Part 23

CLORIN--Hail, holy earth, whose cold arms do embrace The truest man that ever fed his flocks By the fat plains of fruitful Thessaly. Thus I salute thy grave, thus do I pay My early vows, and tribute of mine eyes, To thy still loved ashes: thus I free Myself from all ensuing heats and fires Of love: all sports, delights, and jolly games, That shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off. Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt With youthful coronals, and lead the dance. No more the company of fresh fair maids And wanton shepherds be to me delightful: Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes Under some shady dell, when the cool wind Plays on the leaves: all be far away, Since thou art far away, by whose dear side How often have I sat, crowned with fresh flowers For summer's queen, whilst every shepherd's boy Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook, And hanging script of finest cordevan! But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee, And all are dead but thy dear memory; That shall outlive thee, and shall ever spring, Whilst there are pipes, or jolly shepherds sing. And here will I, in honor of thy love, Dwell by thy grave, forgetting all those joys That former times made precious to mine eyes, Only remembering what my youth did gain In the dark hidden virtuous use of herbs. That will I practice, and as freely give All my endeavors, as I gained them free. Of all green wounds I know the remedies In men or cattle, be they stung with snakes, Or charmed with powerful words of wicked art; Or be they love-sick, or through too much heat Grown wild, or lunatic; their eyes, or ears, Thickened with misty film of dulling rheum:

These I can cure, such secret virtue lies In herbs applied by a virgin's hand. My meat shall be what these wild woods afford, Berries and chestnuts, plantains, on whose cheeks The sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit Pulled from the fair head of the straight-grown pine. On these I'll feed with free content and rest, When night shall blind the world, by thy side blessed

[_A Satyr enters_.]

_Satyr_--Through yon same bending plain That flings his arms down to the main, And through these thick woods have I run, Whose bottom never kissed the sun. Since the lusty spring began, All to please my master Pan, Have I trotted without rest To get him fruit; for at a feast He entertains this coming night His paramour the Syrinx bright: But behold a fairer sight! By that heavenly form of thine, Brightest fair, thou art divine, Sprung from great immortal race Of the gods, for in thy face Shines more awful majesty Than dull weak mortality Dare with misty eyes behold, And live: therefore on this mold Lowly do I bend my knee In worship of thy deity. Deign it, goddess, from my hand To receive whate'er this land From her fertile womb doth send Of her choice fruits; and--but lend Belief to that the Satyr tells-- Fairer by the famous wells To this present day ne'er grew, Never better, nor more true. Here be grapes, whose lusty blood Is the learned poet's good; Sweeter yet did never crown The head of Bacchus: nuts more brown Than the squirrels' teeth that crack them; Deign, O fairest fair, to take them. For these, black-eyed Driope Hath oftentimes commanded me With my clasped knee to climb. See how well the lusty time Hath decked their rising cheeks in red, Such as on your lips is spread. Here be berries for a queen; Some be red, some be green; These are of that luscious meat The great god Pan himself doth eat: All these, and what the woods can yield, The hanging mountain, or the field, I freely offer, and ere long Will bring you more, more sweet and strong; Till when humbly leave I take, Lest the great Pan do awake, That sleeping lies in a deep glade, Under a broad beech's shade. I must go, I must run, Swifter than the fiery sun.

_Clorin_--And all my fears go with thee. What greatness, or what private hidden power, Is there in me to draw submission From this rude man and beast? sure. I am mortal, The daughter of a shepherd; he was mortal, And she that bore me mortal; prick my hand And it will bleed; a fever shakes me, and The self-same wind that makes the young lambs shrink, Makes me a-cold: my fear says I am mortal: Yet I have heard (my mother told it me) And now I do believe it, if I keep My virgin flower uncropped, pure, chaste, and fair, No goblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend, Satyr, or other power that haunts the groves, Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion Draw me to wander after idle fires, Or voices calling me in dead of night To make me follow, and so tole me on Through mire, and standing pools, to find my ruin. Else why should this rough thing, who never knew Manners nor smooth humanity, whose heats Are rougher than himself, and more misshapen, Thus mildly kneel to me? Sure there's a power In that great name of Virgin, that binds fast All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites That break their confines. Then, strong Chastity, Be thou my strongest guard; for here I'll dwell In opposition against fate and hell.

