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The Faithful Shepherdess by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

Part 2 out of 3

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_Alex._ O my heart,
My dearest, dearest _Cloe_, O the smart
Runs through my side: I feel some pointed thing
Pass through my Bowels, sharper than the sting
Of Scorpion.

Pan preserve me, what are you?
Do not hurt me, I am true
To my _Cloe_, though she flye,
And leave me to thy destiny.
There she stands, and will not lend
Her smooth white hand to help her friend:

But I am much mistaken, for that face
Bears more Austerity and modest grace,

More reproving and more awe
Than these eyes yet ever saw
In my Cloe. Oh my pain
Eagerly renews again.

Give me your help for his sake you love best.

_Clor._ Shepherd, thou canst not possibly take rest,
Till thou hast laid aside all hearts desires
Provoking thought that stir up lusty fires,
Commerce with wanton eyes, strong blood, and will
To execute, these must be purg'd, untill
The vein grow whiter; then repent, and pray
Great _Pan_ to keep you from the like decay,
And I shall undertake your cure with ease.
Till when this vertuous Plaster will displease
Your tender sides; give me your hand and rise:
Help him a little _Satyr_, for his thighs
Yet are feeble.

_Alex._ Sure I have lost much blood.

_Satyr._ 'Tis no matter, 'twas not good.
Mortal you must leave your wooing,
Though there be a joy in doing,
Yet it brings much grief behind it,
They best feel it, that do find it.

_Clor._ Come bring him in, I will attend his sore
When you are well, take heed you lust no more.

_Satyr._ Shepherd, see what comes of kissing,
By my head 'twere better missing.
Brightest, if there be remaining
Any service, without feigning
I will do it; were I set
To catch the nimble wind, or get
Shadows gliding on the green,
Or to steal from the great Queen
Of _Fayries_, all her beauty,
I would do it, so much duty
Do I owe those precious Eyes.

_Clor._ I thank thee honest _Satyr_, if the cryes
Of any other that be hurt or ill,
Draw thee unto them, prithee do thy will
To bring them hither.

_Satyr._ I will, and when the weather
Serves to Angle in the brook,
I will bring a silver hook,
With a line of finest silk,
And a rod as white as milk,
To deceive the little fish:
So I take my leave, and wish,
On this Bower may ever dwell
Spring, and Summer.

_Clo_. Friend farewel. [_Exit_.

_Enter_ Amoret, _seeking her Love_.

_Amor_. This place is Ominous, for here I lost
My Love and almost life, and since have crost
All these Woods over, never a Nook or Dell,
Where any little Bird, or Beast doth dwell,
But I have sought him, never a bending brow
Of any Hill or Glade, the wind sings through,
Nor a green bank, nor shade where Shepherds use
To sit and Riddle, sweetly pipe, or chuse
Their Valentines, that I have mist, to find
My love in. _Perigot_, Oh too unkind,
Why hast thou fled me? whither art thou gone?
How have I wrong'd thee? was my love alone
To thee worthy this scorn'd recompence? 'tis well,
I am content to feel it: but I tell
Thee Shepherd, and these lusty woods shall hear,
Forsaken _Amoret_ is yet as clear
Of any stranger fire, as Heaven is
From foul corruption, or the deep Abysse
From light and happiness; and thou mayst know
All this for truth, and how that fatal blow
Thou gav'st me, never from desert of mine,
Fell on my life, but from suspect of thine,
Or fury more than madness; therefore, here,
Since I have lost my life, my love, my dear,
Upon this cursed place, and on this green,
That first divorc'd us, shortly shall be seen
A sight of so great pity, that each eye
Shall dayly spend his spring in memory
Of my untimely fall.

_Enter_ Amaryllis.

_Amar_. I am not blind,
Nor is it through the working of my mind,
That this shows _Amoret_; forsake me all
That dwell upon the soul, but what men call
Wonder, or more than wonder, miracle,
For sure so strange as this the Oracle
Never gave answer of, it passeth dreams,
Or mad-mens fancy, when the many streams
Of new imaginations rise and fall:
'Tis but an hour since these Ears heard her call
For pity to young _Perigot_; whilest he,
Directed by his fury bloodily
Lanc't up her brest, which bloodless fell and cold;
And if belief may credit what was told,
After all this, the Melancholy Swain
Took her into his arms being almost slain,
And to the bottom of the holy well
Flung her, for ever with the waves to dwell.
'Tis she, the very same, 'tis _Amoret_,
And living yet, the great powers will not let
Their vertuous love be crost. Maid, wipe away
Those heavy drops of sorrow, and allay
The storm that yet goes high, which not deprest,
Breaks heart and life, and all before it rest:
Thy _Perigot_--

_Amor_. Where, which is _Perigot?_

_Amar_. Sits there below, lamenting much, god wot,
Thee [and thy] fortune, go and comfort him,
And thou shalt find him underneath a brim
Of sailing Pines that edge yon Mountain in.

_Amo_. I go, I run, Heaven grant me I may win
His soul again. [_Exit_ Amoret.

_Enter_ Sullen.

_Sull_. Stay _Amaryllis_, stay,
Ye are too fleet, 'tis two hours yet to day.
I have perform'd my promise, let us sit
And warm our bloods together till the fit
Come lively on us.

_Amar_. Friend you are too keen,
The morning riseth and we shall be seen,
Forbear a little.

_Sull_. I can stay no longer.

_Amar_. Hold _Shepherd_ hold, learn not to be a wronger
Of your word, was not your promise laid,
To break their loves first?

_Sull_. I have done it Maid.

_Amar_. No, they are yet unbroken, met again,
And are as hard to part yet as the stain
Is from the finest Lawn.

_Sull_. I say they are
Now at this present parted, and so far,
That they shall never meet.

_Amar_. Swain 'tis not so,
For do but to yon hanging Mountain go,
And there believe your eyes.

_Sull_. You do but hold
Off with delayes and trifles; farewell cold
And frozen bashfulness, unfit for men;
Thus I salute thee Virgin.

_Amar_. And thus then,
I bid you follow, catch me if you can. [_Exit_.

_Sull_. And if I stay behind I am no man. [_Exit running after her_.

_Enter_ Perigot.

_Per_. Night do not steal away: I woo thee yet
To hold a hard hand o're the rusty bit
That guides the lazy Team: go back again,
_Bootes_, thou that driv'st thy frozen Wain
Round as a Ring, and bring a second Night
To hide my sorrows from the coming light;
Let not the eyes of men stare on my face,
And read my falling, give me some black place
Where never Sun-beam shot his wholesome light,
That I may sit and pour out my sad spright
Like running water, never to be known
After the forced fall and sound is gone.

_Enter_ Amoret _looking for_ Perigot.

_Amo_. This is the bottom: speak if thou be here,
My _Perigot_, thy _Amoret_, thy dear
Calls on thy loved Name.

_Per_. What art thou [dare]
Tread these forbidden paths, where death and care
Dwell on the face of darkness?

_Amo_. 'Tis thy friend,
Thy _Amoret_, come hither to give end
To these consumings; look up gentle Boy,
I have forgot those Pains and dear annoy
I suffer'd for thy sake, and am content
To be thy love again; why hast thou rent
Those curled locks, where I have often hung
Riband and Damask-roses, and have flung
Waters distil'd to make thee fresh and gay,
Sweeter than the Nosegayes on a Bridal day?
Why dost thou cross thine Arms, and hang thy face
Down to thy bosom, letting fall apace
From those two little Heavens upon the ground
Showers of more price, more Orient, and more round
Than those that hang upon the Moons pale brow?
Cease these complainings, Shepherd, I am now
The same I ever was, as kind and free,
And can forgive before you ask of me.
Indeed I can and will.

_Per_. So spoke my fair.
O you great working powers of Earth and Air,
Water and forming fire, why have you lent
Your hidden vertues of so ill intent?
Even such a face, so fair, so bright of hue
Had _Amoret_; such words so smooth and new,
Came flying from her tongue; such was her eye,
And such the pointed sparkle that did flye
Forth like a bleeding shaft; all is the same,
The Robe and Buskins, painted Hook, and frame
Of all her Body. O me, _Amoret_!

