Old English Plays, Vol. I

Part 3 out of 7


_Eu_. The like I wish vnto your selues againe,
And many happy days deuoyd of paine.--
And now _Eurymine_ record thy state,
So much deiected and opprest by fate.
What hope remaines? wherein hast thou to ioy?
Wherein to tryumph but thine owne annoy?
If euer wretch might tell of miserie
Then I, alas, poore I, am only she;
Vnknowne of parents, destitute of friends,
Hopefull of nought but what misfortune sends;
Banisht, to liue a fugitiue alone
In vncoth[98] paths and regions neuer knowne.
Behold, _Ascanio_, for thy only sake,
These tedious trauels I must undertake.
Nor do I grudge; the paine seemes lesse to mee
In that I suffer this distresse for thee.

_Enter Siluio, a Raunger_.

_Sil_. Well met, fair Nymph, or Goddesse if ye bee;
Tis straunge, me thinkes, that one of your degree
Should walke these solitary groues alone.

_Eu_. It were no maruel, if you knew my mone.
But what are you that question me so far?

_Sil_. My habit telles you that, a Forrester;
That, hauing lost a heard of skittish Deire,
Was of good hope I should haue found them heere.

_Eu_. Trust me, I saw not any; so farewell.

_Sil_. Nay stay, and further of your fortunes tell;
I am not one that meanes you any harme.

_Enter Gemulo, the Shepheard_.

_Ge_. I thinke my boy be fled away by charme.
Raunger, well met; within thy walke, I pray,
Sawst thou not _Mopso_ my vnhappie boy.

_Sil_. Shepheard, not I: what meanst to seeke him heere?

_Ge_. Because the wagge, possest with doubtful feare
Least I would beate him for a fault he did,
Amongst those trees I do suspect hees hid.
But how now, Raunger? you mistake, I trowe;
This is a Lady and no barren Dowe.

_Sil_. It is indeede, and (as it seemes) distrest;
Whose griefe to know I humbly made request,
But she as yet will not reueale the same.

_Ge_. Perhaps to me she will: speak, gentle dame;
What daunger great hath driuen ye to this place?
Make knowne your state, and looke what slender grace
A Shepheards poore abilitee may yeeld
You shall be sure of ere I leaue the feeld.

_Eur_. Alas good Sir the cause may not be known
That hath inforste me to be here alone.

_Sil_. Nay, feare not to discouer what you are;
It may be we may remedie your care.

_Eur_. Since needs you will that I renew my griefe,
Whether it be my chance to finde reliefe
Or not, I wreake not: such my crosses are
As sooner I expect to meet despaire.
Then thus it is: not farre from hence do dwell
My parents, of the world esteemed well,
Who with their bitter threats my grant had won
This day to marrie with a neighbours son,
And such a one to whom I should be wife
As I could neuer fancie in my life:
And therefore, to auoid that endlesse thrall,
This morne I came away and left them all.

_Sil_. Now trust me, virgin, they were much vnkinde
To seeke to match you so against your minde.

_Ge_. It was, besides, vnnatural constraint:
But, by the tenure of your just complaint,
It seems you are not minded to returne,
Nor any more to dwell where you were borne.

_Eur_. It is my purpose if I might obtaine
A place of refuge where I might remain.

_Sil_. Why, go with me; my Lodge is not far off,
Where you shall haue such hospitalitie
As shall be for your health and safetie.

_Ge_. Soft, Raunger; you do raunge beyond your skill.
My house is nearer, and for my good will,
It shall exceed a woodmans woodden stuffe:
Then go with me, Ile keep you safe enough.

_Sil_. Ile bring her to a bower beset with greene.

_Ge_. And I an arbour may delight a Queene.

_Sil_. Her dyet shall be Venson at my boord.

_Ge_. Young Kid and Lambe we shepheards can affoord.

_Sil_. And nothing else?

_Ge_. Yes; raunging, now and then
A Hog, a Goose, a Capon, or a Hen.

_Sil_. These walkes are mine amongst the shadie trees.

_Ge_. For that I haue a garden full of Bees,
Whose buzing musick with the flowers sweet
Each euen and morning shall her sences greet.

_Sil_. The nightingale is my continuall clocke.

_Ge_. And mine the watchfull sin-remembring cocke.

_Sil_. A Hunts vp[99] I can tune her with my hounds.

_Ge_. And I can shew her meads and fruitfull grounds.

_Sil_. Within these woods are many pleasant springs.

_Ge_. Betwixt yond dales the Eccho daily sings.

_Sil_. I maruell that a rusticke shepheard dare
With woodmen then audaciously compare.
Why, hunting is a pleasure for a King,
And Gods themselves sometime frequent the thing.
_Diana_ with her bowe and arrows keene
Did often vse the chace in Forrests greene,
And so, alas, the good Athenian knight
And swifte _Acteon_ herein tooke delight,
And _Atalanta_, the Arcadian dame,
Conceiu'd such wondrous pleasure in the game
That, with her traine of Nymphs attending on,
She came to hunt the Bore of _Calydon_.

_Ge_. So did _Apollo_ walke with shepheards crooke,
And many Kings their sceptres haue forsooke
To lead the quiet life we shepheards tooke (?),
Accounting it a refuge for their woe.

_Sil_. But we take choice of many a pleasant walke,
And marke the Deare how they begin to stalke;
When each, according to his age and time,[100]
Pricks vp his head and bears a Princely minde.
The lustie Stag, conductor of the traine,
Leads all the heard in order downe the plaine;
The baser rascals[101] scatter here and there
As not presuming to approach so neere.

