Chapter 8

By the moone we sport and play, With the night begins our day; As we daunce, the deaw doth fall; Trip it little vrchins all, Lightly as the little Bee, Two by two and three by three: And about go wee, and about go wee.[115]

_Io_. What Mawmets[116] are these?

_Fris_. O they be the Fayries that haunt these woods.

_Mop_. O we shall be pincht most cruelly.

1 _Fay_. Will you haue any musick sir?

2 _Fay_. Will you haue any fine musicke?

3 _Fay_. Most daintie musicke?

_Mop_. We must set a face on't now; there's no flying; no, Sir, we are very merrie, I thanke you.

1 _Fay_. O but you shall, Sir.

_Fris_. No, I pray you, saue your labour.

2 _Fay_. O, Sir, it shall not cost you a penny.

_Io_. Where be your Fiddles?

3 _Fay_. You shall haue most daintie Instruments, Sir.

_Mop_. I pray you, what might I call you?

1 _Fay_. My name is _Penny_.

_Mop_. I am sorry I cannot purse you.

_Fris_. I pray you sir what might I call you?

2 _Fay_. My name is _Cricket_.[117]

_Fris_. I would I were a chimney for your sake.

_Io_. I pray you, you prettie little fellow, whats your name?

3 _Fay_. My name is little, little _Pricke_.

_Io_. Little, little _Pricke?_ ô you are a daungerous Fayrie, and fright all little wenches in the country out of their beds. I care not whose hand I were in, so I were out of yours.

1 _Fay_. I do come about the coppes Leaping vpon flowers toppes; Then I get vpon a Flie, Shee carries me aboue the skie, And trip and goe.

2 _Fay_. When a deaw drop falleth downe And doth light vpon my crowne, Then I shake my head and skip And about I trip.

3 _Fay_. When I feele a girle a sleepe Vnderneath her frock I peepe. There to sport, and there I play, Then I byte her like a flea; And about I skip.

_Io_. I, I thought where I should haue you.

_1 Fay_. Wilt please you daunce, sir.

_Io_. Indeed, sir, I cannot handle my legges.

2 _Fay_. O you must needs daunce and sing, Which if you refuse to doe We will pinch you blacke and blew; And about we goe.

_They all daunce in a ring and sing, as followeth_.

Round about, round about, in a fine ring a, Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a: Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a, All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a.

Round about, round about, in a fine Ring a, Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a: Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a, All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a.

We haue daunc't round about in a fine Ring a, We haue daunc't lustily and thus we sing a; All about, in and out, ouer this Greene a, Too and fro, trip and go, to our braue Queene a.

_Actus Tertius_.

(SCENE I.)

_Enter Appollo and three Charites_.

1 _Cha_. No, No, great _Phoebus_; this your silence tends To hide your griefe from knowledge of your friends, Who, if they knew the cause in each respect, Would shewe their utmost skill to cure th'effect:

_Ap_. Good Ladyes, your conceites in iudgement erre: Because you see me dumpish, you referre The reason to some secret griefe of mine: But you haue seene me melancholy many a time: Perhaps it is the glowing weather now That makes me seeme so ill at ease to you.

1 _Cha_. Fine shifts to cover that you cannot hide! No, _Phoebus_; by your looks may be discride Some hid conceit that harbors in your thought Which hath therein some straunge impression wrought, That by the course thereof you seeme to mee An other man then you were wont to bee.

_Ap_. No, Ladies; you deceiue yourselues in mee: What likelihood or token do ye see That may perswade it true that you suppose?

2 _Cha_. _Appollo_ hence a great suspition growes:-- Yeare not so pleasaunt now as earst in companie; Ye walke alone and wander solitarie; The pleasaunt toyes we did frequent sometime Are worne away and growne out of prime; Your Instrument hath lost his siluer sound, That rang of late through all this grouie ground; Your bowe, wherwith the chace you did frequent, Is closde in case and long hath been unbent. How differ you from that _Appollo_ now That whilom sat in shade of Lawrell bowe, And with the warbling of your Iuorie Lute T'alure the Fairies for to daunce about! Or from th'_Appollo_ that with bended bowe Did many a sharp and wounding shaft bestowe Amidst the Dragon _Pithons_ scalie wings, And forc't his dying blood to spout in springs! Beleeue me, _Phebus_, who sawe you then and now Would thinke there were a wondrous change in you.

