Chapter 7

_Phy_. I will defend a woman while I liue, A virgin and an innocent beside; Therefore put vp or else thy chaunce abide.

_Or_. Ile neuer sheath my sword vnles thou show, Our oath reserued, we may let her go.

_Phy_. That will I do, if truth may be of force.

_Or_. And then will I be pleasd to graunt remorse.

_Eu_. Litle thought I, when out of doore I went, That thus my life should stand on argument.

_Phy_. A lawfull oath in an vnlawfull cause Is first dispenc't withall by reasons lawes; Then, next, respect must to the end be had, Because th'intent doth make it good or bad. Now here th'intent is murder as thou seest, Which to perform thou on thy oath reliest; But, since the cause is wicked and vniust, Th'effect must likewise be held odious: We swore to kill, and God forbids to kill; Shall we be rulde by him or by man's will? Beside it is a woman is condemde; And what is he, that is a man indeed, That can endure to see a woman bleed?

_Or_. Thou hast preuaild; _Eurymine_, stand vp; I will not touch thee for a world of gold.

_Phy_. Why now thou seemst to be of humane mould; But, on our graunt, faire mayd, that you shall liue, Will you to vs your faithfull promise giue Henceforth t'abandon this your Country quite, And neuer more returne into the sight Of fierce _Telemachus_, the angry Duke, Where by we may be voyd of all rebuke?

_Eur_. Here do I plight my chaste vnspotted hand, I will abiure this most accursed land: And vow henceforth, what fortune ere betide, Within these woods and desarts to abide.

_Phy_. Now wants there nothing but a fit excuse To sooth the Duke in his concern'd abuse; That he may be perswaded she is slaine, And we our wonted fauour still maintaine.

_Orest_. It shall be thus: within a lawne hard by, Obscure with bushes, where no humane eye Can any way discouer our deceit, There feeds a heard of Goates and country neate. Some Kidde or other youngling will we take And with our swords dispatch it for her sake; And, hauing slaine it, rip his panting breast And take the heart of the vnguiltie beast, Which, to th'intent our counterfeit report May seeme more likely, we will beare to court And there protest, with bloody weapons drawne, It was her heart.

_Phy_. Then likewise take this Lawne, Which well _Telemachus_ did know she wore, And let it be all spotted too with gore. How say you, mistresse? will you spare the vale?

_Eur_. That and what else, to verifie your tale. And thankes, _Phylander_ and _Orestes_ both, That you preserue me from a Tyrants wroth.

_Phy_. I would it were within my power, I wis, To do you greater curtesie than this; But what we cannot by our deeds expresse In heart we wish, to ease your heauinesse.

_Eur_. A double debt: yet one word ere ye go, Commend me to my deare _Ascanio_. Whose loyall loue and presence to forgoe Doth gall me more than all my other woe.

_Orest_. Our liues shall neuer want to do him good.

_Phy_. Nor yet our death if he in daunger stood:

_Or_. And, mistresse, so good fortune be your guide, And ought that may be fortunate beside.

[_Exeunt_.

_Eu_. The like I wish vnto your selues againe, And many happy days deuoyd of paine.-- And now _Eurymine_ record thy state, So much deiected and opprest by fate. What hope remaines? wherein hast thou to ioy? Wherein to tryumph but thine owne annoy? If euer wretch might tell of miserie Then I, alas, poore I, am only she; Vnknowne of parents, destitute of friends, Hopefull of nought but what misfortune sends; Banisht, to liue a fugitiue alone In vncoth[98] paths and regions neuer knowne. Behold, _Ascanio_, for thy only sake, These tedious trauels I must undertake. Nor do I grudge; the paine seemes lesse to mee In that I suffer this distresse for thee.

_Enter Siluio, a Raunger_.

_Sil_. Well met, fair Nymph, or Goddesse if ye bee; Tis straunge, me thinkes, that one of your degree Should walke these solitary groues alone.

_Eu_. It were no maruel, if you knew my mone. But what are you that question me so far?