_Ge_. So shepheards sometimes sit vpon a hill
Or in the cooling shadow of a mill,
And as we sit vnto our pipes we sing
And therewith make the neighboring groues to ring;
And when the sun steales downward to the west
We leave our chat and whistle in the fist,
Which is a signall to our stragling flocke
As Trumpets sound to men in martiall shocke.

_Sil_. Shall I be thus outfaced by a swaine?
Ile haue a guard to wayt vpon her traine,
Of gallant woodmen clad in comely greene,
The like whereof hath seldome yet bene seene.

_Ge_. And I of shepheards such a lustie crew
As neuer Forrester the like yet knew,
Who for their persons and their neate aray
Shal be as fresh as is the moneth of May.
Where are ye there, ye merry noted swaines?
Draw neare a while, and whilst vpon the plaines
Your flocks do gently feed, lets see your skill
How you with chaunting can sad sorrow kill.

_Enter shepheards singing_.

_Sil_. Thinks _Gemulo_ to beare the bell away
By singing of a simple Rundelay?
No, I have fellowes whose melodious throats
Shall euen as far exceed those homely notes
As doth the Nightingale in musicke passe
The most melodious bird that euer was:
And, for an instance, here they are at hand;
When they have done let our deserts be scand.

_Enter woodmen and sing_.

_Eu_. Thanks to you both; you both deserue so well
As I want skill your worthinesse to tell.
And both do I commend for your good will,
And both Ile honor, loue, and reuerence still;
For neuer virgin had such kindnes showne
Of straungers, yea, and men to her vnknowne.
But more, to end this sudden controuersie,
Since I am made an Vmpire in the plea,
This is my verdite: Ile intreate of you
A Cottage for my dwelling, and of you
A flocke to tend; and so, indifferent,
My gratefull paines on either shal be spent.

_Sil_. I am agreed, and, for the loue I beare,
Ile boast I haue a Tenant is so faire.

_Ge_. And I will hold it as a rich possession
That she vouchsafes to be of my profession.

_Sil_. Then, for a sign that no man here hath wrong,
From hence lets all conduct her with a song.

_The end of the First Act_.

_Actus Secundus_.

_Enter Ascanio, and Ioculo his Page_.

_Asca_. Away, _Ioculo_.

_Io_. Here, sir, at hand.

_Asca. Ioculo_, where is she?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. When went she?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. Which way went she?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. Where should I seeke her?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. When shall I find her?

_Io_. I know not.

_Asca_. A vengeance take thee, slaue, what dost thou know?

_Io_. Marry, sir, that I doo know.

_Asca_. What, villiane?

_Io_. And[102] you be so testie, go looke. What a coyles here with you?
If we knew where she were what need we seeke her? I think you are a
lunaticke: where were you when you should haue lookt after her? now you
go crying vp and downe after your wench like a boy that had lost his
horne booke.

_Asca_. Ah, my sweet Boy!

_Io_. Ah, my sweet maister! nay, I can giue you as good words as you can
giue me; alls one for that.

_Asca_. What canst thou giue me no reliefe?

_Io_. Faith, sir, there comes not one morsel of comfort from my lips to
sustaine that hungry mawe of your miserie: there is such a dearth at
this time. God amend it!

_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, my brest is full of griefe,
And yet my hope that only wants reliefe.

_Io_. Your brest and my belly are in two contrary kaies; you walke to
get stomacke to your meate, and I walke to get meate to my stomacke;
your brest's full and my belli's emptie. If they chance to part in this
case, God send them merry meeting,--that my belly be ful and your brest

_Asca_. Boy, for the loue that euer thou didst owe
To thy deare master, poore _Ascanio_.
Racke thy proou'd wits vnto the highest straine,
To bring me backe _Eurymine_ againe.

_Io_. Nay, master, if wit could do it I could tell you more; but if it
euer be done the very legeritie[103] of the feete must do it; these ten
nimble bones must do the deed. Ile trot like a little dog; theres not
a bush so big as my beard, but Ile be peeping in it; theres not a
coate[104] but Ile search every corner; if she be aboue, or beneath,
ouer the ground or vnder, Ile finde her out.

_Asca_. Stay, _Ioculo_; alas, it cannot be:
If we should parte I loose both her and thee.
The woods are wide; and, wandering thus about,
Thou maist be lost and not my loue found out.

_Io_. I pray thee let me goe.

_Asca_. I pray thee stay.

_Io_. I faith Ile runne.

_Asca_. And doest not know which way.

_Io_. Any way, alls one; Ile drawe drie foote;[105] if you send not to
seeke her you may lye here long enough before she comes to seeke you.
She little thinkes that you are hunting for her in these quarters.

_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, before I leaue my Boy,
Of this worlds comfort now my only ioy.
Seest thou this place? vpon this grassie bed,
With summers gawdie dyaper bespred, (_He lyes downe_.)
Vnder these shadowes shall my dwelling be,
Till thou returne, sweet _Ioculo_, to me.

_Io_. And, if my conuoy be not cut off by the way, it shall not be long
before I be with you.
(_He speakes to the people_.)
Well, I pray you looke to my maister, for here I leaue him amongst you;
and if I chaunce to light vpon the wench, you shall heare of me by the
next winde.
[_Exit Ioculo_.

_Ascanio solus_.