_Amo_. Shepherd, what means this Riddle? who hath set
So strong a difference 'twixt my self and me
That I am grown another? look and see
The Ring thou gav'st me, and about my wrist
That curious Bracelet thou thy self didst twist
From those fair Tresses: knowst thou _Amoret_?
Hath not some newer love forc'd thee forget
Thy Ancient faith?

_Per_. Still nearer to my love;
These be the very words she oft did prove
Upon my temper, so she still would take
Wonder into her face, and silent make
Signs with her head and hand, as who would say,
Shepherd remember this another day.

_Amo_. Am I not _Amaret_? where was I lost?
Can there be Heaven, and time, and men, and most
Of these unconstant? Faith where art thou fled?
Are all the vows and protestations dead,
The hands [held] up, the wishes, and the heart,
Is there not one remaining, not a part
Of all these to be found? why then I see
Men never knew that vertue Constancie.

_Per_. Men ever were most blessed, till crass fate
Brought Love and Women forth, unfortunate
To all that ever tasted of their smiles,
Whose actions are all double, full of wiles:
Like to the subtil Hare, that 'fore the Hounds
Makes many turnings, leaps and many rounds,
This way and that way, to deceive the scent
Of her pursuers.

_Amo_. 'Tis but to prevent
Their speedy coming on that seek her fall,
The hands of cruel men, more Bestial,
And of a nature more refusing good
Than Beasts themselves, or Fishes of the Flood.

_Per_. Thou art all these, and more than nature meant,
When she created all, frowns, joys, content;
Extream fire for an hour, and presently
Colder than sleepy poyson, or the Sea,
Upon whose face sits a continual frost:
Your actions ever driven to the most,
Then down again as low, that none can find
The rise or falling of a Womans mind.

_Amo_. Can there be any Age, or dayes, or time,
Or tongues of men, guilty so great a crime
As wronging simple Maid? O _Perigot_,
Thou that wast yesterday without a blot,
Thou that wast every good, and every thing
That men call blessed; thou that wast the spring
From whence our looser grooms drew all their best;
Thou that wast alwayes just, and alwayes blest
In faith and promise; thou that hadst the name
Of Vertuous given thee, and made good the same
Ev'en from thy Cradle; thou that wast that all
That men delighted in; Oh what a fall
Is this, to have been so, and now to be
The only best in wrong and infamie,
And I to live to know this! and by me
That lov'd thee dearer than mine eyes, or that
Which we esteem'd our honour, Virgin state;
Dearer than Swallows love the early morn,
Or Dogs of Chace the sound of merry Horn;
Dearer than thou canst love thy new Love, if thou hast
Another, and far dearer than the last;
Dearer than thou canst love thy self, though all
The self love were within thee that did fall
With that coy Swain that now is made a flower,
For whose dear sake, Echo weeps many a shower.
And am I thus rewarded for my flame?
Lov'd worthily to get a wantons name?
Come thou forsaken Willow, wind my head,
And noise it to the world my Love is dead:
I am forsaken, I am cast away.
And left for every lazy Groom to say,
I was unconstant, light, and sooner lost
Than the quick Clouds we see, or the chill Frost
When the hot Sun beats on it. Tell me yet,
Canst thou not love again thy _Amoret_?

_Per_. Thou art not worthy of that blessed name,
I must not know thee, fling thy wanton flame
Upon some lighter blood, that may be hot
With words and feigned passions: _Perigot_
Was ever yet unstain'd, and shall not now
Stoop to the meltings of a borrowed brow.

_Amo_. Then hear me heaven, to whom I call for right,
And you fair twinkling stars that crown the night;
And hear me woods, and silence of this place,
And ye sad hours that move a sullen pace;
Hear me ye shadows that delight to dwell
In horrid darkness, and ye powers of Hell,
Whilst I breath out my last; I am that maid,
That yet untainted _Amoret_, that plaid
The careless prodigal, and gave away
My soul to this young man, that now dares say
I am a stranger, not the same, more wild;
And thus with much belief I was beguil'd.
I am that maid, that have delaid, deny'd,
And almost scorn'd the loves of all that try'd
To win me, but this swain, and yet confess
I have been woo'd by many with no less
Soul of affection, and have often had
Rings, Belts, and Cracknels sent me from the lad
That feeds his flocks down westward; Lambs and Doves
By young _Alexis; Daphnis_ sent me gloves,
All which I gave to thee: nor these, nor they
That sent them did I smile on, or e're lay
Up to my after-memory. But why
Do I resolve to grieve, and not to dye?
Happy had been the stroke thou gav'st, if home;
By this time had I found a quiet room
Where every slave is free, and every brest
That living breeds new care, now lies at rest,
And thither will poor _Amoret_.

_Per_. Thou must.
Was ever any man so loth to trust
His eyes as I? or was there ever yet
Any so like as this to _Amoret_?
For whose dear sake, I promise if there be
A living soul within thee, thus to free
Thy body from it. [_He hurts her again_.

_Amo_. So, this work hath end:
Farewel and live, be constant to thy friend
That loves thee next.

_Enter_ Satyr, Perigot _runs off_.

_Satyr_. See the day begins to break,
And the light shoots like a streak
Of subtil fire, the wind blows cold,
Whilst the morning doth unfold;
Now the Birds begin to rouse,
And the Squirril from the boughs
Leaps to get him Nuts and fruit;
The early Lark that erst was mute,
Carrols to the rising day
Many a note and many a lay:
Therefore here I end my watch,
Lest the wandring swain should catch
Harm, or lose himself.

_Amo_. Ah me!

_Satyr_. Speak again what e're thou be,
I am ready, speak I say:
By the dawning of the day,
By the power of night and _Pan_,
I inforce thee speak again.

_Amo_. O I am most unhappy.

_Satyr_. Yet more blood!
Sure these wanton Swains are wode.
Can there be a hand or heart
Dare commit so vile a part
As this Murther? By the Moon
That hid her self when this was done,
Never was a sweeter face:
I will bear her to the place
Where my Goddess keeps; and crave
Her to give her life, or grave. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Clorin.

_Clor_. Here whilst one patient takes his rest secure
I steal abroad to doe another Cure.
Pardon thou buryed body of my love,
That from thy side I dare so soon remove,
I will not prove unconstant, nor will leave
Thee for an hour alone. When I deceive
My first made vow, the wildest of the wood
Tear me, and o're thy Grave let out my blood;
I goe by wit to cure a lovers pain
Which no herb can; being done, I'le come again. [_Exit_.

_Enter_ Thenot.

_The_. Poor Shepherd in this shade for ever lye,
And seeing thy fair _Clorins_ Cabin, dye:
0 hapless love, which [being] answer'd, ends;
And as a little infant cryes and bends
His tender Brows, when rowling of his eye
He hath espy'd some thing that glisters nigh
Which he would have, yet give it him, away
He throws it straight, and cryes afresh to play
With something else: such my affection, set
On that which I should loath, if I could get.

_Enter_ Clorin.

_Clor_. See where he lyes; did ever man but he
Love any woman for her Constancie
To her dead lover, which she needs must end
Before she can allow him for her friend,
And he himself must needs the cause destroy,
For which he loves, before he can enjoy?
Poor _Shepherd_, Heaven grant I at once may free
Thee from thy pain, and keep my loyaltie:
_Shepherd_, look up.

_The_. Thy brightness doth amaze!
So _Phoebus_ may at noon bid mortals gaze,
Thy glorious constancie appears so bright,
I dare not meet the Beams with my weak sight.

_Clor_. Why dost thou pine away thy self for me?

_The_. Why dost thou keep such spotless constancie?

_Clor_. Thou holy _Shepherd_, see what for thy sake
_Clorin_, thy _Clorin_, now dare under take. [_He starts up_.

_The_. Stay there, thou constant _Clorin_, if there be
Yet any part of woman left in thee,
To make thee light: think yet before thou speak.

_Clor_. See what a holy vow for thee I break.
I that already have my fame far spread
For being constant to my lover dead.

_The_. Think yet, dear _Clorin_, of your love, how true,
If you had dyed, he would have been to you.

_Clor_. Yet all I'le lose for thee.

