SCENE XIV.

_Enter_ BRISTLE, HEATH, GUM.

BRIS. Pox o' the ugly baboon! she has got a face like a Bartholomew Fair baby, and a mouth like the whale that swallowed a whole fleet. Her fingers are rolling-pins, and her arms coal-staves! Hang her, what should women do with money, or anything that's good?

HEATH. You say true. If we had let 'um alone, I warrant these boxes had been kept till they were mouldy, visited but once a quarter, and at last bequeathed by will and testament to some silly sober well-wisher of hers in her lifetime.

BRIS. One that never drank above four-shilling beer but once at a christening, and then had like to have got a red nose by it, cannot distinguish between a jug and a flagon, never was in an alehouse, knows not what a bush means, nor ever spent above twopence in his life, and that was upon a prayer-book.

GUM. Your tongues, methinks, run very glib; I wonder they do not screek for want of liquor. What, tapster? attendance here.

BUNG. Anon, anon, sir; I have it in my hand.

_Enter_ TAPSTER.

TAP. You're welcome, gentlemen; here's a cup of the best ale in London.

BRIS. How? gentlemen? untutored slave, saucy villain! Gentlemen? why, sirrah, do I look like a gentleman? I scorn thy terms, and let this kick put thee in mind of better language.

BUNG. Cry you mercy, I mistook you indeed.

HEATH. Sirrah, we'll make you know who you mistake; call one of your master's best customers gentleman!

BUNG. [_To some one outside._] Anon, anon, sir; I'll be with you presently.

BRIS. Sirrah, bid your master come in.

[_Exit_ TAPSTER.

GUM. Come, here's a round to the first inventor of the famous art of drinking.

BRIS. No, no; to the first finder out of the noble art of brewing; for we should be forced to drink water else.

HEATH. To neither; but to the first most commendable alehouse-keeper that sold three cans for twopence; he is the chief benefactor we have. Come, three cans to his health!

GUM, BRIS. A match!

_Enter_ WELCOME, DITTY, BUDGET, JENNITING, CURDS.

WEL. Set you merry, my merry, merry lads; what, do the cans dance nimbly?

HEATH. Yes, but we want a pipe or two; good mine host, let's have some whiff.

WEL. Here's a musician; honest Ditty and Budget too: if they do not make up the consort, they are very much out of tune.

DITTY. O Gum, have we found you out? my box, you slave!

BUD. And my budget!

WEL. Come, set about, set about, my boon companions.

BRIS. A devil on your snout! oatmeal face and tallow-chops, how came you hither with a pox, trow?

HEATH. Look here, Bristle, how like shorn sheep they look. Where shall we run? they have cast me into a fit o' th' shaking palsy.

BRIS. Come, we'll outface 'um.

WEL. Come, sit down, my jovial boys, and roar. This night we'll suck up all the dew.

_Enter_ BUNG, _with tobacco_.

BUNG. Here's a pipe o' th' best tobacco that Christendom affords; it grew under the King of Spain's own window. [_To other customers._] By and by; what do you want, sirs? [_Exit._

DITTY. And I warrant he used to fling pisspots out on't.

WEL. We'll drink ourselves into fish, and eat ourselves into cormorants; we'll not fast, though it be an eve to a surfeiting gawdy day.

HEATH. Is't an eve, say you? pray, what holiday is to-morrow?

WEL. Budget's and Ditty's nuptials. Drink freely; all is paid already, and you are Ditty's guests to-night as well as mine. There sit the brides. You shall not leave my house to-night, that I may be sure of you to-morrow morning at the solemnities; be merry then, and free. I'll pardon you your groats to-morrow, and none shall forfeit but he that is not drunk. [_Exit_ WELCOME.

HEATH, BRIS, GUM. Joy to the brides and bridegrooms!

DITTY. Gentlemen, you may see how quickly a man may be shuffled into a wedding; we liked at first sight, and why should we then defer our joys any longer?

BUD. Like the Spanish, I was beaten into love; but at last have overcome, thanks to mine host, that took my part.

CURDS. And I cheated into a bride; he that stole away my box made up the match between you and me.

BRIS. Is't so, i' faith? then, mistress bride, pray take this box. You know it, I believe, and me too.

HEATH. And you this bundle.

JEN. The thing I was cheated of! Art thou the thief too? O, the very villain!

CURDS. Lay hold of 'um, sweet Budget--the slaves that cheated us in a disguise.

DITTY. Come, what's the matter? we'll have no quarrelling to-night; we forgive all.

GUM. Then your books may be freed for eighteen-pence; that's all they are engaged for yet, and the budget but for two shillings.

DITTY, BUD. We forgive most willing.

DITTY. A porter would not have carried 'um so far for the price.

BRIS. Here's a health to the brides, then, out of an extinguisher. I'll find 'um in mice-traps, brushes, steel and tinder-box all their lifetime.

HEATH. And I with brooms.

GUM. I'll cut their corns for nothing, and draw their teeth for a touch of their lips.

DITTY. Defer that health till to-morrow; in the meanwhile let's have on[e] to the genius of good ale.

OMNES. Begin't, begin't!

DITTY. _Submit, bunch of grapes,_ _To the strong barley ear:_ _The weak vine no longer_ _The laurel shall wear._

BUD. _Sack and all drinks else,_ _Desist from the strife,_ _Ale's th' only aqua vitæ_ _And liquor of life._

ALL TOG. _Then come, my boon fellows,_ _Let's drink it around;_ _It keeps us from th' grave,_ _Though it lays us o' th' ground._

BUD. _Ale's a physician,_ _No mountebank bragger,_ _Can cure the chill ague,_ _Though't be with the stagger._

DITTY. _Ale's a strong wrestler,_ _Flings all it hath met,_ _And makes the ground slippery,_ _Though't be not wet._

OMNES. _But come, my boon, &c._

DITTY. _Ale is both Ceres_ _And good Neptune too;_ _Ale's froth was the sea,_ _From whence Venus grew._

BUD. _Ale is immortal,_ _And be there no stops,_ _In bonny lads quaffing,_ _Can live without hops,_

OMNES. _Then come, my boon fellows,_ _Let's drink it around,_ _It keeps us from th' grave,_ _Though it lays us o' th' ground._

[_All drink._

_Enter_ WELCOME.

WEL. Well said, my whistling birds; 'tis spring with you all the year long, while the ale flourishes. Come, I have provided a supper will tire your teeth; 'tis but a prologue, though, of to-morrow's feast. I hope your appetites need no provocations. It now waits for you, but will not be ready till you concoct it. Come then, cheer up, my buxom girls; the cakes and posset my wife shall provide, and I'll engage myself to be father to you both. Ditty's ballads and his budget shall be cut out into favours and gloves. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[239] See Hazlitt's "Handbook," art. Jack. Only a second part is at present known.

[240] It is well known that in our old inns the various rooms had separate names.

[241] The usual burden of a song.

[242] This points to the custom of the landlord, when he joined any guests at a table, contributing a free jug or bottle.

[243] This saying arose from the duty on wool, levied to defray the cost of rebuilding the bridge (Knight's "London," i. 79). Nancy alludes to a dance so called.

[244] A well-known and often-quoted dance. See the poem by N. Breton, in "England's Helicon," 1600, repr. Collier, p. 222.

[245] Although Budget promises to await Ditty's return, he appears to retire to the back of the stage.

[246] Old copy, _hast thou_.

[247] Ale.

EPILOGUE.

WELCOME _the Host_.

Gentlemen and ladies, I am sent to you, Not to beg cast-by sheets, a shirt or two, Or clouts for th' teeming women, nor bespeak Gossips or guests against the christ'ning week: No off'ring for the married couple. What, then? Only to bid you welcome, gentlemen, Before your parting; and for th' women, beg That, when they travail, you'ld not sit cross-leg. But when their notes are turn'd to childbirth cries, You'd cry good speed to their deliveries; And if our cries have wanted mirth or wit, There's one more left, _We cry you mercy yet!_

THE SHEPHERDS' HOLIDAY.

_EDITION._

_The Shepheards Holy-day. A pastorall tragi-Comoedie._ _Acted before their Majesties at Whitehall by the Queenes_ _Servants. With an Eligie on the death of the most Noble Lady, the Lady Venetia Digby. London, Printed by N. and I. Okes for Iohn Benson.... 1635. 8o._

[This is one of the pieces which Isaac Reed did not retain in the edition of 1780, nor is it in that of 1825. Yet there is no apparent ground for its exclusion.

A piece bearing the same title as Rutter's was written by Sir W. Denny at a later date, and is printed from the original MS. in "Inedited Poetical Miscellanies," 1870.

It seems to be a hypothesis sufficiently plausible to justify a passing notice, in that one of the suppressed printed at the end of the "Private Memoirs of Sir Kinelm Digby," 1827, the intimacy of Digby with a royal personage is described in very warm terms and colours, and that Rutter, who was in Digby's family at one time, may have founded on what came to his ears the episode of Sylvia and Thyrsis in this production.]

[DODSLEY'S PREFACE.]

This author wrote in the reign of Charles the First. He lived with the Earl of Dorset, as tutor to his son, and translated, at the desire of his patron, the Cid of Corneille, a tragi-comedy, in two parts [1640-50, 8o]. It appears, from his dedication of this pastoral to Sir Kenelm Digby, that he lived also with that gentleman for some time, but in what capacity I cannot tell. The plainness and simplicity of this pastoral is commended by Thomas May, author of "The Heir" and "The Old Couple;" and also by Ben Jonson in the following lines--

"I have read And weigh'd your play; untwisted every thread, And know the woof and warp thereof; can tell Where it runs round and even; where so well, So soft, and smooth it handles, the whole piece, As it were, spun by nature off the fleece."

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

THYRSIS, _the lover of Sylvia_. HYLAS, _the lover of Nerina_. MIRTILLUS, _the common lover_. DAPHNIS, _the rich shepherd_. MONTANUS, _an ancient shepherd_. CHARINUS, _father to Nerina_. ALCON, an ancient shepherd. NUNTIUS.

_Chorus of Shepherds._

SYLVIA, _beloved of Thyrsis_. NERINA, _a huntress, beloved of Hylas and of Daphnis_. DORINDA, _enamoured of Daphnis_. DELIA, _a court lady_.

EUARCHUS, _king of Arcady_. EUBULUS, _his councillor_. CLEANDER, _son to Eubulus_. _Attendants._

_The Scene, Arcady._

THE PROLOGUE FOR THE STAGE.

To this fair company I am to say, You're welcome all to a well-meaning play; For such our author made it, with intent To defame none. His muse is innocent: A virgin yet, that has not found the ways Out of foul crimes to raise herself a praise; And therefore she desires you would excuse All bitter strains, that suit a satire muse: And that which so much takes the vulgar ear-- Looseness of speech, which they for jests do hear. She hopes none such are here, therefore she dares Venture this story, purg'd from lighter airs: A piece entire, without or patch or maim, Round in itself, and everywhere the same. And if there be not in't what they call wit, There might have been, had it been thought so fit. A shepherd's muse gently of love does sing, And with it mingles no impurer thing. Such she presents unto your ears and eyes, And yet your Christian freedom not denies Of liking or disliking what you will: You may say this is well, or that is ill, Without dispute; for why should you that pay For what you have, be taught what you should say? Or made to judge by any square or rule, As if you came not to a stage, but school? No, he that made it says, if you will eat, He will not force your stomachs: there's your meat; Which if you like, 'tis well; if not, all's one; There must be difference in opinion. Besides, he's sure, whatever he could wish, Your taste, and not his art, must praise the dish.

The Shepherds' Holiday.

ACTUS I., SCENA I.

THYRSIS, MONTANUS.

THYR. Here in this grove I left her, here amongst These poplars, laurels, and these sycamores, Guilty of her sad loss: and yet behold They do appear as fresh and full of verdure, As when my love, clothed in her clearest looks, Did give them grace and lustre. Why do we, Poor silly men, bred up in cares and fear, The nurse of our religion, stoop to Nature, That only knows to form, not to preserve What she has made; since, careless of her work, She leaves to giddy Fortune the whole power Of ruling us? These senseless trees stand still, And flourish too, and in their pride upbraid My loss to me; but my dear Sylvia being Nature's best piece, made to excuse the rest Of all her vulgar forms, ah me! was left To desolation, till some horrid satyr, Bred in these woods, and furious in his lusts, Made her his prey; and now has carried her Into his dark retirings, or some cave, Where her poor Thyrsis never more shall see her. But I will be reveng'd: this wood, that now Is so bedeck'd with leaves and fresh array, I'll level with the ground, until it be As desolate as I.

MON. Alas, poor shepherd! [_Aside._

THYR. It shall afford no shade to anything, That hither us'd to come for its relief; But henceforth be for ever infamous: That, when some gentle shepherd passes by, And sees this ground rent with the crooked plough: Here, he may say, here 'twas that Sylvia Was lost, and then shall turn another way.

MON. Good Thyrsis, do not make so much of grief, Y' have fed it with too many tears already; Take comfort now.

THYR. What has my present state To do with comfort? If you see the trees Widow'd of leaves, the earth grown hard, and spoil'd Of the green mantles which she wont to wear, You wonder not if winter then appear.

MON. By these we know that season.

THYR. And must I, When she is gone, whose sun-like eyes did cherish An everlasting summer in my life, Feel any spring of joy to comfort me? No, father, grief with me is best in season.

