastorall trage-comedie presented to her Maiestie and her ladies, by the Vniuersitie of Oxford in Christs Church, in August last. 1605.
Daniel, Samuel, 1562-1619.
1606
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The Queenes Arcadia A pastorall trage-comedie presented to her Maiestie and her ladies, by the Vniuersitie of Oxford in Christs Church, in August last. 1605.
Daniel, Samuel, 1562-1619.
[78] p.
Printed by G. Eld, for Simon Waterson,
At London :
1606.
By Samuel Daniel.
In verse.
Signatures: A² B-K⁴ L² (-L2).
Reproduction of the original in the British Library.
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Pastoral drama, English -- Early works to 1800.
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THE
QVEENES
ARCADIA.
A Pastorall Trage-comedie
presented to her Maiestie and
her Ladies, by the Vniuersitie of
Oxford in Christs Church,
in August last.
1605.
AT LONDON
Printed by G. Eld, for Simon Waterson,
1606.
The names of the Actors.
Melibaeus. two ancient Arcadians.
Ergastus.
Colax, a corrupted traueller.
Techne. a s
•
btle wench of Corinth.
Amyntas. the louers of Cloris.
Carinus.
Cloris.
Palaemon. iealous Louers.
Siluia.
Mirtillus.
Dorinda.
Amarillis, in loue with Carinus.
Daphne, abused by Colax.
Alcon, a Quack
••••
.
Lincus, Petyfogger.
Montanus, the father of Amyntas.
A
•
rysius, the father of Cloris.
Pistophoenax, a
〈◊〉
of
〈◊〉
To the Queenes most exccellent
Maiestie.
THat which their zeale, whose onely zeale was bent
To shew the best they could, that might delight
Your royall minde, did lately represent
Renowmed Empresse to your Princely sight:
Is now the offring of their humblenesse;
Here consecrated to your glorious name;
Whose happy presence did voutchsafe to blesse
So poore presentments, and to grace the same:
And though it be in th'humblest ranke of words,
And in the lowest region of our speach,
Yet is it in that kinde, as best accords
With rurall passions, which vse not to reach
Beyond the groues, and woods where they were bred
And best become a claustrall exercise,
Where men shut out, retyr'd, and sequestred
From publicke fashion, seeme to sympathize
With innocent, and plaine simplicitie:
And liuing here vnder the awfull hand
Of discipline, and strict obseruancie,
Learne but our weaknesses to vnderstand,
And therefore dare not enterprize to show
In lowder stile the hidden mysteries,
And artes of Thrones, which none that are below
The Sphere of action, aud the exercise
Of power, can truly shew: though men may straine
Conceipt aboue the pitch where it should stand,
And forme more monstrous figures then containe
A possibilitie, and goe beyond
The nature of those managements so farre,
As oft their common decencie they marre:
Whereby the populasse (in whom such skill
Is needlesse) may be brought to apprehend
Notions, that may turne all to a taste of ill
What euer power shall do, or might intend:
And thinke all cunning, all proceeding one,
And nothing simple, and sincerely done:
Yet the eye of practise, looking downe from hie
Vpon such ouer-reaching vanitie,
Sees how from errour t'error it doth slote,
As from an vnknowne Ocean int' a Gulfe:
And how though th'Woolfe, would counterfeit the Goate,
Yet euery chinke bewrayes him for a Woolfe.
And therefore in the view of state t'haue showd
A counterfeit of state, had been to light
A candle to the Sunne, and so bestowd
Our paines to bring our dimnesse vnto light.
For maiestie, and power, can nothing see
Without it selfe, that can sight-worthy be.
And therefore durst not we but on the ground,
From whence our humble Argument hath birth
Erect our Scene, and thereon are we found,
And if we fall, we fall but on the earth,
From whence we pluckt the flowers that here we bring;
Which if at their first opening they did please,
It was enough, they serue but for a spring,
The first sent is the best in things as these:
Amusicke of this nature on this ground,
Is euer wont to vanish with the sound.
But yet your royall goodnesse may raise new,
Grace but the Muses they will honour you.
Chi non fa, non falla.
THE QVEENES
ARCADIA.
Actus primi.
Scena. I.
Ergastus. Melibaeus.
Erg.
HOw is it Melibaeus that we finde
Our Countrey, faire, Arcadia, so much changd
From what it was, that was thou knowst of late,
The gentle region of plaine honestie,
The modest seat, of vndisguised trueth,
Inhabited with simple innocence:
And now, I know not how, as if it were,
Vnhallowed, and diuested of that grace,
Hath put off that faire nature which it had,
And growes like
•
uder countries, or more bad.
Mal.
Indeed Ergastus I haue neuer knowne,
So vniuersall a distemperature,
In all parts of the body of our state,
As now there is; nor euer haue we heard
So much complaining of disloyaltie,
Amongst our younger Nimphes, nor euer found
Our heardsmen so deluded in their loues,
As if there were no faith on either side.
We neuer had in any age before
So many spotlesse Nimphes, so much distaind
With black report, and wrongfull infamie,
That few escape the tongue of malice free.
Erg.
And me thinkes too, our very ayre is changd,
Our holesome climate growne more maladiue,
The fogges, and the Syrene offends vs more
(Or we made thinke so) then they did before,
The windes of Autumne, now are said to bring
More noysomnesse, then those do of the Spring:
And all of vs feele new in
•••
mities,
New Feuers, new Catarres, oppresse our powers,
The milke wherewith we cur'd all maladies,
Hath either lost the nature, or we ours.
Mel.
And we that neuer were accustomed
To quarrell for our bounds, how do we see
Montanus and Acrysius inter-striue
How farre their seuerall Sheep-walkes should extend,
And cannot be agreed do what we can:
As if some vnderworking hand strake fire,
To th'apt inkindling tinder of debate,
And fostred their contention and their hate.
Erg.
And me thinkes too, the beautie of our Nimphes
Is not the same, as it was wont to be.
That Rosie hew, the glory of the Cheeke,
Is either stolne, or else they haue forgot,
To blush with shame, or to be pale with feare:
Or else their shame doth make them alwayes blush
•
For alwayes doth their beauties beare one hew,
And either Nature's false, or that vntrue.
Mel.
Besides their various habits grow so strange,
As that although their faces certaine are,
Their bodies are vncertaine euery day,
And alwayes diffring from themselues so far,
As if they scorn'd to be the same they are.
And all of vs are so transformd, that we
Discerne not an Arcadian by th
•
attyre,
Our ancient Pastorall habits are dispisd,
And all is strange, hearts, clothes, and all disguisd.
Erg.
Indeed vnto our griefe we may perceiue,
The whole complection of Arcadia chang'd,
Yet cannot finde th'occasion of this change:
But let vs with more wary eye obserue
Whence the contagion of these customes rise,
That haue infected thus our honest plaines,
With cunning discorde, idle vanitie,
Deceiptfull wrong, and causelesse infamie.
That by th' assistance of our grauer Swaines,
We now at first, may labour to preuent
The further course of mischiefes, and restore
Our late cleane woods, to what they were before.
Mel.
Content Ergastus, and euen here will be
A place conuenient for so fit a worke:
For here our Nimphes, and heardsmen on this Greene,
Do vsually resort, and in this Groue
We may obserue them best, and be vnseene.
Actus. 1. Scen. 2.
Colax. Techne.
Col.
Come my deare Techne, thou and I must plotte
More cunning proiects yet, more strange designes
Amongst these simple grosse Arcadians here,
That know no other world, but their owne plaines,
Nor yet can apprehend the subtile traines
We lay, to mock their rurall ignorance.
But see, here comes two of their amorous Swaines
In hote contention, let vs close conuay
Our selues, here vnderneath this couerture,
And ouer-heare their passionate discourse.
Tec.
Colax, this place well such a purpose fits,
Let vs sit close, and faith, it shall goe hard,
Vnlesse we make some profit by their wits.
Carinus. Amyntas.
Ca.
Now fond Amyntas, how cam'st thou possest
With such a vaine presumption, as thou art,
To thinke that Cloris should affect thee best,
When all Arcadia knowes I haue her heart?
Am.
And how Carinus canst thou be so mad,
T'imagine Cloris, can, or doth loue thee,
When by so many signes, as I haue had,
I finde her whole affection bent to me?
Ca.
What are those signes by which you come to cast,
And calculate the fortune of your hopes?
Am.
More certaine signes, then thou canst euer shew.
Car.
But they are more then signes, that I can shew.
Am.
Why let each then produce the best he can,
To proue which may be thought the likeliest man.
Car.
Content Amintas, and do thou begin.
Am.
And I am well contented to begin.
First if by chance, whilst she at Barely-breake
With other Nimphes, do but perceiue me come,
Streight lookes her cheeke with such a Rosie red,
As giues the setting Sunne vnto the West
When morrow t
•
mpests are prefigured.
Car.
Euen so that hew prognosticates her wrath,
Which brings to thee, the stormie winds of sighes.
Am.
And if I finde her, with her fellow Nimphes
Gathering of flowers by some sweete Riuers side,
At my approach she straight way stands
•
pright,
Forgets her worke, and downe lets slide her lap,
And out fall all her flowers, vpon the ground.
Car.
So doth the sillie sheepe forg
•
t to feed,
When it perceiues the greedy Wolfe at hand.
Am.
And if she meete but with my d
•
g, she takes
And strokes him on the head playes with his eares,
Spits in his mouth, and claps him on the back,
And sayes, come, come Melampus go with me.
Car.
She may loue what is thine, but yet hate thee.
Am.
Whilst at a Chrystall spring the other day,
Shee washt her louely face, and seeing me come,
She takes vp water with her daintie hand,
And with a downe cast looke besprinckles me.
Car.
That shews that she would gladly quench in thee
The fire of loue, or else like loue doth beare,
As did the Delian Goddesse, when she cast
Disdainefull water on Actaeons face.
Am.
As Siluia, one day, sate with her alone,
Binding of certaine choice selected hearbes
To her leaft arme, against bewitching spels;
(And I at th'instant comming) she perceiu'd
Her pulse with farre more violence to beat
(As sh' after told me) then it did before.
Car.
The like is felt when natures enemy,
The hatefull feauer, doth surprise our powers.
Am.
And euen but yester night, she going before
With other maides, and seeing me following her,
Lets fall this daintie Nosegay, hauing fi
•
st
Bestowd a kisse thereon, to th' end I might
Receiue it so, and with it do the like.
Car.
Poore withred fauours, they might teach thee know,
That she esteemes thee, and thy loue as light
As those dead flowers, she wore but for a show,
The day before, and cast a way at night.
Am.
Now friend Carinus, thou that mutterest so
At these plaine speaking figures of her loue,
Tell by what signes thou doest her fauours proue?
Car.
Now silly man, doest thou imagine me
So fond to blab the fauours of my loue?
Am.
Was't not a pact agreed twixt thee and me?
Car.
A pact to make thee tell thy secrecie.
Am.
And hast thou then betrayd my easie trust,
And dallyed with my open simplenesse?
Car.
And fitly art thou seru'd, that so wilt vaunt
The imagin'd fauours, of a gentle Nimphe;
And this is that which makes vs feele that dearth
Of grace, t'haue kindnesse at so hie a rate.
This makes them wary how they do bestow
The least regarde of common courtesie,
When such as you poo
•
e, oredulous, deuout,
And humble soules, make all things miracles
Your faith conceiues, and vainely do conuert
All shadowes to the figure of your hopes.
Am.
Carinus now thou doest me double wrong,
First to deride my easie confidence,
And then t'obrayd my trust, as if my tongue
Had here prophan'd faire Cloris excellence,
In telling of her mercies, or had sin'd
In vttring th' honour of a modest grace
Bestowing comfort, in so iust a case.
Car.
Why man, thou hast no way deseru'd her loue.
Am.
Desert I cannot vrge, but faith I can,
If that may haue reward, then happy man.
Car.
But you know how I sau'd her from the hands
Of that rude Satyre, who had else vndone
Her honour vtterly; and therefore ought
My loue of due raigne Soueraigne in her thought.
Am.
But how that free and vnsubdued heart,
Infranchisd by the Charter of her eyes,
Will beare the imposition of a due
I do not see, since loue knew neuer Lord
That could command the region of our will.
And therefore vrge thy due, I for my part,
Must plead compassion, and a faithfull heart.
Car.
Plead thou thy faith, whilst I will get thy loue,
For you kinde soules do seldome gracefull proue.
Am.
The more vnkinde they, who should better way
Our honest vowes, and loue, for loue repay,
But oft they beare the penance of their will,
And for the wrong they do, they speed as ill.
Scen. 3.
Colax. Techne.
Col.
Alas poore fooles, how hotely they contend
Who shall possesse a prey that's yet vngot.
But Techne, I must by thy help forestall
The mart of both their hopes, and whilst they shall
Pursue the Aire, I must surprise their gaine.
And fitly now, thou maist occasion take
By these aduantages discouered here,
T'impresse in Cloris tender heart that touch
Of deepe dislike of both their vanteries,
As may conuert her wholy vnto me.
Tec.
Why will you then Dorindas loue forsake,
For whom you trauayld so, and made me take
Such labour to intice her to your loue?
Col.
Tush Techne we desire not what we haue,
But what we would, our longings neuer stay
With our attainings, but they goe beyond.
Tec.
And why? Dorinda is as fayre as shee.
Col.
That I confesse, but yet that payes not mee,
For Cloris is another and tis that,
And onely that, which Techne I desire.
Some thing there is peculiar, and alone
To euery beawtie that doth giue an edge
To our desires, and more we still conceiue
In that we haue not, then in that we haue.
And I haue heard, abrode where best experience,
And witt is learnd, that all the fairest choyce
Of women in the world, serue but to make
One perfect beautie, whereof each bringes part.
One hath a pleasing smile, and nothing els:
Another but some sillie Mole to grace
Th' area of a disproportion'd face;
Another pleases not but when shee speakes,
And some in silence onely graceful are:
Some till they laugh, we see, seeme to be fayre,
Some haue their bodies good, their gestures ill,
Some please in Motion, some in sitting still,
Some are thought louely, that haue nothing faire,
Some againe fayre that nothing louely are.