SONG

Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose On this afflicted prince; fall, like a cloud, In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud Or painful to his slumbers; easy, light, And as a purling stream, thou son of Night, Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain, Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain; Into this prince gently, oh, gently slide, And kiss him into slumbers like a bride!

SONG

God Lyæus, ever young, Ever honored, ever sung, Stained with blood of lusty grapes, In a thousand lusty shapes, Dance upon the mazer's brim, In the crimson liquor swim; From thy plenteous hand divine, Let a river run with wine. God of youth, let this day here Enter neither care nor fear!

ASPATIA'S SONG

Lay a garland on my hearse Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow-branches bear; Say I died true.

My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth: Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth!

LEANDRO'S SONG

BY FLETCHER

Dearest, do not you delay me, Since thou know'st I must be gone; Wind and tide, 'tis thought, doth stay me, But 'tis wind that must be blown From that breath, whose native smell Indian odors far excel.

Oh then speak, thou fairest fair! Kill not him that vows to serve thee; But perfume this neighboring air, Else dull silence, sure, will starve me: 'Tis a word that's quickly spoken, Which being restrained, a heart is broken.

TRUE BEAUTY

May I find a woman fair, And her mind as clear as air: If her beauty go alone, 'Tis to me as if 'twere none.

May I find a woman rich, And not of too high a pitch: If that pride should cause disdain, Tell me, lover, where's thy gain?

May I find a woman wise, And her falsehood not disguise: Hath she wit as she hath will, Double armed she is to ill.

May I find a woman kind, And not wavering like the wind: How should I call that love mine, When 'tis his, and his, and thine?

May I find a woman true, There is beauty's fairest hue, There is beauty, love, and wit: Happy he can compass it!

ODE TO MELANCHOLY

By Fletcher

Hence, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly! There's naught in this life sweet, If man were wise to see 't, But only melancholy; Oh, sweetest melancholy! Welcome, folded arms, and fixèd eyes, A sigh that piercing mortifies, A look that's fastened to the ground, A tongue chained up without a sound!

Fountain heads, and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves! Moonlight walks when all the fowls Are warmly housed, save bats and owls! A midnight bell, a parting groan! These are the sounds we feed upon; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

TO MY DEAR FRIEND, MASTER BENJAMIN JONSON,

UPON HIS 'FOX'

By Beaumont

If it might stand with justice to allow The swift conversion of all follies, now Such is my mercy, that I could admit All sorts should equally approve the wit Of this thy even work, whose growing fame Shall raise thee high, and thou it, with thy name; And did not manners and my love command Me to forbear to make those understand Whom thou, perhaps, hast in thy wiser doom Long since firmly resolved, shall never come To know more than they do,--I would have shown To all the world the art which thou alone Hast taught our tongue, the rules of time, of place, And other rites, delivered with the grace

Of comic style, which only is fat more Than any English stage hath known before. But since our subtle gallants think it good To like of naught that may be understood, Lest they should be disproved, or have, at best, Stomachs so raw, that nothing can digest But what's obscene, or barks,--let us desire They may continue, simply to admire Fine clothes and strange words, and may live, in age To see themselves ill brought upon the stage, And like it; whilst thy bold and knowing Muse Contemns all praise, but such as thou wouldst choose.

ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER

BY BEAUMONT

Mortality, behold, and fear! What a change of flesh is here! Think how many royal bones Sleep within this heap of stones: Here they lie had realms and lands, Who now want strength to stir their hands; Where from their pulpits, soiled with dust, They preach, "In greatness is no trust." Here's an acre sown indeed With the richest, royal'st seed, That, the earth did e'er suck in Since the first man died for sin: Here the bones of birth have cried, "Though gods they were, as men they died:" Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruined sides of kings: Here's a world of pomp and state Buried in dust, once dead by fate.

FROM 'PHILASTER, OR LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING'

ARETHUSA'S DECLARATION

Lady--Here is my Lord Philaster.

_Arethusa_--Oh, 'tis well. Withdraw yourself. _Exit Lady_.

_Philaster_--Madam, your messenger Made me believe you wished to speak with me.

