Chapter 1

THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS

The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Vol. 2 of 10)

_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Clorin _a shepherdess, having buried her Love in an Arbour._

Hail, holy Earth, whose cold Arms do imbrace 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 My self from all insuing 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 Crown'd with fresh flowers For summers Queen, whil'st every Shepherds Boy Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook, And hanging scrip of finest Cordevan. But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee, And all are dead but thy dear memorie; That shall out-live thee, and shall ever spring Whilest there are pipes, or jolly Shepherds sing. And here will I in honour of thy love, Dwell by thy Grave, forgeting all those joys, That former times made precious to mine eyes, Only remembring what my youth did gain In the dark, hidden vertuous use of Herbs: 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 Cattel, be they stung with Snakes, Or charm'd with powerful words of wicked Art, Or be they Love-sick, or through too much heat Grown wild or Lunatick, their eyes or ears Thickned with misty filme of dulling Rheum, These I can Cure, such secret vertue lies In Herbs applyed by a Virgins hand: My meat shall be what these wild woods afford, Berries, and Chesnuts, Plantanes, on whose Cheeks, The Sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit Pull'd from the fair head of the staight grown Pine; On these I'le feed with free content and rest, When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.

_Enter a_ Satyr.

_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 kist 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! [_He stands amazed._ 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 mortalitie Dare with misty eyes behold, And live: therefore on this mold Lowly do I bend my knee, In worship of thy Deitie; Deign it Goddess from my hand, To receive what e're this land From her fertil Womb doth send Of her choice Fruits: and but lend Belief to that the Satyre tells, Fairer by the famous wells, To this present day ne're grew, Never better nor more true. Here be Grapes whose lusty bloud Is the learned Poets 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 ey'd _Driope_ Hath oftentimes commanded me, With my clasped knee to clime; See how well the lusty time Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red, Such as on your lips is spred, 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 Beeches shade, I must go, I must run 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: The Daughter of a Shepherd, he was mortal: And she that bore me mortal: prick my hand And it will bleed: a Feaver 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 uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair, No Goblin, Wood-god, Fairy, Elfe, 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 voyces calling me in dead of night, To make me follow, and so tole me on Through mire and standing pools, to find my ruine: Else why should this rough thing, who never knew Manners, nor smooth humanity, whose heats Are rougher than himself, and more mishapen, Thus mildly kneel to me? sure there is 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'le dwell In opposition against Fate and Hell.

_Enter an old_ Shepherd, _with him four couple of_ Shepherds _and_ Shepherdesses.

_Old Shep_. Now we have done this holy Festival In honour of our great God, and his rites Perform'd, prepare your selves for chaste And uncorrupted fires: that as the Priest, With powerful hand shall sprinkle on [your] Brows 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, Whatsoever this great day, 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, They do kindle by their fires, I do wash you with this water, Be you pure and fair hereafter. From your Liver and your Veins, Thus I take away the stains. All your thoughts be smooth and fair, Be ye fresh and free as Air. Never more let lustful heat Through your purged conduits beat, Or a plighted troth be broken, Or a wanton verse be spoken In a Shepherdesses ear; Go your wayes, ye are all clear. [_They rise and sing in praise of_ Pan.

The SONG.

_Sing his praises that doth keep Our Flocks from harm,_ Pan _the Father of our Sheep, And arm in arm Tread we softly in a round, Whilest the hollow neighbouring ground Fills the Musick with her sound._

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, 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 souls good.

_Amo_. Speak; I give 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, 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 Winters rage, Summers great heat, And want of Water, Rots; or what to us Of ill is yet unknown, full speedily, And in their general ruine let me feel.

_Amo_. I pray thee gentle Shepherd wish not so, I do believe thee: 'tis as hard for me To think thee false, and harder than for thee To hold me foul.

_Peri_. O you are fairer far Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star That guides the wandring Sea-men through the deep, Straighter than straightest Pine upon the steep Head of an aged mountain, and more white Than the new Milk we strip before day-light From the full fraighted 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 Of our 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, You your self vow'd were mine.

_Amo_. Shepherd, so far as Maidens modesty May give assurance, I am once more thine, Once more I give my hand; be ever free From that great foe to faith, foul jealousie.

_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, 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 dayes heat to move your bloud: Maids must be fearful; sure you have not been Wash'd white enough; for yet I see a stain Stick in your Liver, go and purge again.