So that we see how beauty doth consist
Of diuers peeces, and yet all attract
And therefore vnto al my loue aspires,
As beauty varies, so doth my desires.
Tec.
Ah but yet Colax doe not so much wrong
Vnto a Nimph, now when thou hast subdude
And wonne her heart, & knowst she holds thee deare.
Col.
Tush wrong is as men thinke it, and I see
It keepes the world the best in exercise
That els would languish, and haue nought to do.
Discord in parts, makes harmon' in the whole:
And some must laugh, whilst othersome condole.
And so it be not of the side we are,
Let others beare it, what need we to care.
And now Dorinda somthing hath to doe,
Now she may sit, and thinke, and vexe, and plott,
For ease, and ioying of her full delight
Would but haue dulld her spirits and marrd her quite.
Tec.
Alas yet I must pittie her poore soule
In this distresse, I being one my selfe
Of that frayle corporation, and do know
That she will take it verie greuously.
And yet in troth sh'is serud but well inow,
That would neglect Mirtillus honest loue,
And trust strange protestations, and new othes,
Be wonne with garded words, and gawdie chothes.
Col.
Well, well, Dorinda shall not waile alone,
She shal haue others to consort her mone:
For since my late returne from Telos Court
I hauemade twenty of their coyest Nimphes
Turne louers, with a few protesting words
And some choyce complementall periuries;
I made Palaemon, to suspect the faith
Of his chast Siluia, and chast Siluia his,
In hope thereby to worke her loue to me.
I wrought coy Daphne to infringe her vow
Made to Menalcas, and I told her how
Those fetters which so heauily were layde
Vpon our free affections, onely were
But customary bandes, not naturall.
And I thinke Techne thou hast done thy parte,
Here, in this gentle region of kind heartes,
Since thou cam'st hither, for I see thou thriu'st.
Tec.
In deede whilst I in Corinth did remaine,
I hardly could procure the meanes to liue,
There were so many of my trade, that sold
Complexions, dressings, tiffanies and tyres,
Devisors of new fashions and strange wiers
Bedbrokers, night wormes, and Compositors
That though I knew these arts as well as they
yet being so many we could get smale pay.
Here, who but Techne now is all in all?
Techne is sent for, Techne onely shewes
New strange deuises to the choycest Nimphes:
And I thinke Techne teaches them those trickes.
As they wil not forget againe in haste.
I haue so opened their vnapt conceipts
Vnto that vnderstanding of themselues,
As they will shew in time they were wel taught,
If they obserue my rules, and hide a fault.
Col.
Ah well done Techne. Thus must thou and I
Trade for our profit with their ignorance,
And take our time, and they must haue their chaunce.
But pray thee Techne, do not thou forget
To lay a traine for Cloris. So adieu.
Tec.
Colax I will not, and the rather too,
For that I beare a little leaning loue
To Sweete Amintas, for mee thinkes he seemes
The loueliest Shepheard all Arcadia yeeldes
And I would gladly intercept his loue,
Scena. 4.
Melibaeus. Ergastus.
Meli.
So this is well. Here's one discouery made;
Here are the heads of that distemperature,
Frō whence these strange deban'shmēts of our nimphs
And vile deluding of our Shepheadrs Springs:
Here is a monster, that hath made his
•
ustes
As wide as is his will, and leaft his will
Without all bounds, and cares not whom he wrongs,
So that he may his owne desires fulfill,
And being all foule himselfe, would make all ill.
This is that Colax that from forraine lands,
Hath brought home that infection which vndoes
His countrie goodnesse, and impoysons all.
His being abroad would marre vs quite, at home.
Tis strange to see, that by his going out,
He hath out-gone that natiue honestie,
Which here the breeding of his countrey gaue.
For here I do remember him a childe,
The sonne of Nicoginus of the Hill,
A man though low in fortune, yet in minde
High set, a man still practising
T'aduance his forward sonne beyond the traine
Of our, Arcadian breed, and still me thought
I saw a disposition in the youth,
Bent to a selfe conceipted surlinesse,
With an insinuating impudence.
Erg.
A man the fitter made for Courts abroade,
Where I would God he had remained still,
With those loose-liuing wanton Sybarites,
Where luxurie, hath made her outmost proofe.
From whence Pheare he comes, and hither brings
Their shames, to brand vs with the like reproach.
And for this other viper, which you saw,
I do remember how she came of late
For succour to these parts, and sought to teach
Our younger maides to dresse, and trie out Flaxe,
And vse the Distaffe, and to make a hem,
And such like skill, being skill inough for them,
But since I see she hath presum'd to deale
In points of other science, different farre
From that plaine Arte of honest huswiferie,
And as it seemes hath often made repaire
Vnto the neighbour Citties round about,
From whom she hath these strange disguises go
•
T'abuse our Nimphes, and as it seemes desires,
To sute their mindes, as light as their attires,
But we shall soone preuent this growing plague,
Of pride, and folly, now that she discry
The true symptoma of this maladie,
And by this ouerture thus made, we trust
We shortly shall discouer all the rest.
Actus 2.
Scen. 1.
Siluia. Cloris.
Sil.
O Cloris, here haue thou and I full oft
Sate and bene mery, in this shadie Groue.
Here haue we sung full many a Rundelay,
Told Riddles, and made Nosegayes, laught at loue,
And others passions, whilst my selfe was free,
From that Intollerable miserie,
Whereto affection now inuassells me.
Now Cloris I shall neuer more take ioy
To see, or to be seene, with mortall eye,
Now sorrow must be all my companie.
Clo.
Why Siluia, whence, should all this griefe arise?
Sil.
I am vndone Cloris, let that suffice.
Clo.
Tell me, sweete Siluia, how comes that to passe?
Sil.
O Cloris if thou be, as once, I was
Free, from that miserable plague of loue,
Keepe thee so still, let my affliction warne
Thy youth, that neuer man haue power, to moue
Thy heart to liking, for beleeue me this,
They are the most vnfaithfull impious race
Of creatures on the earth; neuer beleeue
Their protestations, nor their vowes, nor teares,
All is deceipt, none meanes the thing he sweares.
Trust a mans faith? nay rather will I goe
And giue my selfe a prey to Sauage beasts,
For all they seeke, and all they labour for,
Is but t'vndoe vs, and when that is done,
They goe and triumph on the spoile the'haue wonne.
Trust men, or take compassion when they grieue,
O Cloris tis to chearish and relieue
The frozen Snake, which with our heat once warmd,
Will sting vs to the heart in recompence,
And ô no maruaile tho the Satyre shund,
To liue with man, when he perceiu'd he could,
With one and the same breath blow heat and cold.
Who would haue euer thought Palaemons othes
Would haue prou'd false? who would haue iudgd the face
That promisd so much faith, and honestie,
Had bene the visor but of treacherie?
Clo.
Is't possible Palemon should b'vntrue?
Sil.
'Tis possible, Palaemon is vntrue.
Clo.
If it be so, deare Siluia, I thinke then
That thou saist truth, there is no trust in men,
For I protest I neuer saw a face
That promisd better of a heart then his,
And if he faile, whose faith then consta
•
t is?
Sil.
O Cloris if thou didst but know how long,
And with what earnest suite, he sought my loue,
What vows he vsd, what othes, what teares among
•
What shewes he made, his constancie to prooue,
You would admire: and then againe to see
How I although I lou'd him with my heart
Stood out, and would by no meanes vrged be,
To shew the least affection of my part.
For I had heard that, which (ô now too well)
I finde, that men were cunning, and would not
Regard the thing that easily was got.
Clo.
Siluia, indeed and I haue heard so too.
Sil.
And therefore I would trie him, and not seeme
His vowes, nor protestations to esteeme,
At length one day, here in this selfe-same place,
(Which I shall euer, and good cause I haue
To thinke on whilst I liue) walking with me,
After he had vrgd me most earnestly:
O Siluia, said he, since nor othe, nor vow,
Nor teares, nor prayers, haue the power to moue,
Nor all that I can doe, can make thee know
How true a heart, I offer to thy loue;
I must trie some way else to shew the same,
And make thy vndiscerning wilfull youth
Know, though too late, (perhaps vnto thy shame)
Thy wayward error, and my constant truth:
When thou maist sigh, and say in griefe of minde,
Palaemon lou'd, and Siluia was vnkinde.
With that wringing my hand, he turnes away,
And though his teares would hardly let him looke,
Yet such a looke, did through his teares make way,
As shew'd how sad a farewell there he tooke.
And vp towards yonder craggie Rock he goes,
His armes incross'd, his head downe on one side,
With such a mournfull pace, as shewd his woes
Way'd heauier then his passions could abide:
Faine would I haue recald him back, but shame,
And modestie could not bring forth his name:
And faine would I haue followed, yet me thought
It did not fit the honour of a maide
To follow one, yet still I sent from me,
T'attend his going, feare, and a carefull eye.
At length when he was gotten to the top,
I might perceiue how with vnfolded armes,
And lookes bent vp to heauen, he stands, and turnes
His wofull face vnto the other side,
Whereas that hidious fearefull downfall is:
And seem'd as if he would haue throwne him off:
And as I thought, was now vpon the point:
When my affrighted powers could hold no more,
But pittie breaking all those bands of shame,
That held me back; I shrikd, and ran, God knowes,
With all the speed my feeble feete could make,
And clammering vp at length (with much adoo)
Breathlesse I got, and tooke him by the hand,
And glad I had his hand, and was not come
Too late to haue it, and I puld him back:
But could not speake one word, no more did he,
Sense seem'd to faile in him, and breath in me.
And on before I went, and lead him on,
And downe conducted him into this plaine.
And yonder loe, vnder that fatall tree,
Looke Cloris there, euen in that very place,
We sate vs downe, my arme about his neck,
Which Ioue thou know'st held neuer man before:
There onely did my teares conferre with his,
Words we had none, it was inough to thinke,
For passion was too busie now within,
And had no time to come abroad in speach.
And though I would haue spoken, yet me thought
I should not, but my silence told him this,
That tolde too much, that all I was was his.
Clo.
Well Siluia, I haue heard so sad a tale,
As that I grieue to be a woman borne,
And that by nature we must be exposd
Vnto the mercie of vnconstant men.
But what saide then Palaemon in the ende?
Sil.
Oh what he said, and what deepe vowes he made,
When ioy and griefe, had let his senses loose.
Witnes ô gentle tree vnder whose shade,
We sate the while; witnes if euer mayde
Had more assurances by othes of man.
And well may you beare witnes of this deede,
For in a thousand of your barkes he hath
Incaru'd my name, and vnderwrote his vowes,
Which will remaine so long as you beare bowes.
But, Cloris, learne this lesson now of mee;
Take head of pittie, pittie was the cause
Of my confusion, pittie hâth vndone
Thousands of gentle natures, in our sexe,
For pittie is sworne seruant vnto loue,
And this be sure, where euer it begin
To make the way, it lets your maister in.
Clo.
But what assurance haue you of his fraud:
It may be you suspect him without cause?
Sil.
Ah Cloris, Cloris, would I had no cause,
He who beheld him wrong mee in these woods,
And heard him courting Nisa, and protest
As deepe to her, as he had done to me,
Told me of all his wicked t
•
eachery.
Clo.
Pray who was that? tell mee good Siluia, tell.
Sil.
Why it was Colax, one I know full well
would not report vntruthes to gaine the world,
A man of vertue, and of worthy partes,
He told me all and more then I will shew,
I would I knew not halfe of that I know
Ah had he none but Nisa that base trull,
The scorne and iest of all Arcadia now
To serue his lusts, and falsifie his vow?
Ah had it yet bene any els, the touch
Of my disgrace, had neuer bin so much
But to be leaft for such a one as she,
The stale of all, what will folke thinke of me?
Cloris in troth, it makes me so much loath
My selfe, loath these woods, and euen hate the day,
As I must hide my griefes out of the way
I will be gone, Cloris, I leaue thee here,
I cannot stay, and prethee, Cloris, yet
Pitty thy poore companion Siluias care,
And let her fortune make thee to beware.
Clo.
Siluia adieu, the Gods relieue thy woes,
Since men thus faile, and loue no pittie showes,
Scen. 2.
Cloris. Techne.
Clo.
Loue? nay, I'me taught for louing whilst I liue,
Siluia, thy councell hath lockt vp my heart
So fast from loue, as let them sigh, and grieue,
And pine, and waile who will, I for my part
Will pittie none of all this race of men.
I see what showes so euer they pretend,
Their loue is neuer deadly, none of these
That languish thus, haue dide of this disease
That euer I could heare, I see all do
Recouer soone, that happen thereinto.
And if they did not, there were no great hurt,
They may indure, they are of stronger powers,
Better their hearts should ake, then they breake ours.
Well had I not bene thus forewarnd to day,
Out of all question, I had shortly fal
•
e,
Into the melting humour of compassion too;
That tender pittie that betrayes vs thus.
For something I began to feele, me thought,
To mooue within me, when as I beheld
Amyntas walke so sadly, and so pale,
And euer where I went, still in my way,
His lookes bent all to me, his care of mee,
Which well I saw, but would not seeme to see.
But now he hath his arrent, let him go,
Pittie shall neuer cure that heart of his
T'vndoo mine owne, the griefe is best where tis.
Tec.
What Cloris al alone, now fie for shame,
How ill doth this become so faire a face,
And that fresh youth to be with out your loue?
Clo.
Loue Techne? I haue here as many loues
As I intende to haue, whilst I haue breath.
Tec.
Nay that you haue not, neuer hault with mee,
For I know two at least possessors be
Of your kind fauors, as themselues doe boste.
Clo.
Boste of my fauors, no man rightly can.
And otherwise, let them say what they can.
Tec.
No Cloris did not you the other night
A gallant nosegay to Amintas giue?
Clo.