_Sil_. My habit telles you that, a Forrester; That, hauing lost a heard of skittish Deire, Was of good hope I should haue found them heere.

_Eu_. Trust me, I saw not any; so farewell.

_Sil_. Nay stay, and further of your fortunes tell; I am not one that meanes you any harme.

_Enter Gemulo, the Shepheard_.

_Ge_. I thinke my boy be fled away by charme. Raunger, well met; within thy walke, I pray, Sawst thou not _Mopso_ my vnhappie boy.

_Sil_. Shepheard, not I: what meanst to seeke him heere?

_Ge_. Because the wagge, possest with doubtful feare Least I would beate him for a fault he did, Amongst those trees I do suspect hees hid. But how now, Raunger? you mistake, I trowe; This is a Lady and no barren Dowe.

_Sil_. It is indeede, and (as it seemes) distrest; Whose griefe to know I humbly made request, But she as yet will not reueale the same.

_Ge_. Perhaps to me she will: speak, gentle dame; What daunger great hath driuen ye to this place? Make knowne your state, and looke what slender grace A Shepheards poore abilitee may yeeld You shall be sure of ere I leaue the feeld.

_Eur_. Alas good Sir the cause may not be known That hath inforste me to be here alone.

_Sil_. Nay, feare not to discouer what you are; It may be we may remedie your care.

_Eur_. Since needs you will that I renew my griefe, Whether it be my chance to finde reliefe Or not, I wreake not: such my crosses are As sooner I expect to meet despaire. Then thus it is: not farre from hence do dwell My parents, of the world esteemed well, Who with their bitter threats my grant had won This day to marrie with a neighbours son, And such a one to whom I should be wife As I could neuer fancie in my life: And therefore, to auoid that endlesse thrall, This morne I came away and left them all.

_Sil_. Now trust me, virgin, they were much vnkinde To seeke to match you so against your minde.

_Ge_. It was, besides, vnnatural constraint: But, by the tenure of your just complaint, It seems you are not minded to returne, Nor any more to dwell where you were borne.

_Eur_. It is my purpose if I might obtaine A place of refuge where I might remain.

_Sil_. Why, go with me; my Lodge is not far off, Where you shall haue such hospitalitie As shall be for your health and safetie.

_Ge_. Soft, Raunger; you do raunge beyond your skill. My house is nearer, and for my good will, It shall exceed a woodmans woodden stuffe: Then go with me, Ile keep you safe enough.

_Sil_. Ile bring her to a bower beset with greene.

_Ge_. And I an arbour may delight a Queene.

_Sil_. Her dyet shall be Venson at my boord.

_Ge_. Young Kid and Lambe we shepheards can affoord.

_Sil_. And nothing else?

_Ge_. Yes; raunging, now and then A Hog, a Goose, a Capon, or a Hen.

_Sil_. These walkes are mine amongst the shadie trees.

_Ge_. For that I haue a garden full of Bees, Whose buzing musick with the flowers sweet Each euen and morning shall her sences greet.

_Sil_. The nightingale is my continuall clocke.

_Ge_. And mine the watchfull sin-remembring cocke.

_Sil_. A Hunts vp[99] I can tune her with my hounds.

_Ge_. And I can shew her meads and fruitfull grounds.

_Sil_. Within these woods are many pleasant springs.

_Ge_. Betwixt yond dales the Eccho daily sings.

_Sil_. I maruell that a rusticke shepheard dare With woodmen then audaciously compare. Why, hunting is a pleasure for a King, And Gods themselves sometime frequent the thing. _Diana_ with her bowe and arrows keene Did often vse the chace in Forrests greene, And so, alas, the good Athenian knight And swifte _Acteon_ herein tooke delight, And _Atalanta_, the Arcadian dame, Conceiu'd such wondrous pleasure in the game That, with her traine of Nymphs attending on, She came to hunt the Bore of _Calydon_.

_Ge_. So did _Apollo_ walke with shepheards crooke, And many Kings their sceptres haue forsooke To lead the quiet life we shepheards tooke (?), Accounting it a refuge for their woe.