_Peri_. O do not wrong my honest simple truth, My self and my affections are as pure As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine Of the great _Dian_: only my intent To draw you thither, was to plight our troths, With enterchange of mutual chaste embraces, And ceremonious tying of our selves: For to that holy wood is consecrate A vertuous well, about whose flowry banks, The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds, By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes Their stolen Children, so to make them free From dying flesh, and dull mortalitie; 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 Fresh Fountain many a blushing Maid Hath crown'd the head of her long loved Shepherd With gaudy flowers, whilest he happy sung Layes of his love and dear Captivitie; 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 vertuous is that place: Then gentle Shepherdess, believe and grant, In troth it fits not with that face to scant Your faithful Shepherd of those chaste desires He ever aim'd at, and--

_Amo_. Thou hast prevail'd, farewel, this coming night Shall crown thy chast hopes with long wish'd delight.

_Peri_. Our great god _Pan_ reward thee for that good Thou hast given thy poor Shepherd: fairest Bud Of Maiden Vertues, when I leave to be The true Admirer of thy Chastitie, Let me deserve the hot polluted Name Of the wild Woodman, or affect: some Dame, Whose often Prostitution hath begot More foul Diseases, than ever yet the hot Sun bred through his burnings, whilst the Dog Pursues the raging Lion, throwing Fog, And deadly Vapour from his angry Breath, Filling the lower World with Plague and Death. [_Ex._ Am.

_Enter_ Amaryllis.

_Ama_. Shepherd, may I desire to be believ'd, What I shall blushing tell?

_Peri_. Fair Maid, you may.

_Am_. Then softly thus, I love thee, _Perigot_, And would be gladder to be lov'd again, Than the cold Earth is in his frozen arms To clip 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 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 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 numbred in this Companie, 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, my self, and my best hopes Are given already; do not love him then 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.

_Ama_. Shall I rewarded be so slenderly For my affection, most unkind of men! 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; Thou might'st 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 Maid.

_Peri_. Fair Soul, ye use These words to little end: for know, I may Better call back that time was Yesterday, Or stay the coming Night, than bring my Love Home to my self again, or recreant prove. I will no longer hold you with delays, This present night I have appointed been To meet that chaste Fair (that enjoys my Soul) In yonder Grove, there to make up our Loves. Be not deceiv'd no longer, chuse again, These neighbouring Plains have many a comely Swain, Fresher, and freer far than I e'r was, Bestow that love on them, and let me pass. Farewel, be happy in a better Choice. [_Exit_.

_Ama_. 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, 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 _Saturns_ Brow, 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, 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 They feed withal; whose Lambs are ever last, And dye before their waining, 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, Forcing me passage to my long desires: And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose, As my quick thoughts could wish for.

_Enter_ Shepherd.

_Shep_. Fresh Beauty, let me not be thought uncivil, Thus to be Partner of your loneness: 'twas 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 Enjoy my long Desires, and so allay Those flames that else would burn my life away.

_Ama_. Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were sound As thy words seem to be, means might be found To cure thee of thy long pains; for to me That heavy youth-consuming Miserie 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 Thy faith and farther service to be sure.

_Shep_. Name but that great 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.

_Ama_. Then thus I try thee, Shepherd, this same 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 ty'd for ever: break their meeting And their strong Faith, and I am ever thine.

_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.

_Ama_. Come, as we go, I'll tell thee what they are, And give thee fit directions for thy work. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Cloe.

_Cloe_. How have I wrong'd the times, or men, that thus After this holy Feast I pass unknown And unsaluted? 'twas not wont to be Thus frozen with the younger companie Of jolly Shepherds; 'twas not then held good, For lusty Grooms to mix their quicker blood With that dull humour, most unfit to be The friend of man, cold and dull Chastitie. Sure I am held not fair, or am too old, Or else not free enough, or from my fold 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 soil enough; nor can they lay Justly too strict a Coyness to my Charge; My Flocks are many, and the Downs as large They feed upon: then let it ever be Their Coldness, not my Virgin Modestie Makes me complain.

_Enter_ Thenot.

_The_. Was ever Man but I Thus truly taken with uncertainty? Where shall that Man be found that loves a mind Made up in Constancy, and dare not find His Love rewarded? here let all men know A Wretch that lives to love his Mistress so.

