SCENE I.

_Enter_ CLORIN, _a_ shepherdess, _having buried her love in an arbour_.

_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 5 To thy still-loved ashes; thus I free Myself from all ensuing heats and fires Of love; all sports, delights, and [jolly][3415] games, That shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off. Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt 10 With youthful coronals,[3416] 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 15 Plays on the leaves: all be far away, Since thou art far away, by whose dear side How often have I sat crown’d with fresh flowers For summer’s queen, whilst every shepherd’s boy Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook, 20 And hanging scrip of finest cordevan.[3417] 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. 25 And here will I, in honour of thy love, Dwell by thy grave, forgetting all those joys That former times made precious to mine eyes; Only rememb’ring what my youth did gain In the dark, hidden virtuous use of herbs: 30 That will I practise, and as freely give All my endeavours, as I gain’d them, free. Of all green wounds I know the remedies In men or cattle, be they stung with snakes, Or charm’d with powerful words of wicked art, 35 Or be they love-sick, or through too much heat Grown wild or lunatic, their eyes or ears Thick’ned with misty film of dulling rheum; These I can cure, such secret virtue lies In herbs applied by a virgin’s hand. 40 My meat shall be what these wild woods afford, Berries and chestnuts, plantains, on whose cheeks The sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit Pull’d from the fair head of the straight-grown pine: On these I ’ll feed with free content, and rest, 45 When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.

_Enter a_ Satyr [_with a basket of fruit_].

_Sat._ Through yon same bending plain, That flings his arms down to the main, And through these thick woods, have I run, Whose bottom never kist the sun 50 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, 55 His paramour, the Syrinx bright.— But, behold, a fairer sight! _He stands amazed._ By that heavenly form of thine, Brightest fair, thou art divine, Sprung from great immortal race 60 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 mould 65 Lowly do I bend my knee In worship of thy deity. Deign it, goddess, from my hand To receive what’er this land From her fertile womb doth send 70 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. 75 Here be grapes, whose lusty blood Is the learned poets’ good, Sweeter yet did never crown The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown Than the squirrel’s teeth that crack them; 80 Deign, O fairest fair, to take them! For these black-ey’d Dryope Hath oftentimes commanded me With my clasped knee to climb: See how well the lusty time 85 Hath deckt 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, 90 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; 95 Till when, numbly 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 100 Swifter than the fiery sun. _Exit._

_Clo._ 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, 105 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. 110 Yet I have heard (my mother told it me, And now I do believe it), if I keep My virgin-flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair, No goblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend, 114 Satyr, or other power that haunts these 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 toll[3418] me on, Through mires and standing pools [to find my ruin:] 120 Else why should this rough thing, who never knew Manners nor smooth humanity,[3419] whose heats[3420] Are rougher than himself and more mis-shapen, Thus mildly kneel to me? Sure there is a power 124 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! [_Retires into her bower._]

[SCENE II.][3421]

_Enter an_ Old Shepherd, _with four couples of_ Shepherds _and_ Shepherdesses, [_among whom are_ PERIGOT _and_ AMORET.]

_Old Shep._ Now we have done this holy festival In honour of our great god, and his rites Perform’d, prepare yourselves for chaste And uncorrupted fires; that as the priest With powerful hand shall sprinkle on your brows 5 His pure and holy water, ye may be From all hot flames of lust and loose thoughts free. Kneel, shepherds, kneel; here comes the priest of Pan.

_Enter_ Priest.

_Priest._ Shepherds, thus I purge away [_Sprinkling them with water._] Whatsoever this great day, 10 Or the past hours, gave not good, To corrupt your maiden blood. From the high rebellious heat Of the grapes, and strength of meat, From the wanton quick desires 15 They do kindle by their fires I do wash you with this water; Be you pure and fair hereafter! From your livers and your veins Thus I take away the stains; 20 All your thoughts be smooth and fair: Be ye fresh and free as air! Never more let lustful heat Through your purged conduits[3422] beat, Or a plighted troth he broken, 25 Or a wanton verse be spoken In a shepherdess’s ear: Go your ways, ye are all clear. _They rise and sing in praise of_ PAN.

THE SONG.