_The_. Think but how blest
A constant woman is above the rest.

_Clor_. And offer up my self, here on this ground,
To be dispos'd by thee.

_The_. Why dost thou wound
His heart with malice, against woman more,
That hated all the Sex, but thee before?
How much more pleasant had it been to me
To dye, than to behold this change in thee?
Yet, yet, return, let not the woman sway.

_Clor_. Insult not on her now, nor use delay,
Who for thy sake hath ventur'd all her fame.

_The_. Thou hast not ventur'd, but bought certain shame,
Your Sexes curse, foul falshood must and shall,
I see, once in your lives, light on you all.
I hate thee now: yet turn.

_Clor_. Be just to me:
Shall I at once both lose my fame and thee?

_The_. Thou hadst no fame, that which thou didst like good,
Was but thy appetite that sway'd thy blood
For that time to the best: for as a blast
That through a house comes, usually doth cast
Things out of order, yet by chance may come,
And blow some one thing to his proper room;
So did thy appetite, and not thy zeal,
Sway thee [by] chance to doe some one thing well.
Yet turn.

_Clor_. Thou dost but try me if I would
Forsake thy dear imbraces, for my old
Love's, though he were alive: but do not fear.

_The_. I do contemn thee now, and dare come near,
And gaze upon thee; for me thinks that grace,
Austeritie, which sate upon that face
Is gone, and thou like others: false maid see,
This is the gain of foul inconstancie. [_Exit_.

_Clor_. 'Tis done, great _Pan_ I give thee thanks for it,
What art could not have heal'd, is cur'd by wit.

_Enter_ Thenot, _again_.

_The_. Will ye be constant yet? will ye remove
Into the Cabin to your buried Love?

_Clor_. No let me die, but by thy side remain.

_The_. There's none shall know that thou didst ever stain
Thy worthy strictness, but shall honour'd be,
And I will lye again under this tree,
And pine and dye for thee with more delight,
Than I have sorrow now to know the light.

_Clor_. Let me have thee, and I'le be where thou wilt.

_The_. Thou art of womens race, and full of guilt.
Farewel all hope of that Sex, whilst I thought
There was one good, I fear'd to find one naught:
But since their minds I all alike espie,
Henceforth I'le choose as others, by mine eye.

_Clor_. Blest be ye powers that give such quick redress,
And for my labours sent so good success.
I rather choose, though I a woman be,
He should speak ill of all, than die for me.

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima_.

_Enter_ Priest, _and old_ Shepherd.

_Priest_. Shepherds, rise and shake off sleep,
See the blushing Morn doth peep
Through the window, whilst the Sun
To the mountain tops is run,
Gilding all the Vales below
With his rising flames, which grow
Greater by his climbing still.
Up ye lazie grooms, and fill
Bagg and Bottle for the field;
Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield
To the bitter North-east wind.
Call the Maidens up, and find
Who lay longest, that she may
Goe without a friend all day;
Then reward your Dogs, and pray
_Pan_ to keep you from decay:
So unfold and then away.
What not a Shepherd stirring? sure the grooms
Have found their beds too easie, or the rooms
Fill'd with such new delight, and heat, that they
Have both forgot their hungry sheep, and day;
Knock, that they may remember what a shame
Sloath and neglect layes on a Shepherds name.

_Old Shep_. It is to little purpose, not a swain
This night hath known his lodging here, or lain
Within these cotes: the woods, or some near town,
That is a neighbour to the bordering Down,
Hath drawn them thither, 'bout some lustie sport,
Or spiced Wassel-Boul, to which resort
All the young men and maids of many a cote,
Whilst the trim Minstrel strikes his merry note.

_Priest_. God pardon sin, show me the way that leads
To any of their haunts.

_Old Shep_. This to the meads,
And that down to the woods.

_Priest_. Then this for me;
Come Shepherd let me crave your companie. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Clorin, _in her Cabin_, Alexis, _with her_.

_Clor_. Now your thoughts are almost pure,
And your wound begins to cure:
Strive to banish all that's vain,
Lest it should break out again.

_Alex_. Eternal thanks to thee, thou holy maid:
I find my former wandring thoughts well staid
Through thy wise precepts, and my outward pain
By thy choice herbs is almost gone again:
Thy sexes vice and vertue are reveal'd
At once, for what one hurt, another heal'd.

_Clor_. May thy grief more appease,
Relapses are the worst disease.
Take heed how you in thought offend,
So mind and body both will mend.

_Enter_ Satyr, _with_ Amoret.

_Amo_. Beest thou the wildest creature of the wood,
That bearst me thus away, drown'd in my blood,
And dying, know I cannot injur'd be,
I am a maid, let that name fight for me.

_Satyr_. Fairest Virgin do not fear
Me, that do thy body bear,
Not to hurt, but heal'd to be;
Men are ruder far than we.
See fair _Goddess_ in the wood,
They have let out yet more blood.
Some savage man hath struck her breast
So soft and white, that no wild beast
Durst ha' toucht asleep, or wake:
So sweet, that _Adder, Newte_, or _Snake_,
Would have lain from arm to arm,
On her bosom to be warm
All a night, and being hot,
Gone away and stung her not.
Quickly clap herbs to her breast;
A man sure is a kind of beast.

_Clor_. With spotless hand, on spotless brest
I put these herbs to give thee rest:
Which till it heal thee, will abide,
If both be pure, if not, off slide.
See it falls off from the wound,
Shepherdess thou art not sound,
Full of lust.

_Satyr_, Who would have thought it,
So fair a face?

_Clor_. Why that hath brought it.

_Amo_. For ought I know or think, these words, my last:
Yet _Pan_ so help me as my thoughts are chast.

_Clor_. And so may _Pan_ bless this my cure,
As all my thoughts are just and pure;
Some uncleanness nigh doth lurk,
That will not let my Medicines work.
_Satyr_ search if thou canst find it.

_Satyr_. Here away methinks I wind it,
Stronger yet: Oh here they be,
Here, here, in a hollow tree,
Two fond mortals have I found.

_Clor_. Bring them out, they are unsound.

_Enter_ Cloe, _and_ Daphnis.

_Satyr_. By the fingers thus I wring ye,
To my _Goddess_ thus I bring ye;
Strife is vain, come gently in,
I scented them, they're full of sin.

_Clor_. Hold _Satyr_, take this Glass,
Sprinkle over all the place,
Purge the Air from lustfull breath,
To save this Shepherdess from death,
And stand you still whilst I do dress
Her wound for fear the pain encrease.

_Sat_. From this glass I throw a drop
Of Crystal water on the top
Of every grass, on flowers a pair:
Send a fume and keep the air
Pure and wholsom, sweet and blest,
Till this Virgins wound be drest.

_Clor. Satyr_, help to bring her in.

_Sat_. By _Pan_, I think she hath no sin,
She is so light: lye on these leaves.
Sleep that mortal sense deceives,
Crown thine Eyes, and ease thy pain,
Maist thou soon be well again.

_Clor. Satyr_, bring the Shepherd near,
Try him if his mind be clear.

_Sat_. Shepherd come.

_Daph_. My thoughts are pure.

_Sat_. The better trial to endure.

_Clor_. In this flame his finger thrust,
Which will burn him if he lust;
But if not, away will turn,
As loth unspotted flesh to burn:
See, it gives back, let him go,
Farewel mortal, keep thee so.

_Sat_. Stay fair _Nymph_, flye not so fast,
We must try if you be chaste:
Here's a hand that quakes for fear,
Sure she will not prove so clear.

_Clor._ Hold her finger to the flame,
That will yield her praise or shame.

_Sat._ To her doom she dares not stand,
But plucks away her tender hand,
And the Taper darting sends
His hot beams at her fingers ends:
O thou art foul within, and hast
A mind, if nothing else, unchaste.

_Alex._ Is not that _Cloe?_ 'tis my Love, 'tis she!
_Cloe_, fair _Cloe_.

_Clo._ My Alexis.

_Alex._ He.

_Clo._ Let me embrace thee.

_Clor._ Take her hence,
Lest her sight disturb his sence.

_Alex._ Take not her, take my life first.