I neuer gaue him nosegay in my life.
Tec,
Then trust me Cloris he doth wrong you much:
For he produc'd it there in open sight,
And vaunted to Carinus, that you first,
Did kisse the same, then gaue it vnto him:
And tolde too, how farre gone you were in loue,
What passion you would vse, when he was by,
How you would iest with him, and wantonly
Cast water in his face; cal his dogge yours,
And shew him your affections by your eye.
And then Carinus on the other side
He vaunts, that since he had redeemed you
Out of the satyres handes, he could commaund
Your loue and all, that you were onely his.
This and much more, I heard them I protest
Giue out of you, how truly you know best.
Clo.
Techne, their idle talke, shal not vexe me,
I know the ground I stand on, and how free
My heart, and I inioye our liberty,
And it Amyntas, hath interpreated
My looke, according to his owne conceipt,
He hath m
•
stooke the text, and he shall finde
Great difference, twixt his comment, and my minde
And for his Nosegay it shall make me take
More care hereafter how I scatter flowers:
Let him preserue it well, and let him make
Much of his gaines, he gets no more of ours.
But thus had I bene seru'd, had I reueald
The least regarde of common courtesie
To such as these: but I doe thanke the Gods
I haue reseru'd me, from that vanitie:
For euer I suspected this to be
The vaine of men, and this now settles me.
And for Carinus, let him vaunt what good
He did for me, he can but haue againe
My hearty thankes, the paiment for his paine,
And that he shall
•
and ought in woman-hood.
And as for loue, let him go looke on her
That sits, and grieues, and languishes for him,
Poore Amarillis, who affects him deare,
And sought his loue with many an wofull teare.
And well deserues a better man then be,
Though he be rich Lupinus sonne, and stands
Much on his wealth, and his abilitie,
She'is wittie, faire and full of modestie.
And were she of my minde, she rather would
Pull out her eyes, then that she would be seene,
To offer vp so deare a sacrifice
To his wilde youth, that scornes her in that wise.
Tec.
Cloris in troth, I like thy iudgement well,
In not affecting of those home-bred Swaines,
That know not how to manage true delight,
Can neither hide their loue, nor shew it right.
Who would be troubled with grosse ignorance,
That vnderstands not truely how to loue?
No Cloris, if thou didst but know, how well
Thou art esteemd, of one that knowes indeed
How to obserue thy worth, and his owne wayes,
How to giue true delight, how to proceed
With secrecie, and witte, in all aslayes,
Perhaps you might thinke one day of the man.
Clo.
What is this creature then you praise a man?
Tec.
A man? yes Cloris, what should he be else?
Clo.
Nought else, it is enough he be a man.
Tec.
Yea and so rare a man as euer yet
Arcadia bred, that may be proud she bred
A person of so admirable parts,
A man that knowes the world, hath seene abrod,
Brings those perfections that do truly moue,
A gallant spirit, an vnderstanding loue.
O if you did but know how sweete it were,
To come vnto the bed of worthinesse,
Of knowledge, of conceipt, where strange delights
With strange discourses still shall intertaine
Your pleased thoughts, with fresh variety,
Ah you would loath to haue your youth confin'de,
For euer more, betweene th'vnskilfull armes
Of one of these rude vnconceiuing Swaines,
Who would but seeme a trunke without a minde;
As one that neuer saw but these poore plaines,
Knowes but to keepe his sheepe, and set his folde.
Pipe on an Oaten Reede, some Rundelayes,
And daunce a Morrice on the holydayes.
And so should you be alwayes sweetly sped
With ignorance, and two fooles in a bed.
But with this other gallant spirit you should
Be sure to ouerpasse that tediousnesse,
And that saciety which cloyes this life,
With such a variable cheerefulnesse,
As you will blesse the time t'haue bene his wife.
Clo.
What hath this man you thus commend fa name?
Tec.
A name? why yes, no man but hath a name.
His name is Colax, and is one I sweare
Doth honour euen the ground whereon you tread,
And oft, and many many times, God knowes,
Hath he with tender passion, talkt of you:
And said; Well, there is one within these woods
(Meaning by you) that yet of all the Nimphes
Mine eyes haue euer seene vpon the earth,
In all perfections doth exceed them all.
For all the beauties in that glorious Court
Of Telos, where I liu'd, nor all the Starres
Of Grece beside, could sparkle in my heart,
The fire of any heat but onely she.
Then would he stay, and sigh; and then againe
Ah what great pittie such a creature should
Be tide vnto a clogge of ignorance,
Whose body doth deserue to be imbrac'd,
By the most mighty Monarch vpon earth.
Ah that she knew her worth, and how vnfit
That priuate woods should hide, that face, that wit.
Thus hath he often said, and this I say,
Obserue him when you will, you shall not see
From his hye forehead, to his slender foote,
A man in all parts, better made then he.
Clo.
Techne, me thinkes, the praises that you giue
Shewes your owne loue, and if he be that man
You say, 'twere good you kept him for your selfe.
Tec.
I must not loue impossibilities,
Cloris, he were a most fit man for you.
Clo.
For me? alas Techne you moue too late.
Tec.
Why haue you past your promise t'any yet?
Clo.
Yes sure, my promise is already past.
Tec.
And if it be, I trust you are so wise
T'vnpasse the same againe for your owne good.
Clo.
No that I may not when it is once past.
Tec.
No Cloris, I presume that wit of yours.
That is so piersiue, can conceiue how that
Our promise must not preiudice our good:
And that it is no reason that the tongue,
Tye the whole body to eternall wrong.
Clo.
The tongue is but the Agent of the heart.
And onely as commissioner allowd
By reason, and the will, for the whole state,
Which warrants all it shall negotiate.
Tec.
But prethee tell me to what rustick Swaine
You pass'd your word to cast away your selfe?
Clo.
No I haue past my word to saue my selfe
From the deceiptfull, impious periuries
Of treacherous men, and vowd vnto my heart,
Vntill I see more faith then yet I see,
None of them all shall triumph ouer me.
Tec.
Nay then, and be no otherwise tis well,
We shall haue other time to talke of this.
But Cloris I haue fitted you in faith,
I haue here brought, the most conceipted tyre,
The rarest dressing euer Nimph put on.
Worth ten of that you weare, that now me thinkes
Doth not become you, and besides tis s
•
ale.
Clo.
Stale why? I haue not worne it scarce a moneth.
Tec.
A moneth? why you must change thē twise a day.
Hold hither Cloris, this was not well laid,
Here is a fault, you haue not mixt it well
To make it take, or els it is your haste
To come abroad so soone into the Ayre.
But I must teach you to amend these faults,
And ere I shall haue done with you, I thinke,
I shall make some of these inamored youthes
To hang themselues, or else runne madde for loue.
But goe let's trie this dressing I haue brought.
Scen. 3.
Palaemon. Mirtillus.
Pal.
Mirtillus did Dorinda euer vow,
Or make thee any promise to be thine?
Mir.
Palaemon no, she neuer made me vow,
But I did euer hope she would be mine.
For that I had deliuered vp my youth,
My heart, my all, a tribute to her eyes,
And had secur'd her of my constant truth,
Vnder so many faithfull specialties,
As that although she did not graunt againe,
With any shew the acquittance of my loue
Yet did she euer feeme to intertaine
My affections, and my seruices t'approoue.
Till now of late I know not by what meane,
(Ill fare that meane) she grew to that dispight,
As she not onely clowds her fauours cleane,
But also scorn'd to haue me in her
•
gsight.
That now I am not for her loue thus, mou'd
But onely that she will not be belou'd.
Pal.
I
•
this be all th'occasion of thy griefe,
Mirtillus, thou arte then in better case
Then I suppos'd, and therefore cheere thy heart,
And good cause too, being in the state thou art.
For if thou didst but heare the historie
Of my distresse, and whatpart I haue shar'd
Of sad affliction, thou wilt then soone see
There is no miserie vnlesse compar'd.
For all Arcadia, all these hills, and plaines,
These holts and woods and euery Christall spring.
Can testifie my teares, and tell my flames,
And with how cleene a heart, how cleere a faith
Palaemon loued Siluia, and how long.
And when consum'd with griefe, and dri'd with care.
Euen at the poynt to sacrifice my life
Vnto her cruelty, then lo she yeelds,
And was content for euer to be mine:
And gaue m'assurance vnderneath her hand,
Sign'd with a faithfull vow, as I conceiu'd,
And witnessed with many a louely kisse,
That I thought sure I had attaine'd my blisse.
And yet (aye me) I gote not what I got,
Siluia I haue, and yet I haue her not.
Mir.
How may that be, Palaemon pray thee tell?
Pal.
O know Mirtillus that I rather could
Runne to some hollow caue, and burst and die
In darknes, and in horrour, then vnfold
Her shamefull staine, and mine owne infamie.
But yet it will abrode, her impudence
willbe the trumpet of her owne disgrace,
And fill the wide, and open mouth of fame
So full, as all the world shall know the same.
Mir.
Why what is Siluia false, or is she gone?
Pal.
Siluia is false and I am quite vndone.
Mil.
Ah out alasse who euer would haue thought,
That modest looke, so innocent a face,
So chast a blush, that shamefast countenance,
Could euer haue told how to wantonise?
Ah what shal we poore louers hope for now
Who must to win, consume, and hauing wonne
With hard and much adoe, must be vndone?
Pal.
Ah but Mirtillus if thou didst know who
Is now the man, her choyse hath lighted on,
How wouldst thou wonder? for that passes all,
That I abhorre to tell: yet tell I shall;
For all that would will shortly know't too well:
It is base Thyrsis that wild hare-braine youth
Whom euery milkmaid in Arcadia skornes:
Thyrsis is now the man with whom she walkes
Alone, in thickets, and in groues remote.
Thyrsis is all in all, and none but he,
With him she dallie, vnder euery tree.
Trust women? ah Mirtillus, rather trust
The Summer windes, th'Oceans constancie,
For all their substance is but le
•
itie:
Light are their wauing vailes, light their attires,
Light are their heads, and lighter their desires:
Let them lay on what couerture they will
Vpon themselues, of modestie and shame,
They cannot hide the woman with the same.
Trust women? ah Mirtillus rather trust
The false deuouring Crocodiles of Nile,
For all they worke is but deceipt and guile:
What haue they but is faind? their haire is faind,
Their beauty fain'd, their stature fain'd, then pace,
Their iesture, motion, and their grace is fain'd
•
And if that all be fain'd without, what then
Shall we suppose can be sincere within?
For if they do but weepe, or sing, or smile,
Smiles, teares, and tunes, are ingins to beguile.
And all they are, and all they haue of grace,
Consists but in the out-side of a face.
O loue and beautie, how are you ordaind
Like vnto fire, whose flames farre of delight,
But if you be imbrac'd consume vs quight?
Why cannot we make at a lower rate
A purchase of you, but that we must giue
The treasure of our hearts, and yet not haue
What we haue bought so dearely for all that?
O Siluia if thou needs wouldst haue bene gone,
Thou shouldst haue taken all away of thee;
And nothing leaft to haue remain'd with me.
Thou shouldst haue carryed hence the portraiture
Which thou hast left behinde within my heart,
Set in the table-frame of memory,
That puts me still in minde of what thou wert,
Whilst thou wert honest, and thy thoughts were pure,
So that I might not thus in euery place,
Where I shall set my carefull foote, conferre
With it of thee, and euermore be told,
That here sate Siluia vnderneath this tree,
And here she walkt, and len't vpon mine arme,
There gathred flowers, and brought them vnto me.
Here by the murmour of this rusling spring,
She sweetly lay, and in my bosome slept:
Here first she shew'd me comforts when I pin'de:
As if in euery place her foote had s
•
ept,
It had least Siluia in a print behind.
But yet, ô these were Siluias images,
Then whilst her heart held faire, and she was chaste,
Now is her face all sullied with her fact,
And why are not those former prints defac'd?
Why should she hold, still in the forme she was,
Being now deform'd, and not the same she was?
O that I could Mirtillus lock her out
Of my remembrance, that I might no more
Haue Siluia here, when she will not be here.
Mir.
But good Palaemon, tell what proofes hast thou
Of her disloyalty, that makes thee show
These heauie passions, and to grieue so much?
Pal.
Mirtillus, proofes, that are alas too plaine;
For Colax one thou know'st can well obserue
And iudge of loue, a man both staid, and wise,
A gentle heardsman, out of loue, and care
He had of me, came and reported all:
And how he saw them diuers times alone,
Imbracing each the other in the woods,
Besides she hath of late with sullaine lookes,
That shew'd disliking, shund my company,
Kept her aloofe, and now I thinke to day,
Is gone to hide her quite our of the way.
But Siluia though thou goo and hide thy face,
Thou canst not
•
ide thy shame, and thy disgrace,
No secret thicket, groue, nor yet close grott,
Can couer shame, and that immodest blot.
Ah didst thou lend thy hand in kinde remorse,
To saue me from one death, to giue m'a worse?
Had it not ye
•
bene better I had dy'de,
By thy vnspotted honest cruelty,
Then now by thy disgraced infamie?
That so I might haue carried to my graue,
The image of chaste Siluia in my heart,
And not haue had these notions, to ingraue
A stained Siluia there, as now thou art?
Ah yes, it had bene better farre, I proue,
T'haue perisht for thy loue, then with thy loue.
Mir.
Ah good Palaemon cease these sad complaints,
And moderate thy passions, thou shalt see
She may returne, and these reports be found
But idle fictions, on vncertaine ground.
Pal.
Mirtillus I perceiue my tedious tale,
Begins to be distastefull to thine eare,
And therefore will I to some desart vale,
To some close Groue to waile, where none shall heare
But beasts, and trees, whose sense I shall not tyre,
With length of mone, for length is my desire.
And therefore, gentle Shepheard, now adieu,
And trust not women, for they are vntrue.
Mir.
Adue Palaemon, and thy sad distresse,
Shall make me wey Dorindas losse the lesse:
For if I should be hers, and she proue so,
Better to be mine owne, and let her go.