MON. But whilst you mourn thus, who looks to your flock?

THYR. All as the shepherd is, such be his flocks, So pine and languish they, as in despair He pines and languishes; their fleecy locks Let hang disorder'd, as their master's hair, Since she is gone that deck'd both him and them. And now what beauty can there be to live, When she is lost that did all beauty give?

MON. But yet, methinks, for one that is a stranger, Scarce known to any here, but by her name, These plaints are overmuch. Besides, there are In fruitful Arcady as fair as she: I'm sure more rich and wise: make out of them A choice. Nerina is as fair as she, Dorinda's flocks are more than Sylvia's, And carry on their backs more wool than hers.

THYR. Let such base peasants as the gods do hate Admire their wealth and them for what they have, Their bodies' and their souls material Alike of drossy substance are compounded, And can contemplate nothing but the earth. No, Sylvia, whom some better god, perhaps For the reward of my well-tuned pipe, Sent down to me, made up of air and fire; Though since, because I knew not how to use With fair respect a gift so great as she, Has justly reft her from me,--is so much, So great a part of me, that in her absence Amidst my grief I feel some little joy, To see how much of me each minute wasteth, And gives me hope, that when I shall dissolve This earthly substance, and be pure as she (For sure the gods have ta'en her undefil'd), I may enjoy her looks, and though it be Profane to touch a hallowed thing like her, I may adore her yet, and recompense With my religion the proud thoughts I had Once to enjoy her.

MON. See how fond you are T'embrace a shadow, and to leave the substance! The love of Hylas to Nerina has More hopes than yours; though she be young and coy, Yet whilst Nerina is and Hylas too, One time or other they may both have joy.

THYR. May they prove happy in each other's love, And nothing please, but what each other do; For so liv'd Thyrsis and his Sylvia: Whilst Sylvia was, and Thyrsis was her love. Whatever Thyrsis pip'd, pleas'd Sylvia; Thyrsis admir'd whatever Sylvia sung, And both their joys were equal or but one. Well, I can now remember (and it is Some comfort to remember what I moan) That, when our loves began, how first I gaz'd On her, and she was pleas'd that I should look, Till greedily I had devour'd the hook. Love gave me courage then to speak my thoughts, And gave her pity to receive my words, They link'd our hearts together: from that time, Whene'er she saw me strike the furious boar, Though then my case she ru'd, and sigh'd full oft, Yet was she pleas'd to see my victory, And I receiv'd my vigour from her eye. Then would she make me chaplets of the best And choicest flowers, to adorn my head: Which when I wore, methought I did then grasp The empire of the world. But what of that? The more I then enjoy'd of heavenly bliss, The more my present grief and passion is.

MON. Well, Thyrsis, since my words do but renew The story of your grief, I'll leave to use Persuasions to you; for 'tis time, I see, And not my words, must cure your malady. [_Exit._

THYR. That time must put a period to my life, Or else it never will unto my grief: Come, boy, and under this same hanging bough The note, which thou attemper'st to my words, Sing, and be happier than thy master, boy.

1.

BOY. _Shall I, because my love is gone,_ _Accuse those golden darts,_ _Which to a blessed union_ _Struck our two loving hearts,_ _Since fortune, and not love, hath caus'd my moan?_

2.

_No, her pure image I shall prize,_ _Imprinted in my breast,_ _More than the fairest mistress' eyes,_ _That ever swain possessed,_ _Which in eternal bonds my fancy ties._

3.

_Come then, you sharpest griefs, and try_ _If you can pierce my heart,_ _But use, if you would have me die,_ _The best you can of art,_ _To wound a breast so arm'd with constancy._

THYR. Enough: I'll sigh the rest out. Go, my boy, Be careful of thy tender lambs, whilst I Seek out some hidden place to pine and die.

SCENA II.

HYLAS, MIRTILLUS.

Believe, Mirtillus, never any love Was bought with other price than love alone, Since nothing is more precious than itself: It being the purest abstract of that fire Which wise Prometheus first indu'd us with; And he must love that would be lov'd again.

MIR. Why, who can say Mirtillus does not love? Mirtillus, he who has employ'd his youth Ever in service of the fairest nymphs.

HYL. Mirtillus cannot love.

MIR. No, gentle Hylas? This riband and this hair you see me wear, Are they not ensigns of a lover? Say, What shepherdess whom ever swain thought fair, Has not Mirtillus courted, and obtain'd Some favour from. But you will think, because I do not fold my arms, and sigh, and spend The days, the gods have given me to rejoice, In whining passion, walking still alone, Now proud with hopes, then cast down with despair, Unequal to myself in everything, I cannot love. No, Hylas, know I love Dorinda, Chloris, Amarillis, all Whom ever love did to his altars call: And when this mistress frowns, I am content To take another; when that flame is spent By time, or put out by a rival, straight A third supplies her place, perhaps more worthy; If less, because she loves, I'll think her so.

HYL. Alas, Mirtillus! I do pity thee-- Pity the error which thou wander'st in, That think'st thou lov'st, and know'st not what it is.

MIR. Why, what is love, say you, if mine be not?

HYL. I know, Mirtillus, that no lover yet Purchas'd a lasting pleasure without grief; For love has gall in it as well as honey, And so compounded that, whosoe'er will taste The sweets of it, must take the bitter too, Out of both which is made our constancy. You, that embrace the false delights alone, Are a feign'd lover or (more truly) none.

MIR. I know not what you mean by constancy: I'm sure I love the fairest.

HYL. Still you err; For, if you lov'd the fairest, none had been The object of your choice but my Nerina; Nerina, she the glory of these woods, The only subject of all shepherds' song.

MIR. She has her share of beauty with the rest, And I confess she's fit for love as any; But why she only should take up your breast, And shut out all that have a right as good, Whose equal or transcendent beauty pleads As just a title to't as hers can do, I cannot reach the reason, but admire Your faith and (what you praise) your constancy.

HYL. Mirtillus, though I know your stubborn heart Could never entertain a lover's thought, Yet did I think you would have been more tender How you profan'd a name so sacred as Nerina's is, whom never any swain, Nor rural god, nor satyr, though he be Of savage kind, would ever violate: Nerina, in whose form love ever dwells, Attended by the Graces, which do range Themselves in order 'bout her comely face: Whose breasts without are hills of whitest snow, Within, the seat of blameless modesty, Regard of honour and pure chastity; Nor may a loose thought ever harbour there To tempt such lovers as you seem to be: Is it for that you slight her?

MIR. No, I love her As I do others, with whom I compare her. But you, that love with such intemperance, Make of your love a glass, wherein you see Each thing much greater than indeed it is: My love's too cold, you say; but I am sure Yours is too hot for any to endure: A mean, perhaps, 'twixt these I might approve.

HYL. You might, if there were any mean in love.

MIR. But whilst we talk thus, see, the flame has caught you; Your beauteous flame, Nerina, is at hand, Dorinda with her: dare you stay th' encounter?

HYL. No, let's withdraw, and watch her, where she goes.

SCENA III.

NERINA, DORINDA.

Dorinda, I have miss'd the chase to-day, Such is my chance, and he that lodg'd the deer Told me it was the fairest in these woods.

DOR. The gods do love you, sure, that thus have left Your thoughts so free for sport; mine are not so.

NER. Thou art in love, I warrant, art thou not?

DOR. That angry god pursues me in his fury, And forces me to love where I am scorn'd. Hapless Dorinda, why should he despise thee? Many a swain and many a rural god Have sought thy favours, and have sought in vain: Now thou art justly punish'd with disdain.

NER. Trust me, sweetheart, I cannot choose but wonder, To think that one of such a comely grace-- I do not flatter you--could sue to any For love, who are much fitter to be lov'd: Scorn him as much as he does thee; for men Love us no more! when we love them again.

DOR. Ah, good Nerina, you have spoken truth: It may warn other nymphs by my example, How they profess their loves to any man: I am past cure, for[248] he that wounded me Has left me quite disarm'd, and robb'd me of All those defensive arts which men will say Are natural and proper to our sex. I cannot change a face or weep one tear, Or laugh against my will, so violently My fate hath thrust me to this love, that all My faculties confess their weakness; and My flame is got so much above my reach, I cannot put it out, nor smother it.

NER. Alas, poor wench! tell me, who is the man Made up of so much rigid cruelty, That I may shun him wheresoe'er I go.

DOR. Do not you know him?

NER. No.

DOR. I hear he boasts To every shepherd and to every nymph How much I love him.

NER. Then it must be Daphnis.

DOR. Venus forgive me if I do disclose him, But he will do't himself: 'tis he, Nerina.

NER. Daphnis, that wooes my father to win me; He is my daily suitor; now I know How much he owes to pity and to thee; Until he pay that debt, I shall despise him.

DOR. Why, do not you love him as much as I?

NER. Love him! I know no greater misery, Than to love one that's not of human race-- A tiger rather; but a tiger is more mild Than he.

DOR. For love's sake, say not so! He has a manly feature, and does show As much of grace in his comportment as The best of shepherds can; him Titan made Of better clay than he did other men, Although his heart be flint and hardest rock. Yet is his heart so hard, or are my parts Rather unequal to his high deserts? For he can love, I see, since you he loves, And you deserve it. Had he thought me worthy, He would have lov'd me too; but as I am Worthless Dorinda, I am made his scorn, And I had rather be so, than Nerina Should want a servant such as Daphnis is.

NER. Prythee, no more of him: I hate his name As much as I would do the loss of honour, Which he injuriously would rob me of. No, no, Dorinda, if by love I be Enthrall'd to any, Daphnis is not he.

DOR. Why, is there any can deserve you more?

NER. Yes, many, that I could tell how to love Rather than him: for why should I love him, Whilst Hylas lives, and languishes for me? Hylas, who lov'd me in my infancy, And being then a boy, was never well If I was absent; nor indeed was I Content with any but his company. Our flocks still fed together: I on him, And he on me did feed his greedy eyes. Since, though his years have styled him man, he has Continu'd that first love with such respects, So full of innocence and simple truth, That howsoe'er my outward coyness is, My heart within tells me 'tis only his. Ah me! my father! prythee, let's away.

DOR. But Daphnis comes with him: for love's sake, stay!

SCENA IV.

HYLAS, MIRTILLUS, CHARINUS, DAPHNIS.

Pan be as cruel to his flocks and him As he has been to me!

MIR. Go, leave your cursing, And follow her; let me alone with him.

CHAR. Ha! have I found you? Ho! Nerina, stay! Your father calls you; was not that my daughter That made away so fast?

MIR. Who, she that's gone? Believe your eyes no more, they are false to you. Could you take one for her that's nothing like her? 'Twas Chloris went from us.

CHAR. Is't possible?

MIR. 'Tis true.

DAPH. I thought that it had been my love.

CHAR. I durst have sworn that she had been my daughter. What made she here? 'Twill ne'er be otherwise; Young women will be chatting with young men, Whate'er their fathers say. It was not so When I was young--a boy, as you are, shepherds.

MIR. We are not men with him till after fifty.

CHAR. We never durst keep company with women, Nor they with us: each one did carefully Attend his charge. And when the time was come, That we grew ripe in years, and were staid youths, Our fathers would provide us wives: we did not Carve for ourselves, as nowadays they do. But now our children think themselves as wise, Nay, wiser than their fathers, and will rule 'em: They can no sooner peep out of the shell, But they must love, forsooth. I would fain know, Whether 'twere fit a maid should be in love-- I speak now of that skittish girl, my daughter-- Before she ask her father's leave and liking?

DAPH. Tis true, Charinus, 'twere not fit indeed. Who should bestow the daughter but the father?

MIR. But, shepherds, did you never hear that once There was an age, the nearest to the gods: An age we rather praise than imitate; When no man's will nor woman's was enforc'd To any bent but its own motion? Each follow'd nature's laws, and by instinct Did love the fairest, and enjoy their wishes: Love then, not tied to any interest Of blood or fortune, hasten'd to his end Without control, nor did the shepherd number Her sheep that was his choice, but every grace That did adorn her beauteous mind or face. Riches with love then were not valued-- Pure, uncompounded love--that could despise The whole world's riches for a mistress' eyes. Pray tell me, Daphnis--you are young and handsome, The lover of our fairest nymph Nerina-- Would you, for all that fruitful Sicily Can yield, or all the wealth of Persia, Change one poor lock of your fair mistress' hair, Whilst she is yours, and you her shepherd are?

DAPH. Would she were mine, I'd ask no portion.

MIR. Spoke like a lover of the ancient stamp!

CHAR. Son, son, she shall be yours: why, am not I Her father, she my daughter? May not I Bestow her where I please?

MIR. Yes, if she like The man, she will bestow herself, ne'er fear it.

CHAR. What! she bestow herself without my leave? No, no, Mirtillus, you mistake my daughter. I cannot get her once to think of marriage, And truly I do muse to see a wench, That in all other things (although I say it) Has wit at will: can pin her sheep in fold As well as any: knows when to drive them home; And there she can do twenty things as well: Yet when I speak to her of marriage, She turns the head: she'll be a Dryad, she, Or one of those fond nymphs of Dian's train.

MIR. Old man, believe her not, she means not so; She loves to keep the thing for which she is So much belov'd--I mean her maidenhead-- Which, whilst she has, she knows to play the tyrant, And make us slaves unto her scornful looks: For beauty then itself most justifies, When it is courted; if not lov'd, it dies.