_Asca_. In vaine I feare, I beate my braines about,
Proouing by search to finde my mistresse out.
_Eurymine, Eurymine_, retorne,
And with thy presence guild the beautious morne!
And yet I feare to call vpon thy name:
The pratling Eccho, should she learne the same,
The last words accent shiele no more prolong
But beare that sound vpon her airie tong.
Adorned with the presence of my loue
The woods, I feare, such secret power shal proue
As they'll shut vp each path, hide euery way,
Because they still would haue her go astray,
And in that place would alwaies haue her seene
Only because they would be euer greene,
And keepe the wingged Quiristers still there
To banish winter cleane out of the yeare.
But why persist I to bemone my state,
When she is gone and my complaint too late?
A drowsie dulnes closeth vp my sight;
O powerfull sleepe, I yeeld vnto thy might.
(_He falls asleepe_.)

_Enter Iuno and Iris_.

_Iuno_. Come hither, _Iris_.

_Iris_. _Iris_ is at hand,
To attend _Ioues_ wife, great _Iunos_ hie command.

_Iuno_. _Iris_, I know I do thy seruice proue,
And euer since I was the wife of _Ioue_
Thou hast bene readie when I called still,
And alwayes most obedient to my will:
Thou seest how that imperiall Queene of loue
With all the Gods how she preuailes aboue,
And still against great _Iunos_ hests doth stand
To haue all stoupe and bowe at her command;
Her Doues and Swannes and Sparrowes must be graced
And on Loues Aultar must be highly placed;
My starry Peacocks which doth beare my state,
Scaresly alowd within his pallace gate.
And since herselfe she doth preferd doth see,
Now the proud huswife will contend with mee,
And practiseth her wanton pranckes to play
With this _Ascanio_ and _Eurymine_.
But Loue shall know, in spight of all his skill,
_Iuno_'s a woman and will haue her will.

_Iris_. What is my Goddesse will? may _Iris_ aske?

_Iuno_. _Iris_, on thee I do impose this taske
To crosse proud _Venus_ and her purblind Lad
Vntill the mother and her brat be mad;
And with each other set them so at ods
Till to their teeth they curse and ban the Gods.

_Iris_. Goddes, the graunt consists alone in you.

_Iuno_. Then mark the course which now you must pursue.
Within this ore-growne Forrest there is found
A duskie Caue[106], thrust lowe into the ground,
So vgly darke, so dampie and [so] steepe
As, for his life, the sunne durst neuer peepe
Into the entrance; which doth so afright
The very day that halfe the world is night.
Where fennish fogges and vapours do abound
There _Morpheus_ doth dwell within the ground;
No crowing Cocke or waking bell doth call,
Nor watchful dogge disturbeth sleepe at all;
No sound is heard in compasse of the hill;
But euery thing is quiet, whisht,[107] and still.
Amid the caue vpon the ground doth lie
A hollow plancher,[108] all of Ebonie,
Couer'd with blacke, whereon the drowsie God
Drowned in sleepe continually doth nod.
Go, _Iris_, go and my commandment take
And beate against the doores till sleepe awake:
Bid him from me in vision to appeare
Vnto _Ascanio_, that lieth slumbring heare,
And in that vision to reueale the way,
How he may finde the faire _Eurymine_.

_Iris_. Madam, my service is at your command.

_Iuno_. Dispatch it then, good _Iris_, out of hand,
My Peacocks and my Charriot shall remaine
About the shore till thou returne againe.
[_Exit Iuno_.

_Iris_. About the businesse now that I am sent,
To sleepes black Caue I will incontinent;[109]
And his darke cabine boldly will I shake
Vntill the drowsie lumpish God awake,
And such a bounsing at his Caue Ile keepe
That if pale death seaz'd on the eyes of sleepe
Ile rowse him up; that when he shall me heare
He make his locks stand vp on end with feare.
Be silent, aire, whilst _Iris_ in her pride
Swifter than thought vpon the windes doth ride.
What _Somnus_! what _Somnus, Somnus_!
(_Strikes. Pauses a little_)
What, wilt thou not awake? art thou still so fast?
Nay then, yfaith, Ile haue another cast.
What, _Somnus! Somnus_! I say.
(_Strikes againe_)

_Som_. Who calles at this time of the day?
What a balling dost thou keepe!
A vengeance take thee, let me sleepe.

_Iris_. Vp thou drowsie God I say
And come presently away,
Or I will beate vpon this doore
That after this thou sleep'st no more.

_Som_. Ile take a nap and come annon.

_Iris_. Out, you beast, you blocke, you stone!
Come or at thy doore Ile thunder
Til both heaven and hel do wonder.
_Somnus_, I say!

_Som_. A vengeance split thy chaps asunder!

_Enter Somnus_.

_Iris_. What, _Somnus_!

_Som_. _Iris_, I thought it should be thee.
How now, mad wench? what wouldst with me?

_Iris_. From mightie _Iuno, Ioues_ immortall wife,
_Somnus_, I come to charge thee on thy life
That thou vnto this Gentleman appeere
And in this place, thus as he lyeth heere,
Present his mistres to his inward eies
In as true manner as thou canst deuise.

_Som_. I would thou wert hangd for waking me.
Three sonnes I haue; the eldest _Morpheus_ hight,
He shewes of man the shape or sight;
The second, _Icelor_, whose beheasts
Doth shewe the formes of birds and beasts;
_Phantasor_ for the third, things lifeles hee:
Chuse which like thee of these three.

_Iris_. _Morpheus_; if he in humane shape appeare.

_Som_. _Morpheus_, come forth in perfect likenes heere
Of--how call ye the Gentlewoman?

_Iris. Eurymine_.

_Som_. Of _Eurymine_; and shewe this Gentleman
What of his mistres is become.
(_Kneeling downe by Ascanio_.)

_Enter Eurymine, to be supposed Morpheus_.