_Clo_. Shepherd, I pray thee stay, where hast thou been? Or whither go'st thou? here be Woods as green As any, air likewise 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 choise as any; Here be all new Delights, cool Streams and Wells, Arbors o'rgrown with Woodbinds, Caves, and Dells, Chase 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, First saw the Boy _Endymion_, from whose Eyes She took eternal fire that never dyes; How she convey'd him softly in a sleep, His temples bound with poppy to the steep Head of old _Latmus_, where she stoops each night, Gilding the Mountain with her Brothers 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: Rhimes, Songs, and merry Rounds, that oft are sent To the soft Ears of Maids, are strange to me; Only I live t' admire a Chastitie, That neither pleasing Age, smooth tongue, or Gold, Could ever break upon, so pure a Mold Is that her Mind was cast in; 'tis to her I only am reserv'd; she is my form I stir By, breath and move, 'tis she and only she Can make me happy, or give miserie.

_Clo_. Good Shepherd, may a Stranger crave to know To whom this dear observance you do ow?

_The_. You may, and by her Vertue learn to square And level out your Life; for to be fair And nothing vertuous, only fits the Eye Of gaudy Youth, and swelling Vanitie. Then know, she's call'd the Virgin of the Grove, She that hath long since bury'd her chaste Love, And now lives by his Grave, for whose dear Soul She hath vow'd her self into the holy Roll Of strict Virginity; 'tis her I so admire, Not any looser Blood, or new desire.

_Clo_. Farewel poor Swain, thou art not for my bend, I must have quicker Souls, whose works may tend To some free action: give me him dare love At first encounter, and as soon dare prove.

The SONG.

_Come Shepherds, come, Come away without delay Whilst the gentle time dot[h] stay. Green Woods are dumb, And will never tell to any Those dear Kisses, and those many Sweet Embraces that are given Dainty Pleasures that would even Raise in coldest Age a fire, And give Virgin Blood desire, Then if ever, Now or never, Come and have it, Think not I, Dare deny, If you crave it._

_Enter_ Daphnis.

Here comes another: better be my speed, Thou god of Blood: but certain, if I read Not false, this is that modest Shepherd, he That only dare salute, but ne'r 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, Were they not got by boldness; in this thing My hopes are frozen; and but Fate doth bring Him hither, I would sooner chuse A Man made out of Snow, and freer use An Eunuch to my ends: but since he's here, 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 pledg, this hand, that never yet Was given away to any: and but sit 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 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 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 memorie Of his own Beauty, nor _Silvanus_ Boy, Nor the twice ravish'd Maid, for whom old _Troy_ Fell by the hand of _Pirrhus_, 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 Too soon unhappy.

_Clo_. Happy thou would'st say, My dearest _Daphnis_, blush not, if the day To thee and thy soft heats be enemie, Then take the coming Night, fair youth 'tis free To all the World, Shepherd, I'll meet thee then 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 I.

_Daph_. I'm content to say so, And would be glad to meet, might I but pray so Much from your Fairness, that you would be true.

_Clo_. 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, Though your bright self would ask it, for his fill Of this Worlds 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 unchast never. [_Exit_.

_Clo_. Yet am I poorer than I was before. 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 For stream or motion, though the strong winds hit With their continual power upon his sides? O 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 time, Thou lazie swain, that maist relieve my needs, Than his, upon whose liver alwayes feeds A hungry vultur.

_Enter_ Alexis.

_Ale_. Can such beauty be Safe in his own guard, and not draw the eye Of him that passeth on, to greedy gaze, 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 ye goe Thus all alone? methinks the downs are sweeter, And the young company of swains far meeter, Than those forsaken and untroden places. Give not your self to loneness, and those graces Hid from the eyes of men, that were intended To live amongst us swains.

_Cloe._ Thou art befriended, Shepherd, in all my life I have not seen A man in whom greater contents have been Than thou thy self art: I could tell thee more, Were there but any hope left to restore My freedom lost. O lend me all thy red, Thou shamefast morning, when from _Tithons_ bed Thou risest ever maiden.

_Alex. _If for me, Thou sweetest of all sweets, these flashes be, Speak and be satisfied. O guide her tongue, My better angel; force my name among 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 in the holy wood, where I'le abide Thy coming, Shepherd.