_Ap_. Alas, faire dames, to make my sorows plain Would but reuiue an auncient wound again, Which grating presently vpon my minde Doth leaue a fear of former woes behinde.

3 _Cha_. _Phoebus_, if you account vs for the same That tender thee and loue _Appollo's_ name, Poure forth to vs the fountaine of your woe Fro whence the spring of these your sorows flowe; If we may any way redresse your mone Commaund our best, harme we will do you none.

_Ap_. Good Ladies, though I hope for no reliefe He shewe the ground of this my present griefe: This time of yeare, or there about it was, (Accursed be the time, tenne times, alas!) When I from _Delphos_ tooke my iourney downe To see the games in noble Sparta Towne. There saw I that wherein I gan to ioy, _Amilchars_ sonne, a gallant comely boy (Hight _Hiacinth_), full fifteene yeares of age, Whom I intended to haue made my Page; And bare as great affection to the boy As euer _Ioue_ in _Ganimede_ did ioy. Among the games my selfe put in a pledge, To trie my strength in throwing of the sledge; Which, poysing with my strained arme, I threw So farre that it beyond the other flew: My _Hiacinth_, delighting in the game, Desierd to proue his manhood in the same, And, catching ere the sledge lay still on ground, With violent force aloft it did rebound Against his head and battered out his braine; And so alas my louely boy was slaine.

1 _Cha_. Hard hap, O _Phoebus_; but, sieth it's past & gone, We wish ye to forbeare this frustrate mone.

_Ap_. Ladies, I knowe my sorrowes are in vaine, And yet from mourning can I not refraine.

1 _Cha_. _Eurania_ some pleasant song shall sing To put ye from your dumps.

_Ap_. Alas, no song will bring The least reliefe to my perplexed minde.

2 _Cha_. No, _Phoebus_? what other pastime shall we finde To make ye merry with?

_Ap_. Faire dames, I thanke you all; No sport nor pastime can release my thrall. My grief's of course; when it the course hath had, I shall be merrie and no longer sad.

1 _Cha_. What will ye then we doo?

_Ap_. And please ye, you may goe, And leaue me here to feed vpon my woe.

2 _Cha_. Then, _Phoebus, we can but wish ye wel againe.

[_Exeunt Charites_.

_Ap_. I thanke ye, gentle Ladies, for your paine.-- O _Phoebus_, wretched thou, thus art thou faine With forg'de excuses to conceale thy paine. O, _Hyacinth_, I suffer not these fits For thee, my Boy; no, no, another sits Deeper then thou in closet of my brest, Whose sight so late hath wrought me this unrest. And yet no Goddesse nor of heauenly kinde She is, whose beautie thus torments my minde; No Fayrie Nymph that haunts these pleasaunt woods, No Goddesse of the flowres, the fields, nor floods: Yet such an one whom iustly I may call A Nymph as well as any of them all. _Eurymine_, what heauen affoords thee heere? So may I say, because thou com'st so neere, And neerer far vnto a heauenly shape Than she of whom _Ioue_ triumph't in the Rape. Ile sit me downe and wake my griefe againe To sing a while in honour of thy name.

THE SONG.

Amidst the mountaine Ida groues, Where _Paris_ kept his Heard, Before the other Ladies all He would haue thee prefer'd. _Pallas_, for all her painting, than Her face would seeme but pale, Then _Iuno_ would haue blush't for shame And _Venus_ looked stale. _Eurymine_, thy selfe alone Shouldst beare the golden ball; So far would thy most heauenly forme Excell the others all; O happie _Phoebus_! happie then, Most happie should I bee If faire _Eurymine_ would please To ioyne in loue with mee.

_Enter Eurymine_.