_Mor_. My deare _Ascanio_, in this vision see
_Eurymine_ doth thus appeare to thee.
As soone as sleepe hath left thy drowsie eies
Follow the path that on thy right hand lies:
An aged Hermit thou by chaunce shalt find
That there hath bene time almost out of mind,
This holy man, this aged reuerent Father,
There in the woods doth rootes and simples gather;
His wrinckled browe tells strenghts past long ago,
His beard as white as winters driuen snow.
He shall discourse the troubles I haue past,
And bring vs both together at the last
Thus she presents her shadow to thy sight
That would her person gladly if she might.

_Iris_. See how he catches to embrace the shade.

_Mor_. This vision fully doth his powers inuade;
And, when the heate shall but a little slake,
Thou then shalt see him presently awake.

_Som_. Hast thou ought else that I may stand in sted?

_Iris_. No, _Somnus_, no; go back unto thy bed;
_Iuno_, she shall reward thee for thy paine.

_Som_. Then good night, _Iris_; Ile to rest againe.

_Iris_. _Morpheus_, farewell; to _Iuno_ I will flie.

_Mor_. And I to sleepe as fast as I can hie.


_Ascanio starting sayes_.

_Eurymine_! Ah, my good Angell, stay!
O vanish not so suddenly away;
O stay, my Goddess; whither doest thou flie?
Returne, my sweet _Eurymine_, tis I.
Where art thou? speake; Let me behold thy face.
Did I not see thee in this very place,
Euen now? Here did I not see thee stand?
And heere thy feete did blesse the happie land?
_Eurymine_, Oh wilt thou not attend?
Flie from thy foe, _Ascanio_ is thy friend:
The fearfull hare so shuns the labouring hound,
And so the Dear eschues the Huntsman wound;
The trembling Foule so flies the Falcons gripe,
The Bond-man so his angry maisters stripe.
I follow not as _Phoebus Daphne_ did,
Nor as the Dog pursues the trembling Kid.
Thy shape it was; alas, I saw not thee!
That sight were fitter for the Gods then mee.
But, if in dreames there any truth be found,
Thou art within the compas of this ground.
Ile raunge the woods and all the groues about,
And neuer rest vntill I find thee out. [_Exit_.

_Enter at one doore Mopso singing_.

_Mop_. Terlitelo,[110] Terlitelo, tertitelee, terlo.
So merrily this sheapheards Boy
His home that he can blow,
Early in a morning, late, late in an euening;
And euer sat this little Boy
So merrily piping.

_Enter at the other doore Frisco singing_.

_Fris_. Can you blow the little home?
Weell, weell and very weell;
And can you blow the little home
Amongst the leaues greene?

_Enter Ioculo in the midst singing_.

_Io_. Fortune,[111] my foe, why doest thou frowne on mee?
And will my fortune neuer better bee?
Wilt thou, I say, for euer breed my paine,
And wilt thou not restore my Ioyes againe?

_Frisco_. Cannot a man be merry in his owne walke
But a must be thus encombred?

_Io_. I am disposed to be melancholly,
And I cannot be priuate for one villaine or other.

_Mop_. How the deuel stumbled this case of rope-ripes[112] into my way?

_Fris_. Sirrha what art thou? and thou?

_Io_. I am a page to a Courtier.

_Mop_. And I a Boy to a Shepheard.

_Fris_. Thou art the Apple-Squier[113] to an Eawe,
And thou sworne brother to a bale[114] of false dice.

_Io_. What art thou?

_Fris_. I am Boy to a Raunger.

_Io_. An Out-lawe by authoritie, one that neuer sets marke of his own
goods nor neuer knowes how he comes by other mens.

_Mop_. That neuer knowes his cattell but by their hornes.

_Fris_. Sirrha, so you might haue said of your maister sheep.

_Io_. I, marry, this takes fier like touch powder, and goes off with
a huffe.

_Fris_. They come of crick-cracks, and shake their tayles like a squib.

_Io_. Ha, you Rogues, the very steele of my wit shall strike fier from
the flint of your vnderstandings; haue you not heard of me?

_Mop_. Yes, if you be the _Ioculo_ that I take you for, we haue heard
of your exployts for cosoning of some seuen and thirtie Alewiues in the
Villages here about.

_Io_. A wit as nimble as a Sempsters needle or a girles finger at her
Buske poynt.

_Mop_. Your iest goes too low, sir.

_Fris_. O but tis a tickling iest.

_Io_. Who wold haue thought to haue found this in a plaine villaine
that neuer woare better garment than a greene Ierkin?

_Fris_. O Sir, though you Courtiers haue all the honour you haue not
all the wit.

_Mop_. Soft sir, tis not your witte can carry it away in this company.

_Io_. Sweet Rogues, your companie to me is like musick to a wench at
midnight when she lies alone and could wish,--yea, marry could she.

_Fris_. And thou art as welcome to me as a new poking stick to a
Chamber mayd.

_Mop_. But, soft; who comes here?

_Enter the Faieries, singing and dauncing_.

By the moone we sport and play,
With the night begins our day;
As we daunce, the deaw doth fall;
Trip it little vrchins all,
Lightly as the little Bee,
Two by two and three by three:
And about go wee, and about go wee.[115]

_Io_. What Mawmets[116] are these?

_Fris_. O they be the Fayries that haunt these woods.

_Mop_. O we shall be pincht most cruelly.

1 _Fay_. Will you haue any musick sir?

2 _Fay_. Will you haue any fine musicke?

3 _Fay_. Most daintie musicke?