_Clor._ See, his wound again is burst:
Keep her near, here in the Wood,
Till I ha' stopt these Streams of Blood.
Soon again he ease shall find,
If I can but still his mind:
This Curtain thus I do display,
To keep the piercing air away.

_Enter_ old Shepherd, _and_ Priest.

_Priest_. Sure they are lost for ever; 'tis in vain
To find 'em out with trouble and much pain,
That have a ripe desire, and forward will
To flye the Company of all but ill,
What shall be counsel'd now? shall we retire?
Or constant follow still that first desire
We had to find them?

_Old_. Stay a little while;
For if the Morning mist do not beguile
My sight with shadows, sure I see a Swain;
One of this jolly Troop's come back again.

_Enter_ Thenot.

_Pri._ Dost thou not blush young Shepherd to be known,
Thus without care, leaving thy flocks alone,
And following what desire and present blood
Shapes out before thy burning sense, for good,
Having forgot what tongue hereafter may
Tell to the World thy falling off, and say
Thou art regardless both of good and shame,
Spurning at Vertue, and a vertuous Name,
And like a glorious, desperate man that buys
A poyson of much price, by which he dies,
Dost thou lay out for Lust, whose only gain
Is foul disease, with present age and pain,
And then a Grave? These be the fruits that grow
In such hot Veins that only beat to know
Where they may take most ease, and grow ambitious
Through their own wanton fire, and pride delicious.

_The_. Right holy Sir, I have not known this night,
What the smooth face of Mirth was, or the sight
Of any looseness; musick, joy, and ease,
Have been to me as bitter drugs to please
A Stomach lost with weakness, not a game
That I am skill'd at throughly; nor a Dame,
Went her tongue smoother than the feet of Time,
Her beauty ever living like the Rime
Our blessed _Tityrus_ did sing of yore,
No, were she more enticing than the store
Of fruitful Summer, when the loaden Tree
Bids the faint Traveller be bold and free,
'Twere but to me like thunder 'gainst the bay,
Whose lightning may enclose but never stay
Upon his charmed branches; such am I
Against the catching flames of Womans eye.

_Priest_. Then wherefore hast thou wandred?

_The_. 'Twas a Vow
That drew me out last night, which I have now
Strictly perform'd, and homewards go to give
Fresh pasture to my Sheep, that they may live.

_Pri_. 'Tis good to hear ye, Shepherd, if the heart
In this well sounding Musick bear his part.
Where have you left the rest?

_The_. I have not seen,
Since yesternight we met upon this green
To fold our Flocks up, any of that train;
Yet have I walkt these Woods round, and have lain
All this same night under an aged Tree,
Yet neither wandring Shepherd did I see,
Or Shepherdess, or drew into mine ear
The sound of living thing, unless it were
The Nightingale among the thick leav'd spring
That sits alone in sorrow, and doth sing
Whole nights away in mourning, or the Owl,
Or our great enemy that still doth howl
Against the Moons cold beams.

_Priest_. Go and beware
Of after falling.

_The_. Father 'tis my care. [_Exit_ Thenot.

_Enter_ Daphnis.

_Old_. Here comes another Stragler, sure I see
A Shame in this young Shepherd. _Daphnis_!

_Daph_. He.

_Pri_. Where hast thou left the rest, that should have been
Long before this, grazing upon the green
Their yet imprison'd flocks?

_Daph_. Thou holy man,
Give me a little breathing till I can
Be able to unfold what I have seen;
Such horrour that the like hath never been
Known to the ear of Shepherd: Oh my heart
Labours a double motion to impart
So heavy tidings! You all know the Bower
Where the chast _Clorin_ lives, by whose great power
Sick men and Cattel have been often cur'd,
There lovely _Amoret_ that was assur'd
To lusty _Perigot_, bleeds out her life,
Forc'd by some Iron hand and fatal knife;
And by her young _Alexis_.

_Enter_ Amaryllis _running from her_ Sullen Shepherd.

_Amar_. If there be
Ever a Neighbour Brook, or hollow tree,
Receive my Body, close me up from lust
That follows at my heels; be ever just,
Thou god of Shepherds, _Pan_, for her dear sake
That loves the Rivers brinks, and still doth shake
In cold remembrance of thy quick pursuit:
Let me be made a reed, and ever mute,
Nod to the waters fall, whilst every blast
Sings through my slender leaves that I was chast.

_Pri_. This is a night of wonder, _Amaryll_
Be comforted, the holy gods are still
Revengers of these wrongs.

_Amar_. Thou blessed man,
Honour'd upon these plains, and lov'd of _Pan_,
Hear me, and save from endless infamie
My yet unblasted Flower, _Virginitie_:
By all the Garlands that have crown'd that head,
By the chaste office, and the Marriage bed
That still is blest by thee, by all the rights
Due to our gods; and by those Virgin lights
That burn before his Altar, let me not
Fall from my former state to gain the blot
That never shall be purg'd: I am not now
That wanton _Amaryllis_: here I vow
To Heaven, and thee grave Father, if I may
'Scape this unhappy Night, to know the Day,
To live a Virgin, never to endure
The tongues, or Company of men impure.
I hear him come, save me.

_Pri_. Retire a while
Behind this Bush, till we have known that vile
Abuser of young Maidens.

_Enter_ Sullen.

_Sul_. Stay thy pace,
Most loved _Amaryllis_, let the Chase
Grow calm and milder, flye me not so fast,
I fear the pointed Brambles have unlac'd
Thy golden Buskins; turn again and see
Thy Shepherd follow, that is strong and free,
Able to give thee all content and ease.
I am not bashful, Virgin, I can please
At first encounter, hug thee in mine arm,
And give thee many Kisses, soft and warm
As those the Sun prints on the smiling Cheek
Of Plums, or mellow Peaches; I am sleek
And smooth as _Neptune_, when stern _Eolus_
Locks up his surly Winds, and nimbly thus
Can shew my active Youth; why dost thou flye?
Remember _Amaryllis_, it was I
That kill'd _Alexis_ for thy sake, and set
An everlasting hate 'twixt _Amoret_
And her beloved _Perigot_: 'twas I
That drown'd her in the Well, where she must lye
Till Time shall leave to be; then turn again,
Turn with thy open arms, and clip the Swain
That hath perform'd all this, turn, turn I say:
I must not be deluded.

_Pri_. Monster stay,
Thou that art like a Canker to the State
Thou liv'st and breath'st in, eating with debate
Through every honest bosome, forcing still
The Veins of any that may serve thy Will,
Thou that hast offer'd with a sinful hand
To seize upon this Virgin that doth stand
Yet trembling here.

_Sull_. Good holiness declare,
What had the danger been, if being bare
I had embrac'd her, tell me by your Art,
What coming wonders would that sight impart?

_Pri_. Lust, and a branded Soul.

_Sull_. Yet tell me more,
Hath not our Mother Nature for her store
And great encrease, said it is good and just,
And wills that every living Creature must
Beget his like?

_Pri_. Ye are better read than I,
I must confess, in blood and Lechery.
Now to the Bower, and bring this Beast along,
Where he may suffer Penance for his wrong. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Perigot _with his hands bloody_.

_Per_. Here will I wash it in this mornings dew,
Which she on every little grass doth strew
In silver drops against the Sun's appear:
'Tis holy water, and will make me clear.
My hands will not be cleans'd. My wronged Love,
If thy chaste spirit in the air yet move,
Look mildly down on him that yet doth stand
All full of guilt, thy blood upon his hand,
And though I struck thee undeservedly,
Let my revenge on her that injur'd thee
Make less a fault which I intended not,
And let these dew drops wash away my spot.
It will not cleanse. O to what sacred Flood
Shall I resort to wash away this blood?
Amid'st these Trees the holy _Clorin_ dwells
In a low Cabin of cut Boughs, and heals
All Wounds; to her I will my self address,
And my rash faults repentantly confess;
Perhaps she'll find a means by Art or Prayer,
To make my hand with chaste blood stained, fair:
That done, not far hence underneath some Tree,
I'll have a little Cabin built, since she
Whom I ador'd is dead, there will I give
My self to strictness, and like _Clorin_ live. [_Exit_.