Sing his praises that doth keep Our flocks from harm, 30 Pan, the father of our sheep; And arm in arm Tread we softly in a round, Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground Fills the music with her sound. 35

Pan, O great god Pan, to thee Thus do we sing! Thou that keep’st us chaste and free As the young spring; Ever be thy honour spoke, 40 From that place the Morn is broke To that place Day doth unyoke! _Exeunt omnes but_ PERIGOT _and_ AMORET.

_Peri._ Stay, gentle Amoret, thou fair-brow’d maid; Thy shepherd prays thee stay, that holds thee dear, Equal with his soul’s good.

_Amo._ Speak; I give 45 Thee freedom, shepherd; and thy tongue be still The same it ever was, as free from ill As he whose conversation never knew The court or city; be thou ever true!

_Peri._ When I fall off from my affection, 50 Or mingle my clean thoughts with foul desires, First, let our great god cease to keep my flocks, That, being left alone without a guard, The wolf, or winter’s rage, summer’s great heat And want of water, rots, or what to us 55 Of ill is yet unknown, fall speedily, And in their general ruin let me go!

_Amo._ I pray thee, gentle shepherd, wish not so: I do believe thee; ’t is as hard for me To think thee false, and harder, than for thee To hold me foul.

_Peri._ Oh, you are fairer far 61 Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star That guides the wand’ring seaman through the deep; Straighter than the straightest pine upon the steep Head of an aged mountain; and more white 65 Than the new milk we strip before day-light From the full-freighted bags of our fair flocks; Your hair more beauteous than those hanging locks Of young Apollo!

_Amo._ Shepherd, be not lost; Y’ are sail’d too far already from the coast 70 Of your discourse.

_Peri._ Did you not tell me once I should not love alone, I should not lose Those many passions, vows, and holy oaths, I’ve sent to heaven? Did you not give your hand, Even that fair hand, in hostage? Do not, then, Give back again those sweets to other men, 76 You yourself vow’d were mine.

_Amo._ Shepherd, so far as maiden’s modesty May give assurance, I am once more thine, Once more I give my hand. Be ever free 80 From that great foe to faith, foul jealousy!

_Peri._ I take it as my best good; and desire, For stronger confirmation of our love, To meet this happy night in that fair grove, 84 Where all true shepherds have rewarded been For their long service: say, sweet, shall it hold?

_Amo._ Dear friend, you must not blame me, if I make A doubt of what the silent night may do, Coupled with this day’s heat, to move your blood. Maids must be fearful. Sure you have not been Wash’d white enough, for yet I see a stain 91 Stick in your liver:[3423] go and purge again.

_Peri._ Oh, do not wrong my honest simple truth! Myself and my affections are as pure As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine 95 Of the great Dian: only my intent To draw you thither was to plight our troths, With interchange of mutual chaste embraces, And ceremonious tying of our souls. For to that holy wood is consecrate 100 A virtuous well, about whose flowery banks The nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds By the pale moonshine, dipping oftentimes Their stolen children, so to make them free From dying flesh and dull mortality. 105 By this fair fount hath many a shepherd sworn, And given away his freedom, many a troth Been plight, which neither envy nor old time Could ever break, with many a chaste kiss given, In hope of coming happiness; by this 110 Fresh fountain many a blushing maid Hath crown’d the head of her long-loved shepherd With gaudy flowers, whilst he happy sung Lays of his love and dear captivity. 114 There grows all herbs fit to cool looser flames Our sensual parts provoke, chiding our bloods, And quenching by their power those hidden sparks That else would break out, and provoke our sense To open fires; so virtuous is that place. Then, gentle shepherdess, believe, and grant. In troth, it fits not with that face to scant 121 Your faithful shepherd of those chaste desires He ever aim’d at, and——

_Amo._ Thou hast prevail’d: farewell. This coming night Shall crown thy chaste hopes with long-wish’d delight. 125

_Peri._ Our great god Pan reward thee for that good Thou hast given thy poor shepherd! Fairest bud Of maiden virtues, when I leave to be The true admirer of thy chastity, Let me deserve the hot polluted name 130 Of a wild woodman, or affect some dame Whose often prostitution hath begot More foul diseases than ever yet the hot Sun bred thorough his burnings, whilst the Dog Pursues the raging Lion, throwing fog 135 And deadly vapour from his angry breath, Filling the lower world with plague and death! _Exit_ AMORET.