_Arethusa_--'Tis true, Philaster, but the words are such I have to say, and do so ill beseem The mouth of woman, that I wish them said, And yet am loath to speak them. Have you known That I have aught detracted from your worth? Have I in person wronged you? or have set My baser instruments to throw disgrace Upon your virtues?

_Philaster_--Never, madam, you.

_Arethusa_--Why then should you, in such a public place, Injure a princess, and a scandal lay Upon my fortunes, famed to be so great, Calling a great part of my dowry in question?

_Philaster_--Madam, this truth which I shall speak will be Foolish: but, for your fair and virtuous self, I could afford myself to have no right To any thing you wished.

_Arethusa_--Philaster, know, I must enjoy these kingdoms.

_Philaster_--Madam, both?

_Arethusa_--Both, or I die; by fate, I die, Philaster, If I not calmly may enjoy them both.

_Philaster_--I would do much to save that noble life, Yet would be loath to have posterity Find in our stories, that Philaster gave His right unto a sceptre and a crown To save a lady's longing.

_Arethusa_--Nay, then, hear: I must and will have them, and more--

_Philaster_--What more?

_Arethusa_--Or lose that little life the gods prepared To trouble this poor piece of earth withal.

_Philaster_--Madam, what more?

_Arethusa_--Turn, then, away thy face.

_Philaster_--No.

_Arethusa_--Do.

_Philaster_--I can endure it. Turn away my face! I never yet saw enemy that looked So dreadfully, but that I thought myself As great a basilisk as he; or spake So horribly, but that I thought my tongue Bore thunder underneath, as much as his; Nor beast that I could turn from: shall I then Begin to fear sweet sounds? a lady's voice, Whom I do love? Say, you would have my life: Why, I will give it you; for 'tis to me A thing so loathed, and unto you that ask Of so poor use, that I shall make no price: If you entreat, I will unmovedly hear.

_Arethusa_--Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks.

_Philaster_--I do.

_Arethusa_--Then know, I must have them and thee.

_Philaster_--And me?

_Arethusa_--Thy love; without which, all the land Discovered yet will serve me for no use But to be buried in.

_Philaster_--Is't possible?

_Arethusa_--With it, it were too little to bestow On thee. Now, though thy breath do strike me dead, (Which, know, it may,) I have unript my breast.

_Philaster_--Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts To lay a train for this contemnèd life, Which you may have for asking: to suspect Were base, where I deserve no ill. Love you! By all my hopes I do, above my life! But how this passion should proceed from you So violently, would amaze a man That would be jealous.

_Arethusa_--Another soul into my body shot Could not have filled me with more strength and spirit Than this thy breath. But spend not hasty time In seeking how I came thus: 'tis the gods, The gods, that make me so; and sure, our love Will be the nobler and the better blest, In that the secret justice of the gods Is mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss: Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us, And we should part without it.

_Philaster_--'Twill be ill I should abide here long.

_Arethusa_--'Tis true: and worse You should come often. How shall we devise To hold intelligence, that our true loves, On any new occasion, may agree What path is best to tread?

_Philaster_--I have a boy, Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent, Yet not seen in the court. Hunting the buck, I found him sitting by a fountain's side, Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst, And paid the nymph again as much in tears. A garland lay him by, made by himself Of many several flowers bred in the vale, Stuck in that mystic order that the rareness Delighted me; but ever when he turned His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep, As if he meant to make 'em grow again. Seeing such pretty helpless innocence Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story. He told me that his parents gentle died, Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs, Which did not stop their courses; and the sun, Which still, he thanked him, yielded him his light. Then took he up his garland, and did show What every flower, as country-people hold, Did signify, and how all, ordered thus, Expressed his grief; and, to my thoughts, did read The prettiest lecture of his country-art That could be wished: so that methought I could Have studied it. I gladly entertained Him, who was glad to follow: and have got The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy That ever master kept. Him will I send To wait on you, and bear our hidden love.

THE STORY OF BELLARIO

PHILASTER--But, Bellario (For I must call thee still so), tell me why Thou didst conceal thy sex. It was a fault, A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds Of truth outweighed it: all these jealousies Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discovered What now we know.