_Mop_. We must set a face on't now; there's no flying; no, Sir,
we are very merrie, I thanke you.

1 _Fay_. O but you shall, Sir.

_Fris_. No, I pray you, saue your labour.

2 _Fay_. O, Sir, it shall not cost you a penny.

_Io_. Where be your Fiddles?

3 _Fay_. You shall haue most daintie Instruments, Sir.

_Mop_. I pray you, what might I call you?

1 _Fay_. My name is _Penny_.

_Mop_. I am sorry I cannot purse you.

_Fris_. I pray you sir what might I call you?

2 _Fay_. My name is _Cricket_.[117]

_Fris_. I would I were a chimney for your sake.

_Io_. I pray you, you prettie little fellow, whats your name?

3 _Fay_. My name is little, little _Pricke_.

_Io_. Little, little _Pricke?_ o you are a daungerous Fayrie, and
fright all little wenches in the country out of their beds. I care not
whose hand I were in, so I were out of yours.

1 _Fay_. I do come about the coppes
Leaping vpon flowers toppes;
Then I get vpon a Flie,
Shee carries me aboue the skie,
And trip and goe.

2 _Fay_. When a deaw drop falleth downe
And doth light vpon my crowne,
Then I shake my head and skip
And about I trip.

3 _Fay_. When I feele a girle a sleepe
Vnderneath her frock I peepe.
There to sport, and there I play,
Then I byte her like a flea;
And about I skip.

_Io_. I, I thought where I should haue you.

_1 Fay_. Wilt please you daunce, sir.

_Io_. Indeed, sir, I cannot handle my legges.

2 _Fay_. O you must needs daunce and sing,
Which if you refuse to doe
We will pinch you blacke and blew;
And about we goe.

_They all daunce in a ring and sing, as followeth_.

Round about, round about, in a fine ring a,
Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a:
Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a,
All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a.

Round about, round about, in a fine Ring a,
Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a:
Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a,
All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a.

We haue daunc't round about in a fine Ring a,
We haue daunc't lustily and thus we sing a;
All about, in and out, ouer this Greene a,
Too and fro, trip and go, to our braue Queene a.

_Actus Tertius_.


_Enter Appollo and three Charites_.

1 _Cha_. No, No, great _Phoebus_; this your silence tends
To hide your griefe from knowledge of your friends,
Who, if they knew the cause in each respect,
Would shewe their utmost skill to cure th'effect:

_Ap_. Good Ladyes, your conceites in iudgement erre:
Because you see me dumpish, you referre
The reason to some secret griefe of mine:
But you haue seene me melancholy many a time:
Perhaps it is the glowing weather now
That makes me seeme so ill at ease to you.

1 _Cha_. Fine shifts to cover that you cannot hide!
No, _Phoebus_; by your looks may be discride
Some hid conceit that harbors in your thought
Which hath therein some straunge impression wrought,
That by the course thereof you seeme to mee
An other man then you were wont to bee.

_Ap_. No, Ladies; you deceiue yourselues in mee:
What likelihood or token do ye see
That may perswade it true that you suppose?

2 _Cha_. _Appollo_ hence a great suspition growes:--
Yeare not so pleasaunt now as earst in companie;
Ye walke alone and wander solitarie;
The pleasaunt toyes we did frequent sometime
Are worne away and growne out of prime;
Your Instrument hath lost his siluer sound,
That rang of late through all this grouie ground;
Your bowe, wherwith the chace you did frequent,
Is closde in case and long hath been unbent.
How differ you from that _Appollo_ now
That whilom sat in shade of Lawrell bowe,
And with the warbling of your Iuorie Lute
T'alure the Fairies for to daunce about!
Or from th'_Appollo_ that with bended bowe
Did many a sharp and wounding shaft bestowe
Amidst the Dragon _Pithons_ scalie wings,
And forc't his dying blood to spout in springs!
Beleeue me, _Phebus_, who sawe you then and now
Would thinke there were a wondrous change in you.

_Ap_. Alas, faire dames, to make my sorows plain
Would but reuiue an auncient wound again,
Which grating presently vpon my minde
Doth leaue a fear of former woes behinde.

3 _Cha_. _Phoebus_, if you account vs for the same
That tender thee and loue _Appollo's_ name,
Poure forth to vs the fountaine of your woe
Fro whence the spring of these your sorows flowe;
If we may any way redresse your mone
Commaund our best, harme we will do you none.

_Ap_. Good Ladies, though I hope for no reliefe
He shewe the ground of this my present griefe:
This time of yeare, or there about it was,
(Accursed be the time, tenne times, alas!)
When I from _Delphos_ tooke my iourney downe
To see the games in noble Sparta Towne.
There saw I that wherein I gan to ioy,
_Amilchars_ sonne, a gallant comely boy
(Hight _Hiacinth_), full fifteene yeares of age,
Whom I intended to haue made my Page;
And bare as great affection to the boy
As euer _Ioue_ in _Ganimede_ did ioy.
Among the games my selfe put in a pledge,
To trie my strength in throwing of the sledge;
Which, poysing with my strained arme, I threw
So farre that it beyond the other flew:
My _Hiacinth_, delighting in the game,
Desierd to proue his manhood in the same,
And, catching ere the sledge lay still on ground,
With violent force aloft it did rebound
Against his head and battered out his braine;
And so alas my louely boy was slaine.

1 _Cha_. Hard hap, O _Phoebus_; but, sieth it's past & gone,
We wish ye to forbeare this frustrate mone.

_Ap_. Ladies, I knowe my sorrowes are in vaine,
And yet from mourning can I not refraine.

