Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jonathan Ingram, Chjarles M. Bidwell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS
The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Vol. 2 of 10)
_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Clorin _a shepherdess, having buried her Love in an Arbour._
Hail, holy Earth, whose cold Arms do imbrace The truest man that ever fed his flocks
By the fat plains of fruitful _Thessaly_, Thus I salute thy Grave, thus do I pay
My early vows, and tribute of mine eyes To thy still loved ashes; thus I free
My self from all insuing heats and fires Of love: all sports, delights and jolly games That Shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off. Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt With youthful Coronals, and lead the Dance; No more the company of fresh fair Maids
And wanton Shepherds be to me delightful, Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes Under some shady dell, when the cool wind Plays on the leaves: all be far away,
Since thou art far away; by whose dear side How often have I sat Crown’d with fresh flowers For summers Queen, whil’st every Shepherds Boy Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook, And hanging scrip of finest Cordevan.
But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee, And all are dead but thy dear memorie;
That shall out-live thee, and shall ever spring Whilest there are pipes, or jolly Shepherds sing. And here will I in honour of thy love,
Dwell by thy Grave, forgeting all those joys, That former times made precious to mine eyes, Only remembring what my youth did gain
In the dark, hidden vertuous use of Herbs: That will I practise, and as freely give All my endeavours, as I gain’d them free. Of all green wounds I know the remedies
In Men or Cattel, be they stung with Snakes, Or charm’d with powerful words of wicked Art, Or be they Love-sick, or through too much heat Grown wild or Lunatick, their eyes or ears Thickned with misty filme of dulling Rheum, These I can Cure, such secret vertue lies In Herbs applyed by a Virgins hand:
My meat shall be what these wild woods afford, Berries, and Chesnuts, Plantanes, on whose Cheeks, The Sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit Pull’d from the fair head of the staight grown Pine; On these I’le feed with free content and rest, When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.
_Enter a_ Satyr.
_Satyr._ Through yon same bending plain That flings his arms down to the main,
And through these thick woods have I run, Whose bottom never kist the Sun
Since the lusty Spring began,
All to please my master _Pan,_
Have I trotted without rest
To get him Fruit; for at a Feast
He entertains this coming night
His Paramour, the _Syrinx_ bright:
But behold a fairer sight! [_He stands amazed._ By that Heavenly form of thine,
Brightest fair thou art divine,
Sprung from great immortal race
Of the gods, for in thy face
Shines more awful Majesty,
Than dull weak mortalitie
Dare with misty eyes behold,
And live: therefore on this mold
Lowly do I bend my knee,
In worship of thy Deitie;
Deign it Goddess from my hand,
To receive what e’re this land
From her fertil Womb doth send
Of her choice Fruits: and but lend
Belief to that the Satyre tells,
Fairer by the famous wells,
To this present day ne’re grew,
Never better nor more true.
Here be Grapes whose lusty bloud
Is the learned Poets good,
Sweeter yet did never crown
The head of _Bacchus_, Nuts more brown Than the Squirrels Teeth that crack them; Deign O fairest fair to take them.
For these black ey’d _Driope_
Hath oftentimes commanded me,
With my clasped knee to clime;
See how well the lusty time
Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red, Such as on your lips is spred,
Here be Berries for a Queen,
Some be red, some be green,
These are of that luscious meat,
The great God _Pan_ himself doth eat: All these, and what the woods can yield, The hanging mountain or the field,
I freely offer, and ere long
Will bring you more, more sweet and strong, Till when humbly leave I take,
Lest the great _Pan_ do awake,
That sleeping lies in a deep glade, Under a broad Beeches shade,
I must go, I must run
Swifter than the fiery Sun. [_Exit_.
_Clo_. And all my fears go with thee. What greatness or what private hidden power, Is there in me to draw submission
From this rude man, and beast? sure I am mortal: The Daughter of a Shepherd, he was mortal: And she that bore me mortal: prick my hand And it will bleed: a Feaver shakes me,
And the self same wind that makes the young Lambs shrink, Makes me a cold: my fear says I am mortal: Yet I have heard (my Mother told it me)
And now I do believe it, if I keep
My Virgin Flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair, No Goblin, Wood-god, Fairy, Elfe, or Fiend, Satyr or other power that haunts the Groves, Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion
Draw me to wander after idle fires; Or voyces calling me in dead of night,
To make me follow, and so tole me on Through mire and standing pools, to find my ruine: Else why should this rough thing, who never knew Manners, nor smooth humanity, whose heats Are rougher than himself, and more mishapen, Thus mildly kneel to me? sure there is a power In that great name of Virgin, that binds fast All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites
That break their confines: then strong Chastity Be thou my strongest guard, for here I’le dwell In opposition against Fate and Hell.
_Enter an old_ Shepherd, _with him four couple of_ Shepherds _and_ Shepherdesses.
_Old Shep_. Now we have done this holy Festival In honour of our great God, and his rites Perform’d, prepare your selves for chaste And uncorrupted fires: that as the Priest, With powerful hand shall sprinkle on [your] Brows His pure and holy water, ye may be
From all hot flames of lust, and loose thoughts free. Kneel Shepherds, kneel, here comes the Priest of _Pan_.
_Enter_ Priest.
_Priest_. Shepherds, thus I purge away, Whatsoever this great day,
Or the past hours gave not good,
To corrupt your Maiden blood:
From the high rebellious heat
Of the Grapes, and strength of meat; From the wanton quick desires,
They do kindle by their fires,
I do wash you with this water,
Be you pure and fair hereafter.
From your Liver and your Veins,
Thus I take away the stains.
All your thoughts be smooth and fair, Be ye fresh and free as Air.
Never more let lustful heat
Through your purged conduits beat,
Or a plighted troth be broken,
Or a wanton verse be spoken
In a Shepherdesses ear;
Go your wayes, ye are all clear.
[_They rise and sing in praise of_ Pan.
The SONG.
_Sing his praises that doth keep
Our Flocks from harm,_
Pan _the Father of our Sheep,
And arm in arm
Tread we softly in a round,
Whilest the hollow neighbouring ground Fills the Musick with her sound._
Pan, _O great God_ Pan, _to thee
Thus do we sing:
Thou that keep’st us chaste and free As the young spring,
Ever be thy honour spoke,
From that place the morn is broke,
To that place Day doth unyoke._
[_Exeunt omnes but_ Perigot _and_ Amoret.
_Peri_. Stay gentle _Amoret_, thou fair brow’d Maid, Thy Shepherd prays thee stay, that holds thee dear, Equal with his souls good.
_Amo_. Speak; I give
Thee freedom Shepherd, and thy tongue be still The same it ever was; as free from ill,
As he whose conversation never knew The Court or City be thou ever true.
_Peri_. When I fall off from my affection, Or mingle my clean thoughts with foul desires, First let our great God cease to keep my flocks, That being left alone without a guard,
The Wolf, or Winters rage, Summers great heat, And want of Water, Rots; or what to us
Of ill is yet unknown, full speedily, And in their general ruine let me feel.
_Amo_. I pray thee gentle Shepherd wish not so, I do believe thee: ’tis as hard for me
To think thee false, and harder than for thee To hold me foul.
_Peri_. O you are fairer far
Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star That guides the wandring Sea-men through the deep, Straighter than straightest Pine upon the steep Head of an aged mountain, and more white Than the new Milk we strip before day-light From the full fraighted bags of our fair flocks: Your hair more beauteous than those hanging locks Of young _Apollo_.
_Amo_. Shepherd be not lost,
Y’are sail’d too far already from the Coast Of our discourse.
_Peri_. Did you not tell me once
I should not love alone, I should not lose Those many passions, vows, and holy Oaths, I’ve sent to Heaven? did you not give your hand, Even that fair hand in hostage? Do not then Give back again those sweets to other men, You your self vow’d were mine.
_Amo_. Shepherd, so far as Maidens modesty May give assurance, I am once more thine, Once more I give my hand; be ever free
From that great foe to faith, foul jealousie.
_Peri_. I take it as my best good, and desire For stronger confirmation of our love,
To meet this happy night in that fair Grove, Where all true Shepherds have rewarded been For their long service: say sweet, shall it hold?