_Enter_ AMARILLIS, _another_ Shepherdess _that is in love with_ PERIGOT.

_Amar._ Shepherd, may I desire to be believ’d, What I shall blushing tell?

_Peri._ Fair maid, you may.

_Amar._ Then, softly thus: I love thee, Perigot; 140 And would be gladder to be lov’d again Than the cold earth is in his frozen arms To clip[3424] the wanton spring. Nay, do not start, Nor wonder that I woo thee; thou that art The prime of our young grooms, even the top Of all our lusty shepherds. What dull eye, 146 That never was acquainted with desire, Hath seen thee wrastle, run, or cast the stone With nimble strength and fair delivery, And hath not sparkled fire, and speedily 150 Sent secret heat to all the neighbouring veins? Who ever heard thee sing, that brought again That freedom back was lent unto thy voice? Then, do not blame me, shepherd, if I be One to be numb’red in this company, 155 Since none that ever saw thee yet were free.

_Peri._ Fair shepherdess, much pity I can lend To your complaints; but sure I shall not love. All that is mine, myself and my best hopes, Are given already. Do not love him, then, 160 That cannot love again; on other men Bestow those heats, more free, that may return You fire for fire, and in one flame equal burn.

_Amar._ Shall I rewarded be so slenderly For my affection, most unkind of men? 165 If I were old, or had agreed with art To give another nature to my cheeks, Or were I common mistress to the love Of every swain, or could I with such ease Call back my love as many a wanton doth, 170 Thou mightst refuse me, shepherd; but to thee I am only fixt and set; let it not be A sport, thou gentle shepherd, to abuse The love of silly[3425] maid.

_Peri._ Fair soul, ye use These words to little end: for, know, I may 175 Better call back that time was yesterday, Or stay the coming night, than bring my love Home to myself again, or recreant prove. I will no longer hold you with delays: This present night I have appointed been 180 To meet that chaste fair that enjoys my soul, In yonder grove, there to make up our loves. Be not deceiv’d no longer, choose again: These neighbouring plains have many a comely swain, Fresher and freer[3426] far than I e’er was; 185 Bestow that love on them, and let me pass. Farewell: be happy in a better choice! _Exit._

_Amar._ Cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy voice Than if the angry heavens with their quick flames Had shot me through. I must not leave to love, I cannot; no, I must enjoy thee, boy, 191 Though the great dangers ’twixt my hopes and that Be infinite. There is a shepherd dwells Down by the moor, whose life hath ever shown More sullen discontent than Saturn’s brow 195 When he sits frowning on the births of men; One that doth wear himself away in loneness, And never joys, unless it be in breaking The holy plighted troths of mutual souls; One that lusts after every several beauty, 200 But never yet was known to love or like, Were the face fairer or more full of truth Than Phoebe in her fulness, or the youth Of smooth Lyaeus; whose nigh-starved flocks Are always scabby, and infect all sheep 205 They feed withal; whose lambs are ever last, And die before their weaning: and whose dog Looks, like his master, lean and full of scurf, Not caring for the pipe or whistle. This man may, If he be well wrought, do a deed of wonder, 210 Forcing me passage to my long desires: And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose As my quick thoughts could wish for.

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd.

_Sull. Shep._ Fresh beauty, let me not be thought uncivil, Thus to be partner of your loneness: ’t was 215 My love (that ever-working passion) drew Me to this place, to seek some remedy For my sick soul. Be not unkind and fair, For such the mighty Cupid in his doom Hath sworn to be aveng’d on; then, give room To my consuming fires, that so I may 221 Enjoy my long desires, and so allay Those flames that else would burn my life away.

_Amar._ Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were sound As thy words seem to be, means might be found 225 To cure thee of thy long pains; for to me That heavy youth-consuming misery The love-sick soul endures never was pleasing. I could be well content with the quick easing Of thee and thy hot fires, might it procure 230 Thy faith and farther service to be sure.

_Sull. Shep._ Name but that work, danger, or what can Be compass’d by the wit or art of man; And, if I fail in my performance, may I never more kneel to the rising day! 235

_Amar._ Then, thus I try thee, shepherd. This name night That now comes stealing on, a gentle pair Have promis’d equal love, and do appoint To make yon wood the place where hands and hearts Are to be tied for ever. Break their meeting 240 And their strong faith, and I am ever thine.