_Eu_. Although there be such difference in the chaunge To Hue in Court and desart woods to raunge, Yet in extremes, wherein we cannot chuse, An extreame refuge is not to refuse. Good gentlemen, did any see my heard? I shall not finde them out I am afeard; And yet my maister wayteth with his bowe Within a standeing, for to strike a Doe. You saw them not, your silence makes me doubt; I must goe further till I finde them out.

_Ap_. What seeke you, prettie mayde?

_Eu_. Forsooth, my heard of Deere.

_Ap_. I sawe them lately, but they are not heere.

_Eu_. I pray, sir, where?

_Ap_. An houre agoe, or twaine, I sawe them feeding all aboue the plaine.

_Eu_. So much the more the toile to fetch them in. I thanke you, sir.

_Ap_. Nay, stay, sweet Nymph, with mee.

_Eu_. My busines cannot so dispatched bee.

_Ap_. But pray ye, Maide, it will be verie good To take the shade in this vnhaunted wood. This flouring bay, with branches large and great, Will shrowd ye safely from the parching heat.

_Eu_. Good sir, my busines calls me hence in haste.

_Ap_. O stay with him who conquered thou hast, With him whose restles thoughts do beat on thee, With him that ioyes thy wished face to see, With him whose ioyes surmount all ioyes aboue If thou wouldst thinke him worthie of thy loue.

_Eu_. Why, Sir, would you desire another make, And weare that garland for your mistres sake?

_Ap_. No, Nymph; although I loue this laurel tree, My fancy ten times more affecteth thee: And, as the bay is alwaies fresh and greene, So shall my loue as fresh to thee be seene.

_Eu_. Now truly, sir, you offer me great wrong To hold me from my busines here so long.

_Ap_. O stay, sweet Nymph; with more aduisement view What one he is that for thy grace doth sue. I am not one that haunts on hills or Rocks, I am no shepheard wayting on my flocks, I am no boystrous Satyre, no nor Faune, That am with pleasure of thy beautie drawne: Thou dost not know, God wot, thou dost not know The wight whose presence thou disdainest so.

_Eu_. But I may know, if you wold please to tell.

_Ap_. My father in the highest heauen doth dwell And I am knowne the sonne of _Ioue_ to bee, Whereon the folke of _Delphos_ honor mee. By me is knowne what is, what was, and what shall bee; By me are learnde the Rules of harmonie; By me the depth of Phisicks lore is found, And power of Hearbes that grow vpon the ground; And thus, by circumstances maist thou see That I am _Phoebus_ who doth fancie thee.

_Eu_. No, sir; by these discourses may I see You mock me with a forged pedegree. If sonne you bee to _Ioue_, as erst ye said, In making loue vnto a mortall maide You work dishonour to your deitie. I must be gonne; I thanke ye for your curtesie.

_Ap_. Alas, abandon not thy Louer so!

_Eu_. I pray, sir, hartily giue me leaue to goe.

_Ap_. The way ore growne with shrubs and bushes thick, The sharpened thornes your tender feete will pricke, The brambles round about your traine will lappe, The burs and briers about your skirts will wrappe.

_Eu_. If, _Phoebus_, thou of _Ioue_ the ofspring be, Dishonor not thy deitie so much With profered force a silly mayd to touch; For doing so, although a god thou bee, The earth and men on earth shall ring thy infamie.

_Ap_. Hard speech to him that loueth thee so well.

_Eu_. What know I that?

_Ap_. I know it and can tell, And feel it, too.

_Eu_. If that your loue be such As you pretend, so feruent and so much, For proofe thereof graunt me but one request.

_Ap_. I will, by _Ioue_ my father, I protest, Provided first that thy petition bee Not hurtfull to thy selfe, nor harme to mee. For so sometimes did _Phaeton_ my sonne Request a thing whereby he was vndone; He lost his life through craving it, and I Through graunting it lost him, my sonne, thereby.

_Eu_. Thus, _Phoebus_, thus it is; if thou be hee That art pretended in thy pedegree, If sonne thou be to _Iove_, as thou doest fame, And chalengest that tytle not in vaine, Now heer bewray some signe of godhead than, And chaunge me straight from shape of mayd to man.