CHAR. Well, we will think of this. Come, Daphnis, come, I see you love my daughter, and you only Shall have her; it is I that tell you so, That am her father.

DAPH. Thank you, good Charinus; But I had rather she had told me so. [_Aside._

FOOTNOTES:

[248] [Old copy, _the cure, he_.]

ACTUS II., SCÆNA 1.

THYRSIS, MONTANUS. _To them_ MIRTILLUS.

[THYR.] This day the sun shot forth his beams as fair As e'er he did, and through the trembling air Cool Zephyrus with gentle murmuring Breath'd a new freshness on each tree and plant: My kids are gamesome too, as e'er they were; All show a face of gladness but myself.

MON. And why not you as well by their example?

THYR. Not in this life: here joy would be untimely: The gods reserve for me their comforts in Th' Elysian fields, or else they mock my sorrows.

MON. O, say not so, they're just and pitiful.

THYR. They are, but, father--so I still must call you-- When in the sadness of my soul I ask'd Before the altar of our great Apollo, What should become of me, or where my love, Bright Sylvia, was, whether alive or dead, Why should the oracle reply: _Go home_, _Thou shall enjoy thy Sylvia_?

MON. What more could you Desire to hear?

THYR. Ay, but when greedily I ask'd the time, the answer was, _That day_ _Thou art not Thyrsis, nor she Sylvia._ Then in this life I'm sure it must not be, For I was Thyrsis ever call'd, and she Known by no other name than Sylvia.

MON. It may be, for your importunity You might deserve this answer, or else is it Because the gods speak not their mysteries To be conceiv'd by every vulgar sense? I now remember what Acrisius, The wise and virtuous Acrisius, Was wont to say.

THYR. Why, what said he? Does it concern me aught?

MON. It may do, son; He bid us fly all curiosity, Seeking to know what future time may bring To us, which only gods above do know; And if at any time they do impart This knowledge unto us, it is enwrapp'd In such a mist, as we shall ne'er see through it: Because, said he, we have enough to do With what is present; the celestial powers Would not cut off our hopes, nor multiply Our cares, by showing us our destiny.

THYR. O, this discourse to a despairing lover What comfort does it bring? for heaven's sake, leave it And me; for I am best, I find, alone. Yet stay, there's something that I fain would ask you: You said this circle here about my neck Has so continued from my infancy, When first you took me up.

MON. 'Tis true, that circle Hung loosely then about your neck, which since Is fill'd with it. I left it there, because I saw some letters that were wrought about it.

THYR. And may they not be read?

MON. I think they may: But I could never find so great a clerk As could tell how t' expound the meaning of them.

THYR. My life is nothing but a mystery; That which I was, and that which I shall be, Is equally unknown. Now, if you'll leave me Unto my thoughts, they'll keep me company.

MON. I will; but here is one come to supply me.

_Enter to him_ MIRTILLUS.

MIR. Ay, let me alone.

_Sings._

_He that mourns for a mistress,_ _When he knows not where she is,_ _Let him kiss her shadow fair,,_ _Or engender with the air;_ _Or see, if with his tears he can_ _Swell at an ebb the ocean:_ _Then, if he had not rather die,_ _Let him love none, or all, as I._

This is the doctrine that I ever taught you, And yet you profit not: these scurvy passions Hang on you still. You that are young and active, That may have all our nymphs at your devotion, To live a whining kind of life as this, How ill it does become you!

THYR. True, Mirtillus; And yet I do not envy thee the pleasure Thou hast in thy dispers'd affections.

MIR. You would, if your head were right once; but love-- Your love does make an ass of all your reason.

THYR. Sure, a true lover is more rational Than you, that love at random everywhere.

MIR. I do not think so; all the reason love Has left you to employ in this discourse Will hardly bring me to confess it to you.

THYR. Why, all men's actions have some proper end, Whereto their means and strict endeavours tend: Else there would be nought but perplexity In human life, and all uncertainty.

MIR. Well, what will you infer on this?

THYR. That you, Who know no end at all of wild desire, Must in your wand'ring fancy see this way Leads unto madness, when too late you find That nothing satisfies a boundless mind.

MIR. Ay, but I do confine myself to two Or three at most; in this variety I please myself; for what is wanting in One, I may find it in another.

THYR. No. Not in another; one is the only centre The line of love is drawn to, must have all Perfections in her, all that's good and fair, Or else her lover must believe her so.

MIR. Ay, there's your error, that's the ground of all Your tears and sighs, your fruitless hopes and fears, When she perhaps has not so much t' adorn her As the least grace your thoughts bestow upon her.

THYR. Well, be it so; and yet this fair idea, Which I have fram'd unto myself, does argue Virtue in me; so that, if she be lost, Or dead--ah me! the sad remembrance of My Sylvia causes this--yet I must love, Because the character is indelibly Writ in my heart, and heaven is witness to it.

MIR. Well, I'll no more of this, I'll be converted Rather than call this grief to your remembrance.

THYR. Why, dost thou think I ever shall forget her? Or that where'er I set my careful foot, As in this place, will it not tell me that Here Sylvia and I walk'd hand in hand, And here she pluck'd a flower, and anon She gave it me; and then we kiss'd, and here We mutually did vow each other's love?

MIR. Nay leave, good Thyrsis: I did come to tell you This holiday our royal Prince Euarchus, Being remov'd to his house here near adjoining, Sent to command us to attend his person, With all our sports and wonted merriment, Wherein you always bore the chiefest part. And I have heard ('tis not to make you blush) The princess has commended your rare art And handsome graces, which you gave your music. Come, you must go with us, for Hylas is So far engag'd in love, and near his hopes, He will not stir unless his mistress go.

THYR. Alas, Mirtillus! I have broke my pipe, My sighs are all the music which I now Can make, and how unfit I am t' attend So great an expectation, you may see. Yet give me leave to think on it; at night Perhaps I'll go with you.

MIR. Till then farewell. [_Exit_ THYRSIS. The gentlest youth that ever play'd on pipe, But see, who's here? O, 'tis my other lover, His mistress with him; I will not disturb him.

SCENA II.

NERINA, HYLAS, MIRTILLUS.

NER. Shepherd, I would you'd leave to follow me.

HYL. How can I, sweetest, when my heart is with you?

NER. With me? Then tell me where, and see how soon I shall restore it you.

MIR. O, this is fine! [_Aside._

HYL. It hangs upon your eyes where, being scorch'd With their disdain, and dazzl'd with their lustre, It flies for ease unto your rosy lips. But, beaten thence with many a harsh denial, Fain would it come for better harbour here; But here for ever it must be an exile. For pity then, fair nymph, receive it you; And if you can, teach it the hardness of Your own, and make it marble, as yours is.

MIR. I see he is not such a novice as I took him for; he can tell how to speak. [_Aside._

NER. Well, if my heart be such as you will make it, I am so much the gladder that it is Of strength to be a fence unto my honour.

HYL. In vain a fence is made to guard the sheep, Where no wolf ever came.

NER. What, if within It keep a dog of prey, would they be safe? For my part, I'll not cherish in my breast The man that would undo my chastity.

HYL. Then cherish me, for you best know I never Attempted anything to cast a spot On that white innocence, to which I am A most religious votary.

MIR. More fool you! It may be, if you had, it needed not Ha' come to this. [_Aside._

NER. Yes, yes, you may remember, I blush to tell it you, when first my thoughts Were pure and simple--as I hope they are Still, and will so continue, whilst I fly Such company as you--- I thought you one Whom never any flame impure had touch'd: Then we convers'd without suspect together.

HYL. And am I not so still? why do you now Fly from me thus?

NER. The cause I shall tell you, Since you will not remember; though it be Unfit for me to speak, yet you shall know How just my anger is.

HYL. Ah me most wretched! What have I done?

NER. When tending of my flocks Under the shade of yonder myrtle-tree. Which bears the guilt of your foul misdemeanour, My maid Corisca cried out for my help, Because a bee had stung her in the face: You heard me speak in pity of her smart, A charm my mother taught me, that, being said Close to the place affected, takes away The pain: which gave her ease. But you, uncivil, Turning my courtesy to your vile ends, Feign'd you were stung too, and cried out your lips Had from the same sharp point receiv'd a wound: Pray'd me to say the same charm over there. I charitably lent my help to you, Mistrusting nothing of your purposes, When with ungentle hands you held me fast, And for my thanks gave me a lustful kiss. Canst thou remember this, and yet not blush? O impudence!

HYL. You will excuse the heat Of my desires; still I feel that sting, But dare not ask the cure, nor did I then Do any hurt: but since you think it was A fault, I do repent it, and am sorry I did offend you so.

MIR. Better and better! He'll cry anon, he has already ask'd Forgiveness of her. [_Aside._

NER. Well, shepherd, look You never see me more: I cannot love At all, or if at all, not you: let this Settle your thoughts.

HYL. O, it distracts them more: But since my presence is offensive to you, I must obey, yet, if I thought you would, When I am dead--the martyr of your beauty, Shed one poor tear on my untimely grave, And say that Hylas was unfortunate, To love where he might not be lov'd again, My ashes would find rest. And so farewell: The fairest, but the cruel'st nymph alive!

MIR. What, will you leave her thus?

HYL. I prythee, come, The sentence of my banishment is pass'd, Never to be recall'd.

MIR. Are these the hopes You fed upon? O, what a thing in nature Is a coy woman! or how great a fool The man is that will give her leave to rule! [_Exit_ HYLAS.

SCENA III.

NERINA.

NER. Alas! my Hylas, my beloved soul, Durst she whom thou hast call'd cruel Nerina But speak her thoughts, thou wouldst not think her so; To thee she is not cruel, but to herself: That law, which nature hath writ in my heart, Taught me to love thee, Hylas, and obey My father too, who says I must not love thee. O disproportion'd love and duty, how Do you distract me? If I love my choice, I must be disobedient; if obedient, I must be link'd to one I cannot love. Then either, Love, give me my liberty, Or, Nature, from my duty set me free. [_Exit._

SCENA IV.

DAPHNIS.

DAPH. Nerina, since nor tears nor prayers can move Thy stubborn heart, I'll see what gifts can do: They of my rank, whom most do deem unworthy Of any virgin's love, being rough, and bred To manage the estates our fathers left us, Unskill'd in those hid mysteries, which Love's Professors only know, have yet a way To gain our wishes. First we get the father: He knows our pleasure, and gives his consent. The daughter's eyes being blinded with our gifts, Cannot so soon spy our deformities, But we may catch her too. This Alcon says, A man whom age and observation taught What I must learn; yet though most women be Such as he has deliver'd, my Nerina Seems not to have regard to what I give, But holds me and my gifts both at one rate. What can I hope, then, out of this poor present: A looking-glass which, though within our plains 'Tis seldom seen, yet I have heard in cities They are as common as a lock of wool. However, if she take it, I am happy, So Alcon tells me; and he knows full well (He gave it me) that, whose'er shall look Her face in it, shall be at my dispose. In confidence of this, I will present it, And see my fortune; sure, I must needs speed: My friend, her father, comes along with her. But, O my fate! is not that nymph Dorinda Which keeps them company? Yes, sure, 'tis she; A curse light on her importunity! Her father urges something, and I hope On my behalf; let me observe a little.

SCENA V.

CHARINUS, NERINA, DORINDA, DAPHNIS.

CHAR. And as I oft have told you, I do wish To see you wise.

DOR. Is she not so, Charinus? Does she say anything that's out of reason?

CHAR. Do not tell me of reason; I would hear Of her obedience: therefore I say, be wise, And do as I would have you.

DOR. What would you Have her to do? you see she answers not To contradict you.

CHAR. I will have her answer To what I now demand, that is, to marry Daphnis, and I will have her love him too.

DOR. Love him, Charinus! that you cannot do: Her body you may link i' th' rites of Hymen; Her will she must bestow herself, not you.

DAPH. O, she was born to be a plague unto me. [_Aside._

CHAR. Why should she wish or hope for anything, But what I'd have her wish or hope for only? Come, to be short, answer me, and directly; Are you content to marry Daphnis, say?

NER. What is your pleasure, father?

CHAR. You do not hear, It seems, but what you list; I ask you once Again, if you will marry Daphnis? speak.

NER. Sir, I would marry whom you please to give me; I neither can nor ought to make my choice, I would refer that to you: but you know My inclination never lay to marry.

CHAR. I know you shall do that which I command.

NER. Now heaven forbid that I, who have thus long Vow'd to Diana my virginity, To follow her a huntress in these woods, Should yield myself to the impure delights Of Hymen, and so violate my faith.

CHAR. A fine devotion, is it not? to make A vow, and never ask your father leave! The laws will not permit it to be so.

DOR. The vow, Charinus, is not made to men: The laws have not to do with that which is Seal'd and recorded in the court of heaven.

CHAR. Do not tell me of vows: I'll have her marry, And marry Daphnis: is he not rich and handsome?

DOR. Ah me! I would he were not rich nor handsome: It may be then he would regard my sufferings. [_Aside._

CHAR. No, daughter, do not you believe you can Catch me with shifts and tricks: I see, I tell you, Into your heart.

NER. Alas! I would you did; Then your discourse would tend another way.

