SCENE I.[3437

_Enter_ Old Shepherd _with a bell ringing_, _and the_ Priest of Pan _following_.

_Priest._ Shepherds all, and maidens fair, Fold your flocks up, for the air ’Gins to thicken, and the sun Already his great course hath run. See the dew-drops how they kiss 5 Every little flower that is; Hanging on their velvet heads, Like a rope of crystal beads; See the heavy clouds down[3438] falling, And bright Hesperus loud[3438] calling 10 The dead Night from under ground; At whose rising mists unsound,[3439] Damps and vapours fly apace, Hovering o’er the wanton face Of these pastures, where they come, 15 Striking dead both bud and bloom. Therefore, from such danger lock Every one his loved flock; And let your dogs lie loose without, Lest the wolf come as a scout 20 From the mountain, and, ere day, Bear a lamb or kid away; Or the crafty thievish fox Break upon your simple flocks. To secure yourselves from these, 25 Be not too secure in ease. Let one eye his watches keep, Whilst the t’other eye doth sleep; So you shall good shepherds prove, And for ever hold the love 30 Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers, And soft silence, fall in numbers On your eyelids! So, farewell: Thus I end my evening’s knell. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][3440]

_Enter_ CLORIN, _the_ Shepherdess, _sorting of herbs, and telling the natures of them_.

_Clo._ Now let me know what my best art hath done, Helpt by the great power of the virtuous moon In her full light. Oh, you sons of earth, You only brood, unto whose [happy][3441] birth Virtue was given, holding more of nature 5 Than man, her first-born and most perfect creature. Let me adore you! you, that only can Help or kill nature, drawing out that span Of life and breath even to the end of time; You, that these hands did [crop][3442] long before prime 10 Of day, give me your names, and, next, your hidden power. This is the clote,[3443] bearing a yellow flower; And this, black horehound; both are very good For sheep or shepherd bitten by a wood[3444] Dog’s venom’d teeth: these rhamnus[3445] branches are, 15 Which, stock in entries, or about the bar That holds the door, kill all enchantments, charms (Were they Medea’s verses), that do harms To men or cattle: these for frenzy be A speedy and a sovereign remedy, 20 The bitter wormwood, sage, and marigold; Such sympathy with man’s good they do hold: This tormentil,[3446] whose virtue is to part All deadly killing poison from the heart: And, here, narcissus root, for swellings best: 25 Yellow lysimachus,[3447] to give sweet rest To the faint shepherd, killing, where it comes, All busy gnats, and every fly that hums: For leprosy, darnel and celandine, With calamint, whose virtues do refine 30 The blood of man, making it free and fair As the first hour it breath d, or the best air: Here, other two; but your rebellious use Is not for me, whose goodness is abuse; Therefore, foul standergrass,[3448] from me and mine 35 I banish thee, with lustful turpentine; You that entice the veins and stir the heat To civil mutiny, scaling the seat Our reason moves in, and deluding it With dreams and wanton [fancies][3449] till the fit Of burning lust be quencht, by appetite 41 Robbing the soul of blessedness and light: And thou, light vervain, too, thou must go after, Provoking easy souls to mirth and laughter; No more shall I dip thee in water now, 45 And sprinkle every post and every bough With thy well-pleasing juice, to make the grooms Swell with high mirth, and with joy all the rooms.

_Enter_ THENOT.

_The._ This is the cabin where the best of all Her sex that ever breath’d, or ever shall 50 Give heat or happiness to the shepherd’s side, Doth only to her worthy self abide. Thou blessed star, I thank thee for thy light, Thou by whose power the darkness of sad night Is banisht from the earth, in whose dull place Thy chaster beams play on the heavy face 56 Of all the world, make the blue sea smile, To see how cunningly thou dost beguile Thy brother of his brightness, giving day Again from chaos; whiter than that way 60 That leads to Jove’s high court, and chaster far Than chastity itself, you blessed star That brightly shines! thou, all the constancy That in all women was or e’er shall be; From whose fair eye-balls flies that holy fire 65 That styled is the mother of desire, Infusing into every gentle breast A soul of greater price, and far more blest, Than that quick power which gives a difference ’Twixt man and creatures of a lower sense! 70

_Clo._ Shepherd, how cam’st thou hither to this place? No way is trodden; all the verdant grass The spring shot up stands yet unbruised here Of any foot; only the dappled deer, Far from the feared sound of crooked horn, 75 Dwells in this fastness.