Scena. 4.
Ergastus. Melibaeus.
Erg.
Now Melibaeus; who would haue supposd,
That had not seene these impious passage
•
,
That euer monstrous wretch could haue exposd,
Two honest hearts to these extremities,
T'attaine his wicked ends? by hauing wrought
First in, vnto their easie confidence
Away, by an opinion to be thought,
Honest, discreet, of great experience.
Whereby we see open-fac
•
t villany
Without a maske, no mischiefe could haue done,
It was the couerture of honestie,
That laid the snare, whereby they were vndone.
And that's the ingine that confounds vs all,
That makes the breach whereby the world is saclet,
And made a prey to cunning, when we fall
Into the hands of wise dishonestie:
When as our weake credulitie is rackt
By that opinion of sufficiencie,
To all the inconueniences that guile,
And impious craft can practise to beguile.
And note but how these cankers alwayes seaze
The choysest fruites with their infections,
How they are still ordained to disease,
The natures of the best complections.
Mel.
Tis true. And what an instrument hath he there got,
To be the Agent of his villany?
How truely she negotiats, and doth plot,
To vndermine fraile imbecillitie.
How strong, these spirits, combine them in a knot,
To circum
•
ent plaine open honesty?
And what a creature there is to conuerse
With feeble maides, whose weaknesse soone is led
With toyes, and new disguises, to reuerse
The cour
•
e wherein by custome they were bred?
And then what fitnesse too, her trade affordes,
To trafficke with the secrets of their heart,
And che
•
p
•
n their affections with faire words.
Which women straight to women will impart?
And then to see how soone example will
Disperse it selfe, being met with our desire:
How soone, it will
•
nkindle others ill,
Like Naptha, that takes fire by sight of fire?
So that vnlesse we runne with all the speed
We can, to quench this new arising flame.
Of vanitie, and lust, it will proceed
T'vndoe vs, ere we shall perceiue the same:
How farre already is the mischiefe runne,
Before we scarse perceiu'd it was begun?
Actus 3.
Scen. 1.
Alcon. Lincus.
Al.
What my friend Lincus? now in troth well met.
Lin.
Well met good Alcon, this falles happilie,
That we two thus incounter all alone,
Who had not any conference scarse this moneth.
Al.
In troth I longd to heare how you proceed,
In your new practise, here among, these swaines,
For you and I must grace each others Arte;
Though you knew me, when I in Pa
•
ras dwelt,
And waited on a poore Phisitions man,
And I knew you a Pronotories boy,
That wrote Indentu
•
es at the Towne house dore.
Yet are you here, now a great man of law,
And I a graue Phisition
•
ull of skill,
And here we two are held the onely men.
But how thriue you in your new practise now?
Lin.
Alcon in troth not any thing to speake,
For these poore people of Arcadia here,
Are so contented each man with his owne,
As they desire no more, nor will be drawne,
To any contestation, nor indeed
Is there yet any frame composd, whereby
Contention may proceede in practicke forme?
For If they had this forme once to contend,
Then would they brawle and wrangle without end.
For then might they be taught, and
•
concell'd how
To litigate perpetually you know;
And so might I be sure to doo some good:
But hauing here no matter where vpon
To furnish reall actions, as els where,
No tenures, but a cons
•
umarie hold
Of what they haue from their progenitors
Common, with out indiuiduitie;
No purchasings, no contracts, no comerse,
No politi
•
que commands, no seruices,
No generall Assemblies but to feast
And to delight themselues with fresh pastimes;
How can I hope that euer I shall thriue?
Alc.
Ist possible that a societie
Can with so little noyse, and sweat subsist?
Lin.
It seemes it may, before men haue transform'd
Their state of nature in so many shapes
Of their owne managements, and are cast out
Into confusion by their knowledges.
And either I must packe me hence, or el
•
Must labour wholy to dissolue the frame,
And composition, of their strange b
•
ult state.
Which now I seeke to doe, by drawing them
To appr'hend of these proprieties
Of mine and thine and teach them to in croch
And get them states apart, & priuate shares.
And this I haue already set a worke
If it will take, for I haue met with two
The aptest spirits the country yelds, I know,
Mon
•
anus, and Acrisius, who are both
Old, and both cholorick
•
e, and bothperuerse,
And both inchnable to A
•
arice
And if there quarrell hold, as tis begun
I do not doubt, but all the rest will on.
And if the worst should fall, if I could gaine
The reputation but to arbitrate,
And sway their strifes, I would get well by that.
Al.
Tis maruayle, that there long and easie peace
That fosters plentie, and giues nought to doe,
Should not with them beget contention too,
As well as other where we see it doth.
Lin.
This peace of theirs, is not like others peace
Where craft layes trapps t'inrich it selfe with wiles,
And men make prey of men, and rise by spoyles.
This rather seemes a quiet then a peace.
For this poore corner of Arcadia here,
This little angle of the world you see,
Which hath shut out of doore, all th'earth beside
And are barrd vp with mountaines, and with rocks;
Hath had no intertrading with thereste
Of men, nor yet will haue
•
but here alone,
Quite out of fortunes way, and vnderneath
Ambition, or desire, that waies them not
They liue as if still in the golden age,
When as the world was in his pupillage.
But for myne owne parte, Alcon I protest
I enuie them that they thus make themselues,
An euerlasting holyday of rest,
Whilst others worke, and I doe thinke it fit
Being in the world, they should be of the world,
And If that other states should doe this too
As God forbid, what should we Lawyers doe?
But I hope shortly yet, we shall haue here
As many of vs as are other where:
And we shall sweate, and chafe, and tal
•
e as loud,
Brawle our selues hoarse, as well as they shall doe
At Patras, Sparta, Corinth or at Thebe
•
,
And be as arrogant and euen as proud
And then 'twill be a world, and not before.
But how dost thou with thy profession frame?
Alc.
No man can wish a better place then this
To practise in my arte, for here they will
Be sicke for companie, they are so kinde.
I haue now twenty patients at this time,
That know not what they aile, no more doe I,
And they haue phisicke all accordingly.
First Phillis got running at Barly-breake
A little cold, which I with certaine druggs
I ministred, was thought to remedie,
Doris saw that, how Phillis phisicke wrought
(For Phillis had told her, she neuer tooke
So delicate a thing in all her life
That more reuiu'd her heart, and clear'd her bloud,)
Doris would needes be sicke too, and take some.
Melina seeing that, she would the like,
And so she had the very same receipt,
For to say tr
•
th I haue no more but that,
And one poore pill I vse for greate
•
cures.
But this is onely sweet and delicate,
Fit for young women, and is like th'hearb Iohn,
Doth neither good nor hurte, but that's all one,
For if they but conceiue it doth, it doth,
And it is that Phisitions hold the chiefe
In all their cures, conceipt, and strong beleefe:
Besids I am a straunger come from far
Which doth adde much vnto opinion too.
For who now but th' Arabian or the Iewe
In forraine lands, are held the onely men,
Although their knowledge be no more then mine.
Lin,
T'is true friend Alcon, he that hath once gote
Th'Elixir of opinion hath got all,
And h'is th'man that turnes his brasse to gold.
Then can I talke of Gallen, Aucrois,
Hippocrates, Rasis, and Auicen
And bookes I neuer read, and vse strange speach
Of Symptoms, Crisis, and the Critique dayes,
Of Trochiscs, Opiats, Apophilegmatismes,
Eclegmats, Embrochs, Lixiues, Cataplasmes,
With all the hideous termes, Arte can deuise,
T'amuse weake, and admiring ignorance
Lin.
And that is right
•
my trick, I ouer-whelme
My practise too, with darknesse, and strange words,
With Paragraphs, Condictions, Codicille
•
,
Acceptilations, Actions rescissorie,
Noxall, and Hypothecall, and inuolue
Domestick matter in a forraine phrase.
Alc.
Then am I as abstruse and mysticall
In Caracter, and giuing my receipt
Obseruing still th'odd number in my pills,
And certaine houres to gather and compound
My simples, and make all t'attend the Moone.
Then do I shew what rare ingredients
I vse for some great cures, when need requires,
The liuer of a Wolfe, the Lions gall,
The leaft side of a Mole, the Foxes heart,
The right foote of a Tortuse, Dragons bloud,
And such strange sauage stuffe, as euen the names
Are phisick of them selues, to moue a man.
And all the drugs I vse, must come from farre,
Beyond the Ocean, and the Sunne at least,
Or else it hath no vertue Phisicall,
These home-bred simples do no good at all.
Lin.
No, no, it must be forraine stuffe, God wot,
Or something else, that is not to be got.
Al.
But now in faith I haue found out a trick,
That will perpetually so feed their rheumes,
And intertaine their idle weaknesses,
As nothing in the world could do the like,
For lately being at Corinth, 'twas my chance
T'incounter with a Sea-man, new ariu'd
Of Alexandria, who from India came,
And brought a certaine hearbe wrapt vp in rowles,
From th'l s
•
and of Nicosia, where it growes:
Infus'd I thinke in some pestiferous iuyce,
(Produc'd in that contagious burning clime,
Contrarious to our nature, and our spirits)
Or else sleep'd in the fuming sap, it selfe
Doth yeeld, t'inforce th'infecting power thereof,
And this in powder made, and fir'd, he suckes
Out of a little hollow instrument
Of calcinated clay, the smoake thereof:
Which either he conuayes out of his nose,
Or downe into his stomack with a whiffe.
And this he said a wondrous vertue had,
To pu
•
ge the head, and cure the great Cata
••
e,
And to drie vp all other meaner rheumes,
Which when I saw, I streight way thought how well
This new fantasticall deuise would please
The foolish people here growne humeto
•
s.
And vp I tooke all this commoditie,
And here haue taught them how to vse the same.
Lin.
And it is easie to bring in the vse
Of any thing, though neuer so absurd,
When nations are prepar'd to all abuse,
And th'humour of corruption once is stird.
Alc.
Tis true, and now to see with what a strange
And gluttenous desire, th'exhaust the same
How infinite, and how in
•
atiably,
They doe deuoure th'intoxicating fume,
You would admire, as if their spirits thereby
Were taken, and inchanted, or transformd,
By some infused philter in the drug.
For whereas heretofore they wonted were
At all thei
•
meetings, and their
•
eastiualls,
To passe the time in
•
elling wittie tales,
In questions, riddles, and in purposes,
Now do they nothing else, but sit and suck,
And spit and sla
•
er, all the time they sit.
That I go by, and laugh vnto my selfe,
And thinke that this will one day make some worke
For me or others, but I feare it will
B'another age will finde the hurt of this.
But sure the time's to come, when they looke back
On this, will wonder with themselues to thinke
That men of sense could euer be so mad,
To suck so grosse a vapour, that consumes
Their spirits, spends nature, dries vp memorie,
Corrupts the bloud, and in a vanitie.
Lin.
But Alcon peace, here comes a patien
•
, peace.
Al.
Lintus there doth indeed, therefore away.
Leaue me alone, for I must now resume
My surly, graue, and Doctorall aspect.
This wench I know, tis Duphne who hath wrongd
Her loue Menalcas, and plaid fast and loose
With Colax, who reueald the whole to me.
Scena. 2.
Daphne. Alcon.
Daph.
Good Doctor Alcon, I am come to craue
Your counsaile, to aduise me for my health,
For I suppose, in
•
roth, I am not well,
Me thinkes I should be sick, yet cannot tell:
Some thing there is amisse that troubles me,
For which I would take Phisicke willingly.
Alc.
Welcome, faire nimph, come let me try your pulse.
I cannot blame you,
•
hold your selfe not well.
Some thing amisse quoth you, here's all amisse,
Th'whole Fabrick of your selfe distempred is,
The Systole, and Dyastole of your pulse,
Do shew your passions most hystoricall,
It seemes you haue not very carefull bene,
T'obserue the prophilactick regiment
Of your owne body, so that we must now
Descend vnto the Theraphentica
•
l;
That so we may preuent the syndrome
Of Symtomes, and may afterwards apply
Some analepticall Elexipharmacum,
That may be proper for your maladie:
It seemes fai
•
e Nimph you dreame much in the night.
Da.
Doctor, I do indeed.
Al.
I know you doe,
Y'are troubled much with thought.
Dap.
I am indeed.
Alc.
I know you are.
You haue great heauinesse about your heart.
Dap.
Now truly so I haue.
Alc.
I know you haue.
You wake oft in the night.
Dap.
In troth I do.
Alc.
All this I know you doe.
And this vnlesse by phisicke you preuent,
Thinke whereto it may bring you in the end.
And therefore you must first euacua
•
e
All those Colaxicall hote humour which
Disturbe your heart, and then refrigerate
Your bloud by some Menalchian Cordials,
Which you must take, and you shall streight finde ease,
And in the morning I will visit you.
Dap.
I pray Sir, let me take of that you gaue,
To Phillis th'other day, for that she said,
Did comfort wondrously, and cheere her heart.
Al.
Faire Nimph, you must, if you will vse my arte,
Let me alone, to giue what I thinke good,
I knew what fitted Phillis maladie,
And so, I thinke, I know what will serue you.
Exit.
Daphne sola.
O what a wondrous skilfull man is this?
Why he knowes all? O God, who euer thought
Any man liuing, could haue told so right
A womans griefe in all points as he hath?
Why this is strange that by thy very pulse,
He should know all I ayle, as well as I.
Beside I feare he sees too m
•
ch in me,
More then I would that any man should see.
Me thought (although I could not well conceiue
His words, he spake so learned and so strang)
He said I had misr
•
ld my bodie much,
As if he meant that in some wanton sorte,
I had abus'd my bodie with some man.
O how should he know that what is my pulse
Become th'intelligencer of my shame?
Or are my lookes the index of my heart?