_Sil_. But we take choice of many a pleasant walke, And marke the Deare how they begin to stalke; When each, according to his age and time,[100] Pricks vp his head and bears a Princely minde. The lustie Stag, conductor of the traine, Leads all the heard in order downe the plaine; The baser rascals[101] scatter here and there As not presuming to approach so neere.

_Ge_. So shepheards sometimes sit vpon a hill Or in the cooling shadow of a mill, And as we sit vnto our pipes we sing And therewith make the neighboring groues to ring; And when the sun steales downward to the west We leave our chat and whistle in the fist, Which is a signall to our stragling flocke As Trumpets sound to men in martiall shocke.

_Sil_. Shall I be thus outfaced by a swaine? Ile haue a guard to wayt vpon her traine, Of gallant woodmen clad in comely greene, The like whereof hath seldome yet bene seene.

_Ge_. And I of shepheards such a lustie crew As neuer Forrester the like yet knew, Who for their persons and their neate aray Shal be as fresh as is the moneth of May. Where are ye there, ye merry noted swaines? Draw neare a while, and whilst vpon the plaines Your flocks do gently feed, lets see your skill How you with chaunting can sad sorrow kill.

_Enter shepheards singing_.

_Sil_. Thinks _Gemulo_ to beare the bell away By singing of a simple Rundelay? No, I have fellowes whose melodious throats Shall euen as far exceed those homely notes As doth the Nightingale in musicke passe The most melodious bird that euer was: And, for an instance, here they are at hand; When they have done let our deserts be scand.

_Enter woodmen and sing_.

_Eu_. Thanks to you both; you both deserue so well As I want skill your worthinesse to tell. And both do I commend for your good will, And both Ile honor, loue, and reuerence still; For neuer virgin had such kindnes showne Of straungers, yea, and men to her vnknowne. But more, to end this sudden controuersie, Since I am made an Vmpire in the plea, This is my verdite: Ile intreate of you A Cottage for my dwelling, and of you A flocke to tend; and so, indifferent, My gratefull paines on either shal be spent.

_Sil_. I am agreed, and, for the loue I beare, Ile boast I haue a Tenant is so faire.

_Ge_. And I will hold it as a rich possession That she vouchsafes to be of my profession.

_Sil_. Then, for a sign that no man here hath wrong, From hence lets all conduct her with a song.

_The end of the First Act_.

_Actus Secundus_.

_Enter Ascanio, and Ioculo his Page_.

_Asca_. Away, _Ioculo_.

_Io_. Here, sir, at hand.

_Asca. Ioculo_, where is she?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. When went she?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. Which way went she?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. Where should I seeke her?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. When shall I find her?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. A vengeance take thee, slaue, what dost thou know?

_Io_. Marry, sir, that I doo know.

_Asca_. What, villiane?

_Io_. And[102] you be so testie, go looke. What a coyles here with you? If we knew where she were what need we seeke her? I think you are a lunaticke: where were you when you should haue lookt after her? now you go crying vp and downe after your wench like a boy that had lost his horne booke.

_Asca_. Ah, my sweet Boy!

_Io_. Ah, my sweet maister! nay, I can giue you as good words as you can giue me; alls one for that.

_Asca_. What canst thou giue me no reliefe?

_Io_. Faith, sir, there comes not one morsel of comfort from my lips to sustaine that hungry mawe of your miserie: there is such a dearth at this time. God amend it!

_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, my brest is full of griefe, And yet my hope that only wants reliefe.

_Io_. Your brest and my belly are in two contrary kaies; you walke to get stomacke to your meate, and I walke to get meate to my stomacke; your brest's full and my belli's emptie. If they chance to part in this case, God send them merry meeting,--that my belly be ful and your brest empty.

_Asca_. Boy, for the loue that euer thou didst owe To thy deare master, poore _Ascanio_. Racke thy proou'd wits vnto the highest straine, To bring me backe _Eurymine_ againe.