_Amo_. Dear friend, you must not blame me if I make A doubt of what the silent night may do, Coupled with this dayes heat to move your bloud: Maids must be fearful; sure you have not been Wash’d white enough; for yet I see a stain Stick in your Liver, go and purge again.
_Peri_. O do not wrong my honest simple truth, My self and my affections are as pure
As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine Of the great _Dian_: only my intent
To draw you thither, was to plight our troths, With enterchange of mutual chaste embraces, And ceremonious tying of our selves:
For to that holy wood is consecrate A vertuous well, about whose flowry banks, The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds, By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes Their stolen Children, so to make them free From dying flesh, and dull mortalitie;
By this fair Fount hath many a Shepherd sworn, And given away his freedom, many a troth Been plight, which neither envy, nor old time Could ever break, with many a chaste kiss given, In hope of coming happiness; by this
Fresh Fountain many a blushing Maid Hath crown’d the head of her long loved Shepherd With gaudy flowers, whilest he happy sung Layes of his love and dear Captivitie;
There grows all Herbs fit to cool looser flames Our sensual parts provoke, chiding our bloods, And quenching by their power those hidden sparks That else would break out, and provoke our sense To open fires, so vertuous is that place: Then gentle Shepherdess, believe and grant, In troth it fits not with that face to scant Your faithful Shepherd of those chaste desires He ever aim’d at, and–
_Amo_. Thou hast prevail’d, farewel, this coming night Shall crown thy chast hopes with long wish’d delight.
_Peri_. Our great god _Pan_ reward thee for that good Thou hast given thy poor Shepherd: fairest Bud Of Maiden Vertues, when I leave to be
The true Admirer of thy Chastitie,
Let me deserve the hot polluted Name Of the wild Woodman, or affect: some Dame, Whose often Prostitution hath begot
More foul Diseases, than ever yet the hot Sun bred through his burnings, whilst the Dog Pursues the raging Lion, throwing Fog,
And deadly Vapour from his angry Breath, Filling the lower World with Plague and Death. [_Ex._ Am.
_Enter_ Amaryllis.
_Ama_. Shepherd, may I desire to be believ’d, What I shall blushing tell?
_Peri_. Fair Maid, you may.
_Am_. Then softly thus, I love thee, _Perigot_, And would be gladder to be lov’d again,
Than the cold Earth is in his frozen arms To clip the wanton Spring: nay do not start, Nor wonder that I woo thee, thou that art The prime of our young Grooms, even the top Of all our lusty Shepherds! what dull eye That never was acquainted with desire,
Hath seen thee wrastle, run, or cast the Stone With nimble strength and fair delivery,
And hath not sparkled fire, and speedily Sent secret heat to all the neighbouring Veins? Who ever heard thee sing, that brought again That freedom back, was lent unto thy Voice; Then do not blame me (Shepherd) if I be
One to be numbred in this Companie, Since none that ever saw thee yet, were free.
_Peri_. Fair Shepherdess, much pity I can lend To your Complaints: but sure I shall not love: All that is mine, my self, and my best hopes Are given already; do not love him then
That cannot love again: on other men Bestow those heats more free, that may return You fire for fire, and in one flame equal burn.
_Ama_. Shall I rewarded be so slenderly For my affection, most unkind of men!
If I were old, or had agreed with Art To give another Nature to my Cheeks,
Or were I common Mistress to the love Of every Swain, or could I with such ease Call back my Love, as many a Wanton doth; Thou might’st refuse me, Shepherd; but to thee I am only fixt and set, let it not be
A Sport, thou gentle Shepherd to abuse The love of silly Maid.
_Peri_. Fair Soul, ye use
These words to little end: for know, I may Better call back that time was Yesterday, Or stay the coming Night, than bring my Love Home to my self again, or recreant prove. I will no longer hold you with delays,
This present night I have appointed been To meet that chaste Fair (that enjoys my Soul) In yonder Grove, there to make up our Loves. Be not deceiv’d no longer, chuse again,
These neighbouring Plains have many a comely Swain, Fresher, and freer far than I e’r was,
Bestow that love on them, and let me pass. Farewel, be happy in a better Choice. [_Exit_.
_Ama_. Cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy Voice Than if the angry Heavens with their quick flames Had shot me through: I must not leave to love, I cannot, no I must enjoy thee, Boy,
Though the great dangers ‘twixt my hopes and that Be infinite: there is a Shepherd dwells
Down by the Moor, whose life hath ever shown More sullen Discontent than _Saturns_ Brow, When he sits frowning on the Births of Men: One that doth wear himself away in loneness; And never joys unless it be in breaking
The holy plighted troths of mutual Souls: One that lusts after [every] several Beauty, But never yet was known to love or like, Were the face fairer, or more full of truth, Than _Phoebe_ in her fulness, or the youth Of smooth _Lyaeus_; whose nigh starved flocks Are always scabby, and infect all Sheep
They feed withal; whose Lambs are ever last, And dye before their waining, and whose Dog Looks like his Master, lean, and full of scurf, Not caring for the Pipe or Whistle: this man may (If he be well wrought) do a deed of wonder, Forcing me passage to my long desires:
And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose, As my quick thoughts could wish for.
_Enter_ Shepherd.
_Shep_. Fresh Beauty, let me not be thought uncivil, Thus to be Partner of your loneness: ’twas My Love (that ever working passion) drew Me to this place to seek some remedy
For my sick Soul: be not unkind and fair, For such the mighty Cupid in his doom
Hath sworn to be aveng’d on; then give room To my consuming Fires, that so I may
Enjoy my long Desires, and so allay Those flames that else would burn my life away.
_Ama_. Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were sound As thy words seem to be, means might be found To cure thee of thy long pains; for to me That heavy youth-consuming Miserie
The love-sick Soul endures, never was pleasing; I could be well content with the quick easing Of thee, and thy hot fires, might it procure Thy faith and farther service to be sure.
_Shep_. Name but that great work, danger, or what can Be compass’d by the Wit or Art of Man,
And if I fail in my performance, may I never more kneel to the rising Day.
_Ama_. Then thus I try thee, Shepherd, this same night, That now comes stealing on, a gentle pair Have promis’d equal Love, and do appoint To make yon Wood the place where hands and hearts Are to be ty’d for ever: break their meeting And their strong Faith, and I am ever thine.
_Shep_. Tell me their Names, and if I do not move (By my great power) the Centre of their Love From his fixt being, let me never more
Warm me by those fair Eyes I thus adore.
_Ama_. Come, as we go, I’ll tell thee what they are, And give thee fit directions for thy work. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Cloe.
_Cloe_. How have I wrong’d the times, or men, that thus After this holy Feast I pass unknown
And unsaluted? ’twas not wont to be Thus frozen with the younger companie
Of jolly Shepherds; ’twas not then held good, For lusty Grooms to mix their quicker blood With that dull humour, most unfit to be
The friend of man, cold and dull Chastitie. Sure I am held not fair, or am too old,
Or else not free enough, or from my fold Drive not a flock sufficient great, to gain The greedy eyes of wealth-alluring Swain: Yet if I may believe what others say,
My face has soil enough; nor can they lay Justly too strict a Coyness to my Charge; My Flocks are many, and the Downs as large They feed upon: then let it ever be
Their Coldness, not my Virgin Modestie Makes me complain.
_Enter_ Thenot.
_The_. Was ever Man but I
Thus truly taken with uncertainty?
Where shall that Man be found that loves a mind Made up in Constancy, and dare not find
His Love rewarded? here let all men know A Wretch that lives to love his Mistress so.
_Clo_. Shepherd, I pray thee stay, where hast thou been? Or whither go’st thou? here be Woods as green As any, air likewise as fresh and sweet, As where smooth _Zephyrus_ plays on the fleet Face of the curled Streams, with Flowers as many As the young Spring gives, and as choise as any; Here be all new Delights, cool Streams and Wells, Arbors o’rgrown with Woodbinds, Caves, and Dells, Chase where thou wilt, whilst I sit by, and sing, Or gather Rushes to make many a Ring
For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of Love, How the pale _Phoebe_ hunting in a Grove, First saw the Boy _Endymion_, from whose Eyes She took eternal fire that never dyes;
How she convey’d him softly in a sleep, His temples bound with poppy to the steep Head of old _Latmus_, where she stoops each night, Gilding the Mountain with her Brothers light, To kiss her sweetest.