CHAR. Yes, you have made a vow, I know, which is, Whilst you are young, you will have all the youth To follow you with lies and flatteries. Fool, they'll deceive you; when this colour fades, Which will not always last, and you go crooked, As if you sought your beauty lost i' th' ground; Then they will laugh at you, and find some other Fit for their love; where, if you do as I Command you, I have one will make you happy.

NER. Ah me most miserable!

DAPH. Now I'll come in, And see what I can do with this my gift.

CHAR. Look now, as if the Fates would have it so, He comes just in the nick of my discourse: Come, use him kindly now, and then you shall Redeem what you have lost--my good opinion.

NER. O most ungrateful chance! how I do hate The sight of him!

DOR. Were it to me he came, How happy would this fair encounter be!

CHAR. Daphnis, you're welcome, very welcome to me, And to my daughter: what is that you have there?

DAPH. A present, which I mean to give my love.

CHAR. See but how true a lover Daphnis is; His hand is never empty when he comes. Welcome him, daughter: look what he has for you.

DAPH. O good Charinus! none must look in it, But she herself to whom it is presented.

CHAR. I am an old man, I, and therefore care not To see my wither'd face and hoary hair: Give it that young thing, she knows what to do with it. Daughter, come hither; use him courteously And kindly too: be sure you take his gift. [_Aside._ Daphnis, I'll leave you both together here; My sheep are shearing, I can stay no longer. [_Exit._

DAPH. Farewell, old man; health to my dearest mistress.

NER. And to you, shepherd.

DOR. Daphnis, am not I Worthy to have a share in your salute?

DAPH. How can I give thee part of that, whereof I have no share myself?

DOR. If you would love There where you are belov'd again, you might Make your content such as you would yourself.

DAPH. If you, Nerina, would vouchsafe to love Him that loves you, and ever will, you might Make your content such as you would yourself.

NER. Shepherd, I oft have wish'd you not to trouble Me and yourself with words: I cannot love you.

DAPH. As oft, Dorinda, have I spoke to you, To leave to trouble me: I cannot love you.

DOR. Will you then slight my love because 'tis offer'd?

DAPH. Will you then slight my love because 'tis offer'd?

NER. Somebody else may love you, I cannot.

DAPH. Somebody else may love you, I cannot.

DOR. O cruel words, how they do pierce my heart!

DAPH. O cruel words, how they do pierce my heart!

NER. How can I help it, if your destiny Lead you to love where you may not obtain?

DAPH. How can I help it, if your destiny Lead you to love where you may not obtain?

DOR. It is not destiny that injures me; It is thy cruel will and marble heart.

DAPH. It is not destiny that injures me; It is thy cruel will and marble heart.

NER. No, Daphnis; 'tis not hardness of my heart, Nor any cruelty that causes this.

DAPH. Then 'tis disdain of me.

NER. Nor is it that: I do not see in Daphnis anything To cause disdain.

DOR. Why do you not reply In those same words to me, malicious Echo?

DAPH. I pray, leave me; I have other business now To trouble me; if you disdain me not, Fair nymph, as you pretend, receive my offer.

NER. What's that?

DAPH. My heart.

DOR. I will, gentle Daphnis.

DAPH. O importunity!

NER. Give her thy heart. She has deserv'd it, for she loves thee Daphnis.

DAPH. First, I would tear it piecemeal here before you.

DOR. O me unfortunate! O cruel man!

NER. Stay, good Dorinda, I'll go with thee; stay.

DAPH. Let her go where she will; behold, sweet saint, This mirror here, the faithful representer Of that which I adore, your beauteous form; When you do see in that how lovely are Your looks, you will not blame my love.

NER. If I refuse it, My father will be angry. [_Aside._] Let me see it. Here, take thy glass again: what ails my head? I know not where I am, it is so giddy: And something like a drowsiness has seiz'd My vital spirits.

DAPH. How do you, love?

NER. Heavy o' th' sudden; I'll go home and sleep.

DAPH. So, let her go, and let this work awhile. She cast an eye upon me as she went, That by its languishing did seem to say, Daphnis, I'm thine; thou hast o'ercome at last. Alcon, th' hast made me happy by thy art [_Exeunt._

ACTUS III, SCENA I.

SYLVIA, DELIA.

Q. _Tell me what you think on earth_ _The greatest bliss?_ A. _Riches, honour, and high birth_. Q. _Ah! what is this?_ _If love be banished the heart,_ _The joy of Nature, not of Art?_

2.

_What's honour worth or high descent?_ _Or ample wealth,_ _If cares do breed us discontent,_ _Or want of health?_ A. _It is the order of the Fates,_ _That these should wait on highest states._

3.

CHORUS. _Love only does our souls refine,_ _And by his skill_ _Turns human things into divine,_ _And guides our will._ _Then let us of his praises sing:_ _Of love, that sweetens everything._

DEL. Madam, you're overheard.

SYL. I care not, Delia. Although my liberty and free discourse Be here denied me, yet the air is common: To it, then, will I utter my complaints, Or to thee, friend, to whom my love will dare To show the secrets of my heart; for others I do not care nor fear, so thou be faithful.

DEL. Madam, I have no life, but what I wish May be employ'd to do your beauty's service; My tongue is rul'd by yours: what you would have It speak, it shall; else further than my thoughts Nothing shall venture that you leave to me: And those my thoughts I'll keep to such restraint, As they shall never come within my dreams, Lest they betray your counsels. This I vow Religiously by----

SYL. Hold, I will not Have thee to swear, nor would I thou shouldst think That I so much suspect thee, as to urge An oath; I know thou hast too much of goodness, That's bred within thee, to betray a trust: And therefore, without further circumstance, I'll let thee know my fortunes, part of which I'm sure th' hast heard already.

DEL. Madam, I have, And wish'd that they had sorted to your wishes.

SYL. I thank thee, Delia; but my evil genius, That has pursu'd my innocence with hate, Brought me from thence, where I had set my heart, Unto this cursed Court which, though it be My place of birth and breeding, I do find Nothing but torment and affliction in it.

DEL. I guess the cause, sweet madam, but that's pass'd And now forgotten: if you clear your looks, Your father will enlarge you, and ne'er think On what you did, but that you are his daughter.

SYL. Alas, my Delia! thou dost mistake, My liberty is of no worth to me, Since that my love, I fear, will ne'er be free: Nor do I care what idle ladies talk Of my departure or my strange disguise, To colour my intents; I am above Their envy or their malice: But for th' unlucky chance that sent to me The over-curious eyes of him I hate-- Thou know'st the man.

DEL. Yes, you mean Cleander, Son to Eubulus, who is now your keeper: What star directed him to find you out?

SYL. His love, forsooth; for so he colour'd his Unseason'd boldness: told me he was not able To want my sight: and so, when every one Had given o'er their strict inquiry of me, He only, with too much officiousness, Observ'd me in the woods, walking alone: And when I would have shunn'd him, which perhaps Had I not done, he had not so well known me: He came and utter'd, as his manner was, His tedious complaints; until at length He brought me with him, making no resistance: And to ingratiate himself the more, He said he would convey me where my father Should have no knowledge of me. I refused it; Willing, however, to be rid of him. And now, you know, it is a full month since I did return to Court, but left my heart Behind me in those fields wherein I joy'd.

DEL. Madam, has not the Court more pleasure in it Than the dull country, which can represent Nothing but what does taste of solitude? 'Twas something else that carried you away.

SYL. 'Tis true, my Delia; for though thou wert Privy to my departure, yet the cause Thou couldst not tell, which I will now unfold; And think I trust my honour in thy hands, And maiden modesty: 'twas love that did it.

DEL. Love, madam! Sure, it is impossible You should find anything there worth your love.

SYL. Thou know'st the shepherds that do dwell about This place which, for their entertainments only, The king my father built, did use to come, As now they do, being sent for unto Court: I ever lik'd their sports, their harmless mirth, And their contentions, which were void of malice, And wish'd I had been born just such an one.

DEL. Your state is better, madam, as you are.

SYL. But I confess the rather, 'cause there was One amongst them of a more comely grace (Though none of them did seem uncomely to me) Call'd Thyrsis; and with him methought I could Draw out my life rather than any other, Such things my fancy then suggested to me: So well he sung, so passionate his love Show'd in his verse, thereto so well express'd, As any one would judge it natural: Yet never felt he flame, till this of me: Often he came, and oft'ner was desir'd Of me; nor did I shame in public there Before my father to commend his graces; Which when I did, the whole Court, as they use, Consented with me, and did strive to make them Greater than I or any else could think them: At last I was surpris'd, I could not help it; My fate with love consenting, so would have it: Then did I leave the Court--I've told thee all.

DEL. 'Tis strange! but, madam, though in that disguise, How could you hope (a stranger) to be lov'd Of him you held so dear?

SYL. I feign'd myself Of Smyrna, and from thence some goats I had And sheep, with them a rich commodity. Near him I bought me land to feed them; he Seem'd glad of it, and thinking me a stranger, Us'd me with such civility and friendship, As one would little look for of a shepherd; And did defend me from the avarice Of the old shepherds, which did think to make A prey of what I had. At length I saw He did address himself with fear to me, Still gazing on me. Knowing my love to him, I easily believ'd he lov'd me too-- For love, alas! is ever credulous-- And though I was resolv'd (having my end, Which was no more than to discourse with him) Never to let him know what flame I felt; Yet when I saw his tears, and heard his vows-- Persuasive speakers for affection-- I could not choose but open to his view My loving heart; yet with this caution, That he should ever bear respect unto My honour and my virgin chastity: Which then he vow'd, and his ambition Never was more than to attain a kiss, Which yet he hardly got. Thou seest, sweet Delia, How willingly I dwell upon this theme. But can'st thou help me, now that I have open'd My wound unto thee?

DEL. Alas! I would I could Invent the way to cure you; I should soon Apply my help: yet, stay, this day it is The shepherds come to Court.

SYL. 'Tis true, they come; But what is that to me, if Thyrsis come not? Or if he come, how shall he know me his, Or I enjoy his company?

DEL. Let me alone to work out that.

SYL. Thou dream'st: thou can'st not do it.

DEL. I'll undertake it; but how shall I know him Without inquiring, which must breed suspicion?

SYL. True, and beware thou ask; the majesty Which sits upon his brow will say 'tis he-- Thyrsis my love. But yet, perhaps, at this time, If I myself not flatter, thou shalt know him By his eyes cast down and folding of his arms, And often sighs that interrupt his words. For if his sorrow wears the liveries Which mine does for his absence, by these signs Thou shalt descry him.

DEL. These are silent marks: Yet will I not despair to find him out.

SYL. But when thou hast, what wilt thou say to him?

DEL. Give me but leave to use my mother-wit. You would be gone together, would you not?

SYL. Thou speak'st my thoughts: do this, and I will crown Thy faith: thou shalt be queen instead of me.

DEL. If you could crown me with your virtues, madam, I should be a queen indeed; in the meantime, As I am Delia, I'll do this business.

SYL. Do it, and when th' hast done, the god of love Reward thee with thine own desires for this.

DEL. Madam, withdraw; I hear your keepers coming. [_Exeunt._

SCENA II.

CLEANDER, EUBULUS.

Sir, you have put a bridle on my passions, And given my soul the liberty it wish'd: I now entreat your pardon for beginning A thing of so great consequence without Leave and advice from you.

EUB. 'Tis well, Cleander, It will behove you then to be reserv'd, And lock this secret up: for 'tis no jesting With kings, that may command our lives and fortunes: You now perceive her, whom we call the princess, To be your sister, and the love you bear her Must be a brother's friendship, not a lover's Passionate heat; but yet she must not know, That I her father am, and you her brother: And trust me, son, had I not seen despair Of life in you, which this love brought you to, I should not have reveal'd what now you know.

CLE. It was a comfort, sir, I do confess, That came in time to rescue me from death, So great her scorn was, and my love so violent.

EUB. Now you're at peace, I hope?

CLE. I am: but if I be too curious in asking where The king's son is, I shall desire your pardon: For, sure, it were injustice to deprive So great a prince of that which he was born to.

EUB. You are too far inquisitive; yet because I have engag'd you in a secret of As great importance, this I will not hide. The king, I told you, when his wife grew near The time of her delivery, sent to know Of our great oracle whether the child should be Female or male, and what should be its fortune.

CLE. What said the oracle? have you the answer?

EUB. It only was imparted unto me, And this it is, which I have never shown To any but the queen. Here take and read it.

_If e'er thy issue male thou live to see,_ _The child thou think'st is thine, thine shall not be;_ _His life shall be obscure: twice shall thy hate_ _Doom him to death. Yet shall he 'scape that fate:_ _And thou shalt live to see, that not long after_ _Thy only son shall wed thy only daughter._

This oracle is full of mystery.

EUB. It is; and yet the king would needs interpret That, should it prove a man-child, 'twas a bastard: And being loth that one not of his blood, As he conceived by this, should be his heir, Told me in private that, if it were male, He would not have it live; yet, fearing most To publish his dishonour and his wife's, He charg'd me not reveal it unto any, But take the child and see it made away, And make the world believe it was still-born.

CLE. And did you so?

EUB. No, for indeed I durst not For anything become a murderer.

CLE. How did you then?

EUB. I went unto the queen, Show'd her the state she was in, and besought her To be as careful of me as I was Of her, and we would work a better end Than she expected. So we both agreed That, if the child she then did labour with Proved to be a male, I should with care conceal The birth of it, and put a female child Instead of it, which I was to look out. It fortun'd that your mother then was ready To be deliver'd of your sister, and Time and good fortune did conspire to save The king's child and to make my daughter princess.