_The Curtain is drawn_, Clorin _appears sitting in the Cabin,_ Amoret
_sitting on the one side of her_, Alexis _and_ Cloe _on the other, the_
Satyr _standing by._

_Clo_. Shepherd, once more your blood is staid,
Take example by this Maid,
Who is heal'd ere you be pure,
So hard it is lewd lust to cure.
Take heed then how you turn your eye
On each other lustfully:
And Shepherdess take heed lest you
Move his willing eye thereto;
Let no wring, nor pinch, nor smile
Of yours his weaker sense beguile.
Is your Love yet true and chaste,
And for ever so to last?

_Alex_. I have forgot all vain desires,
All looser thoughts, ill tempred fires,
True Love I find a pleasant fume,
Whose moderate heat can ne'r consume.

_Clo_. And I a new fire feel in me,
Whose chaste flame is not quencht to be.

_Clor_. Join your hands with modest touch,
And for ever keep you such.

_Enter_ Perigot.

_Per_. Yon is her Cabin, thus far off I'll stand,
And call her forth; for my unhallowed hand
I dare not bring so near yon sacred place.
_Clorin_ come forth, and do a timely grace
To a poor Swain.

_Clo_. What art thou that dost call?
_Clorin_ is ready to do good to all:
Come near.

_Peri_. I dare not.

_Clor. Satyr_, see
Who it is that calls on me.

_Sat_. There at hand, some Swain doth stand,
Stretching out a bloudy hand.

_Peri_. Come _Clorin_, bring thy holy waters clear,
To wash my hand.

_Clo_. What wonders have been here
To night? stretch forth thy hand young Swain,
Wash and rub it whilest I rain
Holy water.

_Peri_. Still you pour,
But my hand will never scower.

_Clor. Satyr_, bring him to the Bower,
We will try the Soveraign power
Of other waters.

_Satyr_. Mortal, sure
'Tis the Blood of Maiden pure
That stains thee so.

[_The_ Satyr _leadeth him to the Bower, where he spieth_ Amoret, _and
kneeling down, she knoweth him_.

_Peri_. What e're thou be,
Be'st thou her spright, or some divinitie,
That in her shape thinks good to walk this grove,
Pardon poor _Perigot_.

_Amor_. I am thy love,
Thy _Amoret_, for evermore thy love:
Strike once more on my naked breast, I'le prove
As constant still. O couldst thou love me yet;
How soon should I my former griefs forget!

_Peri_. So over-great with joy, that you live, now
I am, that no desire of knowing how
Doth seize me; hast thou still power to forgive?

_Amo_. Whilest thou hast power to love, or I to live;
More welcome now than hadst thou never gone
Astray from me.

_Peri_. And when thou lov'st alone
And not I, death, or some lingring pain
That's worse, light on me.

_Clor_. Now your stain
This perhaps will cleanse again;
See the blood that erst did stay,
With the water drops away.
All the powers again are pleas'd,
And with this new knot appeas'd.
Joyn your hands, and rise together,
_Pan_ be blest that brought you hither.

_Enter_ Priest, _and_ Old Shephe[rd].

_Clor_. Go back again what ere thou art, unless
Smooth Maiden thoughts possess thee, do not press
This hallowed ground. Go _Satyr_, take his hand,
And give him present trial.

_Satyr_. Mortal stand,
Till by fire I have made known
Whether thou be such a one,
That mayst freely tread this place.
Hold thy hand up; never was
More untainted flesh than this.
Fairest, he is full of bliss.

_Clor_. Then boldly speak, why dost thou seek this place?

_Priest_. First, honour'd Virgin, to behold thy face
Where all good dwells that is: Next for to try
The truth of late report was given to me:
Those Shepherds that have met with foul mischance,
Through much neglect, and more ill governance,
Whether the wounds they have may yet endure
The open Air, or stay a longer cure.
And lastly, what the doom may be shall light
Upon those guilty wretches, through whose spight
All this confusion fell: For to this place,
Thou holy Maiden, have I brought the race
Of these offenders, who have freely told,
Both why, and by what means they gave this bold
Attempt upon their lives.

_Clor_. Fume all the ground,
And sprinkle holy water, for unsound
And foul infection 'gins to fill the Air:
It gathers yet more strongly; take a pair
Of Censors fill'd with Frankincense and Mirrh,
Together with cold Camphyre: quickly stir
Thee, gentle _Satyr_, for the place begins
To sweat and labour with the abhorred sins
Of those offenders; let them not come nigh,
For full of itching flame and leprosie
Their very souls are, that the ground goes back,
And shrinks to feel the sullen weight of black
And so unheard of venome; hie thee fast
Thou holy man, and banish from the chast
These manlike monsters, let them never more
Be known upon these downs, but long before
The next Suns rising, put them from the sight
And memory of every honest wight.
Be quick in expedition, lest the sores
Of these weak Patients break into new gores. [_Ex_. Priest.

_Per_. My dear, dear _Amoret_, how happy are
Those blessed pairs, in whom a little jar
Hath bred an everlasting love, too strong
For time, or steel, or envy to do wrong?
How do you feel your hurts? Alas poor heart,
How much I was abus'd; give me the smart
For it is justly mine.

_Amo_. I do believe.
It is enough dear friend, leave off to grieve,
And let us once more in despight of ill
Give hands and hearts again.

_Per_. With better will
Than e're I went to find in hottest day
Cool Crystal of the Fountain, to allay
My eager thirst: may this band never break.
Hear us O Heaven.

_Amo_. Be constant.

_Per_. Else _Pan_ wreak,
With [d]ouble vengeance, my disloyalty;
Let me not dare to know the company
Of men, or any more behold those eyes.

_Amo_. Thus Shepherd with a kiss all envy dyes.

_Enter_ Priest.

_Priest_. Bright Maid, I have perform'd your will, the Swain
In whom such heat and black rebellions raign
Hath undergone your sentence, and disgrace:
Only the Maid I have reserv'd, whose face
Shews much amendment, many a tear doth fall
In sorrow of her fault, great fair recal
Your heavy doom, in hope of better daies,
Which I dare promise; once again upraise
Her heavy Spirit that near drowned lyes
In self consuming care that never dyes.

_Clor_. I am content to pardon, call her in;
The Air grows cool again, and doth begin
To purge it self, how bright the day doth show
After this stormy Cloud! go _Satyr_, go,
And with this Taper boldly try her hand,
If she be pure and good, and firmly stand
To be so still, we have perform'd a work
Worthy the Gods themselves. [_Satyr brings_ Amaryllis _in_.

_Satyr_. Come forward Maiden, do not lurk
Nor hide your face with grief and shame,
Now or never get a name
That may raise thee, and recure
All thy life that was impure:
Hold your hand unto the flame,
If thou beest a perfect dame,
Or hast truely vow'd to mend,
This pale fire will be thy friend.
See the Taper hurts her not.
Go thy wayes, let never spot
Henceforth seize upon thy blood.
Thank the Gods and still be good.

_Clor_. Young Shepherdess now ye are brought again
To Virgin state, be so, and so remain
To thy last day, unless the faithful love
Of some good Shepherd force thee to remove;
Th[e]n labour to be true to him, and live
As such a one, that ever strives to give
A blessed memory to after time.
Be famous for your good, not for your crime.
Now holy man, I offer up again
These patients full of health, and free from pain:
Keep them from after ills, be ever near
Unto their actions, teach them how to clear
The tedious way they pass through, from suspect,
Keep them from wronging others, or neglect
Of duty in themselves, correct the bloud
With thrifty bits and labour, let the floud,
Or the next neighbouring spring give remedy
To greedy thirst, and travel not the tree
That hangs with wanton clusters, [let] not wine,
Unless in sacrifice, or rites divine,
Be ever known of Shepherd, have a care
Thou man of holy life. Now do not spare
Their faults through much remissness, nor forget
To cherish him, whose many pains and swet
Hath giv'n increase, and added to the downs.
Sort all your Shepherds from the lazy clowns
That feed their Heifers in the budded Brooms:
Teach the young Maidens strictness, that the grooms
May ever fear to tempt their blowing youth;
Banish all complements, but single truth
From every tongue, and every Shepherds heart,
Let them still use perswading, but no Art:
Thus holy _Priest_, I wish to thee and these,
All the best goods and comforts that may please.