_The_. Far from me are these
Hot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease; I have forgot what love and loving meant: Rhimes, Songs, and merry Rounds, that oft are sent To the soft Ears of Maids, are strange to me; Only I live t’ admire a Chastitie,
That neither pleasing Age, smooth tongue, or Gold, Could ever break upon, so pure a Mold
Is that her Mind was cast in; ’tis to her I only am reserv’d; she is my form I stir By, breath and move, ’tis she and only she Can make me happy, or give miserie.
_Clo_. Good Shepherd, may a Stranger crave to know To whom this dear observance you do ow?
_The_. You may, and by her Vertue learn to square And level out your Life; for to be fair
And nothing vertuous, only fits the Eye Of gaudy Youth, and swelling Vanitie.
Then know, she’s call’d the Virgin of the Grove, She that hath long since bury’d her chaste Love, And now lives by his Grave, for whose dear Soul She hath vow’d her self into the holy Roll Of strict Virginity; ’tis her I so admire, Not any looser Blood, or new desire.
_Clo_. Farewel poor Swain, thou art not for my bend, I must have quicker Souls, whose works may tend To some free action: give me him dare love At first encounter, and as soon dare prove.
The SONG.
_Come Shepherds, come,
Come away without delay
Whilst the gentle time dot[h] stay. Green Woods are dumb,
And will never tell to any
Those dear Kisses, and those many
Sweet Embraces that are given
Dainty Pleasures that would even
Raise in coldest Age a fire,
And give Virgin Blood desire,
Then if ever,
Now or never,
Come and have it,
Think not I,
Dare deny,
If you crave it._
_Enter_ Daphnis.
Here comes another: better be my speed, Thou god of Blood: but certain, if I read Not false, this is that modest Shepherd, he That only dare salute, but ne’r could be Brought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing, Whisper, or boldly ask that wished thing We all are born for; one that makes loving Faces, And could be well content to covet Graces, Were they not got by boldness; in this thing My hopes are frozen; and but Fate doth bring Him hither, I would sooner chuse
A Man made out of Snow, and freer use An Eunuch to my ends: but since he’s here, Thus I attempt him. Thou of men most dear, Welcome to her, that only for thy sake,
Hath been content to live: here boldly take My hand in pledg, this hand, that never yet Was given away to any: and but sit
Down on this rushy Bank, whilst I go pull Fresh Blossoms from the Boughs, or quickly cull The choicest delicates from yonder Mead, To make thee Chains, or Chaplets, or to spread Under our fainting Bodies, when delight
Shall lock up all our senses. How the sight Of those smooth rising Cheeks renew the story Of young _Adonis_, when in Pride and Glory He lay infolded ‘twixt the beating arms
Of willing _Venus_: methinks stronger Charms Dwell in those speaking eyes, and on that brow More sweetness than the Painters can allow To their best pieces: not _Narcissus_, he That wept himself away in memorie
Of his own Beauty, nor _Silvanus_ Boy, Nor the twice ravish’d Maid, for whom old _Troy_ Fell by the hand of _Pirrhus_, may to thee Be otherwise compar’d, than some dead Tree To a young fruitful Olive.
_Daph_. I can love,
But I am loth to say so, lest I prove Too soon unhappy.
_Clo_. Happy thou would’st say,
My dearest _Daphnis_, blush not, if the day To thee and thy soft heats be enemie,
Then take the coming Night, fair youth ’tis free To all the World, Shepherd, I’ll meet thee then When darkness hath shut up the eyes of men, In yonder Grove: speak, shall our Meeting hold? Indeed you are too bashful, be more bold, And tell me I.
_Daph_. I’m content to say so,
And would be glad to meet, might I but pray so Much from your Fairness, that you would be true.
_Clo_. Shepherd, thou hast thy Wish.
_Daph_. Fresh Maid, adieu:
Yet one word more, since you have drawn me on To come this Night, fear not to meet alone That man that will not offer to be ill,
Though your bright self would ask it, for his fill Of this Worlds goodness: do not fear him then, But keep your ‘pointed time; let other men Set up their Bloods to sale, mine shall be ever Fair as the Soul it carries, and unchast never. [_Exit_.
_Clo_. Yet am I poorer than I was before. Is it not strange, among so many a score Of lusty Bloods, I should pick out these things Whose Veins like a dull River far from Springs, Is still the same, slow, heavy, and unfit For stream or motion, though the strong winds hit With their continual power upon his sides? O happy be your names that have been brides, And tasted those rare sweets for which I pine: And far more heavy be thy grief and time, Thou lazie swain, that maist relieve my needs, Than his, upon whose liver alwayes feeds A hungry vultur.
_Enter_ Alexis.
_Ale_. Can such beauty be
Safe in his own guard, and not draw the eye Of him that passeth on, to greedy gaze,
Or covetous desire, whilst in a maze The better part contemplates, giving rein And wished freedom to the labouring vein? Fairest and whitest, may I crave to know The cause of your retirement, why ye goe Thus all alone? methinks the downs are sweeter, And the young company of swains far meeter, Than those forsaken and untroden places. Give not your self to loneness, and those graces Hid from the eyes of men, that were intended To live amongst us swains.
_Cloe._ Thou art befriended,
Shepherd, in all my life I have not seen A man in whom greater contents have been Than thou thy self art: I could tell thee more, Were there but any hope left to restore
My freedom lost. O lend me all thy red, Thou shamefast morning, when from _Tithons_ bed Thou risest ever maiden.
_Alex. _If for me,
Thou sweetest of all sweets, these flashes be, Speak and be satisfied. O guide her tongue, My better angel; force my name among
Her modest thoughts, that the first word may be–
_Cloe._ _Alexis_, when the sun shall kiss the Sea, Taking his rest by the white _Thetis_ side, Meet in the holy wood, where I’le abide
Thy coming, Shepherd.
_Alex._ If I stay behind,
An everlasting dulness, and the wind, That as he passeth by shuts up the stream Of _Rhine_ or _Volga_, whilst the suns hot beam Beats back again, seise me, and let me turn To coldness more than ice: oh how I burn And rise in youth and fire! I dare not stay.
_Cloe._ My name shall be your word.
_Alex._ Fly, fly thou day. [_Exit._
_Cloe._ My grief is great if both these boyes should fail: He that will use all winds must shift his sail. [_Exit._
_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima._
_Enter an old_ Shepherd, _with a bell ringing, and the Priest of Pan following._
_Priest._ O Shepherds all, and maidens fair, Fold your flocks up, for the Air
‘Gins to thicken, and the sun
Already his great course hath run.
See the dew-drops how they kiss
Every little flower that is:
Hanging on their velvet heads,
Like a rope of crystal beads.