_Ap_. Alas! what fond desire doth moue thy minde To wish thee altered from thy native kinde, If thou in this thy womans form canst move Not men but gods to sue and seeke thy love? Content thyselfe with natures bountie than, And covet not to beare the shape of man. And this moreover will I say to thee: Fairer man then mayde thou shalt neuer bee.

_Eu_. These vaine excuses manifestly showe Whether you usurp _Appollos_ name or no. Sith my demaund so far surmounts your art, Ye ioyne exceptions on the other part.

_Ap_. Nay, then, my doubtles Deitie to prove, Although thereby for ever I loose my Love, I graunt thy wish: thou art become a man, I speake no more then well perform I can. And, though thou walke in chaunged bodie now, This penance shall be added to thy vowe: Thyself a man shalt love a man in vaine, And, loving, wish to be a maide againe.

_Eu_. _Appollo_, whether I love a man or not, I thanke ye: now I will accept my lot; And, sith my chaunge hath disappointed you, Ye are at libertie to love anew. [_Exit_.

_Ap_. If ever I love, sith now I am forsaken, Where next I love it shall be better taken. But, what so ere my fate in loving bee, Yet thou maist vaunt that _Phoebus_ loved thee. [_Exit Appollo_.

_Enter Ioculo, Frisco, and Mopso, at three severall doores_.

_Mop_. _Ioculo_, whither iettest thou? Hast thou found thy maister?

_Io_. _Mopso_, wel met; hast thou found thy mistresse?

_Mop_. Not I, by Pan.

_Io_. Nor I, by Pot.

_Mop_. Pot? what god's that?

_Io_. The next god to Pan; and such a pot it may be as he shall haue more servants then all the Pannes in a Tinker's shop.

_Mop_. _Frisco_, where hast thou beene frisking? hast thou found--

_Fris_. I haue found,--

_Io_. What hast thou found, _Frisco_?

_Fris_. A couple of crack-roapes.

_Io_. And I.

_Mop_. And I.

_Fris_. I meane you two.

_Io_. I you two.

_Mop_. And I you two.

_Fris_. Come, a trebble conjunction: all three, all three.

(_They all imbrace each other_)

_Mop_. But _Frisco_, hast not found the faire shepheardesse, thy maister's mistresse?

_Fris_. Not I, by God,--_Priapus_, I meane.

_Io_. _Priapus_, quoth a? Whatt'in[118] a God might that bee?

_Fris_. A plaine God, with a good peg to hang a shepheardesse bottle vpon.

_Io_. Thou, being a Forrester's Boy, shouldst sweare by the God of the woods.

_Fris_. My Maister sweares by _Siluanus_; I must sweare by his poore neighbour.

_Io_. And heer's a shepheard's swaine sweares by a Kitchen God, Pan.

_Mop_. Pan's the shepheardes God; but thou swearest by Pot: what God's that?

_Io_. The God of good-fellowship. Well, you haue wicked maisters, that teach such little Boyes to sweare so young.

_Fris_. Alas, good old great man, wil not your maister swear?

_Io_. I neuer heard him sweare six sound oaths in all my life.

_Mop_. May hap he cannot because hee's diseas'd.

_Fris_. Peace, _Mopso_. I will stand too't hee's neither brave Courtier, bouncing Cavalier, nor boone Companion if he sweare not some time; for they will sweare, forsweare, and sweare.

_Io_. How sweare, forsweare, and sweare? how is that?

_Fris_. They'll sweare at dyce, forsweare their debts, and sweare when they loose their labour in love.

_Io_. Well, your maisters have much to answer for that bring ye up so wickedly.

_Fris_. Nay, my maister is damn'd, I'll be sworne, for his verie soule burnes in the firie eye of his faire mistresse.

_Io_. My maister is neither damnde nor dead, and yet is in the case of both your maisters, like a woodden shepheard and a sheepish woodman; for he is lost in seeking of a lost sheepe and spent in hunting a Doe that hee would faine strike.

_Fris_. Faith, and I am founderd with slinging to and fro with Chesnuts, Hazel-nuts, Bullaze and wildings[119] for presents from my maister to the faire shepheardesse.