_Io_. Nay, master, if wit could do it I could tell you more; but if it euer be done the very legeritie[103] of the feete must do it; these ten nimble bones must do the deed. Ile trot like a little dog; theres not a bush so big as my beard, but Ile be peeping in it; theres not a coate[104] but Ile search every corner; if she be aboue, or beneath, ouer the ground or vnder, Ile finde her out.

_Asca_. Stay, _Ioculo_; alas, it cannot be: If we should parte I loose both her and thee. The woods are wide; and, wandering thus about, Thou maist be lost and not my loue found out.

_Io_. I pray thee let me goe.

_Asca_. I pray thee stay.

_Io_. I faith Ile runne.

_Asca_. And doest not know which way.

_Io_. Any way, alls one; Ile drawe drie foote;[105] if you send not to seeke her you may lye here long enough before she comes to seeke you. She little thinkes that you are hunting for her in these quarters.

_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, before I leaue my Boy, Of this worlds comfort now my only ioy. Seest thou this place? vpon this grassie bed, With summers gawdie dyaper bespred, (_He lyes downe_.) Vnder these shadowes shall my dwelling be, Till thou returne, sweet _Ioculo_, to me.

_Io_. And, if my conuoy be not cut off by the way, it shall not be long before I be with you. (_He speakes to the people_.) Well, I pray you looke to my maister, for here I leaue him amongst you; and if I chaunce to light vpon the wench, you shall heare of me by the next winde. [_Exit Ioculo_.

_Ascanio solus_.

_Asca_. In vaine I feare, I beate my braines about, Proouing by search to finde my mistresse out. _Eurymine, Eurymine_, retorne, And with thy presence guild the beautious morne! And yet I feare to call vpon thy name: The pratling Eccho, should she learne the same, The last words accent shiele no more prolong But beare that sound vpon her airie tong. Adorned with the presence of my loue The woods, I feare, such secret power shal proue As they'll shut vp each path, hide euery way, Because they still would haue her go astray, And in that place would alwaies haue her seene Only because they would be euer greene, And keepe the wingged Quiristers still there To banish winter cleane out of the yeare. But why persist I to bemone my state, When she is gone and my complaint too late? A drowsie dulnes closeth vp my sight; O powerfull sleepe, I yeeld vnto thy might. (_He falls asleepe_.)

_Enter Iuno and Iris_.

_Iuno_. Come hither, _Iris_.

_Iris_. _Iris_ is at hand, To attend _Ioues_ wife, great _Iunos_ hie command.

_Iuno_. _Iris_, I know I do thy seruice proue, And euer since I was the wife of _Ioue_ Thou hast bene readie when I called still, And alwayes most obedient to my will: Thou seest how that imperiall Queene of loue With all the Gods how she preuailes aboue, And still against great _Iunos_ hests doth stand To haue all stoupe and bowe at her command; Her Doues and Swannes and Sparrowes must be graced And on Loues Aultar must be highly placed; My starry Peacocks which doth beare my state, Scaresly alowd within his pallace gate. And since herselfe she doth preferd doth see, Now the proud huswife will contend with mee, And practiseth her wanton pranckes to play With this _Ascanio_ and _Eurymine_. But Loue shall know, in spight of all his skill, _Iuno_'s a woman and will haue her will.

_Iris_. What is my Goddesse will? may _Iris_ aske?

_Iuno_. _Iris_, on thee I do impose this taske To crosse proud _Venus_ and her purblind Lad Vntill the mother and her brat be mad; And with each other set them so at ods Till to their teeth they curse and ban the Gods.

_Iris_. Goddes, the graunt consists alone in you.