See the heavy clouds low falling,
And bright _Hesperus_ down calling
The dead night from under ground,
At whose rising mists unsound,
Damps, and vapours fly apace,
Hovering o’re the wanton face
Of these pastures, where they come, Striking dead both bud and bloom;
Therefore from such danger lock
Every one his loved flock,
And let your Dogs lye loose without, Lest the Wolf come as a scout
From the mountain, and e’re day
Bear a Lamb or kid away,
Or the crafty theevish Fox,
Break upon your simple flocks:
To secure your selves from these,
Be not too secure in ease;
Let one eye his watches keep,
Whilst the t’other eye doth sleep;
So you shall good Shepherds prove,
And for ever hold the love
Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers And soft silence fall in numbers
On your eye-lids: so farewel,
Thus I end my evenings knel. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Clorin, _the_ Shepherdess, _sorting of herbs, and telling the natures of them._
_Clor._ Now let me know what my best Art hath done, Helpt by the great power of the vertuous moon In her full light; O you sons of Earth,
You only brood, unto whose happy birth Vertue was given, holding more of nature Than man her first born and most perfect creature, Let me adore you; you that only can
Help or kill nature, drawing out that span Of life and breath even to the end of time; You that these hands did crop, long before prime Of day; give me your names, and next your hidden power. This is the _Clote_ bearing a yellow flower, And this black Horehound, both are very good For sheep or Shepherd, bitten by a wood- Dogs venom’d tooth; these Ramuns branches are, Which stuck in entries, or about the bar That holds the door fast, kill all inchantments, charms, Were they _Medeas_ verses that doe harms To men or cattel; these for frenzy be
A speedy and a soveraign remedie,
The bitter Wormwood, Sage, and Marigold, Such sympathy with mans good they do hold; This Tormentil, whose vertue is to part
All deadly killing poyson from the heart; And here _Narcissus_ roots for swellings be: Yellow _Lysimacus_, to give sweet rest
To the faint Shepherd, killing where it comes All busie gnats, and every fly that hums: For leprosie, Darnel, and Sellondine,
With Calamint, whose vertues do refine The blood of man, making it free and fair As the first hour it breath’d, or the best air. Here other two, but your rebellious use
Is not for me, whose goodness is abuse; Therefore foul Standergrass, from me and mine I banish thee, with lustful Turpentine,
You that intice the veins and stir the heat To civil mutiny, scaling the seat
Our reason moves in, and deluding it With dreams and wanton fancies, till the fit Of burning lust be quencht; by appetite, Robbing the soul of blessedness and light: And thou light _Varvin_ too, thou must go after, Provoking easie souls to mirth and laughter; No more shall I dip thee in water now,
And sprinkle every post, and every bough With thy well pleasing juyce, to make the grooms Swell with high mirth, as with joy all the rooms.
_Enter_ Thenot.
_The_. This is the Cabin where the best of all Her Sex, that ever breath’d, or ever shall Give heat or happiness to the Shepherds side, Doth only to her worthy self abide.
Thou blessed star, I thank thee for thy light, Thou by whose power the darkness of sad night Is banisht from the Earth, in whose dull place Thy chaster beams play on the heavy face Of all the world, making the blue Sea smile, To see how cunningly thou dost beguile
Thy Brother of his brightness, giving day Again from _Chaos_, whiter than that way That leads to _Joves_ high Court, and chaster far Than chastity it self, yon blessed star
That nightly shines: Thou, all the constancie That in all women was, or e’re shall be, From whose fair eye-balls flyes that holy fire, That Poets stile the Mother of desire,
Infusing into every gentle brest
A soul of greater price, and far more blest Than that quick power, which gives a difference, ‘Twixt man and creatures of a lower sense.
_Clor_. Shepherd, how cam’st thou hither to this place? No way is troden, all the verdant grass
The spring shot up, stands yet unbruised here Of any foot, only the dapled Deer
Far from the feared sound of crooked horn Dwels in this fastness.
_Th_. Chaster than the morn,
I have not wandred, or by strong illusion Into this vertuous place have made intrusion: But hither am I come (believe me fair)
To seek you out, of whose great good the air Is full, and strongly labours, whilst the sound Breaks against Heaven, and drives into a stound The amazed Shepherd, that such vertue can Be resident in lesser than a man.
_Clor_. If any art I have, or hidden skill May cure thee of disease or festred ill, Whose grief or greenness to anothers eye May seem impossible of remedy,
I dare yet undertake it.
_The_. ‘Tis no pain
I suffer through disease, no beating vein Conveyes infection dangerous to the heart, No part impostum’d to be cur’d by Art,
This body holds; and yet a feller grief Than ever skilfull hand did give relief
Dwells on my soul, and may be heal’d by you, Fair beauteous Virgin.
_Clor_. Then Shepherd, let me sue
To know thy grief; that man yet never knew The way to health, that durst not shew his sore.
_Then_. Then fairest, know, I love you.
_C[l]or_. Swain, no more,
Thou hast abus’d the strictness of this place, And offred Sacrilegious foul disgrace
To the sweet rest of these interred bones, For fear of whose ascending, fly at once, Thou and thy idle passions, that the sight Of death and speedy vengeance may not fright Thy very soul with horror.
_Then_. Let me not
(Thou all perfection) merit such a blot For my true zealous faith.
_Clor_. Dar’st thou abide
To see this holy Earth at once divide And give her body up? for sure it will,
If thou pursu’st with wanton flames to fill This hallowed place; therefore repent and goe, Whilst I with praise appease his Ghost below, That else would tell thee what it were to be A rival in that vertuous love that he
Imbraces yet.
_Then_. ‘Tis not the white or red
Inhabits in your cheek that thus can wed My mind to adoration; nor your eye,
Though it be full and fair, your forehead high, And smooth as _Pelops_ shoulder; not the smile Lies watching in those dimples to beguile The easie soul, your hands and fingers long With veins inamel’d richly, nor your tongue, Though it spoke sweeter than _Arions_ Harp, Your hair wove into many a curious warp, Able in endless errour to infold
The wandring soul, nor the true perfect mould Of all your body, which as pure doth show In Maiden whiteness as the Alpsian snow. All these, were but your constancie away, Would please me less than a black stormy day The wretched Seaman toyling through the deep. But whilst this honour’d strictness you dare keep, Though all the plagues that e’re begotten were In the great womb of air, were setled here, In opposition, I would, like the tree,
Shake off those drops of weakness, and be free Even in the arm of danger.
_Clor_. Wouldst thou have
Me raise again (fond man) from silent grave, Those sparks that long agoe were buried here, With my dead friends cold ashes?
_Then_. Dearest dear,
I dare not ask it, nor you must not grant; Stand strongly to your vow, and do not faint: Remember how he lov’d ye, and be still
The same Opinion speaks ye; let not will, And that great god of women, appetite,
Set up your blood again; do not invite Desire and fancie from their long exile, To set them once more in a pleasing smile: Be like a rock made firmly up ‘gainst all The power of angry Heaven, or the strong fall Of _Neptunes_ battery; if ye yield, I die To all affection; ’tis that loyaltie
Ye tie unto this grave I so admire; And yet there’s something else I would desire, If you would hear me, but withall deny.
O _Pan_, what an uncertain destiny
Hangs over all my hopes! I will retire, For if I longer stay, this double fire
Will lick my life up.
_Clor_. Doe, let time wear out
What Art and Nature cannot bring about.
_Then_. Farewel thou soul of vertue, and be blest For ever, whilst that here I wretched rest Thus to my self; yet grant me leave to dwell In kenning of this Arbor; yon same dell
O’retopt with morning Cypress and sad Yew Shall be my Cabin, where I’le early rew, Before the Sun hath kist this dew away,
The hard uncertain chance which Fate doth lay Upon this head.
_Clor_. The gods give quick release
And happy cure unto thy hard disease. [_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd.
_Sullen_. I do not love this wench that I should meet, For ne’r did my unconstant eye yet greet That beauty, were it sweeter or more fair, Than the new blossoms, when the morning air Blows gently on the[m], or the breaking light, When many maiden blushes to our sight
Shoot from his early face: were all these set In some neat form before me, ‘twould not get The least love from me; some desire it might, Or present burning: all to me in sight
Are equal, be they fair, or black, or brown, Virgin, or careless wanton, I can crown
My appetite with any; swear as oft
And weep, as any, melt my words as soft Into a maiden[s] ears, and tell how long My heart has been her servant, and how strong My passions are: call her unkind and cruel, Offer her all I have to gain the Jewel
Maidens so highly prize: then loath, and fly: This do I hold a blessed destiny.
_Enter_ Amaryllis.
_Amar_. Hail Shepherd, _Pan_ bless both thy flock and thee, For being mindful of thy word to me.
_Sul_. Welcom fair Shepherdess, thy loving swain Gives thee the self same wishes back again, Who till this present hour ne’re knew that eye, Could make me cross mine arms, or daily dye With fresh consumings: boldly tell me then, How shall we part their faithful loves, and when? Shall I bely him to her, shall I swear
His faith is false, and he loves every where? I’le say he mockt her th’ other day to you, Which will by your confirming shew as true, For he is of so pure an honesty,
To think (because he will not) none will lye: Or else to him I’le slander _Amoret_,
And say, she but seems chaste; I’le swear she met Me ‘mongst the shady Sycamores last night And loosely offred up her flame and spright Into my bosom, made a wanton bed
Of leaves and many flowers, where she spread Her willing body to be prest by me;
There have I carv’d her name on many a tree, Together with mine own; to make this show More full of seeming, _Hobinall_ you know, Son to the aged Shepherd of the glen,
Him I have sorted out of many men,
To say he found us at our private sport, And rouz’d us ‘fore our time by his resort: This to confirm, I have promis’d to the boy Many a pretty knack, and many a toy,
As gins to catch him birds, with bow and bolt, To shoot at nimble Squirrels in the holt; A pair of painted Buskins, and a Lamb,
Soft as his own locks, or the down of swan; This I have done to win ye, which doth give Me double pleasure. Discord makes me live.