CLE. But what did then become of the young prince?

EUB. The queen protesting to me that it was The king's own child, conjur'd me to preserve it, Which as mine own I could not; for already Many took notice that my child was female, And therefore I was fain to publish her As dead, and buried an empty coffin. I rode forth with the child a full night's journey, With purpose to deliver it to some Plain honest man, that would be careful of it, And not inquisitive to know whose child It was, but give it breeding as his own: When, being frighted with the noise of arms Of some outlawed thieves, that did infest The place, I made all haste I could to 'scape 'em, Considering my charge; for that I knew, If I were taken, though they spar'd my life, The charge I had must needs betray me to The king, and then I could not hope for mercy I laid it down there, cover'd closely o'er, A circle 'bout his neck, wherein was writ--

_Archigenes, son of Euarchus and Eudora_

In characters known only to myself And to the king, in which I us'd to clothe Secret despatches when I writ to him From foreign states, and within the circle I grav'd the king's less seal, which then I kept. Some gold besides and jewels there I left, That, whosoe'er should find him might with that Defray the charge of his education; Howe'er, next day I purposed to return With speed, and carry it to some abode.

CLE. But did the queen know this?

EUB. She did not, Till my return next day: then, when I told her, The child was thence remov'd where I had left him.

CLE. Belike those thieves had carried him away.

EUB. 'Tis probable.

CLE. How could the queen take this So sad a story?

EUB. With such impatience That, being weak before, she shortly died.

CLE. But yet, sir, with your favour, might you not Have made inquiry after him?

EUB. I durst not, For fear of being discover'd. On your life, Take heed how you reveal this.

CLE. I am charm'd.

EUB. Then let us watch my daughter, for I fear The flight she made was for some other end Than for retirement, which she does pretend.

CLE. Henceforth I shall obey her as my princess, And love her as my sister, not my mistress.

EUB. You shall do well: come, let us to the king.

SCENA III.

HYLAS, MIRTILLUS, _Chorus of shepherds and shepherdesses,_ _representing Paris, OEnone, Venus,_ _and the Graces_.

HYL. It was my dream, and I will send it to her; Though I myself by her too cruel sentence Must never see her face.

MIR. What paper's that? Love verses, as I live! What's here? a dream! Nay, I will read 'em: therefore stand aside.

MIRTILLUS _reads_.

_Sleep, thou becalmer of a troubled sprite,_ _Which lead'st my fancy to that sweet delight_ _Wherein my soul found rest when thou didst show_ _Her shadow mine whose substance is not so,_ _Wrap up mine eyes in an eternal night:_ _For since my day springs only from that light,_ _Which she denies me, I account the best_ _Part of my life is that which gives me rest._ _And thou, more hard to be entreated than_ _Sleep to the heated eyes of frantic men;_ _That thou canst make my joys essential_ _Which are but shadows now, be liberal,_ _And outdo sleep; let me not dream in vain,_ _Unless thou mean'st I ne'er shall sleep again._

Alas, poor soul! will she not let thee sleep?

HYL. I knew I should be mock'd, but I'll divert him. [_Aside._ What are those thou hast brought along with thee?

MIR. The masquers, Hylas; these are they must trip it Before the king: dost like their properties?

HYL. What, Paris and OEnone--the old story?

MIR. But newly made, and fashion'd to my purpose; Brought hither to make good my own positions Against the company of puling lovers; Which if I do not, and with good effect, Let me be one myself; and that's a torture Worse than Apollo laid upon the satyr, When the rude villain durst contend with him. Look this way, Hylas; see OEnone here-- The fairest nymph that ever Ida bless'd, Court her departing shepherd, who is now Turning his love unto a fairer object; And for his judgment in variety. See how the sea-born goddess and the Graces Present their darling Helena to him! Be happy in thy choice, and draw a war On thee and thine, rather than set thy heart Upon a stale delight. Do, let her weep, And say thou art inconstant. Be so still; The queen of love commands it: you, that are The old companions of your Paris here, Move in a well-pac'd measure, that may show The goddess how you are content for her Fair sake to leave the honour of your woods; But first let her and all the Graces sing The invitation to your offering.

_Venus and the Graces sing._

_Come, lovely boy, unto my court,_ _And leave these uncouth woods, and all_ _That feed thy fancy with love's gall;_ _But keep away the honey and the sport._ CHORUS. _Come unto me,_ _And with variety_ _Thou shalt be fed, which nature loves and I._

2.

_There is no music in a voice_ _That is but one, and still the same:_ _Inconstancy is but a name_ _To fright poor lovers from a better choice._ CHORUS. _Come then to me, &c._

3.

_Orpheus, that on Eurydice_ _Spent all his love, on others scorn,_ _Now on the banks of Hebrus torn,_ _Finds the reward of foolish constancy._ CHORUS. _Come then to me, &c._

4.

_And sigh no more for one love lost:_ _I have a thousand Cupids here,_ _Shall recompense with better cheer_ _Thy misspent labours and thy bitter cost._ CHORUS. _Come then to me, &c._

_The dance ended, enter a Messenger._

NUN. Shepherds, if you have any pity, come And see a woful spectacle.

MIR. What is't, That can be worth the breaking of our sports?

NUN. The gentle nymph Nerina--

HYL. What of her?

NUN. The last of her: I think see lies a-dying, And calls to speak with you.

HYL. Curse of your follies! Do I live here whilst she is dying there?

MIR. But, shepherd, what disease is't that so soon Could spend his force upon her? she was well This morning, when she made poor Hylas sick.

MON. I know not; I am sent unto the well Of Esculapius to fetch some water For her recovery. I must be gone. [_Exit._

MIR. Shepherds, here let us end. I think we are Perfect in all the rest. This night the king Must see't, resolve on that.

CHORUS. We are all ready.

MIR. Then let's away, and see what will betide This gentle nymph Nerina.

CHORUS. We'll go with you.

SCENA IV.

CHARINUS, NERINA, DORINDA, HYLAS, MIRTILLUS, NUNTIUS.

Hold up thy head, good child: see, he is come. Bring me the water quickly, whilst there is Some life in her. Now chafe her, good Dorinda.

NER. All is in vain, I cannot live; dear father, Farewell. What shepherd's that lies on the ground? Is it not Hylas?

DOR. Yes, it is he, Nerina.

NER. Alas, poor shepherd! 'tis my greatest grief, That I have grieved him; I would beg life For nothing but to make him satisfaction.

MIR. Hylas, what, on the ground! look up and speak: Alas, he's dead!

NER. It cannot be: good father, Let me go to him, and but touch his ear, It may be that my voice may have more virtue.

CHAR. Do what thou wilt, sweetheart: see, my poor child, How charitable she is: being half-dead Herself, she pities others.

MIR. Mark her finesse, How at the brink of death she kisses him, And took this way to mock her simple father: O fine invention! sure, a woman's wit Does never fail her. [_Aside._

NER. Hylas, Hylas, speak, Nerina calls thee! speak to thy Nerina!

MIR. What cannot love do? It revives the dead, He's come to himself again!

HYL. What god is it That has the power to return my soul From the Elysian fields?

MIR. It is no god: A goddess rather, Hylas. 'Tis Nerina, Look where she is!

HYL. Ah! then I do not wonder I cannot die, when my best soul comes to me: Shall we live ever thus?

NER. How fain I would For thy sake, Hylas; but it cannot be: I feel a heavy sleep sit on my head, And my strength fails me; help me, sweet Dorinda, Farewell for ever! O, I die, I die!

HYL. And must I then be call'd to life again, To see my life expire before my face? You Fates, if you will take a ransom for her, Then take my life: but you are sure of that, You'll say, already; for in her one death Two lives are forfeit. Nerina, gentle nymph, The cause why now I live, open these eyes Once more, and I shall flourish like those plants The sun gives life to: else I fall and wither, Leaving behind nought but a worthless stem. Speak to thy Hylas, sweet Nerina, speak.

CHAR. Ah me! my daughter, hadst thou liv'd, perhaps I might have seen thee married to Daphnis, Now we must see thee buried. Ah me!

NER. Hylas!

HYL. She lives! give me some more of that---- That water there, see now she comes again! O gentle Destinies, but spare this thread, And cut a thousand coarser! Speak, Nerina; Give me some comfort, give thy father some, Or else behold three lives fall in thy death.

NER. Ye Fates, that keep th' account of all our days, Add but one minute to my life, that I May quit my soul of those two heavy burthens, Which now oppress it: dry your eyes, good father, Remember that the gods do send us nothing But for our good; and if my journey be Shorter than yours, the less will be my trouble. Will you forgive me, father, that I have not Paid so much duty to you as I ow'd you? Take my good-will, I pray, instead of it.

CHAR. See her good nature. Ay, child, 'tis enough, Thou always wert obedient.

NER. Shall I dare To speak my thoughts, and so discharge my soul Of one load yet?

CHAR. Ay, do, my child; speak freely.

NER. I've heard you say that no sin was so heavy As is ingratitude.

CHAR. Tis true, Nerina. How she remembers what her father said!

NER. Then be not angry, if I now must tell you, That this poor shepherd, whose swoll'n eyes you see Cover'd with tears, for many years now pass'd Has courted me: but still with such a love, So full of truth and gentle services, That should I not requite him with my love, I should be guilty of ingratitude. Therefore, before I die, I pray give leave That he may have my dying heart, which living I still debarr'd him of. Hylas, thy hand! O, stay a little, death: here, take thou mine, And since I cannot live the wife of Hylas, Yet let me die so. Sir, are you content?

CHAR. I am with anything that pleaseth thee.

NER. Tell me, are you so, Hylas?

HYL. O my love, Ask me if I would live amongst the gods, But ask not this. Sir, have we your consent?

CHAR. You have: it is in vain now to deny it. You see, Dorinda, what her vow's come to!

NER. Then let me die, take me into thy arms, Sweet love, you'll see my coffin strew'd with flowers, And you, Dorinda, will you make a garland? I die a virgin, though I die his wife.

DOR. Alas, she's gone!

HYL. She's dead, and do I live?

CHAR. Look to the shepherd there! O my Nerina!

DOR. Vex not her soul, I pray, with often calling; You see she's dead.

CHAR. Then there is no hope left: Pray help us, shepherds, now to bear her hence; You'll come, I hope, to see her in her grave. [_Exeunt._

ACTUS IV., SCENA I.

THYRSIS, DELIA.

Here I am come unto a place where grief, They say, has no abode. In princes' courts, I've heard there is no room for love's laments: For either they enjoy or else forget. Thrice-happy men, to whom love gives such leave! It may be that this place or people may Work so with me, and melt this frozen heart: Ah fool! that can'st believe the change of place Or air can change thy mind; the love thou bear'st Is woven so within thy thoughts, that as Out of this piece thy Sylvia wrought for thee, Thou can'st not take her name forth, but withal Thou must deface the whole: so, Thyrsis, think The wind that here may rise, or heat or rain, Thou may'st avoid, thy love will still remain; And when thou diest, then may it die with thee; Till then resolve to endure thy misery.

_Enter_ DELIA.

DEL. This is the garden which I saw him go to, And that is he; for all the marks she gave me To know him by he bears.

THYR. A heaviness Weighs down my head, and would invite me to Repose myself; I'll take the offer; here I'll rest awhile, for I have need of it.

DEL. How if I be deceived, and this should prove Another man! What then? I can excuse it. He's laid already, and (I fear) asleep; I'll stay until he wake; but then suppose That anybody come, and take me here, What will they think of me? Best wake him. Shepherd! It is a handsome youth: see what a grace Shows itself in his feature--such a face Might take the heart of any lady living, Ay, though she were a princess. Shepherd! what, Not yet? his sleeps are sound.

THYR. Ah Sylvia, [_Speaks in his sleep._ Preserve thy life! O, let me die. Alas! I do but dream. Methought I saw myself Condemn'd to die, and Sylvia, to save me, Offer'd herself, and would needs die for me. 'Twas a sweet shadow: let me court this dream.

DEL. He must not sleep again: shepherd, look up.

THYR. Who envies me this small repose? Indeed I do not often sleep: ha, who are you?

DEL. Sent to thee from thy Sylvia. Shepherd, rise, And follow me.

THYR. Do I dream still! What are you? Came you from heaven, where my Sylvia is, And must I thither? whosoe'er you are, An angel or a fiend, in such a name You come, as I'm conjur'd to follow you: But I must die first. Here is to be with thee.

[_Offers to stab himself._

DEL. Stay, hold thy hand: she lives--thy Sylvia lives To make thee happy, if thou wilt go to her.

THYR. You're habited like those I've seen at court; And courtesy, they say, is ever there, Yet mingled with deceit. If you do mean T' abuse me for your sport, this way will prove Too sad to raise mirth out of. There's no ill That I have done to you or any else, Unless my constancy be here a sin.

DEL. His griefs have made him wild. [_Aside._ I have no time Left me to use persuasions, or to make This truth apparent to you; on my word, You shall be safe; and if you dare believe me, I'll bring you where your love is; follow me.

THYR. Why should I doubt, or fear to go with her? Ill does he call for physic whom the law Has doom'd to die. There's no condition Can prove worse to me than my present one. Pray, lead me where you please; I'm sure of this: To one that's desperate no way's amiss. [_Exeunt._

SCENA II.