1 _Cha_. _Eurania_ some pleasant song shall sing
To put ye from your dumps.

_Ap_. Alas, no song will bring
The least reliefe to my perplexed minde.

2 _Cha_. No, _Phoebus_? what other pastime shall we finde
To make ye merry with?

_Ap_. Faire dames, I thanke you all;
No sport nor pastime can release my thrall.
My grief's of course; when it the course hath had,
I shall be merrie and no longer sad.

1 _Cha_. What will ye then we doo?

_Ap_. And please ye, you may goe,
And leaue me here to feed vpon my woe.

2 _Cha_. Then, _Phoebus, we can but wish ye wel againe.

[_Exeunt Charites_.

_Ap_. I thanke ye, gentle Ladies, for your paine.--
O _Phoebus_, wretched thou, thus art thou faine
With forg'de excuses to conceale thy paine.
O, _Hyacinth_, I suffer not these fits
For thee, my Boy; no, no, another sits
Deeper then thou in closet of my brest,
Whose sight so late hath wrought me this unrest.
And yet no Goddesse nor of heauenly kinde
She is, whose beautie thus torments my minde;
No Fayrie Nymph that haunts these pleasaunt woods,
No Goddesse of the flowres, the fields, nor floods:
Yet such an one whom iustly I may call
A Nymph as well as any of them all.
_Eurymine_, what heauen affoords thee heere?
So may I say, because thou com'st so neere,
And neerer far vnto a heauenly shape
Than she of whom _Ioue_ triumph't in the Rape.
Ile sit me downe and wake my griefe againe
To sing a while in honour of thy name.


Amidst the mountaine Ida groues,
Where _Paris_ kept his Heard,
Before the other Ladies all
He would haue thee prefer'd.
_Pallas_, for all her painting, than
Her face would seeme but pale,
Then _Iuno_ would haue blush't for shame
And _Venus_ looked stale.
_Eurymine_, thy selfe alone
Shouldst beare the golden ball;
So far would thy most heauenly forme
Excell the others all;
O happie _Phoebus_! happie then,
Most happie should I bee
If faire _Eurymine_ would please
To ioyne in loue with mee.

_Enter Eurymine_.

_Eu_. Although there be such difference in the chaunge
To Hue in Court and desart woods to raunge,
Yet in extremes, wherein we cannot chuse,
An extreame refuge is not to refuse.
Good gentlemen, did any see my heard?
I shall not finde them out I am afeard;
And yet my maister wayteth with his bowe
Within a standeing, for to strike a Doe.
You saw them not, your silence makes me doubt;
I must goe further till I finde them out.

_Ap_. What seeke you, prettie mayde?

_Eu_. Forsooth, my heard of Deere.

_Ap_. I sawe them lately, but they are not heere.

_Eu_. I pray, sir, where?

_Ap_. An houre agoe, or twaine,
I sawe them feeding all aboue the plaine.

_Eu_. So much the more the toile to fetch them in.
I thanke you, sir.

_Ap_. Nay, stay, sweet Nymph, with mee.

_Eu_. My busines cannot so dispatched bee.

_Ap_. But pray ye, Maide, it will be verie good
To take the shade in this vnhaunted wood.
This flouring bay, with branches large and great,
Will shrowd ye safely from the parching heat.

_Eu_. Good sir, my busines calls me hence in haste.

_Ap_. O stay with him who conquered thou hast,
With him whose restles thoughts do beat on thee,
With him that ioyes thy wished face to see,
With him whose ioyes surmount all ioyes aboue
If thou wouldst thinke him worthie of thy loue.

_Eu_. Why, Sir, would you desire another make,
And weare that garland for your mistres sake?

_Ap_. No, Nymph; although I loue this laurel tree,
My fancy ten times more affecteth thee:
And, as the bay is alwaies fresh and greene,
So shall my loue as fresh to thee be seene.

_Eu_. Now truly, sir, you offer me great wrong
To hold me from my busines here so long.

_Ap_. O stay, sweet Nymph; with more aduisement view
What one he is that for thy grace doth sue.
I am not one that haunts on hills or Rocks,
I am no shepheard wayting on my flocks,
I am no boystrous Satyre, no nor Faune,
That am with pleasure of thy beautie drawne:
Thou dost not know, God wot, thou dost not know
The wight whose presence thou disdainest so.

_Eu_. But I may know, if you wold please to tell.

_Ap_. My father in the highest heauen doth dwell
And I am knowne the sonne of _Ioue_ to bee,
Whereon the folke of _Delphos_ honor mee.
By me is knowne what is, what was, and what shall bee;
By me are learnde the Rules of harmonie;
By me the depth of Phisicks lore is found,
And power of Hearbes that grow vpon the ground;
And thus, by circumstances maist thou see
That I am _Phoebus_ who doth fancie thee.

_Eu_. No, sir; by these discourses may I see
You mock me with a forged pedegree.
If sonne you bee to _Ioue_, as erst ye said,
In making loue vnto a mortall maide
You work dishonour to your deitie.
I must be gonne; I thanke ye for your curtesie.

_Ap_. Alas, abandon not thy Louer so!

_Eu_. I pray, sir, hartily giue me leaue to goe.

_Ap_. The way ore growne with shrubs and bushes thick,
The sharpened thornes your tender feete will pricke,
The brambles round about your traine will lappe,
The burs and briers about your skirts will wrappe.

_Eu_. If, _Phoebus_, thou of _Ioue_ the ofspring be,
Dishonor not thy deitie so much
With profered force a silly mayd to touch;
For doing so, although a god thou bee,
The earth and men on earth shall ring thy infamie.