_Sull. Shep._ Tell me their names, and if I do not move By my great power, the centre of their love From his fixt being, let me never more Warm me by those fair eyes I thus adore. 245

_Amar._ Come; as we go, I ’ll tell thee what they are, And give thee fit directions for thy work. _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][3427]

_Enter_ CLOE.

_Cloe._ How have I wrong’d the times or men, that thus, After this holy feast, I pass unknown And unsaluted? ’T was not wont to be Thus frozen with the younger company Of jolly shepherds; ’t was not then held good 5 For lusty grooms to mix their quicker blood With that dull humour, most unfit to be The friend of man, cold and dull chastity. Sure I am held not fair, or am too old, Or else not free enough, or from my fold 10 Drive not a flock sufficient great to gain The greedy eyes of wealth-alluring swain. Yet, if I may believe what others say, My face has foil[3428] enough; nor can they lay Justly too strict a coyness to my charge; 15 My flocks are many, and the downs as large They feed upon. Then, let it ever be Their coldness, not my virgin-modesty Makes me complain.

_Enter_ THENOT.

_The._ Was ever man but I Thus truly taken with uncertainty; 20 Where shall that man he found that loves a mind Made up in constancy, and dares not find His love rewarded? Here, let all men know, A wretch that lives to love his mistress so.

_Cloe._ Shepherd, I pray thee stay. Where hast thou been? 25 Or whither go’st thou? Here be woods as green As any; air [likewise][3429] as fresh and sweet As where smooth Zephyrus plays on the fleet Face of the curled streams; with flowers as many As the young spring gives, and as choice as any; 30 Here be all new delights, cool streams and wells, Arbours o’ergrown with woodbines, caves, and dells; Choose where thou wilt, whilst I sit by and sing, Or gather rushes, to make many a ring For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love,— How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove, 36 First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes She took eternal fire that never dies; How she convey’d him softly in a sleep, His temples bound with poppy, to the steep 40 Head of old Latmus, where she stoops each night, Gilding the mountain with her brother’s light, To kiss her sweetest.

_The._ Far from me are these Hot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease; I have forgot what love and loving meant; 45 Rhymes, songs, and merry rounds, that oft are sent To the soft ear of maid, are strange to me: Only I live t’ admire a chastity, That neither pleasing age, smooth tongue, nor gold, Could ever break upon, so sure[3430] a mould 50 Is that her mind was cast in; ’t is to her I only am reserv’d; she is my form I stir By, breathe and move; ’t is she, and only she, Can make me happy, or give misery.

_Cloe._ Good shepherd, may a stranger crave to know 55 To whom this dear observance[3431] you do owe?

_The._ You may, and by her virtue learn to square And level out your life; for to be fair, And nothing virtuous, only fits the eye Of gaudy youth and swelling vanity. 60 Then, know, she ’s call’d the Virgin of the Grove, She that hath long since buri’d her chaste love, And now lives by his grave, for whose dear soul She hath vow’d herself into the holy roll Of strict virginity: ’t is her I so admire, 65 Not any looser blood or new desire. [_Exit._]

_Cloe._ Farewell, poor swain! thou art not for my bend;[3432] I must have quicker souls, whose words may tend To some free action. Give me him dare love At first encounter, and as soon dare prove! 70

THE SONG.

[_Sings._] Come, shepherds, come! Come away Without delay, Whilst the gentle time doth stay. Green woods are dumb, 75 And will never tell to any Those dear kisses, and those many Sweet embraces that are given; Dainty pleasures, that would even Raise is coldest age a fire, 80 And give virgin-blood desire. Then, if ever, Now or never, Come and have it: Think not I 85 Dare deny, If you crave it. _Enter_ DAPHNIS. [_Aside._] Here comes another. Better be my speed, Thou god of blood! But certain, if I read Not false, this is that modest shepherd, he 90 That only dare salute, but ne’er could be Brought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing, Whisper, or boldly ask that wished thing We all are born for; one that makes loving faces, And could be well content to covet graces, 95 Were they not got by boldness. In this thing My hopes are frozen; and, but fate doth bring Him hither, I would sooner choose A man made out of snow, and freer use An eunuch to my ends; but since he ’s here, 100 Thus I attempt him.—Thou, of men most dear, Welcome to her that only for thy sake Hath been content to live! Here, boldly take My hand in pledge, this hand, that never yet Was given away to any; and but sit 105 Down on this rushy bank, whilst I go pull Fresh blossoms from the boughs, or quickly cull The choicest delicates from yonder mead, To make thee chains or chaplets, or to spread Under our fainting bodies, when delight 110 Shall lock up all our senses. How the sight Of those smooth rising cheeks renew the story Of young Adonis, when in pride and glory He lay infolded ’twixt the beating arms Of willing Venus! Methinks stronger charms 115 Dwell in those speaking eyes, and on that brow More sweetness than the painters can allow To their best pieces. Not Narcissus, he That wept himself away in memory Of his own beauty, nor Silvanus’ boy,[3433] 120 Nor the twice-ravish’d maid, for whom old Troy Fell by the hand of Pyrrhus, may to thee Be otherwise compar’d, than some dead tree To a young fruitful olive.