_The._ Chaster than the morn, I have not wand’red, or by strong illusion Into this virtuous place have made intrusion: But hither am I come (believe me, fair). To seek you out, of whose great good the air 80 Is full, and strongly labours, whilst the sound Breaks against heaven, and drives into a stound[3450] Th’ amazed shepherd, that such virtue can Be resident in lesser than a man.

_Clo._ If any art I have, or hidden skill, 85 May cure thee of disease or fest’red ill Whose grief or greenness to another’s eye May seem unpossible of remedy, I dare yet undertake it.

_The._ ’T is no pain I suffer through disease, no heating vein 90 Conveys infection dangerous to the heart, No part imposthum’d, to be cur’d by art, This body holds; and yet a feller grief Than ever skilful hand did give relief, Dwells on my soul, and may be heal’d by you, Fair, beauteous virgin.

_Clo._ Then, shepherd, let me sue 96 To know thy grief: that man yet never knew The way to health that durst not show his sore.

_The._ Then, fairest, know, I love you.

_Clo._ Swain, no more! Thou hast abus’d the strictness of this place, 100 And off’red sacrilegious foul disgrace To the sweet rest of these interred bones; For fear of whose ascending, fly at once, Thou and thy idle passions, that the sight Of death and speedy vengeance may not fright Thy very soul with horror.

_The._ Let me not, 106 Thou all perfection, merit such a blot For my true zealous faith.

_Clo._ Dar’st thou abide To see this holy earth at once divide, And give her body up? for sure it will, 110 If thou pursu’st with wanton flame to fill This hallowed place: therefore repent and go, Whilst I with prayers appease his ghost below, That else would tell thee what it were to be A rival in that virtuous love that he 115 Embraces yet.

_The._ ’T is not the white or red Inhabits in your cheek that thus can wed My mind to adoration; nor your eye, Though it be full and fair, your forehead high And smooth as Pelops’ shoulder; not the smile Lies watching in those dimples to beguile 121 The easy soul; your hands and fingers long, With veins enamell’d richly; nor your tongue, Though it spoke sweeter than Arion’s harp; Your hair woven into many a curious warp, 125 Able in endless error to enfold The [wand’ring][3451] soul; not the true perfect mould Of all your body, which as pure doth show In maiden-whiteness as the Alpine snow: All these, were but your constancy away, 130 Would please me less than a black stormy day The wretched seaman toiling through the deep. But, whilst this honour’d strictness you do keep, Though all the plagues that e’er begotten were In the great womb of air were settled here, 135 In opposition, I would, like the tree, Shake off those drops of weakness, and be free Even in the arm of danger.

_Clo._ Wouldst thou have Me raise again, fond man, from silent grave Those sparks, that long ago were buried here 140 With my dead friend’s cold ashes?

_The._ Dearest dear, I dare not ask it, nor you must not grant: Stand strongly to your vow, and do not faint. Remember how he lov’d you, and be still The same opinion speaks you: let not will, 145 And that great god of women, appetite, Set up your blood again; do not invite Desire and fancy from their long exile, To seat them once more in a pleasing smile: Be, like a rock, made firmly up ’gainst all 150 The power of angry heaven, or the strong fall Of Neptune’s battery. If you yield, I die To all affection; ’t is that loyalty You tie unto this grave I so admire: And yet there ’s something else I would desire, If you would hear me, but withal deny. 156 Oh, Pan, what an uncertain destiny Hangs over all my hopes! I will retire; For, if I longer stay, this double fire Will lick my life up.

_Clo._ Do; and let time wear out 160 What art and nature cannot bring about.

_The._ Farewell, thou soul of virtue, and be blest For ever, whilst [that here][3452] I wretched rest Thus to myself! Yet grant me leave to dwell In kenning[3453] of this arbour: yon same dell, 165 O’ertopt with mourning cypress and sad yew, Shall be my cabin, where I ’ll early rue, Before the sun hath kist this dew away, The hard uncertain chance which faith doth lay Upon his head.

_Clo._ The gods give quick release 170 And happy cure unto thy hard disease! _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][3454]

_Enter_ Sullen Shepherd.