EUARCHUS, EUBULUS, CLEANDER, _Attendants_.

All leave the room. Eubulus, I'm resolv'd To hold an easier hand over my daughter Than I was wont: therefore I sent Cleander To bring her to my presence. Though she have Wrong'd her great birth and breeding by her follies, Yet I consider that she is my daughter, And this restraint cannot but harden her In her fond resolutions. Have you sought By all the means you can to sift the cause Of her departure?

EUB. Sir, I have tried By all the ways that fit a subject, to Inquire a truth of one that is his princess.

EUAR. And what have you discover'd?

EUB. Nothing more Than what my son Cleander did before.

EUAR. I have heard his relation: but [I] wonder How for a whole month's time she should abide Within our confines, when so great a search Through all our countries, and loud proclamations, Were made for her recovery.

EUB. 'Tis true. She herein was ingenuous, and confess'd That she foresaw what search would be made for her: Therefore with some about her she had plotted To hire a bark that might convey her hence In a disguise to Smyrna, where she stay'd Till time did fit her, that with safety She might return in habit of a nymph Unto the place where then Cleander found her: But why she left the court she will not tell.

EUAR. I will not force her to't: some little time Perhaps may make discovery of that secret. But unto thee, my faithful councillor (As unto one my heart hath still been open), I will discover what my purpose is In sending for these shepherds to my court.

EUB. I should believe they're sent for to delight Your majesty, as they were wont.

EUAR. No, Eubulus; But for a greater end: I fear my daughter, And therefore I have sent for her to see These sports with purpose to observe her looks. For I suspect she loves some shepherd there.

EUB. It cannot be: she will not stain her birth With such ignoble love; yet I confess, Revolving all the causes of her strange Departure, I could fix on none but that.

EUAR. Well, if she do so, I will let her forth-- Forth of my blood; and whosoe'er he be Whose fortune mark'd him out to be the object Of this her love, shall find Ixion's fate, He shall embrace a shadow. By my life, They both shall die.

EUB. O my gracious lord, Remember she's your daughter!

EUAR. Ay, thou still Dost plead for her, but yet am I her king As well as father; private men respect Their profits and their private interests Of kindred, but the actions of a king To honour and renown must be directed: Consider that, and then thou wilt forget her.

_Enter_ CLEANDER.

Cleander, welcome! how does Calligone? Is she not glad to come unto our presence? Why dost not answer? Art thou frighted, man?

CLE. I know not how to answer anything, Unless your majesty will sign my pardon.

EUAR. Why, what's the matter? speak, and speak it freely.

CLE. Then know, great sovereign, that, when I went As full of joy as speed, with your glad message, I found the princess----

EUAR. What, not dead, I hope?

CLE. Dead to her honour.

EUAR. Ha!

CLE. In short, my lord, I found her walking in the garden with A shepherd--more of him I cannot tell; But she was habited in that attire She wore, when from the woods I brought her home. I slipp'd away, not being seen by them, And if you please to go, perhaps, great sir, You still may find them there.

EUAR. How now, Eubulus, Are my presages true? Shall I then sleep With this disgrace, and let my neighbour princes Mock at my humble fortunes, when they hear The daughter of Euarchus match'd herself With a base shepherd? Go, Eubulus, quickly: Here take my signet; let this be your warrant To put them both to death.

EUB. How! both, my lord?

EUAR. Ay, both.

EUB. Your daughter too?

EUAR. Why do you question me? Have I not said they both shall die: despatch. Let me not see thee till they both be dead. [_Exit._

EUB. What hast thou done! thou rash, inhumane boy? Depriv'd thy father of a child, thyself Of thine own sister, whom but now thou knew'st? Well may the king take that dear life away Which he did never give: I will go tell him I am her father: but I lose my life If I do that, as guilty of a treason. Go, murderer, hadst thou no pity in thee!

CLE. Sir, I do feel so much grief within me For this my act that, if my blood will serve To save her life, I'll make no price of it: Yet could I not imagine that the king Would have been so enrag'd; or if he would, I had no time to think of it before.

EUB. No time! who bid thee hasten to the ruin Of thy poor father and thy family? The messages which come to do us hurt Are speedy; but the good come slowly on.

CLE. But, sir, remember what a strait we're in: It will concern us to invent some way To save my sister, though the shepherd die; He will deserve it for his bold attempt.

EUB. Go, take thy way, whither thou wilt, thyself; That way is best which leads me to my grave. [_Exit._

CLE. What luck is this? This is more haste than speed: I am resolv'd, though my life lie at stake, To stand the fury of th' enraged king: Who knows but he may be as sorry for His sudden act, as I for mine. 'Tis here To save her, though it cost her lover dear. [_Exeunt._

SCENA III.

SYLVIA, THYRSIS.

Nay, stay a little, Thyrsis; we are safe. My wary keepers now are with the king.

THYR. Madam, for my poor self I do not fear; But when I think on you, and how your name And state, that is so eminent, must needs Receive a certain scandal and foul blot If we be seen together, blame me not, Though I do fear or doubt. What cruel fate, Angry with men, that gave us hearts alike And fortunes so asunder? You're a cedar, I a poor shrub, that may look up unto you With adoration, but ne'er reach your height.

SYL. But, Thyrsis, I do love you. Love and death Do not much differ; they make all things equal: The monuments of kings may show for them What they have been; but look upon their dust-- The colour and the weight of theirs and beggars' You'll find the same: and if, 'mongst living men, Nature has printed in the face of many The characters of nobleness and worth, Whose fortune envies them a worthy place In birth or honour, when the greatest men, Whom she has courted, bear the marks of slaves, Love (sure,) will look on those, and lay aside The accidents of wealth and noble blood, And in our thoughts will equal them with kings.

THYR. 'Tis true, divinest lady, that the souls Of all men are alike, of the same substance, By the same Maker into all infus'd; But yet the several matters which they work on-- How different they are, I need not tell you. And as these outward organs give our souls Or more or less room, as they are contriv'd, To show their lustre, so again comes fortune And darkens them, to whom the gods have given A soul divine and body capable Of that divinity and excellence. But 'tis the order of the Fates, whose causes We must not look into. But you, dear madam, Nature and fortune have conspir'd to make The happiest alive.

SYL. Ah me most wretched! What pleasure can there be in highest state, Which is so cross'd in love--the greatest good The gods can tell how to bestow on men?

THYR. Yet some do reckon it the greatest ill, A passion of the mind, form'd in the fancy, And bred to be the worst disease of reason.

SYL. They that think so are such as love excludes: Men full of age or foul deformity. No, Thyrsis, let not us profane that deity: Love is divine, the seed of everything, The cause why now we live, and all the world.

THYR. Love is divine, for if religion Binds us to love, the gods, who never yet Reveal'd themselves in anything to us But their bright images, the fairest creatures Who are our daily objects; loving them, We exercise religion: let us not Be scrupulous or fear; the gods have care Of us and of our piety.

SYL. But take heed: We cannot be too wary. Many things Oppose our wills; yet, if you think it fit, And this night's silence will so favour us, We'll go together: if we quit this country, It is no matter: all the world to me Will be Arcadia, if I may enjoy Thy company, my love.

THYR. No, Sylvia-- Pardon me, dear, if still I call you so-- Enjoy your fortunes; think how much your honour Must suffer in this act! For me, I find, It is enough that I have ever lov'd you: Now let me, at the light of your bright eye, Burn like the bird whose fires renew her nest; I shall leave you behind me to the world, The Phoenix of true love and constancy: Nor is that bird more glorious in her flames, Than I shall be in mine, though they consume me.

SYL. It must not be; for know, my dearest shepherd, I shall not tell one minute after thee; I find my soul so link'd to thine, that death Cannot divide us.

THYR. What then shall we do? Shall we resolve to live thus, till we gaze Our eyes out first, and then lose all our senses In their succession? Shall we strive to leave Our souls breath'd forth upon each other's lips? Come, let us practise: this our envious fates Cannot deny us.

_Enter_ CLEANDER.

CLE. What a sight were this, To meet her father? This would make him mad Indeed, and execute his rage himself. Madam, your father's here!

SYL. Ha, Delia! Cleander, is it thou? then I'm betray'd The second time; but must thy fortune make thee The instrument of my undoing still?

CLE. Shepherd, I will not honour thee so much As to inquire thy name: thou hast done that Thou wilt pay dear for, and I hope thy death Will take away the blot of this disgrace Th' hast laid upon the princess.

THYR. If you do this, You'll make me happy: it was this I look'd for, My trivial acts of life this of my death Will recompense with glory; I shall die To save my princess, and what's more, to save The life of her life, her unspotted honour. Bless'd lady, though you are as innocent And chaste as purest virgins that have yet Seen nothing in a dream to warm their blood, Yet the malicious world, the censuring people, That haste to cast dirt on the fairest things, Will hardly spare you, if it once be known That we were here together. As for me, My life is nothing but variety Of grief and troubles, which with constancy I have borne yet; 'tis time that now I die, Before I do accuse the gods, that have Brought me to this, and so pull on my death A punishment. Will you be merciful, And end me quickly?

CLE. Shepherd, know for this Thy resolution, which in noble bloods I scarce have found, I willingly would grant What thou desir'st. But something must be known Before that time either from you or you.

SYL. I know, Cleander, it is me you aim at: I do confess, this shepherd is my love; For his sake I did leave the court and thee, Unworthy as thou art to be his rival.

CLE. Madam, my duty bids me speak to you, Not as a lover now, but as you are My princess and the daughter of my king. I would not for the world have those desires Which I had then; for, sure, my bolder love Would have transgress'd the limits of all duty, And would have dar'd to tell you that this shepherd Was not a match for great Arcadia's heir, Nor yet one fit for my competitor. 'Tis not his outward feature--which how fair It is, I do not question--that can make him Noble or wise; whereas my birth, deriv'd From ancient kings, and years not far unsuiting Those of your own--to these my education, To you well known, perhaps might make me worthy Of being your servant.

SYL. Can'st thou look on this, This piece, Cleander, and not blush to boast Thy follies thus, seeking to take away From his full virtue? If but this one act Of his appear unto the world, as now It shall; for I'll not shame to publish him, Though I die for it: will it not devour Thy empty glories and thy puff'd-up nothings And (like a grave) will bury all thy honours? Do, take his life, and glory in that act; But, be thou sure, in him thou shalt kill two.

CLE. What mean you, madam?

SYL. Not to live a minute After his death.

CLE. That all the gods forbid!

SYL. No, they command it rather, that have made Our souls but one. Cleander, thou wert wont To be more courteous; and I do see Some pity in thee: if not for pity's sake, Yet for thine own good, spare his life, and take Mine; for thou know'st, when I am dead, this kingdom Thy father will inherit or thyself. 'Tis but the waiting of an old man's death, Who cannot long outlive me: will you do't?

THYR. Sir, you are noble, I do see you are, You lov'd this lady once: by that dear love-- With me it was a conjuration To draw my soul out, whilst I was so happy-- I do beseech you spare her noble life, Her death will sit full heavy on your soul, And in your height of kingly dignities Disturb that head which crowns will give no rest to. To take my life is justice.

SYL. Rather mine; I have offended in first loving him, And now betraying him unto his end.

THYR. Be not so cruel, madam, to yourself And me, to envy me a death so noble. Sir, as you hope your love shall ever prosper, Your great designs, your fights, whate'er they are; As you do hope for peace in your last hour, And that the earth may lightly clothe your ashes, Despatch me quickly, send me to my death.

CLE. A strange contention! Madam, will you please A little to retire: 'tis your honour That I do strive to save, as well as life. Pray, do not cross my purpose; I shall do Something that you may thank me for.

SYL. Cleander, Save but the shepherd, and I'll crown thy merit.

CLE. Will you be pleas'd to enter here?

SYL. But swear That thou wilt save him.

CLE. I shall do my best. I dare not swear; for 'tis not in my power To do what you command.

SYL. But will you swear To let me know of it before he die?

CLE. I will, by heaven.

SYL. Then I take my leave. And, Thyrsis, be thou sure, whatever fate Attends thy life, the same does govern mine: One kiss I must not be denied.

CLE. Fie, madam! How low is this in you?

SYL. Then thus we part, To meet again, I hope.

THYR. Down, stubborn heart, Wilt thou not break yet? In my death I find Nothing that's terrible; but this farewell Presents my soul with all the pains of hell. [_Exeunt._

SCENA IV.

MIRTILLUS, _Chorus of_ SHEPHERDS.

1ST SHEP. I'm sorry that this business went not forward.

2D SHEP. So am not I; we're rid of so much trouble.

1ST SHEP. Yet it is strange the king should send for us, And when we were come, command us to return.

MIR. No, 'tis not strange; it was his will to do so. But if you have an itch of dancing, friends, Next holiday we'll ha't amongst ourselves, And every man shall dance with his own sweetheart: What say you, shepherds? will't not be as well?

1ST SHEP. It will be very fine. But where is Thyrsis?

2D SHEP. Ay, where is he! you went along with him; Where did you leave him?

MIR. Walking in a garden, Where when I came to call him, he was gone.

2D SHEP. It seems he cares not for our company.

MIR. Neither for yours nor any man's besides.

1ST SHEP. He is much alter'd since his love was lost; Methinks he's nothing like the man he was.