_Daph._ I can love, But I am loth to say so, lest I prove 125 Too soon unhappy.

_Cloe._ Happy, thou wouldst say. My dearest Daphnis, blush not; if the day To thee and thy soft heats be enemy, Then take the coming night; fair youth, ’t is free To all the world. Shepherd, I ’ll meet thee then 130 When darkness hath shut up the eyes of men, In yonder grove. Speak, shall our meeting hold? Indeed you are too bashful; be more bold, And tell me ay.

_Daph._ I am content to say so, And would be glad to meet, might I but pray so 135 Much from your fairness, that you would be true.

_Cloe._ Shepherd, thou hast thy wish.

_Daph._ Fresh maid, adieu. Yet one word more: since you have drawn me on To come this night, fear not to meet alone That man that will not offer to be ill, 140 Though your bright self would ask it, for his fill Of this world’s goodness; do not fear him, then, But keep your ’pointed time. Let other men Set up their bloods to sale, mine shall be ever Fair as the soul it carries, and unchaste never. _Exit._

_Cloe._ Yet am I poorer than I was before. 146 Is it not strange, among so many a score Of lusty bloods, I should pick out these things Whose veins, like a dull river far from springs, Is still the same, slow, heavy, and unfit 150 For stream or motion, though the strong winds hit With their continual power upon his sides? Oh, happy be your names that have been brides, And tasted those rare sweets for which I pine! And far more heavy be thy grief and tine,[3434] 155 Thou lazy swain, that mayst relieve my needs, Than his, upon whose liver always feeds A hungry vulture!

_Enter_ ALEXIS.

_Alex._ Can such beauty be Safe in his[3435] own guard, and not draw the eye Of him that passeth on, to greedy gaze 160 Or covetous desire, whilst in a maze The better part contemplates, giving rein, And wished freedom to the labouring vein? Fairest and whitest, may I crave to know The cause of your retirement, why you go 165 Thus all alone? Methinks the downs are sweeter, And the young company of swains more meeter, Than these forsaken and untrodden places. Give not yourself to loneness, and those graces Hide from the eyes of men, that were intended To live amongst us swains.

_Cloe._ Thou art befriended, 171 Shepherd: in all my life I have not seen A man in whom greater contents hath been, Than thou thyself art. I could tell thee more, Were there but any hope left to restore 175 My freedom lost. Oh, lend me all thy red, Thou shame-fast Morning, when from Tithon’s[3436] bed Thou risest ever-maiden!

_Alex._ If for me, Thou sweetest of all sweets, these flashes be, Speak, and he satisfi’d. Oh, guide her tongue, My better angel; force my name among 181 Her modest thoughts, that the first word may be——

_Cloe._ Alexis, when the sun shall kiss the sea, Taking his rest by the white Thetis’ side. Meet me in the holy wood, where I ’ll abide 185 Thy coming, shepherd.

_Alex._ If I stay behind, An everlasting dulness, and the wind, That as he passeth by shuts up the stream Of Rhine or Volga, whilst the sun’s hot beam Beats back again, seize me, and let me turn 190 To coldness more than ice! Oh, how I burn And rise in youth and fire! I dare not stay.

_Cloe._ My name shall be your word.

_Alex._ Fly, fly, thou day! _Exit._

_Cloe._ My grief is great, if both these boys should fail: 194 He that will use all winds must shift his sail. _Exit._