_Alex_. And all those blessings Heaven did ever give,
We pray upon this Bower may ever live.

_Priest_. Kneel every Shepherd, whilest with powerful hand
I bless your after labours, and the Land
You feed your flocks upon. Great _Pan_ defend you
From misfortune, and amend you,
Keep you from those dangers still,
That are followed by your will,
Give ye means to know at length
All your riches, all your strength,
Cannot keep your foot from falling
To lewd lust, that still is calling
At your Cottage, till his power
Bring again that golden hour
Of peace and rest to every soul.
May his care of you controul
All diseases, sores or pain
That in after time may raign
Either in your flocks or you,
Give ye all affections new,
New desires, and tempers new,
That ye may be ever true.
Now rise and go, and as ye pass away
Sing to the God of Sheep, that happy lay,
That honest _Dorus_ taught ye, _Dorus_, he
That was the soul and god of melodie.

The SONG. [_They all Sing

All ye woods, and trees and bowers,
All you vertues and ye powers
That inhabit in the lakes,
In the pleasant springs or brakes,
Move your feet
To our sound,
Whilest we greet
All this ground,
With his honour and his name
That defends our flocks from blame.

He is great, and he is Just,
He is ever good, and must
Thus be honour'd: Daffodillies,
Roses, Pinks, and loved Lillies,
Let us fling,
Whilest we sing,
Ever holy,
Ever holy,
Ever honoured ever young,
Thus great_ Pan _is ever sung. [Exeunt.

Satyr._ Thou divinest, fairest, brightest,
Thou m[o]st powerful Maid, and whitest,
Thou most vertuous and most blessed,
Eyes of stars, and golden tressed
Like _Apollo_, tell me sweetest
What new service now is meetest
For the _Satyr_? shall I stray
In the middle Air, and stay
The sayling Rack, or nimbly take
Hold by the Moon, and gently make
Sute to the pale Queen of night
For a beam to give thee light?
Shall I dive into the Sea,
And bring thee Coral, making way
Through the rising waves that fall
In snowie fleeces; dearest, shall
I catch the wanton Fawns, or Flyes,
Whose woven wings the Summer dyes
Of many colours? get thee fruit?
Or steal from Heaven old _Orpheus_ Lute?
All these I'le venture for, and more,
To do her service all these woods adore.

_Clor_. No other service, _Satyr_, but thy watch
About these thickets, lest harmless people catch
Mischief or sad mischance.

_Satyr_. Holy Virgin, I will dance
Round about these woods as quick
As the breaking light, and prick
Down the Lawns, and down the vails
Faster than the Wind-mill sails.
So I take my leave, and pray
All the comforts of the day,
Such as _Phoebus_ heat doth send
On the earth, may still befriend
Thee, and this arbour.

_Clo_. And to thee,
All thy Masters love be free. [_Exeunt_.

_To my Friend Master_ JOHN FLETCHER _upon his Faithfull Shepherdess._

_I know too well, that, no more than the man
That travels through the burning Desarts, can
When he is beaten with the raging Sun,
Half smothered in the dust, have power to run
From a cool River, which himself doth find,
E're he be slacked; no more can he whose mind
Joyes in the Muses, hold from that delight,
When nature, and his full thoughts bid him write:
Yet wish I those whom I for friends have known,
To sing their thoughts to no ears but their own.
Why should the man, whose wit ne'r had a stain,
Upon the publick Stage present his [vein,]
And make a thousand men in judgment sit,
To call in question his undoubted wit,
Scarce two of which can understand the laws
Which they should judge by, nor the parties cause?
Among the rout there is not one that hath
In his own censure an explicite faith;
One company knowing they judgement lack,
Ground their belief on the next man in black:
Others, on him that makes signs, and is mute,
Some like as he does in the fairest sute,
He as his Mistress doth, and she by chance:
Nor want there those, who as the Boy doth dance
Between the Acts, will censure the whole Play;
Some if the Wax-lights be not new that day;
But multitudes there are whose judgement goes
Headlong according to the Actors cloathes.
For this, these publick things and I, agree
So ill, that but to do a right for thee,
I had not been perswaded to have hurl'd
These few, ill spoken lines, into the world,
Both to be read, and censur'd of, by those,
Whose very reading makes Verse senseless Prose:
Such as must spend above an hour, to spell
A Challenge on a Past, to know it well:
But since it was thy hap to throw away
Much wit, for which the people did not pay,
Because they saw it not, I not dislike
This second publication, which may strike
Their consciences, to see the thing they scorn'd,
To be with so much wit and Art adorned.
Besides one vantage more in this I see,
Tour censurers now must have the qualitie
Of reading, which I am afraid is more
Than half your shrewdest Judges had before._

Fr. Beaumont.

_To the worthy Author_ M'r. Jo. FLETCHER.

_The wise, and many headed_ Bench, _that sits
Upon the Life, and Death of_ Playes, _and_ Wits,
(_Composed of_ Gamester, Captain, Knight, Knight's man,
Lady, _or_ Pusill, _that wears mask or fan_,
Velvet, _or_ Taffata _cap, rank'd in the dark
With the shops_ Foreman, _or some such_ brave spark,
_That may judge for his_ six-pence_) had, before
They saw it half, damn'd thy whole Play, and more,
Their motives were, since it had not to doe
With vices, which they look'd for, and came to.

I, that am glad, thy Innocence was thy Guilt,
And wish that all the_ Muses _blood were spilt
In such a_ Martyrdome, _to vex their eyes,
Do crown thy murdred_ Poeme: _which shall rise
A glorified work to Time, when Fire,
Or mothes shall eat, what all these Fools admire._


This Dialogue newly added, was spoken by way of Prologue to both their
Majesties, at the first acting of this Pastoral at _Somerset-house_ on
Twelfth-night, 1633.


_A broiling Lamb on_ Pans _chief Altar lies,
My Wreath, my Censor, Virge, and Incense by:
But I delayed the pretious Sacrifice,
To shew thee here, a Gentle Deity._


_Nor was I to thy sacred Summons slow,
Hither I came as swift as th' Eagles wing,
Or threatning shaft from vext_ Dianaes _bow,
To see this Islands God; the worlds best King._


_Bless then that Queen, that doth his eyes invite
And ears, t'obey her Scepter, half this night._


_Let's sing such welcomes, as shall make Her sway
Seem easie to Him, though it last till day.

Welcom as Peace t'unwalled Cities, when
Famine and Sword leave them more graves than men.
As Spring to Birds, or Noon-dayes Sun to th' old
Poor mountain Muscovite congeal'd with cold.
As Shore toth' Pilot in a safe known Coast
When's Card is broken and his Rudder lost.


p. 369,
l. 2. C] Antiochus
l. 10. C _omits_] have.
l. 12. C _omits] Princes. B _misprints] Prnices.
l. 17. C _gives this line to_ Sel.
l. 35. A] Cel.
l. 40. C] I once more next [_instead of_ beg it thus].

p. 370,
l. 9. C] sound.
l. 10. C] beat through.
l. 16. C _adds_] Finis. C _omits] Prologue _and_ Epilogue.

p. 371,
l. 1. A] And those.
l. 6. A _omits_] Spoke by the _Lieutenant_.


(A) The | Faithfull | Shepheardesse. By John Fletcher. | Printed at
London for R. Bonian | and H. Walley, and are to be sold at | the spred
Eagle over against the | great North dore of S. Paules. Undated, but
probably 1609-10.

(B) The same, with slight differences in the Commendatory Verses and in
one or two other sheets.

(C) The | Faithfull | Shepheardesse. | By John Fletcher. | The second
Edition, newly corrected. London, | Printed by T.C. for Richard Meighen,
in St Dunstanes Church-yard in Fleet-streete, | 1629.

(D) The | Faithfull | Shepherdesse. | acted at Somerset | House before the
King and | Queene on Twelfe night | last, 1633. | And divers times since
with great ap-| plause at the Private House in Blacke-| Friers, by his
Majesties Servants. | Written by John Fletcher. | The third Edition, with
Addition. | London, | Printed by A.M. for Richard Meighen, next | to the
Middle Temple in Fleet-| street. 1634.