_Amar_. Lov’d swain, I thank ye, these tricks might prevail With other rustick Shepherds, but will fail Even once to stir, much more to overthrow His fixed love from judgement, who doth know Your nature, my end, and his chosens merit; Therefore some stranger way must force his spirit, Which I have found: give second, and my love Is everlasting thine.
_Sul_. Try me and prove.
_Amar_. These happy pair of lovers meet straightway, Soon as they fold their flocks up with the day, In the thick grove bordering upon yon Hill, In whose hard side Nature hath carv’d a well, And but that matchless spring which Poets know, Was ne’re the like to this: by it doth grow About the sides, all herbs which Witches use, All simples good for Medicine or abuse,
All sweets that crown the happy Nuptial day, With all their colours, there the month of _May_ Is ever dwelling, all is young and green, There’s not a grass on which was ever seen The falling _Autumn_, or cold Winters hand, So full of heat and vertue is the land,
About this fountain, which doth slowly break Below yon Mountains foot, into a Creek
That waters all the vally, giving Fish Of many sorts, to fill the Shepherds dish. This holy well, my grandam that is dead, Right wise in charms, hath often to me said, Hath power to change the form of any creature, Being thrice dipt o’re the head, into what feature, Or shape ‘twould please the letter down to crave, Who must pronounce this charm too, which she gave Me on her death-bed; told me what, and how, I should apply unto the Patients brow,
That would be chang’d, casting them thrice asleep, Before I trusted them into this deep.
All this she shew’d me, and did charge me prove This secret of her Art, if crost in love. I’le this attempt; now Shepherd, I have here All her prescriptions, and I will not fear To be my self dipt: come, my temples bind With these sad herbs, and when I sleep you find, As you do speak your charm, thrice down me let, And bid the water raise me _Amoret_;
Which being done, leave me to my affair, And e’re the day shall quite it self out-wear, I will return unto my Shepherds arm,
Dip me again, and then repeat this charm, And pluck me up my self, whom freely take, And the hotst fire of thine affection slake.
_Sul._ And if I fit thee not, then fit not me: I long the truth of this wells power to see. [_Exeunt._
_Enter Daphnis._
_Daph._ Here will I stay, for this the covert is Where I appointed _Cloe_; do not miss,
Thou bright-ey’d virgin, come, O come my fair, Be not abus’d with fear, nor let cold care Of honour stay thee from the Shepherds arm, Who would as hard be won to offer harm
To thy chast thoughts, as whiteness from the day, Or yon great round to move another way.
My language shall be honest, full of truth, My flames as smooth and spotless as my youth: I will not entertain that wandring thought, Whose easie current may at length be brought To a loose vastness.
_Alexis within._ Cloe!
_Daph._ ‘Tis her voyce,
And I must answer, _Cloe_! Oh the choice Of dear embraces, chast and holy strains Our hands shall give! I charge you all my veins Through which the blood and spirit take their way, Lock up your disobedient heats, and stay Those mutinous desires that else would grow To strong rebellion: do not wilder show
Than blushing modesty may entertain.
_Alexis within._ Cloe!
_Daph._ There sounds that [blessed] name again,
_Enter_ Alexis.
And I will meet it: let me not mistake, This is some Shepherd! sure I am awake;
What may this riddle mean? I will retire, To give my self more knowledg.
_Alex._ Oh my fire,
How thou consum’st me! _Cloe,_ answer me, _Alexis_, strong _Alexis_ , high and free, Calls upon _Cloe_. See mine arms are full Of entertainment, ready for to pull
That golden fruit which too too long hath hung Tempting the greedy eye: thou stayest too long, I am impatient of these mad delayes;
I must not leave unsought these many ways That lead into this center, till I find
Quench for my burning lust. I come, unkind. [_Exit_ Alexis.
_Daph._ Can my imagination work me so much ill, That I may credit this for truth, and still Believe mine eyes? or shall I firmly hold Her yet untainted, and these sights but bold Illusion? Sure such fancies oft have been Sent to abuse true love, and yet are seen, Daring to blind the vertuous thought with errour. But be they far from me with their fond terrour: I am resolv’d my _Cloe_ yet is true. [Cloe _within._ _Cloe_, hark, _Cloe_: Sure this voyce is new, Whose shrilness like the sounding of a Bell, Tells me it is a Woman: _Cloe_, tell
Thy blessed name again. _Cloe_. [_within_] Here. Oh what a grief is this to be so near,
And not incounter!
_Enter_ Cloe.
_Clo._ Shepherd, we are met,
Draw close into the covert, lest the wet Which falls like lazy mists upon the ground Soke through your Startups.
_Daph._ Fairest are you found?
How have we wandred, that the better part Of this good night is perisht? Oh my heart! How have I long’d to meet ye, how to kiss Those lilly hands, how to receive the bliss That charming tongue gives to the happy ear Of him that drinks your language! but I fear I am too much unmanner’d, far too rude,
And almost grown lascivious to intrude These hot behaviours; where regard of fame, Honour, and modesty, a vertuous name,
And such discourse as one fair Sister may Without offence unto the Brother say,
Should rather have been tendred: but believe, Here dwells a better temper; do not grieve Then, ever kindest, that my first salute Seasons so much of fancy, I am mute
Henceforth to all discourses, but shall be Suiting to your sweet thoughts and modestie. Indeed I will not ask a kiss of you,
No not to wring your fingers, nor to sue To those blest pair of fixed stars for smiles, All a young lovers cunning, all his wiles, And pretty wanton dyings, shall to me
Be strangers; only to your chastitie I am devoted ever.
_Clo_. Honest Swain,
First let me thank you, then return again As much of my love: no thou art too cold, Unhappy Boy, not tempred to my mold,
Thy blood falls heavy downward, ’tis not fear To offend in boldness wins, they never wear Deserved favours that deny to take
When they are offered freely: Do I wake To see a man of his youth, years and feature, And such a one as we call goodly creature, Thus backward? What a world of precious Art Were meerly lost, to make him do his part? But I will shake him off, that dares not hold, Let men that hope to be belov’d be bold. _Daphnis_, I do desire, since we are met So happily, our lives and fortunes set
Upon one stake, to give assurance now, By interchange of hands and holy vow,
Never to break again: walk you that way Whilest I in zealous meditation stray
A little this way: when we both have ended These rites and duties, by the woods befriended, And secrecie of night, retire and find
An aged Oak, whose hollowness may bind Us both within his body, thither go,
It stands within yon bottom.
_Daph_. Be it so. [_Ex_. Daph.
_Clo_. And I will meet there never more with thee, Thou idle shamefastness.
_Alex. [within] Chloe!_
_Clo_. ‘Tis he
That dare I hope be bolder.
_Alex. Cloe!_
_Clo_. Now
Great _Pan_ for _Syrinx_ sake bid speed our Plow. [_Exit_ Cloe.
_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd _with_ Amaryllis _in a sleep._
_Sull_. From thy forehead thus I take These herbs, and charge thee not awake
Till in yonder holy Well,
Thrice with powerful Magick spell,
Fill’d with many a baleful word,
Thou hast been dipt; thus with my cord Of blasted Hemp, by Moon-light twin’d,
I do thy sleepy body bind;
I turn thy head into the East,
And thy feet into the West,
Thy left arm to the South put forth, And thy right unto the North:
I take thy body from the ground,
In this deep and deadly swound,
And into this holy spring
I let thee slide down by my string. Take this Maid thou holy pit,
To thy bottom, nearer yet,
In thy water pure and sweet,
By thy leave I dip her feet;
Thus I let her lower yet,
That her ankles may be wet;
Yet down lower, let her knee
In thy waters washed be;
There stop: Fly away
Every thing that loves the day.