Sure so he said, and me thought too, he nam'd
Menalcas, or else some thing very like,
And likewise nam'd that cunning treacherous wretch
That hath vndone me, Colax, that vile deuill,
Who is indeed the cause of all my griefe,
For which I now seeke phisicke, but ô what
Can phisicke doe, to cure that hideous wound
My lusts haue giuen my Conscience? which I see
Is that which onely is deseas'd with in
And not my body now, that's it doth so
Disquiet all the lodging of my spirits,
As keeps me waking, that is, it presents,
Those ougly formes of terror that affright
My broken sleepes, that layes vpon my heart
This heauy loade that weighes it downe with griefe;
And no disease beside, for which there is
No cure I see at all, nor no redresse.
Didst thou alledge vile man to my weake youth,
How that those vowes I made vnto my loue
Were bands of custome, and could not lay on
Those manacles on nature, which should keepe
Her freedome prisoner by our dome of breath?
Oimpious wretch now nature giues the lie
To thy foule heart, and telles my grieued soule,
I haue done wrong, to falsifie that vow
I first to my deare loue Menalcas made.
And sayes th'assurance and the faith is giuen
By band on earth, the same is seald in heauen.
And therefore how Menalcas can these eyes
That now abhorre to looke vpon my selfe,
Dare euer view that wronged face of thine,
Who hast relide on this false heart of mine?
Scen. 3.
Colax. Techne.
Col.
Ist possible sweet Techne, what you say,
That Cloris is so wittie, and so coy?
Tec.
'Tis as I tell you, Colax, sh is as coy
And hath as shrewd a spirit, as quick conceipt
As euer wench I brok'd in all my life.
Col.
Then there's some glory in attaining her;
Here now I shall be sure t'haue something yet
Besides dull beauti
•
I shall lie with wit.
For these faire creat
•
res, haue such feeble spirits,
And are so languisli
•
ng, as giues no edge
To appetite, and lo
••
, but stuffes delight.
Tec.
Well if yo
〈◊〉
her, then you shall be sure
To haue your
〈◊〉
and yet perhaps that store,
You finde in her, may check your longing more
Then all their wants whom you haue tride before.
Col.
How? if I get her? what do you suppose,
I shall not get her, that were very strange.
Tec.
Yes sir, she may be got, but yet I know
Sh'will put you to the tryall of your wit.
Col.
Let me alone, could I finde season fit
To talke with her in priuate, she were mine.
Tec.
That season may you now haue very well.
For Colax,
〈◊〉
hath
〈◊〉
faith fully
This euening late
〈◊〉
me at the caue
Of Erycina vnderneath the hill,
Where I must fit her with a new attyre.
Where with sh' is far in loue, and th' other day
Thinking to try it at her fathers house,
(Whether I went with
〈◊〉
to deale for
〈◊〉
The old Acri
〈◊〉
was himselfe at home,
Which did in force vs to deferre our worke
Vntil this euening, that we might alone
There out of sight, more closely do the same:
Where while she stayes (for I will make her stay
For me a while) you at your pleasure may
Haue th'opportunitie which you desire,
Col.
O Techne thou hast blest me, if I now
On this aduantage conquere not her minde,
Let me be loathed, of all womenkind.
And presently will I goe sute my selfe
As brauely as I can, go set my lookes
Arme my discourse, frame speaches passionate
And action both, fit for so great a worke.
Techne a thousand thankes and so adieu.
Ex.
Tec.
Well Colax, she may yet deceiue thy hopes,
And I perswade my selfe she is as like,
As any subtile wench was euer borne,
To giue as wise a man as you the skorne:
But see where one whose faith hath better right
Vnto her loue then you, comes here forlorne
Like fortunes out-cast, full of heauines.
Ah poore Amintas, would thou knewst how much
Thou art esteemd, although not where thou wouldst,
Yet where thou shouldst haue loue in that degree,
As neuer liuing man had like to thee.
Ah see how I, who setts for others loue,
Am tooke my selfe, and intricated here
With one, that hath his heart another where?
But I will labour to diuert the streame
Of his affections, and to turne his thoughts
From that coy
•
Cloris, to the libertie
Of his owne heart, with hope to make him mine.
Scen. 4.
Techne. Amyntas.
Tech.
Now fie Amyntas, why should you thus grieue
For a most foolish way ward girle, that scornes
Your honest loue, and laughes at all you doe;
For shame Amyntas let her goe as
〈◊〉
You see her vaine, and how peruersly set,
'Tis fond so follow what we cannot get.
Am.
O Techne, Techne, though I neuer get,
Yet will I euer follow whilst I breath,
And if I perish by the way, yet shall
My death be pleasing that for her I die.
And one day she may hap to come that way,
(And be it, ô her way) where I shall lye,
And with her proud disdainefull foo
•
e she may
Tread on my tombe, and say, loe where he lyes,
The triumph, and the conquest of mine eyes.
And though I loose my selfe, and looso my teares,
It shall be glory yet that I was hers.
What haue I done of late, should make her thus
My presence with that strange disdaine to flie,
As if she did abhorre my company?
Cloris God knowes, thou hast no cause therefore,
Vnlesse it be for louing more, and more.
Why thou we
•
t wont to lend me yet an eare,
And though thou wouldst not helpe, yet wouldst thou heare.
Tec.
Perhaps she thinkes thy heat wilbe allayd,
The fire being gone, and therefore doth she well
Not to be seene there where she will not aide.
Am.
Alas she knowes no hand but hers can que
•
ch
That heat in mee, and therefore doth she wrong
To fyre my heart, and then to runne away.
And if she would not ayde, yet might she ease
My carefull soule, if she would but stand by
And onely looke vpon me while I die.
Tec,
Well well Amintas, little dost thou know
With whom that cunning wanton sortes her selfe,
Whilst thus thou mourn'st, and with what secret wiles
She workes, to meete her louer in the wo
•
des,
With whom in groues, and caues she
•
allying sitts,
And mocks thy passions, and thy dolefull fitts.
Am.
No Techne, no, I know that cannot be,
And therefore doe not wrong her modestie,
For Cloris loues no man, and that's some case
Vnto my griefe, and giues a hope that ye
•
If euer soft affection touch her heart,
She will looke back, and thinke on my desert.
Tec.
If that be all, that hope is at an end,
For if thou wilt this euening but attend
And walke downe vnder Ericinas groue,
And place thy selfe in some close secret bush,
Right opposite vnto the hollow caue
That looks into the vallye, thou shalt see
That honestie, and that great modestie.
Am.
If I see Cloris there, I know I shall,
See nothing els with her, but modestie.
Tec.
Yes something els wil grieue your heart to see
•
But you must be content, and thinke your selfe
Are not the first, that thus haue benedeceiud,
With fayre appearing out-sides, and mis
•
ooke
A wanton heart by a chaste steming looke.
But I con
•
ure you by the loue you beare
Vnto those eyes, which make you (as you are
Th'example of compassion to the world)
Sit close and be not seene in any case.
Am.
Well Techne, if I shall see Cloris there
It is enough, then thither will I goe,
Who will go any where to looke on her.
And Cloris know, I do not goe to see,
Any thing else of thee, but onely thee.
Tec.
Well goe and thinke yet of her honest care,
Who giues thee note of such a shamefull dead,
And iudge Amyntas when thou shalt be free,
Who more deserues thy loue, or I or she.
Scen. 5.
Melibaeus. Ergastus.
Me.
Now what infernall proiects are here laid,
T'afflict an honest heart, t'expose a maide,
Vnto the danger of alone aslault,
To make her to offend without her fault.
Er.
And see what other new appearing spirits
Would raise the tempests of disturbances,
Vpon our rest, and labour to bring in
All the whole Ocean of vnquietnesse,
To ouerwhelme the poore peace we liue in?
How one would faine instruct, and teach vs how
To cut our throates with forme, and to contend
With artificiall knowledge, to vndoo
Each other, and to brabble without end.
As if that nature had not tooke more care
For vs, then we for our owne selues can take,
And makes vs better lawes then those we make.
And as if all that science ought could giue
Vnto our blisse, but onely shewes vs how
The better to contend, but not to liue.
And euermore we see, how vice doth grow
With knowledge, and brings sorth a more increase,
When skilfull men begin, how good men
•
ease.
And therefore how much better doe we liue,
With quiet ignorance then we should doe
With turbulent and euer-working skill,
Which makes vs not to liue but labour still.
Mel.
And see that other vaine fantastick spirit,
Who would corrupt out bodies too likewise,
As this our mindes, and make our health to be
As trouolesome as sicknesse, to deuise,
That no part of vs euer should be free;
Both forraging on our credulitie,
Take still th'aduantage of our weakenesses;
Both cloath their friuolous vncertainties
In strange attyres, to make it seene the lesse.
Actus 4,
Scen. 1.
Techne, Amyntas.
Tec.
Amyntas must come back I know this way,
And here it will be best for me to stay,
And here, indeed he comes, poore man I site
All quite dismaide and now ile worke on him.
Come, who tels troth Amynta, who deceiues
Your expectation now, Cloris, or I?
Am.
Peace Techne peace, and doe not interrupt
The griefe that hath no leasure to attend
Ought but itselfe, and hath shut vp with it
All other sense in priuate close within,
From doing any thing, but onely thinke.
Te.
Thinke? wheron should you think? y'haue thought ynow
And too too much, on such a one as shee.
Whom now you see y'haue tride her honestie:
And let her goe proud girle accordingly,
There's none of these young wanton things that know
How t'vse a man, or how to make their choyse.
Or answere mens affections as they ought,
And if y' will thinke, thinke sh' is not worth a thought.
Good Techne, leaue mee for thy speach and sight
Beare both that disproportion to my griefe,
As that they trouble, trouble and confound
Confusion in my sorrowes, which doth loath
That sound of wordes, that answeres not the tone
Of my dispayres in accents of like mone,
And now hath sorrow no worse plague I see,
Then free and vnpartaking companie.
Who are not in the fashion of our woes,
And whose affection do not looke likwise
Of that complection as our miseries?
And therefore pray thee leaue me or else leaue
To speake, or if thou speake let it not be
To me, or else let me, not answere thee.
Tec.
Wel I say nothing you know what y'haue seene.
Am.
Tis true I doe confesse that I haue seene
The worst the world can shew me, and the worst
That can be euer seene with mortall eye.
I haue beheld the whole, of all where in
My heart had any interest in this life;
To be disrent and torne from of my hopes,
That nothing now is leaft, why I should liue:
That ostage I had giuen the world, which was
The hope of her that held me to hold truce
With it, and with this life is gone, and now
Well may I breake with them, and breake I will
And rend that pact of nature, and dissolue
That league of bloud that ties me to my selfe.
For Cloris now hath thy immodestie
Infranchizd me, and made me free to die:
Which otherwise I could not least it might
Haue bene (some staine and some disgrace to thee.
Ah was it not ynow for this poore heart
T'indure the burthen of her proud disdayne?
That weigh'd it to the earth but that it must
Be crusht thus with th'oppression of her stayne?
The first wound yet though it were huge and wide,
Yet was it cleanely made, it festred not,
But this now giuen, comes by a poysned shott,
Against all lawes of honors that are pure,
And rankles deadly is without all cure.
Ah how she blusht when as she islued forth
With her inamor'd ma
•
e out of the caue?
And well then might she blush at such a deed,
And with how wild a looke shee casts about
Her fearefull eyes? as if her loathsome sinne
Now comming thus into the open sight,
With terror did her guiltines a
•
lright;
And vp she treades the hill with such a pace,
As if shee gladly would haue out gone shame,
Which yet for all her hasting after came.
And at their comming forth, me thought I heard
The villayne vse my name, and she returne
The same againe in very earnest sorte,
Which could be for no good I know to mee,
But onely that perhaps it pleas'd her then
To cast me vp by this way of her mouth
From of her heart, least it might stuffe the same.
But Cloris know thou shalt not need to feare,
I neuer more shall interrupt thy ioyes
With my complayntes, nor more obserue thy waies;
And ô I would thy heart could be as free
From sinne and shame, as thou shalt be from mee.
I could (and I haue reason so to do)
Reuenge my wrong vpon that wicked wretch,
Who hath surpris'd my loue, and robb'd thy shame,
And make his bloud th'oblation of my wrath
Euen at thy feete, that thou mightst see th
•
a n
•
To expiate, for this iniustice donne,
But that the fact examind would display
Thy infamie abroad vnto the world,
Which I had rather die then once bewray.
And Techne pray-thee, tell her thus from me,
But yet, ah tell it softly in her eare,
And be thou sure no liuing creature heare,
That her immodestie hath lost this day,
Two the most honest guardians of her good
She had in life, her honour, and my blo
•
d.
Tec.
Now I may speake I trust you speake to me.
Am.
No not yet Techne, pray-thee stay a while,
And tell her too, though she spares not her shame,
My death shall shew, that I respect her fame.
Tec.
Then now I may.
Am.
O Techne no not yet.
And bid her not forget Amyntas faith,
Though she despised him, and one day yet
She may betoucht with griefe, and that ere long,
To thinke on her dishonour, and his wrong.
Now Techne I haue done, and so farewell.
Tec.
But stay Amyntas, now must I begin.
Am.
I cannot stay Techne, let go your hold,
It is in vaine I say, I must be gone.
Tec.
Now deare Amyntas, heare me but one word.
Ah he is gone, and in that furie gone,
As sure he will in this extremitie
Of his dispaire, do violence to himselfe:
And therefore now what helpe shall I deuise
To stay his ruine? sure there is no meanes
But to call Cloris, and perswade with her
To follow him, and to preuent his death;
For though this practise was for mine owne good,
Yet my deceipts vse not to stretch to bloud.
But now I know not where I should find out
That cruellmaide, but I must cast about.
Scen. 2.
Amarillis. Dorinda.
Ama.
Dorinda, you are yet in happie case,
You are belou'd, you need not to complaine;
'Tis I haue reason onely to bewaile
My fortunes, who am cast vpon disdaine,
And on his rockie heart that wrackes my youth
With stormes of sorowes, and contemnes my truth;
'Tis I that am shut out from all delight
This world can yeeld a maide, that am remou'd
From th'onely ioy on earth, to be belou'd:
Cruell Carinus scornes this faith of mine,
And lets poore Amarillis grieue and pine.