_Ap_. Hard speech to him that loueth thee so well.

_Eu_. What know I that?

_Ap_. I know it and can tell,
And feel it, too.

_Eu_. If that your loue be such
As you pretend, so feruent and so much,
For proofe thereof graunt me but one request.

_Ap_. I will, by _Ioue_ my father, I protest,
Provided first that thy petition bee
Not hurtfull to thy selfe, nor harme to mee.
For so sometimes did _Phaeton_ my sonne
Request a thing whereby he was vndone;
He lost his life through craving it, and I
Through graunting it lost him, my sonne, thereby.

_Eu_. Thus, _Phoebus_, thus it is; if thou be hee
That art pretended in thy pedegree,
If sonne thou be to _Iove_, as thou doest fame,
And chalengest that tytle not in vaine,
Now heer bewray some signe of godhead than,
And chaunge me straight from shape of mayd to man.

_Ap_. Alas! what fond desire doth moue thy minde
To wish thee altered from thy native kinde,
If thou in this thy womans form canst move
Not men but gods to sue and seeke thy love?
Content thyselfe with natures bountie than,
And covet not to beare the shape of man.
And this moreover will I say to thee:
Fairer man then mayde thou shalt neuer bee.

_Eu_. These vaine excuses manifestly showe
Whether you usurp _Appollos_ name or no.
Sith my demaund so far surmounts your art,
Ye ioyne exceptions on the other part.

_Ap_. Nay, then, my doubtles Deitie to prove,
Although thereby for ever I loose my Love,
I graunt thy wish: thou art become a man,
I speake no more then well perform I can.
And, though thou walke in chaunged bodie now,
This penance shall be added to thy vowe:
Thyself a man shalt love a man in vaine,
And, loving, wish to be a maide againe.

_Eu_. _Appollo_, whether I love a man or not,
I thanke ye: now I will accept my lot;
And, sith my chaunge hath disappointed you,
Ye are at libertie to love anew.

_Ap_. If ever I love, sith now I am forsaken,
Where next I love it shall be better taken.
But, what so ere my fate in loving bee,
Yet thou maist vaunt that _Phoebus_ loved thee.
[_Exit Appollo_.

_Enter Ioculo, Frisco, and Mopso, at three severall doores_.

_Mop_. _Ioculo_, whither iettest thou?
Hast thou found thy maister?

_Io_. _Mopso_, wel met; hast thou found thy mistresse?

_Mop_. Not I, by Pan.

_Io_. Nor I, by Pot.

_Mop_. Pot? what god's that?

_Io_. The next god to Pan; and such a pot it may be as he shall haue
more servants then all the Pannes in a Tinker's shop.

_Mop_. _Frisco_, where hast thou beene frisking? hast thou found--

_Fris_. I haue found,--

_Io_. What hast thou found, _Frisco_?

_Fris_. A couple of crack-roapes.

_Io_. And I.

_Mop_. And I.

_Fris_. I meane you two.

_Io_. I you two.

_Mop_. And I you two.

_Fris_. Come, a trebble conjunction: all three, all three.

(_They all imbrace each other_)

_Mop_. But _Frisco_, hast not found the faire shepheardesse,
thy maister's mistresse?

_Fris_. Not I, by God,--_Priapus_, I meane.

_Io_. _Priapus_, quoth a? Whatt'in[118] a God might that bee?

_Fris_. A plaine God, with a good peg to hang a shepheardesse bottle

_Io_. Thou, being a Forrester's Boy, shouldst sweare by the God of
the woods.

_Fris_. My Maister sweares by _Siluanus_; I must sweare by his poore

_Io_. And heer's a shepheard's swaine sweares by a Kitchen God, Pan.

_Mop_. Pan's the shepheardes God; but thou swearest by Pot: what God's

_Io_. The God of good-fellowship. Well, you haue wicked maisters, that
teach such little Boyes to sweare so young.

_Fris_. Alas, good old great man, wil not your maister swear?

_Io_. I neuer heard him sweare six sound oaths in all my life.

_Mop_. May hap he cannot because hee's diseas'd.

_Fris_. Peace, _Mopso_. I will stand too't hee's neither
brave Courtier, bouncing Cavalier, nor boone Companion
if he sweare not some time; for they will
sweare, forsweare, and sweare.

_Io_. How sweare, forsweare, and sweare? how is

_Fris_. They'll sweare at dyce, forsweare their debts, and sweare when
they loose their labour in love.

_Io_. Well, your maisters have much to answer for that bring ye up so

_Fris_. Nay, my maister is damn'd, I'll be sworne, for his verie soule
burnes in the firie eye of his faire mistresse.

_Io_. My maister is neither damnde nor dead, and yet is in the case of
both your maisters, like a woodden shepheard and a sheepish woodman;
for he is lost in seeking of a lost sheepe and spent in hunting a Doe
that hee would faine strike.

_Fris_. Faith, and I am founderd with slinging to and fro with Chesnuts,
Hazel-nuts, Bullaze and wildings[119] for presents from my maister to
the faire shepheardesse.

_Mop_. And I am tierd like a Calf with carrying a Kidde every weeke to
the cottage of my maister's sweet Lambkin.

_Io_. I am not tierd, but so wearie I cannot goe with following a
maister that followes his mistresse, that followes her shadow, that
followes the sunne, that followes his course.

_Fris_. That follows the colt, that followed the mare the man rode on
to Midleton. Shall I speake a wise word?

_Mop_. Do, and wee will burne our caps.

_Fris_. Are not we fooles?

_Io_. Is that a wise word?