MIR. Well then, beware, my friends, how you engage Yourselves in love: he is a fair example. And Hylas too--he's drooping for his mistress: Daphnis is mad, they say; if you've a mind To die or to run mad, then be in love.

2D SHEP. See where he comes, in what a fume he is!

MIR. I do not like his fumes: pray let's away. [_Exeunt._

SCENA V.

DAPHNIS. _To him_ DORINDA.

DAPH. He will not now be found, the traitor. But, Where'er he be, nor heaven nor hell shall save him From my revenge. To take away the life Of that sweet innocent, without whose sight He knew I could not live, and to do this Under the name of friendship! O ye gods! What age can parallel so great a mischief? This is his magic glass, which had the virtue To make her mine, but sent her to the gods. Bless'd soul, I will revenge thy death, and then I'll follow thee myself.

DOR. Daphnis, my, love, Whither so fast?

DAPH. Now, love, deliver me; And must you come to trouble me? Begone! I cannot stay to hear thy tedious follies.

DOR. Were all your vows then made but to abuse me? Are there not pains to punish perjur'd men? And will they not o'ertake you?

DAPH. 'Las, poor fool! The gods do laugh at such slight perjuries As come from lovers.

DOR. Yet it was no conquest To deceive one that would be credulous: A simple maid, that lov'd you!

DAPH. Then I see There is no end of women's reasoning; Or else this might suffice thee--that I cannot, No, nor I will not love thee.

DOR. Never?

DAPH. Never.

DOR. Go, cruel man, and if the god of love Will hear my prayers, thou in thy love shalt thrive, As I in mine: that, when thou art forlorn, Thou may'st remember her thou now dost scorn. [_Exeunt._

ACTUS V., SCENA 1.

HYLAS.

It was the cruel practice of my fate That lifted me unto the height of bliss To make my fall the greater: for no sooner Did I enjoy the love of my Nerina, But in a moment she was taken from me: A love so dearly bought with sighs and tears, So many years spent in the gaining her, And lost in one poor minute! It is better Always to live a miserable life Than once to have been happy. She is dead, And I alive, that cannot live without her. 'Tis fit that I die too; but by what means? By violence? No, that the gods forbid. A ling'ring grief, I need not fear, will kill me, When every day I shall repair, as now, Unto her tomb, and consecrate my tears And tearing sighs unto her blessed ghost. Some pitying god, when I'm dissolv'd away Upon her ashes, will congeal those tears, That they may clothe her dust; whilst some kind shepherd, Passing this way, does write this on her grave--

_See here Nerina, that from Hylas' eyes_ _Fed her fair flame, now in their dew she lies._

Thus I will have it: so the words shall run. [_Exit._

SCENA II.

DAPHNIS, ALCON, NERINA. _To them_ HYLAS, MONTANUS, CHARINUS, MIRTILLUS.

DAPH. It shall not serve thy turn, malicious shepherd, Though thou hast ta'en my love away by tricks, Yet all thy cunning and thy practices Shall not secure thee from my revenge.

ALC. Are these the thanks I have for that rich jewel Which I bestow'd on thee, ungrateful man?

DAPH. Yes, for a poison'd glass--a precious jewel!

ALC. I do confess 'twas poison'd.

DAPH. Do you so! And, to do me a courtesy, you kill'd her.

ALC. Yet hear me, she is not dead; and if she be, I'll pay my life for hers.

DAPH. Be sure thou shalt. But can'st thou hope for such a strong illusion To mock my sense? Did I not see her dead?

ALC. She did appear so: what you thought was death Is but a lethargy; though I profess not To draw the moon down from the sphere she is in, Or make the sun look bloody by my art, Yet am I well-inform'd in everything This glass is made of, and I know th' effects It works, and can discourse 'em.

DAPH. Let me hear them.

ALC. Have patience, and you shall: the glass, you see, Of this rare mirror which I gave you, is Made of a Memphian stone, that has the power To bring a deadly sleep on all the senses: With it, to make th' effects more strong, is mingled The quintessence, extracted in a limbec, Of the torpedo, which has such a quality That if the fisher touch it with his hook, A poison straight will creep through all his veins, Till it benumb his senses. This compounded, And made into a glassy metal, soon Reflects upon the eyes of him that looks in't A sleepy poison, which will stupefy The vital parts. Yet he that gave it me Taught me the cordial water which he us'd To restore spirits and heat unto those vitals; And I have brought it with me for our purpose. What have I wrong'd you now? Or is my present Worthy the thanks you give me?

DAPH. Yet you were To blame, that you'd not tell me this, before I gave it her.

ALC. In that I show'd my love; For I did fear your resolution, Though I were certain of recovering her.

DAPH. And what must now be done?

ALC. Here, where you found me, I saw her laid, and buried in the clothes She wont to wear--her father so would have it. I waited on the funeral with purpose To see the stone laid hollow on her grave, For fear of hurting her.

DAPH. It was well done.

ALC. Here I'll apply my medicine; you shall see Whether I lie or no.

DAPH. Let's lose no time. I long to see my love alive again.

ALC. Then help to lift this stone; see where she lies-- The same Nerina?

DAPH. She is dead, I see.

ALC. Love is still full of fears: give me the water.

DAPH. Here: but take heed it do not spoil her face.

ALC. If she be dead, you need not fear the change Of any colour. What a child is love!

DAPH. The gods, I see, will not let beauty die. She breathes--she stirs--her eyes begin to open As after sleep. O miracle!

ALC. How now? Is she alive? Will you believe your sense? Now I have put her in your hands, be sure You do not let her go, and lose no time. If you give credit to her words, you're lost. What cannot women's words and flatteries Effect with simple lovers? Think on that. Be confident: I'll leave you to your fate.

NER. Ye gods, where am I now? What place is this? What light is this I see? Are the same things Seen in this new world as they are in th' other? Or in the grave do men see waters, trees, As I do now, and all things, as I liv'd? But (sure) I live still. If I do, why then Was I here buried amongst these flowers? Sure, I am dead; but yet I walk and speak, And I have heard that those who once are dead Can never use their voice or action. But who is this I see here? Daphnis, ha! Are you dead too, as well as I?

DAPH. No, sweet; I live to be the servant of Nerina.

NER. Ay, so said Hylas, whilst I liv'd with him.

DAPH. She thinks of Hylas still: what shall I do?

NER. But tell me, Daphnis, in what place am I?

DAPH. In Daphnis' heart you live, and ever did.

NER. And so said Hylas, when we liv'd together.

DAPH. O gods, again! Nerina, think not on him; You must love me.

NER. Must they in this new world, As they have chang'd their lives, so change their loves? I never shall do that.

DAPH. You are deceiv'd: You are not dead.

NER. Not dead? How came I hither then?

DAPH. By my device to keep me company.

NER. But will you not declare how I came hither?

DAPH. Ask me not that; but go along with me.

NER. Stay, shepherd, whither would you have me go?

DAPH. Where love and silence shall befriend us best.

NER. But tell me, Daphnis, was not I once dead?

DAPH. You were; but I, your servant, chang'd that death Into a sleep.

NER. I know not what you mean: Can you change death into a sleep?

DAPH. I can, And did for love of you.

NER. This is a riddle: Pray let me know what you do mean by it?

DAPH. Come with me, and you shall.

NER. Nay, tell me first.

DAPH. Then know, fair shepherdess, that when I saw My love, my services, my gifts, my vows, Did all return to me without your love, I had recourse unto this artifice: A pleasant one of love's invention, Which you may well remember.

NER. What was that?

DAPH. I did present you with a looking-glass.

NER. You did, but what of that?

DAPH. Nothing at all. Pray, go this way with me.

NER. But tell me first.

DAPH. That cast you into this deep lethargy: Such was the magic of it.

NER. To what purpose Did you do this?

DAPH. To make you mine.

NER. Yours, Daphnis? How could you hope that without my consent?

DAPH. My services, I thought, would merit it; Besides, the world, not dreaming but you were Dead and here buried, we two might live Together, without being known to any.

NER. But could you practise tricks on those you love? Now you are paid with your own artifice: For know, there's none that can dispose of me But Hylas, who has long preserv'd my heart; And now my father, whom I did resolve For ever to obey, has made him mine By giving his consent, which had not been But for this trick of yours.

DAPH. Why then it seems You do not love me?

NER. Love you! Know, I had Rather embrace my death again than thee.

DAPH. Then 'tis no time to dally: come along, Or I will force you.

NER. Help me, shepherds, help!

DAPH. Fool! stop your mouth, no human help shall save thee.

_Enter_ HYLAS.

HYL. This is the place where I am come to pay My tears' first sacrifice upon this tomb That glories in the spoils of all my wealth.

NER. Hylas, come help me; see'st thou not that Daphnis Will ravish me?

HYL. Ha! what do I hear? The voice of my Nerina! so she spake When she did live; but now, alas! she's dead. Some devil mocks me with a vision, And voice unto it.

NER. Will you see me ravish'd Before your face? O Hylas! O my love!

HYL. Tis she, it is no vision: hold, ravisher, My love thou canst not take without my life.

_Enter_ MIRTILLUS, MONTANUS, CHARINUS.

MIR. What noise is this?

MON. Some shriek much like a woman's.

NER. O, help my love, Mirtillus!

MIR. Shepherd, hold; Let go this nymph.

DAPH. Or death or victory Shall crown my enterprise.

CHAR. Who makes this outcry?

MIR. Sir, I shall cool you, if you be so hot.

CHAR. My daughter here! was she not buried? Away, foul spirit, away! Let's part these shepherds.

NER. O father, do you think that I am dead? I am alive, as you are; touch me, see.

CHAR. She is alive indeed! How cam'st thou hither?

NER. Daphnis, whom you would have to be my husband, Brought me to this supposed death and grave.

CHAR. By what strange means, Nerina?

NER. By the glass You bid me I should take: he has confess'd To me that it was poison'd.

CHAR. Can it be? Can Daphnis do this? He had little reason.

DAPH. She was a fool to cry; I should ha' pleas'd her Ere this, perhaps.

CHAR. Here, Hylas, take my daughter, For she is thine: you, Daphnis, I did further In all I could, till you would find a trick To put yourself beside her.

NER. I forgive him: For though it was ill-meant, yet did it sort By accident unto my good.

MON. But will Our laws permit a ravisher to live?

HYL. No, no, Montanus: let him live, and envy Our present happiness.

DAPH. Cover, you gods, The world in public ruin, or else show me A way to hide my shame.

MON. What will he do?

MIR. He will go hang himself: what plots he had To fool himself with!

MON. They that practise tricks, Find them as jades, that throw 'em first, then kick 'em, As his has done.

CHAR. Come, shepherds, let's away, And solemnise these nuptials.

MIR. Stay, Montanus, Did the king send for you?

MON. He did.

MIR. And how?

MON. The message came from Thyrsis.

MIR. I'll go with you: 'Tis strange the king should send for you: pray heaven Thyrsis have done no mischief there: he's handsome, Of a good grace and moving eloquence: Perhaps some lady may have taken him Up for herself, and he, I'll lay a wager, Will be so squeamish that, if Sylvia Come in his mind, he ne'er will do her reason, And then her plot will be how to betray him-- Would I were in his place!

MON. I would thou wert, So he were safe.

MIR. I would comply, ne'er fear it; They live a heavenly life of love in court To that which we do here; a mistress there Will satisfy the longings of her lover, And never trouble Hymen for the matter: Then, if they like not, they may look elsewhere.

MON. Thou wilt be punish'd one day for thy mischief.

MIR. The mischief's in my tongue, I ne'er do any.

MON. No, I have heard that Stella was with child By thee, and thou must father it.

MIR. Who--I? Take me at that once--fathering of children, And make me common father of them all! A child's a pretty thing, and I should joy To see one of mine own. I'll tell thee truth, Montanus. By this hand, I never lay With any woman in my life.

MON. How then? You have courted all; who is it that Mirtillus Has not profess'd to love?

MIR. I do confess it, And that is all I could do; for before I could get earnest of any one's love, To whom I made address, even she would say: You have another mistress, go to her, I will not be her stale: and so by this means, Nor this nor that would do me any reason.

MON. You had ill luck, it seems; 'twas not your fault.

MIR. No, for if they would believe me, I did swear I had no other. Pray, Montanus, tell me---- For you have known the several ways of wooing, Which is the best and safest?

MON. O Mirtillus, Grey hairs have put the wilder thoughts of love Out of my head; cold blood and frozen limbs Fright all those heats away, in place of which Discretion and sobriety should come.

MIR. But, I have heard, old men do sometimes love.

MON. They doat, Mirtillus--give it the right name; In old men's bloods Cupid does quench his flames. But as we go, I'll tell thee: not to love At all is best; but if you needs must love, Love one, and seek no further. Thou wilt find Enough of her, if once she prove unkind.

SCENA III.

DAPHNIS, ALCON. _To_ DAPHNIS, DORINDA.

There is no way t' avoid the shame of this. Each shepherd's boy, that sings unto his flock, Will make me the scorn'd subject of his song.

ALC. Had you been sudden, as I counsell'd you, You had not fail'd: but you young men do never Go through with anything.

DAPH. For heaven's sake, Call not that wicked deed to my remembrance. I do repent me that I e'er begun it: I would not for a world have ended it: Nerina's chaste and fair, and I a villain. Leave me, I pray; for something tells me you Did first advise me to this damned act.