Truth that hath but one face,
Thus I charm thee from this place.
Snakes that cast your coats for new, Camelions that alter hue,
Hares that yearly Sexes change,
_Proteus_ alt’ring oft and strange, _Hecate_ with shapes three,
Let this Maiden changed be,
With this holy water wet,
To the shape of _Amoret_:
_Cynthia_ work thou with my charm,
Thus I draw thee free from harm
Up out of this blessed Lake,
Rise both like her and awake. [_She awakes_.
_Amar_. Speak Shepherd, am I _Amoret_ to sight? Or hast thou mist in any Magick rite;
For want of which any defect in me, May make our practices discovered be.
_Sul_. By yonder Moon, but that I here do stand, Whose breath hath thus transform’d thee, and whose hand Let thee down dry, and pluckt thee up thus wet, I should my self take thee for _Amoret_; Thou art in cloths, in feature, voice and hew So like, that sense cannot distinguish you.
_Amar_. Then this deceit which cannot crossed be, At once shall lose her him, and gain thee me. Hither she needs must come by promise made, And sure his nature never was so bad,
To bid a Virgin meet him in the wood, When night and fear are up, but understood, ‘Twas his part to come first: being come, I’le say, My constant love made me come first and stay, Then will I lead him further to the grove, But stay you here, and if his own true love Shall seek him here, set her in some wrong path, Which say, her lover lately troden hath; I’le not be far from hence, if need there be, Here is another charm, whose power will free The dazeled sense, read by the Moons beams clear, And in my own true map make me appear.
_Enter_ Perigot.
_Sull_. Stand close, here’s _Perigot_, whose constant heart Longs to behold her in whose shape thou art.
_Per_. This is the place (fair _Amoret_) the hour Is yet scarce come: Here every Sylvan power Delights to be about yon sacred Well,
Which they have blest with many a powerful Spell; For never Traveller in dead of Night,
Nor strayed Beasts have faln in, but when sight Hath fail’d them, then their right way they have found By help of them, so holy is the ground:
But I will farther seek, lest _Amoret_ Should be first come, and so stray long unmet. My _Amoret, Amoret_. [_Ex_. Amaryllis, Perigot.
_Per_. My Love.
_Amar_. I come my Love. [_Exit_.
_Sull_. Now she has got
Her own desires, and I shall gainer be Of my long lookt for hopes as well as she. How bright the moon shines here, as if she strove To show her Glory in this little Grove,
_Enter_ Amoret.
To some new loved Shepherd. Yonder is Another _Amoret_. Where differs this
From that? but that she _Perigot_ hath met, I should have ta’n this for the counterfeit: Herbs, Woods, and Springs, the power that in you lies, If mortal men could know your Properties!
_Amo_. Methinks it is not Night, I have no fear, Walking this Wood, of Lions, or the Bear, Whose Names at other times have made me quake, When any Shepherdess in her tale spake
Of some of them, that underneath a Wood Have torn true Lovers that together stood. Methinks there are no Goblins, and mens talk, That in these Woods the nimble Fairies walk, Are fables; such a strong heart I have got, Because I come to meet with _Perigot_.
My _Perigot_! who’s that, my _Perigot_?
_Sull_. Fair maid.
_Amo_. Ay me, thou art not _Perigot_.
_Sull_. But I can tell ye news of _Perigot_: An hour together under yonder tree
He sate with wreathed arms and call’d on thee, And said, why _Amoret_ stayest thou so long? Then starting up, down yonder path he flung, Lest thou hadst miss’d thy way: were it day light, He could not yet have born him out of sight.
_Amor_. Thanks, gentle Shepherd, and beshrew my stay, That made me fearful I had lost my way:
As fast as my weak Legs (that cannot be Weary with seeking him) will carry me,
I’ll seek him out; and for thy Courtesie Pray _Pan_ thy Love may ever follow thee. [_Exit_.
_Sull_. How bright she was, how lovely did she show! Was it not pity to deceive her so?
She pluckt her Garments up, and tript away, And with her Virgin-innocence did pray
For me that perjur’d her. Whilst she was here, Methought the Beams of Light that did appear Were shot from her; methought the Moon gave none, But what it had from her: she was alone
With me, if then her presence did so move, Why did not I essay to win her Love?
She would not sure have yielded unto me; Women love only Opportunitie,
And not the Man; or if she had deny’d, Alone, I might have forc’d her to have try’d Who had been stronger: O vain Fool, to let Such blest Occasion pass; I’ll follow yet, My Blood is up, I cannot now forbear.
_Enter_ Alex, _and_ Cloe.
I come sweet _Amoret_: Soft who is here? A pair of Lovers? He shall yield her me; “Now Lust is up, alike all Women be.
_Alex_. Where shall we rest? but for the love of me, _Cloe_, I know ere this would weary be.
_Clo_. _Alexis_, let us rest here, if the place Be private, and out of the common trace
Of every Shepherd: for I understood This Night a number are about the Wood:
Then let us chuse some place, where out of sight We freely may enjoy our stoln delight.
_Alex_. Then boldly here, where we shall ne’re be found, No Shepherds way lies here, ’tis hallow’d ground: No Maid seeks here her strayed Cow, or Sheep, Fairies, and Fawns, and Satyrs do it keep: Then carelesly rest here, and clip and kiss, And let no fear make us our pleasures miss.
_Clo_. Then lye by me, the sooner we begin, The longer ere the day descry our sin.
_Sull_. Forbear to touch my Love, or by yon flame, The greatest power that Shepherds dare to name, Here where thou sit’st under this holy tree Her to dishonour, thou shalt buried be.
_Alex_. If _Pan_ himself, should come out of the lawns, With all his Troops of Satyrs and of Fawns, And bid me leave, I swear by her two eyes, A greater Oath than thine, I would not rise.
_Sull_. Then from the cold Earth never shalt thou move, But lose at one stroke both thy Life and Love.
_Clo_. Hold gentle Shepherd.
_Sull_. Fairest Shepherdess,
Come you with me, I do not love you less Than that fond man, that would have kept you there From me of more desert.
_Alex_. O yet forbear
To take her from me; give me leave to dye By her.
[_The Satyr enters, he runs one way, and she another_.
_Sat_. Now whilst the Moon doth rule the Skie, And the Stars, whose feeble light
Give a pale Shadow to the night,
Are up, great _Pan_ commanded me
To walk this Grove about, whilst he In a corner of the Wood,
Where never mortal foot hath stood, Keeps dancing, musick, and a feast
To entertain a lovely Guest,
Where he gives her many a Rose,
Sweeter than the breath that blows
The leaves; Grapes, Berries of the best, I never saw so great a feast.
But to my Charge: here must I stay, To see what mortals lose their way,
And by a false fire seeming bright, Train them in and leave them right.
Then must I watch if any be
Forcing of a Chastitie:
If I find it, then in haste
Give my wreathed horn a Blast,
And the Fairies all will run,
Wildly dancing by the Moon,
And will pinch him to the bone,
Till his lustful thoughts be gone.
_Alex_. O Death!
_Sat_. Back again about this ground,
Sure I hear a mortal sound;
I bind thee by this powerful Spell, By the Waters of this Well,
By the glimmering Moon beams bright, Speak again, thou mortal wight.
_Alex_. Oh!
_Sat_. Here the foolish mortal lies,
Sleeping on the ground: arise.
The poor wight is almost dead,
On the ground his wounds have bled, And his cloaths foul’d with his blood:
To my Goddess in the Wood
Will I lead him, whose hands pure,
Will help this mortal wight to cure.
_Enter_ Cloe _again_.