_Iuno_. Then mark the course which now you must pursue. Within this ore-growne Forrest there is found A duskie Caue[106], thrust lowe into the ground, So vgly darke, so dampie and [so] steepe As, for his life, the sunne durst neuer peepe Into the entrance; which doth so afright The very day that halfe the world is night. Where fennish fogges and vapours do abound There _Morpheus_ doth dwell within the ground; No crowing Cocke or waking bell doth call, Nor watchful dogge disturbeth sleepe at all; No sound is heard in compasse of the hill; But euery thing is quiet, whisht,[107] and still. Amid the caue vpon the ground doth lie A hollow plancher,[108] all of Ebonie, Couer'd with blacke, whereon the drowsie God Drowned in sleepe continually doth nod. Go, _Iris_, go and my commandment take And beate against the doores till sleepe awake: Bid him from me in vision to appeare Vnto _Ascanio_, that lieth slumbring heare, And in that vision to reueale the way, How he may finde the faire _Eurymine_.

_Iris_. Madam, my service is at your command.

_Iuno_. Dispatch it then, good _Iris_, out of hand, My Peacocks and my Charriot shall remaine About the shore till thou returne againe. [_Exit Iuno_.

_Iris_. About the businesse now that I am sent, To sleepes black Caue I will incontinent;[109] And his darke cabine boldly will I shake Vntill the drowsie lumpish God awake, And such a bounsing at his Caue Ile keepe That if pale death seaz'd on the eyes of sleepe Ile rowse him up; that when he shall me heare He make his locks stand vp on end with feare. Be silent, aire, whilst _Iris_ in her pride Swifter than thought vpon the windes doth ride. What _Somnus_! what _Somnus, Somnus_! (_Strikes. Pauses a little_) What, wilt thou not awake? art thou still so fast? Nay then, yfaith, Ile haue another cast. What, _Somnus! Somnus_! I say. (_Strikes againe_)

_Som_. Who calles at this time of the day? What a balling dost thou keepe! A vengeance take thee, let me sleepe.

_Iris_. Vp thou drowsie God I say And come presently away, Or I will beate vpon this doore That after this thou sleep'st no more.

_Som_. Ile take a nap and come annon.

_Iris_. Out, you beast, you blocke, you stone! Come or at thy doore Ile thunder Til both heaven and hel do wonder. _Somnus_, I say!

_Som_. A vengeance split thy chaps asunder!

_Enter Somnus_.

_Iris_. What, _Somnus_!

_Som_. _Iris_, I thought it should be thee. How now, mad wench? what wouldst with me?

_Iris_. From mightie _Iuno, Ioues_ immortall wife, _Somnus_, I come to charge thee on thy life That thou vnto this Gentleman appeere And in this place, thus as he lyeth heere, Present his mistres to his inward eies In as true manner as thou canst deuise.

_Som_. I would thou wert hangd for waking me. Three sonnes I haue; the eldest _Morpheus_ hight, He shewes of man the shape or sight; The second, _Icelor_, whose beheasts Doth shewe the formes of birds and beasts; _Phantasor_ for the third, things lifeles hee: Chuse which like thee of these three.

_Iris_. _Morpheus_; if he in humane shape appeare.

_Som_. _Morpheus_, come forth in perfect likenes heere Of--how call ye the Gentlewoman?

_Iris. Eurymine_.

_Som_. Of _Eurymine_; and shewe this Gentleman What of his mistres is become. (_Kneeling downe by Ascanio_.)

_Enter Eurymine, to be supposed Morpheus_.

_Mor_. My deare _Ascanio_, in this vision see _Eurymine_ doth thus appeare to thee. As soone as sleepe hath left thy drowsie eies Follow the path that on thy right hand lies: An aged Hermit thou by chaunce shalt find That there hath bene time almost out of mind, This holy man, this aged reuerent Father, There in the woods doth rootes and simples gather; His wrinckled browe tells strenghts past long ago, His beard as white as winters driuen snow. He shall discourse the troubles I haue past, And bring vs both together at the last Thus she presents her shadow to thy sight That would her person gladly if she might.

_Iris_. See how he catches to embrace the shade.

_Mor_. This vision fully doth his powers inuade; And, when the heate shall but a little slake, Thou then shalt see him presently awake.

_Som_. Hast thou ought else that I may stand in sted?

_Iris_. No, _Somnus_, no; go back unto thy bed; _Iuno_, she shall reward thee for thy paine.