ALC. Nay, if you prize my friendship at this rate, I'll leave you to your penance. [_Exit._

DAPH. This old man Is full of malice; nothing troubles him. The ills that he has done fly from his thoughts, And he rejoices that he did them quaintly; I have begun my youth as if I meant To have my age so punish'd as his is.

_Enter_ DORINDA.

Who's this? Dorinda! I have done her wrong: I sued for love to her first, which obtain'd, I stuck disgraces on her; let me ask Forgiveness now, for 'twere too much to hope That she should love one stain'd with such a deed As I have done, so foul and impious.

DOR. Great love, if yet thou art not satisfied With all the wrongs I have sustain'd for thee; My blood, I hope, thy anger will appease, Which thou may'st glut thyself with.

DAPH. Gentle nymph.

DOR. I've been too gentle, do not mock me with't: O Daphnis! is it you? This is not well To mock me thus; your looks, when arm'd with frowns, Gave not my heart so deep a wound as this.

DAPH. I mean no scorn; I come to ask your pardon For what I've done already, not to heap More sins upon my head.

DOR. 'Tis very strange.

DAPH. But true, Dorinda; will you spit upon me? Take your revenge, for I have well deserv'd it.

DOR. But is this serious, Daphnis? O, take heed, Crack not my heart with such a load of grief And scorn, so press'd as this is: if you do, The gods will punish it; for though they have Neglected me thus long, they will revenge Such injuries as these.

DAPH. My many ills Discredit my repentance: if my words Can find no faith with you, believe my tears: Indeed they are not feign'd.

DOR. Even so you look'd When first you stole my heart: but I forgive you, Whate'er become of me, I still must love you.

DAPH. Forgive me first, and then I will begin By my endeavours and true services To deserve something of you, if not love.

DOR. There is not that hard-heartedness in man Which I did think, for he repents, I see. O Daphnis! if thou mean'st not this as scorn, Take me into thine arms, and I will be Thy slave.

DAPH. O, say not so; let me Rather be thine; it will be pride in me To be ambitious of it.

DOR. O my heart! What sudden joy thou strik'st into it now! But yet methinks I fear thou dost not love me.

DAPH. Why should you fear? By Pan, you are to me Whate'er you can imagine; equal--above All that I e'er thought fair; and if you be Content to hide my faults, and take me to Your nuptial bed, which yet I dare not hope-- But if you will, whene'er that day shall come, Th' embraces of my love and me shall be Such, as the Cyprian boy from our abundance Shall take his fires to kindle other hearts, Yet leave with us a flame which we will cherish, And keep alive unto eternity.

DOR. Women are ever credulous--most then, When knowledge of the truth would but afflict them. I dare not now distrust you, though I knew What you have said were false: it has a semblance Of such a pleasing truth: give me thy hand, And take thou mine; whilst we walk thus entwin'd, I shall think Daphnis never was unkind. [_Exeunt._

SCENA IV.

EUBULUS, CLEANDER. _To them_ THYRSIS, SYLVIA.

What, are they dead? is the king's will obey'd?

CLE. No, sir, they live, and Hymen in his bands Has tied them both; the happiest knot that e'er Knit two such equal hearts and loves together. O, I'm ravish'd with the news: my joy Is greater now than if sh' had been the daughter Unto our king, and I had married her.

EUB. I am amaz'd; pray Jove thou be'st not mad.

CLE. Somewhat exalted, sir, beyond myself, But yet not mad. Go, sir, unto the king; Tell him Cleander lives to make him happy.

EUB. Sure, thou wilt come unto thyself anon! Prythee, bethink thee.

CLE. Yes, sir, I do think, And know that I have news to make him live, And you an age yet longer.

EUB. This is strange.

CLE. 'Tis true.

EUB. But what is true?

CLE. 'Tis true, my sister Shall be a queen.

EUB. If she do live, I think She will; but yet you know we were commanded To cut that life off.

CLE. But your hasty son, That came so speedy with a fatal message, Was not so forward now; they both do live, And both are married.

EUB. Jupiter forbid!

CLE. The Fates command it, 'tis their proper work: The shepherd is a prince--your prince and mine, And married to my sister.

EUB. Ha! what's that? Prythee, digest thy troubled thoughts, and tell me What prince is this thou mean'st?

CLE. Archigenes.

EUB. Thou dream'st: it cannot be.

CLE. No? then come forth, You royal pair, and testify yourselves.

_Enter_ THYRSIS _and_ SYLVIA.

SYL. Father, your blessing.

EUB. Ha!

CLE. Nay, I've told all. She knows she is your daughter: look, sir, here; Here we must place our reverence.

EUB. Who's this?

CLE. Not yet? Then look upon this circle, that You know for certain, though you know not him.

EUB. 'Tis it--it is the same: _Archigenes,_ _Son of Euarchus and Eudora_: This is my character, and this my seal.

THYR. Sir, I have heard that by your piety My infant life was sav'd: now by the goodness, Deriv'd from you unto your son, I have Not only found my life, but my content. The sum of all my hopes--this lady here, Without whose love my life had been a torment.

SYL. And I the happiest maid that ever was, Conducted by the power of simple love, Have found, in place of him I thought a shepherd, A princely lover.

EUB. Rise, Calligone: The gods are just, I see, that, favouring My innocence, have brought this match about. But say, Cleander, what fate guided thee To this discovery?

CLE. Sir, should I tell you How many ways I cast to save my sister After the fatal message which I brought, I should be tedious, and keep you from What you do long to hear: in short, I soon Resolv'd to make away this royal shepherd: And knowing that, in this affair, to keep it Secret, despatch was needful, I commanded A servant, of whose faith and courage I Was well-assur'd, to kill him in my presence.

EUB. 'Tis strange thou shouldst be present at a murder.

CLE. 'Twas a necessity was laid upon me, Because I would be sure to see him dead. I bade him choose his death; when manfully He said he car'd not how, so he might die. I knew to strangle him was the readiest way, Which death himself was ready to embrace: This his so noble resolution Did startle me from mine; my servants' hands Trembled for fear, Presaging what a sin they were to act: He bade him be assur'd he would not start. And often call'd him to despatch him quickly.

SYL. What man could have a heart for such a deed, And see his face?

CLE. The prince, before he came To put the fatal twist about his neck, Besought me, as I ever hop'd for peace, I should preserve the princess; this I promis'd, And whatsoever else he would desire. He answered, nothing now, but hasty death; Then stripping off his doublet, I espied With a quick eye this golden circle here, When hastily I bid my servant hold, And let him go. He ask'd me why I stay'd; I told him that about his neck was sacred. He would have rent it off, but I forbad it.

EUB. What did you then?

CLE. Sir, I did well remember What I had heard of th' oracle and you, Which, with the computation of his years, I found agreeing to make up a truth; Which you before assur'd me. Then I ask'd him Whether he would be married to the princess Before he died; he thought that I had mock'd him, And said I practis'd tyranny upon him. Then went I to my sister, and desir'd The same of her. In fine, I saw them both Join hands and hearts together; but the prince Thought this a dream of life, which certain death Would wake him from, until I did assure him Of his great state, and that his love, whom now He thought to be the princess, was my sister; All which I did refer unto your knowledge.

EUB. This day for ever let it holy be, And you, whom love has brought through deep despair Unto the haven of your happiness, Enjoy each other freely. Of you, brave shepherd, But now my prince, I shall inquire anon Where and with whom you liv'd.

THYR. Sir, the shepherd Whom I call father stays without. Montanus His name is, by whose gentle hands (as he Has often told me) I was rescu'd first From cold and death, since under his kind roof Foster'd, and bred as his.

EUB. Go, call him in.

_Enter_ MONTANUS, MIRTILLUS.

You're welcome both; you may applaud your fortune That brought you such a shepherd. Stay all here, Whilst I go to the king. This day will add More years unto his life, when he shall say, No day shone brighter on Arcadia. [_Exit._

MON. We are both come to do our duties to you, I as being sent for, and Mirtillus with me, To celebrate your joys. Within a while, The shepherds and the nymphs will all be here.

THYR. My old companions shall be welcome all, As you are now; I never shall forget Your courtesy nor theirs.

SYL. Nor I the nymphs', Once my dear fellows; but you, Mirtillus, Though you did scorn to love, yet could you sing Well, if you listed of it.

CLE. Can shepherds then Despise that deity which we adore?

MIR. Madam, I reverence it in you, The perfect'st pattern of a constant lover, And in the honour of your nuptials I have a song, which if your grace will hear, 'Twill entertain the time.

SYL. Let it be sung.

_Song._

_Hymen, god of marriage-bed,_ _Be thou ever honoured:_ _Thou, whose torch's purer light_ _Death's sad tapers did affright,_ _And instead of funeral fires_ _Kindled lovers' chaste desires:_ _May their love_ _Ever prove_ _True and constant; let not age_ _Know their youthful heat t' assuage._

_2._

_Maids, prepare the genial bed:_ _Then come, night, and hide that red,_ _Which from her cheeks his heart does burn;_ _Till the envious day return,_ _And the lusty bridegroom say,_ _I have chas'd her fears away,_ _And instead_ _Of virgin-head,_ _Given her a greater good:_ _Perfection and womanhood._

THYR. Thanks, good Mirtillus; this indeed was proper Unto your subject.

MIR. Your thrice-happy match Being but now come to my knowledge, made me Contract myself into a straiter room Than the large subject might afford.

CLE. The king!

_To these_ EUARCHUS, EUBULUS.

EUAR. Although I wonder, yet I do believe thee, My faithful councillor.

EUB. Your majesty Has found me always real; but this truth The oracle's accomplishment will prove, That did foretell their match.

EUAR. Read it, Eubulus, Once more, and then call in my son and daughter.

EUB. _If e'er thy issue male thou liv'st to see,_ _The child thou think'st is thine, thine shall not be._

EUAR. Calligone is not my child; proceed.

EUB. _His life shall be obscure: twice shall thy hate_ _Doom him to death, yet shall he 'scape that fate._

EUAR. 'Tis true, that twice I did command his death, First thinking him a bastard, then a shepherd, For his offence: the gods are just. Go on.

EUB. _And thou shalt live to see, that not long after_ _Thy only son shall wed thy only daughter._

EUAR. This was a riddle ever till this day, Their marriage has made it plain. Eubulus, Call in Archigenes, and call thy daughter, The fair Calligone, that I may pour My blessings on them: and I long to see Those characters thou writ'st about his neck, That I may call him mine.

EUB. See where they are!

EUAR. Archigenes, come nearer, for thou art A stranger yet, although thou be my son. The character is plain, it is the same Eubulus writ to me: ye heavenly powers, Give me a heart that may be large enough T' express my joy for these and thanks to you.

THYR. My royal father--for I am instructed To call you so--if I have done amiss In hasting to this match, I ask your pardon.

SYL. And I for daring to aspire so high Without your leave.

EUAR. Rise both; you have my blessing. But who are these?

THYR. This is the shepherd, sir, Who took me up first, whom till now I call'd Father, and he deserv'd it for his care.

EUAR. Eubulus, this is he; Montanus, is it not?

EUB. He is deliver'd to me for the shepherd, Of whom your majesty may, if you please, Be well-inform'd of all those passages I left untold.

EUAR. Some other time we'll hear them: Let him be well rewarded.

THYR. Sir, these shepherds Are come to entertain your majesty With their devices, as their custom is; In which sometimes, until my fortune chang'd, I bore a part.

EUAR. Let them be feasted all, And study something new to celebrate These nuptials, which I will have proclaim'd Throughout my kingdom: and, Eubulus, see That everything be fitted for their honour. Come, let us to the temple, that we may With holy sacrifice appease the gods, Whose great decrees, though we did strive to hinder, Yet are they now fulfill'd. It is in vain T' oppose the Fates, whose laws do all constrain.

THE EPILOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN.

To you, most royal pair, whose lives have brought Virtue in fashion, and the world have taught, That chaste innocuous sports become the stage, No less than civil manners do the age, We dedicate this piece, but yet with fears To have displeas'd so chaste, so tender ears; Which if you free us from, we'll call this play No more the Shepherds', but our Holiday.

FUIMUS TROES: THE TRUE TROJANS

_EDITION._

_Fvimvs Troes, Æneid. 2. The Trve Troianes, Being a Story of the Britaines valour at the Romanes first invasion:_ _Publikely represented by the Gentlemen Students of Magdalen Colledge in Oxford._

_Quis Martem tunicâ tectum adamantinâ_ _Dignè scripserit?_

_London, Printed by I. L. for Robert Allott, and are to be sold at the signe of the Beare in Pauls-Churchyard, 1633. 4o._

INTRODUCTION

Dr Jasper Fisher, a gentleman's son, born in Bedfordshire, and entered a Commoner of Magdalen Hall in 1607, is declared by Wood[249] to be the author of this play. He afterwards took the degrees in arts, became divinity or philosophy reader of Magdalen College; rector of Wilden, Bedfordshire about 1631, and at length doctor of divinity. Besides this play he published some sermons. Oldys in his MSS. notes says he was blind. At what time he died is unknown. The title of this performance does not inform us when it was acted, nor is it spoken of as a republication.[250] Langbaine mentions no other edition but that of 1633, [nor is any other known, or believed to exist].

FOOTNOTES:

[249] "Ath. Oxon.," i. 619.

[250] All the acts close with songs by the Druids; and at the end of