_Clo_. Since I beheld yon shaggy man, my Breast Doth pant, each bush, methinks, should hide a Beast: Yet my desire keeps still above my fear, I would fain meet some Shepherd, knew I where: For from one cause of fear I am most free, It is impossible to ravish me,
I am so willing. Here upon this ground I left my Love all bloody with his wound; Yet till that fearful shape made me be gone, Though he were hurt, I furnisht was of one, But now both lost. _Alexis_, speak or move, If thou hast any life, thou art yet my Love. He’s dead, or else is with his little might Crept from the Bank for fear of that ill Spright. Then where art thou that struck’st my love? O stay, Bring me thy self in change, and then I’ll say Thou hast some justice, I will make thee trim With Flowers and Garlands that were meant for him; I’ll clip thee round with both mine arms, as fast As I did mean he should have been embrac’d: But thou art fled. What hope is left for me? I’ll run to _Daphnis_ in the hollow tree, Whom I did mean to mock, though hope be small, To make him bold; rather than none at all, I’ll try him; his heart, and my behaviour too Perhaps may teach him what he ought to do. [_Exit_.
_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd.
_Sul_. This was the place, ’twas but my feeble sight, Mixt with the horrour of my deed, and night, That shap’t these fears, and made me run away, And lose my beauteous hardly gotten prey. Speak gentle Shepherdess, I am alone,
And tender love for love: but she is gone From me, that having struck her Lover dead, For silly fear left her alone and fled.
And see the wounded body is remov’d By her of whom it was so well belov’d.
_Enter_ Perigot _and_ Amaryllis _in the shape of_ Amoret.
But these fancies must be quite forgot, I must lye close. Here comes young _Perigot_ With subtile _Amaryllis_ in the shape
Of _Amoret_. Pray Love he may not ‘scape.
_Amar_. Beloved _Perigot_, shew me some place, Where I may rest my limbs, weak with the Chace Of thee, an hour before thou cam’st at least.
_Per_. Beshrew my tardy steps: here shalt thou rest Upon this holy bank, no deadly Snake
Upon this turf her self in folds doth make. Here is no poyson for the Toad to feed;
Here boldly spread thy hands, no venom’d Weed Dares blister them, no slimy Snail dare creep Over thy face when thou art fast asleep; Here never durst the babling Cuckow spit, No slough of falling Star did ever hit
Upon this bank: let this thy Cabin be, This other set with Violets for me.
_Ama_. Thou dost not love me _Perigot_.
_Per_. Fair maid,
You only love to hear it often said; You do not doubt.
_Amar_. Believe me but I do.
_Per_. What shall we now begin again to woo? ‘Tis the best way to make your Lover last, To play with him, when you have caught him fast.
_Amar_. By _Pan_ I swear, I loved _Perigot_, And by yon Moon, I think thou lov’st me not.
_Per_. By _Pan_ I swear, and if I falsely swear, Let him not guard my flocks, let Foxes tear My earliest Lambs, and Wolves whilst I do sleep Fall on the rest, a Rot among my Sheep.
I love thee better than the careful Ewe The new-yean’d Lamb that is of her own hew; I dote upon thee more than the young Lamb Doth on the bag that feeds him from his Dam. Were there a sort of Wolves got in my Fold, And one ran after thee, both young and old Should be devour’d, and it should be my strife To save thee, whom I love above my life.
_Ama_. How shall I trust thee when I see thee chuse Another Bed, and dost my side refuse?
_Per_. ‘Twas only that the chast thoughts might be shewn ‘Twixt thee and me, although we were alone.
_Ama_. Come, _Perigot_ will shew his power, that he Can make his _Amoret_, though she weary be, Rise nimbly from her Couch, and come to his. Here take thy _Amoret_, embrace and kiss.
_Per_. What means my Love?
_Ama_. To do as lovers shou’d,
That are to be enjoy’d, not to be woo’d. There’s ne’r a Shepherdess in all the plain Can kiss thee with more Art, there’s none can feign More wanton tricks.
_Per_. Forbear, dear Soul, to trie
Whether my Heart be pure; I’ll rather die Than nourish one thought to dishonour thee.
_Amar_. Still think’st thou such a thing as Chastitie Is amongst Women? _Perigot_ there’s none, That with her Love is in a Wood alone,
And would come home a maid; be not abus’d With thy fond first Belief, let time be us’d: Why dost thou rise?
_Per_. My true heart thou hast slain.
_Ama_. Faith _Perigot_, I’ll pluck thee down again.
_Per_. Let go, thou Serpent, that into my brest Hast with thy cunning div’d; art not in Jest?
_Ama_. Sweet love, lye down.
_Per_. Since this I live to see,
Some bitter North-wind blast my flocks and me.
_Ama_. You swore you lov’d, yet will not do my will.
_Per_. O be as thou wert once, I’ll love thee still.
_Ama_. I am, as still I was, and all my kind, Though other shows we have poor men to blind.
_Per_. Then here I end all Love, and lest my vain Belief should ever draw me in again,
Before thy face that hast my Youth misled, I end my life, my blood be on thy head.
_Ama._ O hold thy hands, thy _Amoret_ doth cry.
_Per._ Thou counsel’st well, first _Amoret_ shall dye, That is the cause of my eternal smart. [_He runs after her._
_Ama._ O hold.
_Per._ This steel shall pierce thy lustful heart.
[_The Sullen Shepherd steps out and uncharms her._
_Sull._ Up and down every where,
I strew the herbs to purge the air: Let your Odour drive hence
All mists that dazel sence.
Herbs and Springs whose hidden might Alters Shapes, and mocks the sight,
Thus I charge you to undo
All before I brought ye to:
Let her flye, let her ‘scape,
Give again her own shape.
_Enter_ Amaryllis _in her own shape._
_Amar._ Forbear thou gentle Swain, thou dost mistake, She whom thou follow’dst fled into the brake, And as I crost thy way, I met thy wrath, The only fear of which near slain me hath.
_Per._ Pardon fair Shepherdess, my rage and night Were both upon me, and beguil’d my sight; But far be it from me to spill the blood Of harmless Maids that wander in the Wood. [_Ex._ Ama.
_Enter_ Amoret.
_Amor._ Many a weary step in yonder path Poor hopeless _Amoret_ twice trodden hath To seek her _Perigot_, yet cannot hear
His Voice; my _Perigot_, she loves thee dear That calls.
_Per._ See yonder where she is, how fair She shows, and yet her breath infefts the air.
_Amo._ My Perigot.
_Per._ Here.
_Amo._ Happy.
_Per._ Hapless first:
It lights on thee, the next blow is the worst.
_Amo._ Stay _Perigot_, my love, thou art unjust.
_Peri._ Death is the best reward that’s due to lust. [_Exit_ Perigot.
_Sul._ Now shall their love be crost, for being struck, I’le throw her in the Fount, lest being took By some night-travaller, whose honest care May help to cure her. Shepherdess prepare Your self to die.
_Amo._ No Mercy I do crave,
Thou canst not give a worse blow than I have; Tell him that gave me this, who lov’d him too, He struck my soul, and not my body through, Tell him when I am dead, my soul shall be At peace, if he but think he injur’d me.
_Sul._ In this Fount be thy grave, thou wert not meant Sure for a woman, thou art so innocent. [_flings her into the well_ She cannot scape, for underneath the ground, In a long hollow the clear spring is bound, Till on yon side where the Morns Sun doth look, The strugling water breaks out in a Brook. [_Exit._
[_The God of the River riseth with_ Amoret _in his arms._
_God._ What powerfull charms my streams do bring Back again unto their spring,
With such force, that I their god,
Three times striking with my Rod,
Could not keep them in their ranks: My Fishes shoot into the banks,
There’s not one that stayes and feeds, All have hid them in the weeds.
Here’s a mortal almost dead,
Faln into my River head,
Hallowed so with many a spell,
That till now none ever fell.
‘Tis a Female young and clear,
Cast in by some Ravisher.
See upon her breast a wound,
On which there is no plaister bound. Yet she’s warm, her pulses beat,
‘Tis a sign of life and heat.
If thou be’st a Virgin pure,
I can give a present cure:
Take a drop into thy wound
From my watry locks more round
Than Orient Pearl, and far more pure Than unchast flesh may endure.
See she pants, and from her flesh
The warm blood gusheth out afresh.
She is an unpolluted maid;
I must have this bleeding staid.
From my banks I pluck this flower
With holy hand, whose vertuous power Is at once to heal and draw.
The blood returns. I never saw
A fairer Mortal. Now doth break
Her deadly slumber: Virgin, speak.
_Amo._ Who hath restor’d my sense, given me new breath, And brought me back out of the arms of death?