Do.
•
' is true indeed you say, I am belou'd,
Sweete Amarillis, and perhaps much more
Then I would be: plentie doth make me poore.
For now my heart, as if deuided stands
Betwixt two passions loue, and pitty both,
That draw it either way with that maine force,
As that I know not which to yeeld vnto:
And then feare in the midst, holds m in suspence,
Least I loath both by mine improuidence.
Ama.
How may that be Dorinda? you know this,
You can enioy but one, and one there is
Ought to possesse your heart, and loue alone,
Who hunts two Hares at one time, catches none.
Do.
I must tell you deare friend the whole discourse
From whom I cannot any thing conceale,
Arcadia knowes, and euery Shepheard knowes
How much Mirtillus hath deseru'd of me,
And how long time his wofull sute hath laine,
Depending on the mercie of mine eyes,
For whom I doe confesse, pittie hath bene
Th' A
•
turnie euermore that stands and pleades
Before my heart, the iustice of his cause,
And sayes he ought haue loue, by loues owne lawes.
But now the maister sou'raigne Lord of hearts.
That great commander, and that tyrant loue,
Who must haue all according to his will,
Whom pittie onely Vshers goes before,
As lightning doth the thunder, he sayes no,
And will that Colax onely haue my heart,
That gallant heardsman full of skill and arte:
And all experience of loues my steries:
To whom I must confesse me to haue giuen
The earnest of my loue; but since that time
I neuer saw the man, which makes me much
To wonder that his dealings should be such:
For either loue, hath in respect that I
Despised haue the true and honest faith,
Of one that lou'd me with sinceritie,
Made me the spoile of falshood and contempt,
Or else perhaps the same is done to trie,
My resolution, and my constancie?
But yet I feare the worst, and feare I may,
Least he now hauing got the victorie,
Cares for no more; and seeing he knowes my loue
Turnes towards him, he turnes his back to me,
So that I know not what were best resolue,
Either to stand vnto the doubtfull faith
Of one that bath so dangerously begun,
Or else returne
•
accept Mirtillus loue,
Who will perhaps when mine begins haue done
So that inwrapt in this distracted toyle
I vexe, and know not what to doe the whil
•
And therefore Amarillis I thinke sure,
(Se'ing now how others loue in me hath prou'd)
You are most happy not to be belou'd.
Seen. 3.
Cloris, Amarillis. Dorinda.
Clo.
Now here between you two, kinde louing soules,
I know there can be no talke but of loue,
Loue must be all the scope of your discourse,
Alas poore hearts, I wonder how you can
In this deceiptfull world thinke of a man.
For they doe nothing but make fooles of you,
And laugh when they haue done, and prooue vntrue.
Am.
Well Cloris well, reioye
•
that you are free,
You may be toucht one day as well as we.
Clo.
Indeed and I had like so this last night,
Had I not lookt with such an angry eye,
And frownd so sowre that I made loue afeard,
There was a fellow needs forsooth, would haue
My heart from me whether I would or not,
And had as great aduantage one could haue,
I tell you that he had me in a Caue.
Do.
What in a Caue? Cloris, how came you there?
Clo.
Truly Dorinda I will tell you how.
By no arte magique, but a plaine deuise
Of Techne, who would trie her wit on me,
For she had promisd me, to meete me there
At such an houre, and thither bring with her
A new strange dressing she had made for me,
Which there close out of sight, I should trie on:
Thither went I poore foole, at th'houre decreed,
And there expecting Technes company,
In rushes steering Colax after me.
Whom sure she sent of purpose to the place,
And there with his affected apish grace
And strained speach, offring to seaze on me,
Out rusht I from him, as indeed, amazd
At his so sodaine and vnexpected sight.
And after followes hee, vowes, sweares, protests
By all the gods, he neuer lou'd before
Any one liuing in the world but me,
And for me onely, would he spend his life.
Do.
Alas and what am I forgotten then?
Why these were euen the wordes he spake to mee.
Clo.
And then inueighes against Amintas loue,
Vants his owne partes, and his great knowledges,
And all so idle, as, in troth me thought
I neuer heard a man more vainely talke,
For so much as I heard, for vp the hill
I went with such a pace and neuer staide
To giue regard to any thing he said:
As at the last I scarse had leaft him breath
Sufficient to forsweare himselfe with all.
Do.
Ah what hath then my silly ignorance done
To be deceiud, and mockt by such a one?
Clo.
And when I had recouerd vp the hill,
I fayrely ran away and leaft my man
In middst of his coniuring periuries;
All emptie to returne with mightie losse
Of breath and labour, hauing cast away
Much foolish paines in tricking vp him selfe
For this exployte, and goes without his game,
Which he in hope deuourd before he came.
And I too, mist my dressing by this meanes.
But I admire how any Woman can?
Be so vnwise to like of such a man,
For I protest I see nought else but froth,
And shallow impudence, affected grace,
And some few idle practisd complement:
And all the thing he is, he is with out,
For affection striues but to appeare,
And neuer is of substance, nor Sincere.
And yet this dare of falshood hath beguild
Athousand foolish wenches in his dayes.
Do.
The more wretch he, & more hard hap was theirs.
Clo.
Why doe you sigh Dorinda are you toucht
With any of these passages of mine?
Do.
Noe truly not of yours, but I haue cause
In my particular that makes me sigh.
Clo.
Well well come on to put vs from this talke,
Let vs deuise some sporte to passe the time.
Am.
Faith I haue no great list to any sporte.
Do.
Nor I in troth 'tis farthest from my minde.
Clo.
Then let vs tell old tales, repeat our dreames,
Or any thing rather then thinke of loue.
Am.
And now you speake of dreames, in
•
roth last night
I was much troubled with a feareful dreame.
Do.
And truly Amarillis so was I.
Clo.
And now I doe remember too, I, had
A foolish idle dreame, and this it was:
Me thought the fayrest of Montanus lambs,
And one he lou'd the best of all his flock,
Was singled out, and chac'd b'a cruell curre,
And in his hote pursuit makes towards me,
(Me thought) for succour, and about mee ran,
As if it begd my ayde to saue his life,
Which I long time deferrd, and still lookt on,
And would not res
•
ue it, vntill at lenght
I saw it euen quite wourtied out of breath,
And panting at my feete and could no more:
And then me thought, I tooke it vp from death,
And cherisht it with mee, and brought it back.
Home to Montanus, who was glad to see
The poore recouerd creature thus restor'd;
And I my selfe was greatly pleas
•
d, me thought,
That by my hand so good a deede Was wrought,
And Amarillis now tell vs your dreame?
Am.
Me thought as I in Eremanthus walkt
A fearful woolfe rusht forth from out a brake,
And towards me makes with open hideous
〈◊〉
From whom I ranne with all the speed I could,
T'escape my danger, and t'ouertake
One whom I saw before, that might lend ayde
To me distrest, but he, me thought did runne
As fast from me, as I did from the beast.
I cride to him, (but all in vaine) to stay;
The more I cride, the more he ranne away;
And after I, and after me the Wolfe,
So long, as I began to faint in minde,
Seeing my despaire before, my death behinde:
Yet ranne I still, and loe, me thought, at length
A little he began to s
•
ack his pace,
Which I perceiuing, put to all my strength
And ranne, as if desire had wingd my heeles,
And in the end me thought recou'red him.
But neuer woman felt more ioy it seem'd
To ouertake a man, then I did him,
By whom I scapte the danger I was in,
That when I wak'd, as presently I wak'd,
Toucht with that sodaine ioy, which my poore heart
God knowes, had not bene vsd vnto of late:
I found my selfe all in a moist faint sweate,
Which that affrighting horrour did beget,
And though I were deliu'red of my feare,
And felt this ioy, yet did the trembling last
Vpon my heart, when now the feare was past.
Clo.
This Amarillis may your good portend,
That yet you may haue comfort in the end.
Am.
God grant I may, it is the thing I want.
Clo.
And now Dorinda tell vs what you dreamt.
Do.
I dreamt, that hauing gone to gather flowers,
And weary of my worke, reposing me
Vpon a banke neere to a Riuers side,
A subtle Serpent lurking in the grasse.
Came secretly, and seizd on my left breast,
Which though I saw, I had no power to stirre,
But lay me still, till he had eate a way
Into my bosome, whence he tooke my heart,
And in his mouth carrying the same away,
Returnes, me thought againe from whence he came,
Which I perceiuing presently arose,
And after it most wofully I went,
To see if I could finde my heart againe,
And vp and downe, I sought but all in vaine.
Clo.
In troth 'tis no good luck to dreame of Snakes,
One shall be sure t'heare anger after it.
Do.
And so it may be I haue done to day.
Clo.
Indeed and I haue heard it neuer failes.
Scen. 4.
Techne. Cloris. Amarillis. Dorinda.
Tec.
Come you are talking here in iollitie,
Whilst I haue sought you Cloris all about:
Come, come, good Cloris quickly come away.
Cl.
What is the newes? what haue we now to doo,
Haue you another Caue to send me too?
Tec.
Ah talke no more of that but come avvay,
As euer you will saue the wofull life
Of a distressed man that dyes for you.
Clo.
Why what doth Colax whom you sent to me
Into the Caue, faint now with his repulse?
Tec.
I sent him not, you would so wisely goe,
In open sight, as men might see you goe,
And trace you thither all the way you went.
But come, ah 'tis not he, it is the man
You ought to saue; Amyntas is the man
Your cruelty, and rigour hath vndone:
O quickly come, or it will be too late;
For 'twas his chance, and most vnluckely,
To see both you and Colax, as you came
Out of the Caue, and he thinkes verily
You are possest by him; which so confounds
His spirits, and sinckes his heart, that sure h'is runne
T'vndoe himselfe, and ô I feare 'tis done.
Clo.
If it be done, my helpe will come too late,
And I may stay, and saue that labour here.
Am.
Ah Cloris haste away, if this be so,
And doe not, if thou hast a heart of flesh,
And of a woman, stay and trifle time,
Goe runne, and saue thine owne, for if he die,
'Tis thine that dyes, his bloud is shed for thee,
And what a horrour this will euer be
Hereafter to thy guiltie conscience, when
Yeares shall haue taught thee wit, and thou shalt finde
This deed instampt in bloudy Characters,
Within the black recordes of thine owne thoughts,
Which neuer will be raz'd whilst thou hast breath,
Nor yet will be forgotten by thy death.
Besides wide Fame, will Trumpet forth thy wrong,
And thou shalt be with all posteritie,
Amongst th' examples held of crueltie,
And haue this sauage deed of thine be made
A sullein subiect for a Tragedie,
Intitled Cloris, that thereby thy name
May serue to be an euerlasting shame;
And therefore goe preuent so foule a staine.
Do.
Ah goe, goe Cloris, haste away with speed.
Clo.
Why whether should I goe? I know not where
To finde him now, and if he doe this deed,
It is his error, and no fault of mine.
Yet pray thee Techne, which way went the man?
Tec.
Come Cloris, I will shew which way he went,
In most strange furie, and most desperate speed,
Still crying, Cloris, hast thou done this deed?
Clo.
Why had not you staid? and perswaded him?
Tec.
I could not stay him by no meanes I vsd.
Though all the meanes I could deuise I vsd.
Clo.
Well I will goe, poore man, to seeke him out,
Though I can do him else, no other good.
I know indeed he hath deseru'd my loue,
And if I would like any, should be him,
So that I thought he would be true to me.
But thus my dreame may now chance come to passe,
And I may happen to bring home indeed
Montanus sonne, Amyntas that deere Lambe
He loues so well, and by my gracious deed,
He may escape the danger he was in.
Which if I doe, and thereby doe inthrall
My selfe, to free anothers misery,
Then will I sit and sigh, and talke of loue
As well as you, and haue your company.
For something I doe feele begin to moue,
And yet I hope 'tis nothing else but feare;
Yet what know I? that feare may hap be loue.
Well Techne come, I would not haue him yet
To perish, poore Amyntas in this fit.
Exeunt.
Ama.
Well Cloris yet he may, for ought I see
Before you come, vnlesse you make more haste.
Ah cruell maide, she little knowes the griefe
Of such a heart that's desperate of reliefe,
Nor vnderstands she her owne happinesse,
To haue so true a louer as he is.
And yet I see sh'is toucht, if not too late,
For I perceiu'd her coulour come and goe,
And though in pride she would haue hid her woe,
Yet I saw sorrow looke out at her eyes.
And poore Amyntas if thou now be gone,
Thou hast (like to the Bee that stinging dyes,
And in anothers wound leaft his owne life)
Transpierced by thy death, that marble heart,
Which liuing thou, couldst touch by no desert.
And if thou shalt escape, thou hast suruiu'd
Her crueltie, which now repents her wrong,
And thou shalt by her fauours be reuiu'd,
After the affliction thou hast suffred long.
Which makes me thinke, that time, and patience may
Intenerat at length the hardest heart,
And that I may yet after all my woe,
Liue t'ouertake Carinus mercie too.
Do.
And here this sad distresse of such a true,
And constant louer, ouercome with griefe,
Presents vnto my guilty memorie
The wrongs, Mirtillus hath indur'd of me.
And ô I would I knew now how he doth,
I feare he is not well, I saw him not
Scarse these three dayes, I meruaile where he is,
And yet what need I meruaile, who haue thus
Chac'd him from me with frownes, and vsage vile,
And fondly leaft the substance of his faith,
To catch the shadow of deceipt and guile?
Was Colax he I thought the onely man,
And is he now prou'd to be such a one?
O that I euer lent an easie eare,
Vnto so false a wretches flatteries,
Whose very name I now abhorre to heare,
And loath my selfe, for being so vnwife.
What shall I doe sweete Amarillis now,
Which way shall I betake me to recouer
The losse of shame, and losse of such a louer?
Ama.