_Sull. Shep._ I do not love this wench that I should meet; For ne’er did my unconstant eye yet greet That beauty, were it sweeter or more fair Than the new blossoms when the morning-air Blows gently on them, or the breaking light, 5 When many maiden-blushes to our sight Shoot from his early face: were all these set In some neat form before me, ’t would not get The least love from me; some desire it might, And present burning. All to me in sight 10 Are equal; be they fair, or black, or brown, Virgin, or careless wanton, I can crown My appetite with any; swear as oft, And weep, as any; melt my words as soft Into a maiden’s ears, and tell how long 15 My heart has been her servant, and how strong My passions are; call her unkind and cruel; Offer her all I have to gain the jewel Maidens so highly [prize]:[3455] then loathe, and fly: This do I hold a blessed destiny. 20

_Enter_ AMARILLIS.

_Amar._ Hail, shepherd! Pan bless both thy flock and thee, For being mindful of thy word to me!

_Sull. Shep._ Welcome, fair shepherdess! Thy loving swain Gives thee the self-same wishes back again; 24 Who till this present hour ne’er knew that eye Could make me cross mine arms, or daily die With fresh consumings. Boldly tell me, then, How shall we part their faithful loves, and when? Shall I belie him to her? Shall I swear His faith is false and he loves every where? 30 I ’ll say he mockt her th’ other day to you; Which will by your confirming show as true, For [she][3456] is of so pure an honesty, To think, because [she][3456] will not, none will lie. Or else to him I ’ll slander Amoret, 35 And say, she but seems chaste; I ’ll swear she met Me ’mongst the shady sycamores last night, And loosely off’red up her flame and sprite Into my bosom; made a wanton bed 39 Of leaves and many flowers, where she spread Her willing body to be prest by me; There have I carv’d her name on many a tree, Together with mine own. To make this show More full of seeming,—Hobinal, you know, Son to the aged shepherd of the glen, 45 Him I have sorted out of many men, To say he found us at our private sport, And rous’d us ’fore our time by his resort. This to confirm, I’ve promis’d to the boy Many a pretty knack and many a toy; 50 As gins to catch him birds, with bow and bolt To shoot at conies,[3457] squirrels, in the holt; A pair of painted buskins, and a lamb Soft as his own locks or the down of swan. This I have done to win you; which doth give Me double pleasure: discord makes me live. 56

_Amar._ Lov’d swain, I thank ye. These tricks might prevail With other rustic shepherds, but will fail Even once to stir, much more to overthrow, 59 His fixed love from judgment, who doth know Your nature, my end, and his chosen’s merit; Therefore some stronger way must force his spirit, Which I have found: give second, and my love Is everlasting thine.

_Sull. Shep._ Try me, and prove.

_Amar._ These happy pair of lovers meet straightway, 65 Soon as they fold their flocks up with the day, In the thick grove bordering upon yon hill, In whose hard side nature hath carv’d a well, And, but that matchless spring which poets know, Was ne’er the like to this. By it doth grow, 70 About the sides, all herbs which witches use, All simples good for medicine or abuse, All sweets that crown the happy nuptial day, With all their colours; there the month of May Is ever dwelling, all is young and green; 75 There’s not a grass on which was ever seen The falling autumn or cold winter’s hand; So full of heat and virtue is the land About this fountain, which doth slowly break, Below yon mountain’s foot, into a creek 80 That waters all the valley, giving fish Of many sorts to fill the shepherd’s dish. This holy well, my grandam that is dead, Right wise in charms, hath often to me said, Hath power to change the form of any creature, Being thrice dipt o’er the head, into what feature 86 Or shape ’t would please the letter-down to crave, Who must pronounce this charm too, which she gave [_Showing a scroll._] Me on her death-bed; told me what, and how, I should apply unto the patients’ brow 90 That would be chang’d, casting them thrice asleep, Before I trusted them into this deep. All this she show’d me, and did charge me prove This secret of her art, if crost in love. I ’ll this attempt now, shepherd; I have here 95 All her prescriptions, and I will not fear To be myself dipt. Come, my temples bind With these sad herbs, and when I sleep you find, As you do speak your charm, thrice down me let, And bid the water raise me Amoret; 100 Which being done, leave me to my affair, And ere the day shall quite itself outwear, I will return unto my shepherd’s arm; Dip me again, and then repeat this charm, And pluck me up myself, whom freely take, And the hott’st fire of thine affection slake. 106

_Sull. Shep._ And if I fit thee not, then fit not me. I long the truth of this well’s power to see. _Exeunt._