_God._ I have heal’d thy wounds.
_Amo._ Ay me!
_God._ Fear not him that succour’d thee: I am this Fountains god; below,
My waters to a River grow,
And ‘twixt two banks with Osiers set, That only prosper in the wet,
Through the Meadows do they glide,
Wheeling still on every side,
Sometimes winding round about,
To find the evenest channel out.
And if thou wilt go with me,
Leaving mortal companie,
In the cool streams shalt thou lye, Free from harm as well as I:
I will give thee for thy food,
No Fish that useth in the mud,
But Trout and Pike that love to swim Where the gravel from the brim
Through the pure streams may be seen: Orient Pearl fit for a Queen,
Will I give thy love to win,
And a shell to keep them in:
Not a Fish in all my Brook
That shall disobey thy look,
But when thou wilt, come sliding by, And from thy white hand take a fly.
And to make thee understand,
How I can my waves command,
They shall bubble whilst I sing
Sweeter than the silver spring.
_The SONG.
Do not fear to put thy feet
Naked in the River sweet;
Think not Leach, or Newt or Toad
Will bite thy foot, when thou hast troad; Nor let the water rising high,
As thou wad’st in, make thee crie
And sob, but ever live with me,
And not a wave shall trouble thee._
_Amo._ Immortal power, that rul’st this holy flood, I know my self unworthy to be woo’d
By thee a god: for e’re this, but for thee I should have shown my weak Mortalitie:
Besides, by holy Oath betwixt us twain, I am betroath’d unto a Shepherd swain,
Whose comely face, I know the gods above May make me leave to see, but not to love.
_God._ May he prove to thee as true.
Fairest Virgin, now adieu,
I must make my waters fly,
Lest they leave their Channels dry, And beasts that come unto the spring
Miss their mornings watering,
Which I would not; for of late
All the neighbour people sate
On my banks, and from the fold,
Two white Lambs of three weeks old
Offered to my Deitie:
For which this year they shall be free From raging floods, that as they pass
Leave their gravel in the grass:
Nor shall their Meads be overflown, When their grass is newly mown.
_Amo._ For thy kindness to me shown,
Never from thy banks be blown
Any tree, with windy force,
Cross thy streams, to stop thy course: May no beast that comes to drink,
With his horns cast down thy brink; May none that for thy fish do look,
Cut thy banks to damm thy Brook;
Bare-foot may no Neighbour wade
In thy cool streams, wife nor maid, When the spawns on stones do lye,
To wash their Hemp, and spoil the Fry.
_God._ Thanks Virgin, I must down again, Thy wound will put thee to no pain:
Wonder not so soon ’tis gone:
A holy hand was laid upon.
_Amo._ And I unhappy born to be,
Must follow him that flies from me.
_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Perigot.
_Per._ She is untrue, unconstant, and unkind, She’s gone, she’s gone, blow high thou North-west wind, And raise the Sea to Mountains, let the Trees That dare oppose thy raging fury, leese
Their firm foundation, creep into the Earth, And shake the world, as at the monstrous birth Of some new Prodigy, whilst I constant stand, Holding this trustie Boar-spear in my hand, And falling thus upon it.
_Enter_ Amaryllis, _running._
_Amar._ Stay thy dead-doing hand, thou art too hot Against thy self, believe me comely Swain, If that thou dyest, not all the showers of Rain The heavy clods send down can wash away
That foul unmanly guilt, the world will lay Upon thee. Yet thy love untainted stands: Believe me, she is constant, not the sands Can be so hardly numbred as she won:
I do not trifle, _Shepherd_, by the Moon, And all those lesser lights our eyes do view, All that I told thee _Perigot_, is true: Then be a free man, put away despair,
And will to dye, smooth gently up that fair Dejected forehead: be as when those eyes Took the first heat.
_Per._ Alas he double dyes,
That would believe, but cannot; ’tis not well Ye keep me thus from dying, here to dwell With many worse companions: but oh death, I am not yet inamour’d of this breath
So much, but I dare leave it, ’tis not pain In forcing of a wound, nor after gain
Of many dayes, can hold me from my will: ‘Tis not my self, but _Amoret_, bids kill.
_Ama._ Stay but a little, little, but one hour, And if I do not show thee through the power Of herbs and words I have, as dark as night, My self turn’d to thy _Amoret_, in sight, Her very figure, and the Robe she wears, With tawny Buskins, and the hook she bears Of thine own Carving, where your names are set, Wrought underneath with many a curious fret, The _Prim-Rose_ Chaplet, taudry-lace and Ring, Thou gavest her for her singing, with each thing Else that she wears about her, let me feel The first fell stroke of that Revenging steel.
_Per._ I am contented, if there be a hope To give it entertainment, for the scope
Of one poor hour; goe, you shall find me next Under yon shady Beech, even thus perplext, And thus believing.
_Ama._ Bind before I goe,
Thy soul by _Pan_ unto me, not to doe Harm or outragious wrong upon thy life,
Till my return.
_Per._ By _Pan_, and by the strife
He had with _Phoebus_ for the Mastery, When Golden _Midas_ judg’d their _Minstrelcy_, I will not. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Satyr, _with_ Alexis, _hurt._
_Satyr._ Softly gliding as I goe,
With this burthen full of woe,
Through still silence of the night, Guided by the Gloe-worms light,
Hither am I come at last,
Many a Thicket have I past
Not a twig that durst deny me,
Not a bush that durst descry me,
To the little Bird that sleeps
On the tender spray: nor creeps
That hardy worm with pointed tail,
But if I be under sail,
Flying faster than the wind,
Leaving all the clouds behind,
But doth hide her tender head
In some hollow tree or bed
Of seeded Nettles: not a Hare
Can be started from his fare,
By my footing, nor a wish
Is more sudden, nor a fish
Can be found with greater ease,
Cut the vast unbounded seas,
Leaving neither print nor sound,
Than I, when nimbly on the ground,
I measure many a league an hour:
But behold the happy power,
That must ease me of my charge,
And by holy hand enlarge
The soul of this sad man, that yet
Lyes fast bound in deadly fit;
Heaven and great _Pan_ succour it!
Hail thou beauty of the bower,
Whiter than the Paramour
Of my Master, let me crave
Thy vertuous help to keep from Grave This poor Mortal that here lyes,
Waiting when the destinies
Will cut off his thred of life:
View the wound by cruel knife
Trencht into him.
_Clor._ What art thou call’st me from my holy rites, And with thy feared name of death affrights My tender Ears? speak me thy name and will.
_Satyr._ I am the _Satyr_ that did fill Your lap with early fruit, and will,
When I hap to gather more,
Bring ye better and more store:
Yet I come not empty now,
See a blossom from the bow,
But beshrew his heart that pull’d it, And his perfect sight that cull’d it
From the other springing blooms;
For a sweeter youth the Grooms
Cannot show me, nor the downs,
Nor the many neighbouring towns;
Low in yonder glade I found him,
Softly in mine Arms I bound him,
Hither have I brought him sleeping
In a trance, his wounds fresh weeping, In remembrance such youth may
Spring and perish in a day.
_Clor._ _Satyr_, they wrong thee, that do term thee rude, Though thou beest outward rough and tawny hu’d, Thy manners are as gentle and as fair
As his, who brags himself, born only heir To all Humanity: let me see the wound:
This Herb will stay the current being bound Fast to the Orifice, and this restrain
Ulcers, and swellings, and such inward pain, As the cold air hath forc’d into the sore: This to draw out such putrifying gore
As inward falls.
_Satyr._ Heaven grant it may doe good.
_Clor._ Fairly wipe away the blood:
Hold him gently till I fling
Water of a vertuous spring
On his temples; turn him twice
To the Moon beams, pinch him thrice, That the labouring soul may draw
From his great eclipse.
_Satyr._ I saw
His eye-lids moving.
_Clo._ Give him breath,
All the danger of cold death
Now is vanisht; with this Plaster,
And this unction, do I master
All the festred ill that may
Give him grief another day.
_Satyr._ See he gathers up his spright And begins to hunt for light;
Now he gapes and breaths again:
How the blood runs to the vein,
That erst was empty!