(E) The | Faithfull | Shepherdesse. | Acted at Somerset | House, before
the King and | Queen on Twelf night | last, 1633. | And divers times
since, with great ap- | plause, at the Private House in Black-| Friers, by
his Majesties Servants. | Written by John Fletcher. | The Fourth Edition.
| London, Printed for Ga. Bedell and Tho. Collins, at the Middle | Temple
Gate in Fleet-street. 1656.

(F) The | Faithfull | Shepherdesse. | Acted at | Somerset-House, | Before
the King and Queen on Twelfth Night, 1633. | And divers times since, with
great | Applause, at the Private House in | Black-Friers, by his Majesties
| Servants. | Written by John Fletcher. | The Fifth Edition. | London, |
Printed for G. Bedell and T. Collins, at the Middle | Temple-Gate in
Fleet-street, 1665.

The verso of the title-page bears the date March 3, 166-4/5.
Roger L'Estrange.

As neither the Second Folio nor the Quartos print any list of the
Characters it may be as well to give one here.

Perigot. Old Shepherd.
Thenot Priest of Pan.
Daphnis. God of the River.
Alexis. Satyr.
Sullen Shepherd. Shepherds.
Clorin. Cloe.
Amoret. Shepherdesses.

Scene: Thessaly.

The following Dedicatory Verses were omitted from the Second Folio.

_To my lov'd friend M. John Fletcher, on his Pastorall_.

Can my approovement (Sir) be worth your thankes?
Whose unkn[o]wne name and muse (in swathing clowtes)
Is not yet growne to strength, among these rankes
To have a roome and beare off the sharpe flowtes
Of this our pregnant age, that does despise
All innocent verse, that lets alone her vice.

But I must Justifie what privately,
I censurd to you: my ambition is
(Even by my hopes and love to Poesie)
To live to perfect such a worke, as this,
Clad in such elegant proprietie
Of words, including a mortallitie.

So sweete and profitable, though each man that heares,
(And learning has enough to clap and hisse)
Arives not too't, so misty it appeares;
And to their fi1med reasons, so amisse:
But let Art looke in truth, she like a mirror,
Reflects [Reflect, C, D] her comfort [consort, D--F], ignorances terror.

Sits in her owne brow, being made afraid,
Of her unnaturall complexion,
As ougly women (when they are araid
By glasses) loath their true reflection,
Then how can such opinions injure thee,
That tremble, at their owne deformitie?

Opinion, that great foole, makes fooles of all,
And (once) I feard her till I met a minde
Whose grave instructions philosophical),
Toss'd it [is, F] like dust upon a march strong winde,
He shall for ever my example be,
And his embraced doctrine grow in me.

His soule (and such commend this) that commaund [commands, D, E, F]
Such art, it should me better satisfie,
Then if the monster clapt his thousand hands,
And drownd the sceane with his confused cry;
And if doubts rise, loe their owne names to cleare 'em
Whilst I am happy but to stand so neere 'em.

N. F.

These verses are in A, B, C, D, E and F. In A and B they are signed 'N.
F.,' in C-F they are signed 'Nath. Field.' The above text is that of A.

To his loving friend M. _Jo. Fletcher_
concerning his Pastorall, being
both a Poeme and a play:
[concerning...play _omitted in_ D, E, F]

There are no suerties (good friend) will be taken
For workes that vulgar-good-name hath forsaken:
A Poeme and a play too! why tis like
A scholler that's a Poet: their names strike
Their pestilence inward, when they take the aire;
And kill out right: one cannot both fates beare.
But, as a Poet thats no scholler, makes
Vulgarity his whiffler, and so takes
with ease, & state through both sides prease
Of Pageant seers: or as schollers please
That are no Poets; more then Poets learnd;
Since their art solely, is by soules discerned;
The others fals [fall, D, E, F] within the common sence
And sheds (like common light) her influence:
So, were your play no Poeme, but a thing
That every Cobler to his patch might sing:
A rout of nifles (like the multitude)
With no one limme [limbe, E, F] of any art indude:
Like would to like, and praise you: but because,
Your poeme onely hath by us applause,
Renews the golden world; and holds through all
The holy lawes of homely pastorall;
Where flowers, and founts, and Nimphs, & semi-Gods,
And all the Graces finde their old abods:
Where forrests flourish but in endlesse verse;
And meddowes, nothing fit for purchasers:
This Iron age that eates it selfe, will never
Bite at your golden world; that others, ever
Lov'd as it selfe: then like your Booke do you
Live in ould peace: and that for praise allow.

G. Chapman

These lines are in A, C, D, E and F. The text is that of A.

_To that noble and true lover of learning_,
Sir Walter Aston Knight
_of the Balls_.

Sir I must aske your patience, and be trew.
This play was never liked, unlesse by few
That brought their judgements with um, for of late
First the infection, then the common prate
Of common people, have such customes got
Either to silence plaies, or like them not.
Under the last of which this interlude,
Had falne for ever prest downe by the rude
That like a torrent which the moist south feedes,
Drowne's both before him the ripe corne and weedes.
Had not the saving sence of better men
Redeem'd it from corruption: (deere Sir then)
Among the better soules, be you the best
In whome, as in a Center I take rest,
And propper being: from whose equall eye
And judgement, nothing growes but puritie:
(Nor do I flatter) for by all those dead,
Great in the muses, by _Apolloes_ head,
He that ads any thing to you; tis done
Like his that lights a candle to the sunne:
Then be as you were ever, your selfe still
Moved by your judement, not by love, or will
And when I sing againe as who can tell
My next devotion to that holy well,
Your goodnesse to the muses shall be all,
Able to make a worke Heroyicall.

_Given to your service_
John Fletcher.

These lines are in A and B.

To the inheritour of all worthines,
_Sir William Scipwith.

If from servile hope or love,
I may prove
But so happy to be thought for
Such a one whose greatest ease
Is to please
(Worthy sir) I have all I sought for,

For no ich of greater name,
which some clame
By their verses do I show it
To the world; nor to protest
Tis the best
These are leane faults in a poet

Nor to make it serve to feed
at my neede
Nor to gaine acquaintance by it
Nor to ravish kinde Atturnies,
in their journies.
Nor to read it after diet

Farre from me are all these Ames
Fittest frames
To build weakenesse on and pitty
Onely to your selfe, and such
whose true touch
Makes all good; let me seeme witty.

_The Admirer of your vertues_,
John Fletcher.

These verses are in A and B.

_To the perfect gentleman Sir_
Robert Townesend.

If the greatest faults may crave
Pardon where contrition is
(Noble Sir) I needes must have
A long one; for a long amisse
If you aske me (how is this)
Upon my faith Ile tell you frankely,
You love above my meanes to thanke yee.
Yet according to my Talent
As sowre fortune loves to use me
A poore Shepheard I have sent,
In home-spun gray for to excuse me.
And may all my hopes refuse me:
But when better comes ashore,
You shall have better, newer, more.
Til when, like our desperate debters,
Or our three pild sweete protesters
I must please you in bare letters
And so pay my debts; like jesters,
Yet I oft have seene good feasters,
Onely for to please the pallet,
Leave great meat and chuse a sallet.

_All yours_ John Fletcher:

These lines are in A and B.

To the Reader.

If you be not reasonably assurde of your knowledge in this kinde of Poeme,
lay downe the booke or read this, which I would wish had bene the
prologue. It is a pastorall Tragic-comedie, which the people seeing when
it was plaid, having ever had a singuler guift in defining, concluded to
be a play of contry hired Shepheards, in gray cloakes, with curtaild dogs
in strings, sometimes laughing together, and sometimes killing one
another: And misling whitsun ales, creame, wasiel & morris-dances, began
to be angry. In their error I would not have you fall, least you incurre
their censure. Understand therefore a pastorall to be a representation of
shepheards and shephearddesses, with their actions and passions, which
must be such as may agree with their natures at least not exceeding former
fictions, & vulgar traditions: they are not to be adorn'd with any art,
but such improper ones as nature is said to bestow, as singing and Poetry,
or such as experience may teach them, as the vertues of hearbs, &
fountaines: the ordinary course of the Sun, moone, and starres, and
such like. But you are ever to remember Shepherds to be such, as all the
ancient Poets and moderne of understanding have receaved them: that is,
the owners of flockes and not hyerlings. A tragie-comedie is not so called
in respect of mirth and killing, but in respect it wants deaths, which is
inough to make it no tragedie, yet brings some neere it, which is inough
to make it no comedie: which must be a representation of familiar people,
with such kinde of trouble as no life be questiond, so that a God is as
lawfull in this as in a tragedie, and meane people as in a comedie. This
much I hope will serve to justifie my Poeme, and make you understand it,
to teach you more for nothing, I do not know that I am in conscience

_John Fletcher_.