_Bellario_--My father oft would speak Your worth and virtue; and as I did grow More and more apprehensive, I did thirst To see the man so praised. But yet all this Was but a maiden-longing, to be lost As soon as found; till, sitting in my window, Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god, I thought (but it was you), enter our gates: My blood flew out and back again, as fast As I had puffed it forth and sucked it in Like breath; then was I called away in haste To entertain you. Never was a man Heaved from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, raised So high in thoughts as I. You left a kiss Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep From you for ever; I did hear you talk, Far above singing. After you were gone, I grew acquainted with my heart, and searched What stirred it so: alas, I found it love! Yet far from lust; for, could I but have lived In presence of you, I had had my end. For this I did delude my noble father With a feigned pilgrimage, and dressed myself In habit of a boy; and, for I knew My birth no match for you, I was past hope Of having you; and, understanding well That when I made discovery of my sex I could not stay with you, I made a vow, By all the most religious things a maid Could call together, never to be known, Whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes. For other than I seemed, that I might ever Abide with you. Then sat I by the fount, Where first you took me up.

_King_--Search out a match Within our kingdom, where and when thou wilt, And I will pay thy dowry; and thyself Wilt well deserve him.

_Bellario_--Never, sir, will I Marry; it is a thing within my vow: But if I may have leave to serve the princess, To see the virtues of her lord and her, I shall have hope to live.

_Arethusa_--I, Philaster, Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady Drest like a page to serve you; nor will I Suspect her living here.--Come, live with me; Live free as I do. She that loves my lord, Cursed be the wife that hates her!

FROM 'THE MAID'S TRAGEDY'

CONFESSION OF EVADNE TO AMINTOR

Evadne--Would I could say so [farewell] to my black disgrace! Oh, where have I been all this time? how friended, That I should lose myself thus desperately, And none for pity show me how I wandered? There is not in the compass of the light A more unhappy creature: sure, I am monstrous; For I have done those follies, those mad mischiefs, Would dare a woman. Oh, my loaden soul, Be not so cruel to me; choke not up The way to my repentance!

[_Enter Amintor._]

O my lord!

_Amintor_--How now?

_Evadne_--My much-abused lord! [_Kneels._]

_Amintor_--This cannot be!

_Evadne_--I do not kneel to live; I dare not hope it; The wrongs I did are greater. Look upon me, Though I appear with all my faults.

_Amintor_--Stand up. This is a new way to beget more sorrows: Heaven knows I have too many. Do not mock me:

Though I am tame, and bred up with my wrongs, Which are my foster-brothers, I may leap, Like a hand-wolf, into my natural wildness, And do an outrage: prithee, do not mock me,

_Evadne_--My whole life is so leprous, it infects All my repentance. I would buy your pardon, Though at the highest set, even with my life: That slight contrition, that's no sacrifice For what I have committed.

_Amintor_--Sure, I dazzle: There cannot be a faith in that foul woman, That knows no God more mighty than her mischiefs. Thou dost still worse, still number on thy faults, To press my poor heart thus. Can I believe There's any seed of virtue in that woman Left to shoot up that dares go on in sin Known, and so known as thine is? O Evadne! Would there were any safety in thy sex, That I might put a thousand sorrows off, And credit thy repentance! but I must not: Thou hast brought me to that dull calamity, To that strange misbelief of all the world And all things that are in it, that I fear I shall fall like a tree, and find my grave, Only remembering that I grieve.

_Evadne_--My lord, Give me your griefs: you are an innocent, A soul as white as Heaven; let not my sins Perish your noble youth. I do not fall here To shadow by dissembling with my tears, (As all say women can,) or to make less What my hot will hath done, which Heaven and you Know to be tougher than the hand of time Can cut from man's remembrances; no, I do not; I do appear the same, the same Evadne, Drest in the shames I lived in, the same monster. But these are names of honor to what I am: I do present myself the foulest creature, Most poisonous, dangerous, and despised of men, Lerna e'er bred, or Nilus. I am hell, Till you, my dear lord, shoot your light into me, The beams of your forgiveness; I am soul-sick, And wither with the fear of one condemned, Till I have got your pardon.

_Amintor_--Rise, Evadne. Those heavenly powers that put this good into thee Grant a continuance of it! I forgive thee: Make thyself worthy of it; and take heed, Take heed, Evadne, this be serious. Mock not the powers above, that can and dare Give thee a great example of their justice To all ensuing ages, if thou playest With thy repentance, the best sacrifice.