_Som_. Then good night, _Iris_; Ile to rest againe.

_Iris_. _Morpheus_, farewell; to _Iuno_ I will flie.

_Mor_. And I to sleepe as fast as I can hie.

[_Exeunt_.

_Ascanio starting sayes_.

_Eurymine_! Ah, my good Angell, stay! O vanish not so suddenly away; O stay, my Goddess; whither doest thou flie? Returne, my sweet _Eurymine_, tis I. Where art thou? speake; Let me behold thy face. Did I not see thee in this very place, Euen now? Here did I not see thee stand? And heere thy feete did blesse the happie land? _Eurymine_, Oh wilt thou not attend? Flie from thy foe, _Ascanio_ is thy friend: The fearfull hare so shuns the labouring hound, And so the Dear eschues the Huntsman wound; The trembling Foule so flies the Falcons gripe, The Bond-man so his angry maisters stripe. I follow not as _Phoebus Daphne_ did, Nor as the Dog pursues the trembling Kid. Thy shape it was; alas, I saw not thee! That sight were fitter for the Gods then mee. But, if in dreames there any truth be found, Thou art within the compas of this ground. Ile raunge the woods and all the groues about, And neuer rest vntill I find thee out. [_Exit_.

_Enter at one doore Mopso singing_.

_Mop_. Terlitelo,[110] Terlitelo, tertitelee, terlo. So merrily this sheapheards Boy His home that he can blow, Early in a morning, late, late in an euening; And euer sat this little Boy So merrily piping.

_Enter at the other doore Frisco singing_.

_Fris_. Can you blow the little home? Weell, weell and very weell; And can you blow the little home Amongst the leaues greene?

_Enter Ioculo in the midst singing_.

_Io_. Fortune,[111] my foe, why doest thou frowne on mee? And will my fortune neuer better bee? Wilt thou, I say, for euer breed my paine, And wilt thou not restore my Ioyes againe?

_Frisco_. Cannot a man be merry in his owne walke But a must be thus encombred?

_Io_. I am disposed to be melancholly, And I cannot be priuate for one villaine or other.

_Mop_. How the deuel stumbled this case of rope-ripes[112] into my way?

_Fris_. Sirrha what art thou? and thou?

_Io_. I am a page to a Courtier.

_Mop_. And I a Boy to a Shepheard.

_Fris_. Thou art the Apple-Squier[113] to an Eawe, And thou sworne brother to a bale[114] of false dice.

_Io_. What art thou?

_Fris_. I am Boy to a Raunger.

_Io_. An Out-lawe by authoritie, one that neuer sets marke of his own goods nor neuer knowes how he comes by other mens.

_Mop_. That neuer knowes his cattell but by their hornes.

_Fris_. Sirrha, so you might haue said of your maister sheep.

_Io_. I, marry, this takes fier like touch powder, and goes off with a huffe.

_Fris_. They come of crick-cracks, and shake their tayles like a squib.

_Io_. Ha, you Rogues, the very steele of my wit shall strike fier from the flint of your vnderstandings; haue you not heard of me?

_Mop_. Yes, if you be the _Ioculo_ that I take you for, we haue heard of your exployts for cosoning of some seuen and thirtie Alewiues in the Villages here about.

_Io_. A wit as nimble as a Sempsters needle or a girles finger at her Buske poynt.

_Mop_. Your iest goes too low, sir.

_Fris_. O but tis a tickling iest.

_Io_. Who wold haue thought to haue found this in a plaine villaine that neuer woare better garment than a greene Ierkin?

_Fris_. O Sir, though you Courtiers haue all the honour you haue not all the wit.

_Mop_. Soft sir, tis not your witte can carry it away in this company.

_Io_. Sweet Rogues, your companie to me is like musick to a wench at midnight when she lies alone and could wish,--yea, marry could she.

_Fris_. And thou art as welcome to me as a new poking stick to a Chamber mayd.

_Mop_. But, soft; who comes here?

_Enter the Faieries, singing and dauncing_.