SCENE I.[83

[_Enter_] SAMIAS _and_ DARES.

_Samias._ Eumenides hath told such strange tales as I may well wonder at them, but never believe them.

_Dar._ The other old man, what a sad speech used he, that caused us almost all to weep. (5) Cynthia is so desirous to know the experiment of her own virtue, and so willing to ease Endymion’s hard fortune, that she no sooner heard the discourse but she made herself in a readiness to try the event. 10

_Sam._ We will also see the event. But whist! here cometh Cynthia with all her train. Let us sneak in amongst them.

_Enter_ CYNTHIA, FLOSCULA, SEMELE, [EUMENIDES,] PANELION, _etc._

_Cynth._ Eumenides, it cannot sink into my head that I should be signified by that sacred (15) fountain, for many things are there in the world to which those words may be applied.

_Eum._ Good madam, vouchsafe but to try; else shall I think myself most unhappy that I asked not my sweet mistress. 20

_Cynth._ Will you not yet tell me her name?

_Eum._ Pardon me, good madam, for if Endymion awake, he shall; myself have sworn never to reveal it.

_Cynth._ Well, let us to Endymion. I will (25) not be so stately, good Endymion, not to stoop to do thee good; and if thy liberty consist in a kiss from me, thou shalt have it; and although my mouth hath been heretofore as untouched as my thoughts, yet now to recover thy life, (30) though to restore thy youth it be impossible, I will do that to Endymion which yet never mortal man could boast of heretofore, nor shall ever hope for hereafter. _She kisseth him._

_Eum._ Madam, he beginneth to stir. 35

_Cynth._ Soft, Eumenides; stand still.

_Eum._ Ah, I see his eyes almost open.

_Cynth._ I command thee once again, stir not. I will stand behind him.

_Pan._ What do I see? Endymion almost (40) awake?

_Eum._ Endymion, Endymion, art thou deaf or dumb, or hath this long sleep taken away thy memory? Ah, my sweet Endymion, seest thou not Eumenides, thy faithful friend, thy faithful (45) Eumenides, who for thy safety hath been careless of his own content? Speak, Endymion! Endymion! Endymion!

_End._ Endymion? I call to mind such a name. 50

_Eum._ Hast thou forgotten thyself, Endymion? Then do I not marvel thou rememb’rest not thy friend. I tell thee thou art Endymion, and I Eumenides. Behold also Cynthia, by whose favour thou art awaked, and by whose (55) virtue thou shalt continue thy natural course.

_Cynth._ Endymion, speak, sweet Endymion! Knowest thou not Cynthia?

_End._ O heavens, whom do I behold? Fair Cynthia, divine Cynthia? 60

_Cynth._ I am Cynthia, and thou Endymion.

_End._ “Endymion”! What do I hear[84]? What, a gray beard, hollow eyes, withered body, decayed limbs,—and all in one night?

_Eum._ One night! Thou hast here slept (65) forty years,—by what enchantress as yet it is not known,—and behold, the twig to which thou laid’st thy head is now become a tree. Callest thou not Eumenides to remembrance?

_End._ Thy name I do remember by the (70) sound, but thy favour[85] I do not yet call to mind; only divine Cynthia, to whom time, fortune, destiny, and death are subject, I see and remember, and in all humility I regard and reverence. 75

_Cynth._ You have good cause to remember Eumenides, who hath for thy safety forsaken his own solace.

_End._ Am I that Endymion who was wont in court to lead my life, and in justs, tourneys, (80) and arms, to exercise my youth? Am I that Endymion?

_Eum._ Thou art that Endymion, and I Eumenides: wilt thou not yet call me to remembrance? 85

_End._ Ah, sweet Eumenides, I now perceive thou art he, and that myself have the name of Endymion; but that this should be my body I doubt, for how could my curled locks be turned to gray hairs and my strong body to a dying (90) weakness, having waxed old, and not knowing it.

_Cynth._ Well, Endymion, arise. [_Endymion, trying to rise, sinks back._] A while sit down, for that thy limbs are stiff and not able to stay (95) thee, and tell what hast thou seen in thy sleep all this while,—what dreams, visions, thoughts, and fortunes; for it is impossible but in so long time thou shouldst see things strange.

_End._ Fair Cynthia, I will rehearse what (100) I have seen, humbly desiring that when I exceed in length, you give me warning, that I may end; for to utter all I have to speak would be troublesome, although haply the strangeness may somewhat abate the tediousness. 105

_Cynth._ Well, Endymion, begin.