This address is in A and B.

Unto his worthy friend Mr _Joseph Taylor_
upon his presentment of the _Faithfull Sheperdesse
before the King and Queene, at White-hall, on
Twelfth night_ [F _stops here_] _last_. 1633.

When this smooth Pastorall was first brought forth,
The Age twas borne in, did not know it's worth.
Since by thy cost, and industry reviv'd,
It hath a new fame, and new birth atchiv'd.
Happy in that shee found in her distresse,
A friend, as faithfull, as her Shepherdesse.
For having cur'd her from her courser rents,
And deckt her new with fresh habiliments,
Thou brought'st her to the Court, and made [mad'st, F] her be
A fitting spectacle for Majestie.
So have I seene a clowded beauty drest
In a rich vesture, shine above the rest.
Yet did it not receive more honour from
The glorious pompe, then thine owne action.
Expect no satisfaction for the same,
Poets can render no reward but Fame.
Yet this Ile prophesie, when thou shall come
Into the confines of _Elysium_
Amidst the Quire of Muses, and the lists
Of famous Actors, and quicke Dramatists,
So much admir'd for gesture, and for wit,
That there on Seats of living Marble sit,
The blessed Consort of that numerous Traine,
Shall rise with an applause to [and, E and F] entertaine
Thy happy welcome, causing thee sit downe,
And with a Lawrell-wreath thy temples crowne.
And mean time, while this Poeme shall be read,
_Taylor_, thy name shall be eternized.
For it is just, that thou, who first did'st give
Unto this booke a life, by it shouldst live.

Shack. Marmyon.

These lines are in D, E and F. The text is that of D. The variations in
the dedicatory verses printed in the Second Folio will be found on p. 523.

p. 372,
l. 3. A-F] Actus Primi.
l. 13. A and B _omit_] jolly. C _some copies_] merry games.
l. 15. A, B and D] brows be girt.

p. 373,
l. 6. A and B] That I will I.
l. 19. F _misprints_] fair heap.

l. 12. A and B] these Groves.
l. 17. A and B] mires. A and B _omit_] to find my ruine.
l. 27. A-F _omit_] him.
l. 29. C and D] have gone this.
l. 30. A-F] his rights.
l. 33. 2nd Folio _misprints_] yours.

p. 376,
l. 10. A-D] livers.

P. 377,
l. 13. A and B] fall speedily.
l. 14. A-D] let me goe.
l. 21. A-F] seaman.
l. 22. A and B] than the straightest.

p. 378,
l. 19. A and B] our soules.
l. 40. C] The gentle.

p. 379,
l. 11. A and B] a wild.
l. 18. A and B] _Enter an other Shepheardesse that is in love with

p. 381,
l. 4. 2nd Folio _misprints_] ever.
l. 11. A, B and F] their weaning.
l. 18. A and B] _Enter Sullen._ F] _Enter sullen_ Shepherd.
l. 19. A, B and F _for Shep, (character) read] Sul._
l. 37. A-C _omit character] Shep_. D-F _print] Sull_.

p. 382,
l. 8. A-F _for Shep.] Sul_.
l. 25. 2nd Folio] sufficient, great to.
l. 26. F] eye.
l. 28. A and B] has foile enough.
l. 38. A-F] dares.

p. 383,
l. 5. A-D _omit_] likewise. C] ayre is fresh.
l. 10. A-C] are grown. A-D] Woodbines.
l. 26. A-D] eare of Maid. E and F] eare of maids.
l. 27. C and D] I love.
l. 29. A] so sure a Mold. B-F] so sure the Molde.

p. 384,
l. 7. A-F] whose words.
l. 13. 2nd Folio] dost,

p, 385,
l. 2. A-C] hee is here.

p. 386,
l. 21. A and B] grief and tine.
l. 30. A-C] raine.
l. 35. A-D] swains more meeter.
l. 36. A and B] Than these.
l. 38. A-D] Hide.

p. 387,
l. 3. A-D] hath been.
l. 7. F] _Titans_.

p. 388,
l. 3. A-D] lowde falling.
l. 21. A] his walkes keep.
l. 32. F _omits_] great.
l. 34. A] high birth.
l. 36. A] born a most.

p. 389,
l. 1. A] did lop.
l. 2. A] told me.
l. 6. A] teeth.
l. 8. A _omits_] fast.
l. 14. A] Formentill.
l. 16. A-F] roote. A-D and F] swellings best.
l. 31. A] wanton forces.
l. 39. A] and with joy.

p. 390,
l. 1. A] Enter Shepheard.
l. 2. A] _Shep_. and so throughout.
l. 10. A] make.
l. 15. A and C] you blessed.
l. 16. A] brightly.
l. 19. A] That stiled is the.
l. 36. A-C] into a stround.

p. 391,
l. 1. C] eies.
l. 14. C] Thy way.
l. 16. 2nd Folio _misprints_] Chor.
l. 24. A _omits_] Then. (_char_.).
l. 30. A] flame.

p. 392,
l. 4. A] _Orions_.
l. 5. A-D] woven.
l. 6. A-C] unfould.
l. 7. A] The errant soul. A-D] not the true.
l. 9. A] _Alpen_.
l. 13. A] you do keep.
l. 14. E] that are begotten.
l. 30. A-C] for their.
l. 31. A and B] To seat them.

p. 393,
l. 3. A-D] Doe, and let.
l. 6. A-C _omit_] that here. D _omits_] that.
l. 9. A-F] mourning. A-F] Ewe.
l. 18. A, B and D] For never did.
l. 21. 2nd Folio _misprints_] then.
l. 23. A-D] Shootes.
l. 26. A and B] And present.
l. 31. 2nd Folio _misprints_] maiden.
l. 35. A-D] highly praise.

p. 394,
l. 4. C] ne're knit that eye.
l. 17. C] her shame.
l. 30. A-F] As grinnes.
l. 31. A] at Conies, Squirrels.

P. 395,
l. 1. A-F] stronger way.
l. 26. A and B] dipt over.

p. 396,
l. 8. A and B _insert before Enter Daphnis_] Actus secundus Scena quarta.
l. 14. A-D] thy Shepherds.
l. 19. A and B] My flame.
l. 34. 2nd Folio _misprints_] blesseds.
l. 35. A-F _insert_ Enter Alexis _after_ l. 36.

p. 397,
l. 10. A-D] those.
l. 16. A and B] hold her.
l. 20. A-C] though with.

p. 399,
l. 2. A-F] These rights.
l. 17. A-C] Enter the.
l. 27. C] the feet.

p. 400,
l. 21. A-C] _She awaketh_.
l. 23. A-F] Magick right.
l. 27. A and B] thus reformd thee.
l. 31. C and D _omit_] that.

p. 401,
l. 6. A and C] moone beams.
l. 7. A-D and F] true shape.
l. 13. C] your sacred.
l. 24. A, D and F] she hath got.
l. 37. A-F] of Lyon. A and B] or of Bear.

p. 402,
l. 22. A and B] Ile followe, and for this thy care of me.
C _omits the line_.
l. 27. A-F] with a.

p. 403,
l. 29. A-E] never thou shalt move.

p. 404,
l. 33. A and B _read_] _Alex._ Oh!
_Sat._ Speake againe thou mortall wight.
l. 34. A and B _omit_] _Sat._

p. 405,
l. 3. A-C] beheld you shaggy.
l. 17. A and B] O stray.

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