_Mop_. And I am tierd like a Calf with carrying a Kidde every weeke to the cottage of my maister's sweet Lambkin.

_Io_. I am not tierd, but so wearie I cannot goe with following a maister that followes his mistresse, that followes her shadow, that followes the sunne, that followes his course.

_Fris_. That follows the colt, that followed the mare the man rode on to Midleton. Shall I speake a wise word?

_Mop_. Do, and wee will burne our caps.

_Fris_. Are not we fooles?

_Io_. Is that a wise word?

_Fris_. Giue me leave; are not we fooles to weare our young feete to old stumps, when there dwells a cunning man in a Cave hereby who for a bunch of rootes, a bagge of nuts, or a bushell of crabs will tell us where thou shalt find thy maister, and which of our maisters shall win the wenche's favour?

_Io_. Bring me to him, _Frisco_: I'll give him all the poynts at my hose to poynt me right to my maister.

_Mop_. A bottle of whey shall be his meed if he save me labour for posting with presents.

_Enter Aramanthus with his Globe, &c_.

_Fris_. Here he comes: offend him not, _Ioculo_, for feare he turne thee to a Iacke an apes.

_Mop_. And thee to an Owle.

_Io_. And thee to a wood-cocke.

_Fris_. A wood-cocke an Owle and an Ape.

_Mop_. A long bill a broade face and no tayle.

_Io_. Kisse it, Mopso, and be quiet: Ile salute him civilly. Good speed, good man.

_Aram_. Welcome, bad boy.

_Fris_. He speakes to thee, _Ioculo_.

_Io_. Meaning thee, _Frisco_.

_Aram_. I speake and meane not him, nor him, nor thee; But speaking so, I speake and meane all three.

_Io_. If ye be good at Rimes and Riddles, old man, expound me this:--

These two serve two, those two serve one; Assoyle[120] me this and I am gone.

_Aram_. You three serve three; those three do seeke to one; One shall her finde; he comes, and she is gone.

_Io_. This is a wise answer: her going caused his comming; For if she had nere gone he had nere come.

_Mop_. Good maister wizard, leave these murlemewes and tel _Mopso_ plainly whether _Gemulo_ my maister, that gentle shepheard, shall win the love of the faire shepheardesse, his flocke-keeper, or not; and Ile give ye a bottle of as good whey as ere ye laid lips to.

_Fris_. And good father Fortune-teller, let _Frisco_ knowe whether _Siluio_ my maister, that lustie Forrester, shall gaine that same gay shepheardesse or no. Ile promise ye nothing for your paines but a bag full of nuts, and if I bring a crab or two in my pocket take them for advantage.

_Io_. And gentle maister wise-man, tell _Ioculo_ if his noble maister _Ascanio_, that gallant courtier, shal be found by me, and she found by him for whom he hath lost his father's favour and his owne libertie and I my labour; and Ile give ye thankes, for we courtiers neither giue nor take bribes.

_Aram_. I take your meaning better then your speech, And I will graunt the thing you doo beseech. But, for the teares of Lovers be no toyes, He tell their chaunce in parables to boyes.

_Fris_. In what ye will lets heare our maisters' luck.

_Aram_. Thy maister's Doe shall turne unto a Buck; (_To Frisco_.) Thy maister's Eawe be chaunged to a Ram; (_To Mopso_.) Thy maister seeks a maide and findes a man, (_To Ioculo_.) Yet for his labor shall he gaine his meede; The other two shall sigh to see him speede.

_Mop_. Then my maister shall not win the shepheardesse?

_Aram_. No, hast thee home and bid him right his wrong, The shepheardesse will leave his flock ere long.

_Mop_. Ile run to warne my master of that. [_Exit_.

_Fris_. My maister wood-man takes but woodden paines to no purpose, I thinke: what say ye, shall he speed?

_Aram_. No, tell him so, and bid him tend his Deare And cease to woe: he shall not wed this yeare.

_Fris_. I am not sorie for it; farewell, _Ioculo_. [_Exit_.

_Io_. I may goe with thee, for I shall speed even so too by staying behinde.