_End._ Methought I saw a lady passing fair, but very mischievous, who in the one hand carried a knife with which she offered to cut my throat, and in the other a looking-glass, (110) wherein seeing how ill anger became ladies, she refrained from intended violence. She was accompanied with other damsels, one of which, with a stern countenance, and as it were with a settled malice engraven in her eyes, (115) provoked her to execute mischief; another, with visage sad, and constant only in sorrow, with her arms crossed, and watery eyes, seemed to lament my fortune, but durst not offer to prevent the force. I started in my sleep, (120) feeling my very veins to swell and my sinews to stretch with fear, and such a cold sweat bedewed all my body that death itself could not be so terrible as the vision.

_Cynth._ A strange sight! Gyptes, at our (125) better leisure, shall expound it.

_End._ After long debating with herself, mercy overcame anger, and there appeared in her heavenly face such a divine majesty mingled with a sweet mildness that I was ravished (130) with the sight above measure, and wished that I might have enjoyed the sight without end: and so she departed with the other ladies, of which the one retained still an unmovable cruelty, the other a constant pity. 135

_Cynth._ Poor Endymion, how wast thou affrighted! What else?

_End._ After her, immediately appeared an aged man with a beard as white as snow, carrying in his hand a book with three leaves, 140 and speaking, as I remember, these words: “Endymion, receive this book with three leaves, in which are contained counsels, policies, and pictures,” and with that he offered me the book, which I rejected; wherewith, (145) moved with a disdainful pity, he rent the first leaf in a thousand shivers. The second time he offered it, which I refused also; at which, bending his brows, and pitching his eyes fast to the ground, as though they were fixed (150) to the earth and not again to be removed, then suddenly casting them up to the heavens, he tore in a rage the second leaf, and offered the book only with one leaf. I know not whether fear to offend or desire to know some (155) strange thing moved me: I took the book, and so the old man vanished.

_Cynth._ What didst thou imagine was in the last leaf?

_End._ There portray’d to life, with a cold (160) quaking in every joint, I beheld many wolves barking at thee, Cynthia, who having ground their teeth to bite, did with striving bleed themselves to death. There might I see Ingratitude with an hundred eyes gazing for benefits, (165) and with a thousand teeth gnawing on the bowels wherein she was bred; Treachery stood all clothed in white, with a smiling countenance, but both her hands bathed in blood; Envy with a pale and meagre face (whose body (170) was so lean that one might tell all her bones, and whose garment was so tatter’d that it was easy to number every thread) stood shooting at stars, whose darts fell down again on her own face. There might I behold drones or 175 beetles—I know not how to term them—creeping under the wings of a princely eagle, who, being carried into her nest, sought there to suck that vein that would have killed the eagle. I mused that things so base should (180) attempt a fact so barbarous, or durst imagine a thing so bloody. And many other things, madam, the repetition whereof may at your better leisure seem more pleasing, for bees surfeit sometimes with honey, and the gods are (185) glutted with harmony, and your highness may be dulled with delight.

_Cynth._ I am content to be dieted; therefore, let us in. Eumenides, see that Endymion be well tended, lest either eating immoderately or (190) sleeping again too long, he fall into a deadly surfeit or into his former sleep. See this also be proclaimed: that whosoever will discover this practice shall have of Cynthia infinite thanks and no small rewards. 195

_Exeunt_ [_all except_ ENDYMION, EUMENIDES, FLOSCULA _and_ SEMELE.]

_Flosc._ Ah, Endymion, none so joyful as Floscula of thy restoring.

_Eum._ Yes, Floscula, let Eumenides be somewhat gladder, and do not that wrong to the settled friendship of a man as to compare it (200) with the light affection of a woman. Ah, my dear friend Endymion, suffer me to die with gazing at thee.

_End._ Eumenides, thy friendship is immortal and not to be conceived; and thy good (205) will, Floscula, better than I have deserved; but let us all wait on Cynthia. I marvel Semele speaketh not a word.

_Eum._ Because if she do, she loseth her tongue. 210

_End._ But how prospereth your love?

_Eum._ I never yet spake word since your sleep.

_End._ I doubt not but your affection is old and your appetite cold. 215

_Eum._ No, Endymion, thine hath made it stronger, and now are my sparks grown to flames and my fancies almost to frenzies: but let us follow, and within we will debate all this matter at large. _Exeunt._ 220