Indeed Dorinda you haue done him wrong,
But your repentance, and compassion now
May make amends, and you must learne to do
As I long time haue done, indure and hope,
And on that turne of Fortunes Scene depend,
When all extremities must mend, or end.
Scen. 5.
Melibaeus. Ergastus.
Mel.
Well, come Ergastus, we haue seene ynow,
And it is more then time, that we prepare
Against this Hydra of confusion now,
Which still presents new hideous heads of feare:
And euery houre we see begets new broiles,
And intricates our youth in desperate toyles.
And therefore let th'aduantage of this day,
Which is the great, and generall hunting day
In Eremanthus, serue for this good deed
•
And when we meete (as all of vs shall meete
Here in this place anone, as is decreed)
We will aduise our Shepheards to intermit
That worke, and fall to this imports vs more,
To chase out these wild mischiefes that doe lurke,
And worse infest, then th' Eremanthian Boare,
O
••
ll Beasts else, which onely spoile our fields,
Whilst these which are of more prodigious kindes,
Bend all their forces to destroy our mindes.
Erg.
And this occasion will be very fit
Now to be tooke, for one day lost may lose
More by example, then we shall reget
In thousands, for when men shall once disclose
The way of ill that lay vnknowne before,
Scarce all our paines will euer stop it more.
Man is a creature of a wilfull head,
And hardly'is driuen, but easily is lead.
Actus. 5.
Scen. 1.
Amarillis. Car
••
us.
Ama.
Ah gentle Lelaps, prety louing dogge,
Where hast thou leaft thy maister, where is hee,
That great commander ouer thee and mee?
Thou wert not wont be far off from his feete,
And ô no more would I, were he so pleasd;
But would as well as thou go follow him,
Through brakes, and thickers, ouer cliffes and rockes
So long as I had life to follow him,
Would he but looke vpon me with that eye
Of fauour, as h'is vs'd to looke on thee.
Thou canst be clapt, and strookt with that faire hande
That thrustes away my heart, and beates it back
From following him, which yet it euer will
And though he fly mee I must after still.
But here he comes, me thought he was not farre.
Car.
What meane you Amarillis in this sorte
By taking vp my dogge to marre my sporte?
Am.
My deare Carinus thou dost much mistake
I doe not marre thy sporte, tis thou marrstmine,
And killst my ioyes with that hard heart of thine.
Thy dooge perhaps by some instinct doth know
How
〈◊〉
I am his maisters creature too,
And kindely comes himselfe, and fawnes on me
To shew what you in nature ought to doe?
Car.
Fie Amarillis, you that know my minde
Should not me thinkes this euer trouble me.
Am.
What is it troublesome to be belou'd?
How is it then Carinus to be loath'd?
If I had donne like Cloris, skornd your sute,
And spourn'd your passions, in disdainefull sorte,
I had bene woo'd, and sought, and highly prizd,
But hauing n'other arte to win thy loue,
Saue by discouering mine, I am despisd.
As if you would not haue the thing you sought,
Vnles you knew, it were not to be gote.
And now because I lie here at thy feete,
The humble booty of thy conquering eies,
And lay my heart all open in thy sight,
And tell thee I am thine, and tell thee right.
And doe not sure my lookes, nor cloth my words
In other coulours, then my thoughts do weare,
But doe thee right in all, thou skornest me
As if thou didst not loue sinceritie
Neuer did Crystall more apparantly
Present the coulour it contayn'd with in
Then haue these eyes, these teares, this tongue of mine,
Bewreyd my heart, and told how much I'am thine.
Ca.
Tis true I know you haue too much bewrayd
And more then fitts the honour of a mayde.
Am.
O if that nature hath not arm'd my breast
With that strong temper of resisting proofe,
But that by treason of my weake complection, I
Am made thus easy to the violent shott
Of passion, and th'affection I should not.
Me thinks yet you out of your strength and power,
Should not disdayne that weakenes, but should thinke
It rather is your vertue, as indeed
It is, that makes me thus against my kinde,
T'vnlock my thoughs, and to let out my minde,
When I should rather die and burst with loue
Then once to let my tongue to say, I loue.
And if your worthy partes be of that power
To vanquish nature, and I must be wonne
Do not disdayne the worke when you haue don,
For in contemmig me you do dispise
That power of yours which makes me to be thus.
Ca.
Now what adoe is here with idle talke?
And to no purpose, for you know I haue
Ingagd long since my heart, my loue and all
To Cloris, who must haue the same and shall.
Am.
Why there is no such odds twixt her and me,
I am a Nimph, tis knowne as well as shee.
There is no other difference betwixt vs twaine
But that I loue, and she doth thee disdaine.
No other reason can induce thy minde,
But onely that which should diuert thy minde.
I will attend thy flockes better then she,
And dresse thy Bower more sweete, more daintily,
And cheerish thee with Salets, and with Fruites,
And all fresh dainties as the season sutes;
I haue more skill in heat bes, then she, by farre,
I know which nourish, which restoring are:
And I will finde Dictamnus for thy Goates,
And seeke out Clauer for thy little Lambes,
And Tetrifoll to cheerish vp their Dammes.
And this I know, I haue a better voyce
Then she, though she perhaps may haue more arte,
But which is best; I haue the faithfulst heart.
Besides Amyntas hath her loue, I know,
And she begins to manifest it now.
Car.
Amyntas haue her loue? that were most strange
•
When he hath gotten that, you shall haue mine.
Am.
O deere Carinus, let me rest vpon
That blessed word of thine, and I haue done.
Scen. 2.
Mirtillus. Carinus. Amarilli
•
.
Mir.
Well met Carinus, I can tell you newes,
Your riuall, poore Amyntas, hath vndone
And spoild himselfe, and lyes in that weake case,
As we thinke neuer more to see his face.
Car.
Mirtillus, I am sory t'heare so much:
Although Amyntas be competitor
In th'Empire of her heart, wherein my life
Hath chiefest claime, I doe not wish his death:
But by what chance, Mirtillus pray thee tell?
Mil.
I will Carinus, though I grieue to tell.
As Titcrus, M
•
nalcas, and my selfe
Were placing of our toyles (against anon
That we shall hunt) below within the straight,
Twixt Er
•
manthus, and Lycaeus mount,
We might perceiue vnder a ragged cliffe,
In that most vncouth desart, all alone,
Distrest Amyntas lying on the ground,
With his sad face, turnd close vnto the rock,
As if he loathd to see more of the world,
Then that poore space, which was twixt him and it:
His right hand stretcht, along vpon his side,
His leaft, he makes the pillor to support
His carefull head, his Pipe he had hung vp
Vpon a Beach tree by, where he likewise
Had plac'd his Sheephooke, and his Knife, wherewith
He had incaru'd an wofull Elegie,
To shew th'occasion of his miserie.
His dogge Molampus sitting by his side,
As if he were partaker of his woe:
By which we knew 'twas he, and to him went,
And after we had call'd, and shooke him vp,
And found him not to answere, nor to stirre
And yet his eyes abroad, his body warme;
We tooke him vp, and held him from the ground,
But could not make him stand by any meanes;
And sincking downe againe, we searcht to see
If he had any wound, or blow, or wrinch,
But none could finde: at last by chance we spide
A little horne which he had slung aside,
Whereby we gest he had some poyson tooke.
And therevpon we sent out presently
To fetch Vrania, whose great skill in hearbes
Is such, as if there any meanes will be,
As I feare none will be, her onely arte
Must serue to bring him to himselfe againe
•
Car.
Indeed Vrania hath bene knowne
•
haue done
Most desperate cures, and peraduenture may
Restore him yet, & I doe wish she may.
Mir.
But hauing there vs'd all the helpe we could,
And all in vaine, and standing by with griefe,
(As we might well, to see so sad a sight)
(And such an worthy Shepheard in that plight)
We might perceiue come running downe the hill,
Cloris, and Techne, with what speed they could,
But Cloris had got ground, and was before,
And made more haste, as it concernd her more.
And neerer as she came, she faster went,
As if she did desire to haue bene there
Before her feete, too flow for her swift feare.
And comming to the place, she sodainely
Stopt, startes, and shrikt, and hauing made such haste
T'haue something done, now could she nothing doe.
Perhaps our presence might perplexe her too,
As being asham'd that any eye should see
The new appearing of her naked heart,
That neuer yet before was seene till now.
Car.
And 'tis ill hap for me it was seene now.
Mir.
For we perceiu'd how Loue and Modestie
With seu'rall Ensignes, stroue within her cheekes
Which should be Lord that day, and charged hard
Vpon each other, with their fresh supplies
Of different coulours, that still came, and went,
And much disturb'd her but at length dissolu'd
Into affection, downe she casts her selfe
Vpon his senselesse body, where she saw
The mercie she had brought was come too late:
And to him calles; ô deare Amyntas speake,
Looke on me, sweete Amyntas, it is I
That calles thee, sit is, that holds thee here,
Within those armes thou haste esteem'd so deare.
And though that loue were yet so young in her
As that it knew not how to speake, or what,
And that she neuer had that passion prou'd,
Being first a louer ere she knew she lou'd,
Yet what she could not vtter, she supplide,
With her poore busie hands that rubb'd his face,
Chafd his pale temples, wrung his fingers ends,
Held vp his head, and puld him by the hands,
And neuer leaft her worke, nor euer ceast.
Ama.
Alas the least of this regarde before,
Might haue holpe all, then when 'twas in her power,
T'haue sau'd his heart, and to reuiue his minde,
Now for all this, her mercie is vnkinde;
The good that's out of season, is not good.
There is no difference now twixt cruelty,
And the compassion thats not vnderstood.
Mir.
But yet at length, as if those daintie hands,
Had had a power to haue awakened death,
We might perceiue him moue his heauie eyes,
Which had stood fixt all the whole time before,
And fastens them directly vpon her.
Which when she saw, it strooke her with that force,
As that it pierc'd through all the spirits she had,
Made all the powers and parts of her shrinke vp,
With that conuulsion of remorse and griefe,
As out she shrik'd, ô deere, ô my deere heart,
Then shrinkes againe, and then againe cryes out.
For now that looke of his did shake her more,
Then death or any thing had done before,
That looke did read t'her new conceiuing heart,
All the whole tragicke Lecture of his loue,
All his sad suffrings, all his griefes, and feare,
And now in th'end what he had done for her.
And with that powerfull force of mouing too,
As all a world of words could neuer doe.
Ah what a silly messenger is Speach,
To be imploi'd in that great Embassie
Of our affections, in respect of th'eye?
Ah 'tis the silent rhetorick of a looke,
That worker the league betwixt the states of hearts,
Not words I see, nor knowledge of the booke,
Nor incantations made by hidden artes,
For now this looke so melts her into teares,
As that she powr'd them downe like thunder droppes,
Or else did Nature taking pittie now
Of her distresse, imploy them in that store,
To serue as vailes, and to be interposde
Betwixt her griefe and her, t'impeach her sight,
From that full view of sorrow thus disclosde.
And now with this came in Vrania there,
With other women, to imploy their best
To saue his life, if b'any meanes they can.
And so we came our way, being sent for now
About some conference for our hunting sportes,
And with vs Techne comes, who is supposde,
T'haue bene a speciall cause of much of this.
Car.
Alas this sad reporte doth grieue me much,
And I did neuer thinke, that Cloris had
So deerely lou'd him as I finde she doth,
For by this act of hers I plainely see,
There will be neuer any hope for me.
Ama.
There may for me, if now Carinus thou
Wilt stand but to thy word, as thou hast said.
Mir.
Ah would to God Dorinda had bene there,
T'haue seene but Cloris acte this wofull part;
It may be, it might haue deterr'd her heart
From cruelty, so long as she had liu'd.
Am.
And I am glad Carinus hath but heard
So much this day, for he may hap thereby
To haue some feeling of my miserie,
But for Dorinda neuer doubt at all,
She is more yours Mirtillus then you thinke.
Mir.
Ah Amarillis.
•
I would that were true.
But loe where come our chiefest heardsmen now,
Of all Arcadia, we shall know more newes.
Scen. 3.
Melibaeus, Ergastus, Montanus, Acrisius, with other
Arcadians, bringing with them Alcon, Lincus, Colax,
Techne, Pistophoenax.
Meli.
You gentle Shepheards and inhabitors
Of these remote, and solitarie parts
Of Montaynous Arcadiae, shut vp here
Within these Rockes, those vnfrequented Clifts,
The walles and Bulwarkes of our libertie,
From out the noise of tumult, and the throng
Of sweating toyle, ratling concurrencie,
And haue continued still the same and one
In all successions from antiquitie,
Whilst all the states on earth besides haue made
A thousand reuolutions, and haue rowld
From change to change, and neuer yet found rest,
Nor euer bettered their estates by change.
You, I inuoke this day in generall,
To doe a worke that now concernes vs all:
Least that we leaue not to posteritie,
Th' Arcadia that we found continued thus
By our forefathers care who leaft it vs.
For none of you I know, whose iudgment's graue
Can ought discerne, but sees how much we are
Transformd of late, and changd from vvhat we were;
And what distempers dayly doe arise
Amongst our people, neuer felt before,
At which I know you meruaile, as indeed
You well may meruaile, whence they should proceed:
And so did good Ergastus here, and I,
Vntill we set our selues more warily
To search it out, which by good hap we haue,
And found the Authors of this wickednesse.
Which Diuels attyr'd here in the shape of men,
We haue produc'd before you, to the end
You may take speedy order to suppresse
Our growing follies, and their impiousnesse.
Erg.
Indeed these odious wretches which you see,
Are they who haue brought in vpon our rest,
These new and vnknowne mischiefes of debate,
Of wanton pride, of scandalous reportes,
Of vile deluding chaste and honest loues,
Of vndeseru'd suspitious desperate griefes,
And all the sadnesse we haue seene of late.
And first this man, this Lincus here you see,
Montanus you, and you Acrysius know,
With what deceipt, and with what cunning arte,
He intertaind your strifes, abusd you both,
By first perswading you that you had right
In your demandes, and then the right was yours,
And would haue made as many rightes, as men
Had m
••
nes, or power, or will to purchase them;
Could he haue once attain'd to his desires.