_Aram_. Better, my Boy, thou shalt thy maister finde And he shall finde the partie he requires, And yet not find the summe of his desires. Keep on that way; thy maister walkes before, Whom, when thou findst, loose him good Boy no more.

[_Exit ambo_.

_Actus Quartus_.

_Enter Ascanio and Ioculo_.

_Asca_. Shall then my travell ever endles prove, That I can heare no tydings of my Love? In neither desart, grove, nor shadie wood Nor obscure thicket where my foote hath trod? But every plough-man and rude shepheard swain Doth still reply unto my greater paine? Some Satyre, then, or Godesse of this place, Some water Nymph vouchsafed me so much grace As by some view, some signe, or other sho, I may haue knowledge if she lives or no.

_Eccho_. No.

_Asca_. Then my poore hart is buried too in wo: Record it once more if the truth be so.

_Eccho_. So.

_Asca_. How? that _Eurymine_ is dead, or lives?

_Eccho_. Lives.

_Asca_. Now, gentle Goddesse, thou redeem'st my soule From death to life: Oh tell me quickly, where?

_Eccho_. Where?

_Asca_. In some remote far region or else neere?

_Eccho_. Neere.

_Asca_. Oh, what conceales her from my thirstie eyes? Is it restraint or some unknown disguise?

_Eccho_. Disguise.

_Io_. Let me be hang'd my Lord, but all is lyes.

_Eccho_. Lyes.

_Io_. True we are both perswaded thou doest lye.

_Eccho_. Thou doest lye.

_Io_. Who? I?

_Eccho_. Who? I?

_Io_. I, thou.

_Eccho_. I, thou.

_Io_. Thou dar'st not come and say so to my face.

_Eccho_. Thy face.

_Io_. He make you then for ever prating more.

_Eccho_. More.

_Io_. Will ye prate more? Ile see that presently.

_Asca_. Stay, _Ioculo_, it is the Eccho, Boy, That mocks our griefe and laughes at our annoy. Hard by this grove there is a goodly plaine Betwixt two hils, still fresh with drops of raine, Where never spreading Oake nor Poplar grew Might hinder the prospect or other view, But all the country that about it lyes Presents it selfe vnto our mortall eyes; Save that vpon each hill, by leavie trees, The Sun at highest his scorching heat may leese: There, languishing, my selfe I will betake As heaven shal please and only for her sake.

_Io_. Stay, maister; I have spied the fellow that mocks vs all this while: see where he sits.

_Aramanthus sitting_.

_Asca_. The very shape my vision told me off, That I should meet with as I strayed this way.

_Io_. What lynes he drawes? best go not over farre.

_Asca_. Let me alone; thou doest but trouble mee.

_Io_. Youle trouble vs all annon, ye shall see.

_Asca_. God speed, faire Sir.

_Io_. My Lord, do ye not mark How the skie thickens and begins to darke?

_Asca_. Health to ye, Sir.

_Io_. Nay, then, God be our speed.

_Ara_. Forgive me, Sir; I sawe ye not indeed.

_Asca_. Pardon me rather for molesting you.

_Io_. Such another face I never knew.

_Ara_. Thus, studious, I am wont to passe the time By true proportion of each line from line.

_Io_. Oh now I see he was learning to spell: Theres A. B. C. in midst of his table.

_Asca_. Tell me, I pray ye, sir, may I be bold to crave. The cause of your abode within this cave?

_Ara_. To tell you that, in this extreme distresse, Were but a tale of Fortunes ficklenesse. Sometime I was a Prince of _Lesbos_ Ile And liv'd beloved, whilst my good stars did smile; But clowded once with this world's bitter crosse My joy to grife, my gaine converts to losse.

_Asca_. Forward, I pray ye; faint not in your tale.

_Io_. It will not all be worth a cup of Ale.

_Ara_. A short discourse of that which is too long, How ever pleasing, can never seeme but wrong; Yet would my tragicke story fit the stage: Pleasaunt in youth but wretched in mine age, Blinde fortune setting vp and pulling downe, Abusde by those my selfe raisde to renowne: But that which wrings me neer and wounds my hart, Is a false brothers base vnthankfull part.