Mon.
We doe confesse our errour, that we were
Too easily perswaded by his craft,
To wrangle for imagin'd titles, which
We here renounce, and quit for euermore,
Acry.
And we desire the memory thereof
May dye with vs, that it be neuer knowne
Our feeble age hath such example showne.
Erg.
And now this other strange impostour here,
This Alcon, who like Lincus hath put on,
The habite too of emptie grauitie,
To catch opinion, and conceipt withall,
Comes here to set vs all at variance too,
With nature, as this other with our selues,
And would confound her, working with his arte,
And labours how to make our minds first sick,
Before our bodies, and perswade our health
It is not well, that he may haue thereby
Both it and sicknesse euer vnder cure.
And forraine druggs bringes to distemper's here
And make vs like the wanton world abroad.
Mel.
But there are two the most pernicious spirit;
The world I thinke did euer yet produce.
Colax and Techne, two such instruments
Of Wantonnesse, of Lust and treacherie,
As are of power t' intice and to debaush
The vniuersall state of honestie.
Erg.
But Techne who is that standes their by you,
What is your companie increast of late?
Te.
Truely it is a very honest man
A friend of mine that comes to see me here.
Erg.
He cannot then but be an honest man,
If he be one of your acquintance sure.
Mel.
This man I found with them now since you went
Mayntayning hote dispute with Titerus
About the rites, and misteries of Pan.
Erg.
H'is like to be of their associats then.
Er.
Techne, what is this secret friend of yours?
Tec.
For-sooth he is a very holy man.
Erg.
A very holy man? what is his name?
Tec.
Truely his name Sir is Pistophoenax.
Erg.
What is he maskt, or is that face his ovvne?
Tec.
He is not maskt, tis his complection sure.
Erg.
Techne we cannot credite thy report.
Let one try whether it be so or not,
O see a most deformed ougly face,
Wherewith if openly he should appeare,
He would deterre all men from comming nere.
And therefore hath that cunning wretch put on
This pleasing visor of apparencie,
T'intice and to delude the world withal;
So that you see with what strange inginiers,
The proiect of our ruine is forecast.
How they implanted haue their battery here,
Against all the maine pillors of our state,
Our Rites; our Customes, Nature, Honestie.
T'mbroyle, and to confound vs vtterly,
Reckning vs barbarous, but if thus their skill
Doth ciuilize let vs be barbarous still.
Mel.
But now to shew the horrible effects
Of Colax, and of Technes practises,
(Besides this last exploit they wrought vpon,
Amyntas (who, poore youth, lies, now full weake:
Vnder Vranias cure, whose skill we heare
Hath yet recall'd him to himselfe againe)
We haue sent out abrode into the woods,
For Siluia and Palamon two chast soules
Whom they haue torturd so with iealosie,
Of each the other, as they made them ru
•
A part, to languish seuerally alone;
And we haue sent for diuers others too,
Whose heartes haue felt what impious craft can do.
And here they come, and now you shall know all.
Scen. 4.
Palaemon. Mirtillus, Carinus. Siluia. Dorind
•
.
Amarillis, Daphne. Cloris. Amyntas.
Erg.
Come good Palaemon, and good Siluia come,
You haue indurd too much, and too too long.
Sil.
Ah why Ergastus doo you set our names
So nere together, when our hearts so far,
Are distant from each other as they are?
Indeed whilst we were one as once we were,
And as we ought to be, were faith obserud,
Palaemon should not haue bene nam'd without:
A Siluia, nor yet Siluia without him.
But now we may Ergastus, we are two.
Pal.
Siluia, there in the greater wrong you doe.
Sil.
Palaemon, nay the greater wrong you doe.
Erg.
Alas we know well where the wrong doth lie.
Sil.
I know you doe, and all the world may know.
Pal.
Siluia, you see your fault cannot be hid.
Sil.
It is no fault of mine Palaemon, that
Your shame doth come to be reuealed here;
I neuer told it you your selfe haue not
Conceald your worke so closely as you should.
Pal.
But there stands one can tel what you haue bene.
Sil.
Nay there he standes can tel what you haue bene.
And sure is now in publicke here producd
To testifie your shame, but not set on
But me I doe protest, who rather would
Haue dide alone in secret with my griefe
Then had your infamie discouerd here.
wherein my shame, must haue so great a share.
Pal.
I haue not sought to manifest your shame
Which Siluia, rather then haue done I would
Haue bene content t'indure the worst of deathes,
I hauing such an intrest in the same.
Col,
No Siluia, no Palaemon, I stand here
Not to accuse you but t'accuse my selfe
Of wrong, you both God knowes are cleare
I haue abusd your apt credulitie,
With false reportes of things that neuer were
And therefore here craue pardon for the same.
Pal.
why Colax, did not Siluia intertaine
The loue of Thyrsis then as you told me?
Col.
Palaemon no, she neuer intertaind
His loue, nor wrongd you as I euer knew.
Sil.
But Colax you saw how Palaemon did
With Nisa falsifie his vow to me.
Col.
Siluia, by heauen and earth I sweare not I,
But onely faind it out of subtiltie;
For some vngodly ends I had decreed.
Pal.
O let not this be made some cunning baite
To take my griefes with false beleefe, for I
Had rather liue with sorrow then deceipt,
And still b'vndone, then to haue such reliefe.
Sil.
Ah let not this deuise be wrought to guild
My bitternesse, to make me swallow' it now,
That I might be another time beguilde
With confidence, and not trust what I know.
Pal.
Ah Siluia now, how were I cleer'd of griefe,
Had I the power to vnbeleeue beliefe.
But ah my heart hath dwelt so long in house
With that first tale, at this which is come new,
Cannot be put in trust with my desire
So soone, besides 'tis too good to be true.
Sil.
Could I Palaemon but vnthinke the thought
Of th'ill first heard, and that it were not so,
How blest were I? but loe I see how doubt
Comes in farre easier then it can g
•
t out.
And in these miseries of iealousie,
Our eare hath greater credit then our eye.
Mel.
Stand not confusd deare louers any more,
For this is now the certaine truth you heare,
And this vile wretch hath done you both this wrong.
Pa.
Ist possible, and is this true you say,
And doe I liue, and doe I see the day?
Ah then come Siluia, for I finde this wound
That pierc'd into the center of my heart,
Hath let in loue farre deeper then it was.
Sil.
If this be so, why then Palaemon know,
I likewise feele the loue that was before
Most in my heart, is now become farre more:
And now ô pardon me you worthy race
Of men, it I in passion vttred ought
In preiudice of your most noble sexe;
And thinke it was m'agrieued errour spake
It knew not what, transported so, not I:
Pal.
And pardon me you glorious company
You starres of women, if
〈◊〉
raged
〈◊〉
Haue ought profan'de your reuerent dignitie,
And thou bright Pullas sou'raigne of at Nimphe
•
,
The royall Mistresse of our Pastorall Muse
And thou Diana honour of the wood
•
s
To whome I vow my songes, and vow my selfe,
Forgiue me mine offence and be you pleasd
T'accept of my repentance now therefore,
And grace me still, and I desire no more.
Sil.
And now I would that Cloris knew this much
That so she might be vndeceiued too,
Whom I haue made beleeue so ill of men.
But lo see where she comes, and as it seemes
Brings her beliefe already in her hand
Preuents my act, and is confirmd before.
Looke Cloris looke, my feares haue idle bene,
Palaemon Loues me there is trust in men.
Col.
And Siluia I must now beleeue so too
Or else god help I know not what to doe.
Pal.
Looke here Mirtillus looke what I told you
Is now prou'd false, and women they are
•
rue,
Mi.
So I perceiue Palaemon, and it seemes
But vaine conceipt that other wise esteemes.
Mo.
Alas here comes my deare restored sonne
My louely child Amyntas here is come.
Acry.
And here is Cloris my deare daughter come
And lookes as if she were affrighted still,
Poore soule, with feare, and with her sodaine griefe.
Col.
Lo here Montanus I haue brought you home
Although with much adoe, your sonne againe
And sorry am with all my heart that I,
Haue bene the cause he hath indur'd so much.
Mon.
And I restore him back againe to you
Deare Cloris and doe wish you to forget
Your sorowes past, and pray the Gods you may
From henceforth lead your life with happie ioy.
Acr.
Do Cloris take him, and I wish as much.
Erg.
Well then to make our ioyfull festiuals
The more complet, Dorinda, we intreat
You also to accept Mirtillus loue,
Who we are sure hath well deserued yours.
Do.
Although this be vppon short warning, yet
For that I haue bene sommoned before
By mine owne heart, and his deserts to me
To yeeld to such a motion, I am now
Content t'accept his loue, and wilbe his,
Mir.
Dorinda then I likewise haue my blisse
And reckon all the sufferings I haue past
Worthy of thee to haue this ioy at last.
Mel.
And you Carinus looke on that good Nimph
Whose eye is still on you, as if she thought
Her suffrings too, deserud some time of ioy
And now expects her turne, hath brought her lap
For comfort too whilst fortune deales good hap.
And therefore let her haue it now poore soule
For she is worthy to possesse your loue.
Car.
I know she is, and she shall haue my loue,
Though Colax had perswaded me before
Neuer t'accept or to beleeue the loue
Of any Nimph, and oft to me hath sworne
How he had tryde them all, and that none were
As men, beguild by shewes, supposd they were:
But now I doe perceiue his treachery,
And that they haue both loue and constancie.
Ama.
O deare Carinus blest be this good howre,
That I haue liu'd to ouertake at last
That heart of thine which fled from me so fast.
Erg.
And Daphne, too me thinks your heauy lookes
Shew how that something is amisse with you.
Dap.
Nothing amisse with me, but that of late
I tooke a fall, which some what grieues me yet.
Erg.
That must aduise you Daphne from henceforth
To looke more war
•
ly vnto your feete,
Which if you doe, no doubt but all will be well,
Mel.
Then thus we see the sadnesse of this day
Is ended with the euening of our ioy:
And now you impious spirits, who thus haue raisd
The hideous tempests of these miseries,
And thus abusd our simple innocence,
We charge you all here presently t'auoyd,
From out our confines, vnder paine to be
Cast downe, and dasht in peeces from these rockes,
And t'haue your odious carkases deu
••
r'd
By beasts, being worse your selues then beasts to
•
Col.
Well then come Techne, for I see we two
Must euen be forst to make a marriage too.
And goe to Corinth, or some Cittie neere,
And by our practise get our liuing there.
Which both together ioynd, perhaps we may:
And this is now the worst of miseries
Could come vnto me, and yet worthily,
For hauing thus abusd so many Nimphes,
And wrong'd the honour most vnreuerently
Of women, in that sort as I haue done,
That now I'am forst to vndergoe therefore,
The worst of Plagues: To marry with a W.
Alc.
But Lincus, let not this discourage vs,
That this poore people iealous of their rest,
Exile vs thus, for we no doubt shall finde
Nations enough, that will most ready be
To entertaine our skill, and cherish vs.
And worthier people too, of subtler spirits,
Then these vnfashion'd, and vncomb'd rude swaine.
Lin.
Yea and those Nations are farre sooner drawne
T'all friuolous distractions then are these.
For oft we see, the grosse doe manage things,
Farre better then the subtle, cunning brings
Confusion sooner then doth ignorance.
Al.
Yea and I doubt not whilst there shalbe found
Fantasticke puling wenches in the world,
But I shall florish, and liue iollily,
For such as I by women must begin
To gaine a name, and reputation winne.
Which when we haue attaind to, you know then
How easily the women draw on men.
Lin.
Nor do I doubt but I shall likewise liue;
And thriue, where euer I shall plant my selfe;
For I haue all those helps my skill requires,
A wrangling nature, a contesting grace,
A Clamorous voyce, and an audacious face.
And I can cite the law t'oppugne the law,
And make the glosse to ouerthrow the text
I can alledge, and vouch authoritie,
T'imbroyle th' intent, and sense of equitie:
Besides by hauing bene a Notarie,
And vs'd to frame litigious instruments
And leaue aduantages for subtilty,
And strife to worke on, I can so deuise
That there shalbe no writing made so sure
But it shall yeeld occasion to contest
At any time when men shall thinke it best,
Nor be thou checkt with this Pistophoenax,
That at thy first appearing thou art thus
Discou'red here, thou shall along with vs,
And take thy fortune too, as well as we.
Pis.
Tush Limus this can not discourage me,
For we that trafficke with credulitie,
And with opinion, still shall cherisht bee.
But here your errour was to enter first
And be before me, for you should haue let
Me made the way, that I might haue dislinkt
That chayne of Zeale that holds in amitie,
And calld vp doubt in their establisht rites,
Which would haue made you such an easy way,
As that you might haue brought in what you would,
Vpon their shaken and discattered mindes,
For our profession any thing refutes,
And all's vnsetled whereas faith disputes.
Mel.
Now what a muttring keepe you there, away
Be gone I say, and best too, whilst you may.
And since we haue redeem'd our selues so well
Out of the hands of mischiefe, let vs all
Exile with them their ill example too,
Which neuer more remaynes, as it begun,
But is a wicked sire t'a far worse sonne,
And stayes not till it makes vs slaues vnto
(That vniuersall Tyran of the earth
Custome) who takes from vs our priuiledge
To be our selues, reades that great charter too
Of nature, and would likewise cancell man:
And so inchaynes our iudgments, and discourse
Vnto the present vsances; that we
Must all our senses there vnto refer,
Be as we finde our selues, not as we are,
As if we had no other touch of truth
And reason then the nations of the times
And place wherein we liue, and being our selues
Corrupted, and abastardized thus
Thinke all lookes ill, that doth not looke like vs.
And therefore let vs recollect our selues
Dispersd into these strange confused ill,
And be againe Arcadians as we were
In manners and in habit as we were.
And so solempnize this our happie day,
Of restauration, with other feasts of ioy.
FINIS.