_Fris_. Giue me leave; are not we fooles to weare our young feete to old
stumps, when there dwells a cunning man in a Cave hereby who for a bunch
of rootes, a bagge of nuts, or a bushell of crabs will tell us where
thou shalt find thy maister, and which of our maisters shall win the
wenche's favour?

_Io_. Bring me to him, _Frisco_: I'll give him all the poynts at my hose
to poynt me right to my maister.

_Mop_. A bottle of whey shall be his meed if he save me labour for
posting with presents.

_Enter Aramanthus with his Globe, &c_.

_Fris_. Here he comes: offend him not, _Ioculo_, for feare he turne thee
to a Iacke an apes.

_Mop_. And thee to an Owle.

_Io_. And thee to a wood-cocke.

_Fris_. A wood-cocke an Owle and an Ape.

_Mop_. A long bill a broade face and no tayle.

_Io_. Kisse it, Mopso, and be quiet: Ile salute him civilly. Good speed,
good man.

_Aram_. Welcome, bad boy.

_Fris_. He speakes to thee, _Ioculo_.

_Io_. Meaning thee, _Frisco_.

_Aram_. I speake and meane not him, nor him, nor thee; But speaking so,
I speake and meane all three.

_Io_. If ye be good at Rimes and Riddles, old man, expound me this:--

These two serve two, those two serve one;
Assoyle[120] me this and I am gone.

_Aram_. You three serve three; those three do seeke to one;
One shall her finde; he comes, and she is gone.

_Io_. This is a wise answer: her going caused his comming;
For if she had nere gone he had nere come.

_Mop_. Good maister wizard, leave these murlemewes and tel _Mopso_
plainly whether _Gemulo_ my maister, that gentle shepheard, shall win
the love of the faire shepheardesse, his flocke-keeper, or not; and Ile
give ye a bottle of as good whey as ere ye laid lips to.

_Fris_. And good father Fortune-teller, let _Frisco_ knowe whether
_Siluio_ my maister, that lustie Forrester, shall gaine that same gay
shepheardesse or no. Ile promise ye nothing for your paines but a bag
full of nuts, and if I bring a crab or two in my pocket take them for

_Io_. And gentle maister wise-man, tell _Ioculo_ if his noble maister
_Ascanio_, that gallant courtier, shal be found by me, and she found by
him for whom he hath lost his father's favour and his owne libertie and
I my labour; and Ile give ye thankes, for we courtiers neither giue nor
take bribes.

_Aram_. I take your meaning better then your speech,
And I will graunt the thing you doo beseech.
But, for the teares of Lovers be no toyes,
He tell their chaunce in parables to boyes.

_Fris_. In what ye will lets heare our maisters' luck.

_Aram_. Thy maister's Doe shall turne unto a Buck; (_To Frisco_.)
Thy maister's Eawe be chaunged to a Ram; (_To Mopso_.)
Thy maister seeks a maide and findes a man, (_To Ioculo_.)
Yet for his labor shall he gaine his meede;
The other two shall sigh to see him speede.

_Mop_. Then my maister shall not win the shepheardesse?

_Aram_. No, hast thee home and bid him right his wrong,
The shepheardesse will leave his flock ere long.

_Mop_. Ile run to warne my master of that.

_Fris_. My maister wood-man takes but woodden paines to no purpose,
I thinke: what say ye, shall he speed?

_Aram_. No, tell him so, and bid him tend his Deare
And cease to woe: he shall not wed this yeare.

_Fris_. I am not sorie for it; farewell, _Ioculo_.

_Io_. I may goe with thee, for I shall speed even so too by staying

_Aram_. Better, my Boy, thou shalt thy maister finde
And he shall finde the partie he requires,
And yet not find the summe of his desires.
Keep on that way; thy maister walkes before,
Whom, when thou findst, loose him good Boy no more.

[_Exit ambo_.

_Actus Quartus_.

_Enter Ascanio and Ioculo_.

_Asca_. Shall then my travell ever endles prove,
That I can heare no tydings of my Love?
In neither desart, grove, nor shadie wood
Nor obscure thicket where my foote hath trod?
But every plough-man and rude shepheard swain
Doth still reply unto my greater paine?
Some Satyre, then, or Godesse of this place,
Some water Nymph vouchsafed me so much grace
As by some view, some signe, or other sho,
I may haue knowledge if she lives or no.

_Eccho_. No.

_Asca_. Then my poore hart is buried too in wo:
Record it once more if the truth be so.

_Eccho_. So.

_Asca_. How? that _Eurymine_ is dead, or lives?

_Eccho_. Lives.

_Asca_. Now, gentle Goddesse, thou redeem'st my soule
From death to life: Oh tell me quickly, where?

_Eccho_. Where?

_Asca_. In some remote far region or else neere?

_Eccho_. Neere.

_Asca_. Oh, what conceales her from my thirstie eyes?
Is it restraint or some unknown disguise?

_Eccho_. Disguise.

_Io_. Let me be hang'd my Lord, but all is lyes.

_Eccho_. Lyes.

_Io_. True we are both perswaded thou doest lye.

_Eccho_. Thou doest lye.

_Io_. Who? I?

_Eccho_. Who? I?

_Io_. I, thou.

_Eccho_. I, thou.

_Io_. Thou dar'st not come and say so to my face.

_Eccho_. Thy face.

_Io_. He make you then for ever prating more.

_Eccho_. More.

_Io_. Will ye prate more? Ile see that presently.

_Asca_. Stay, _Ioculo_, it is the Eccho, Boy,
That mocks our griefe and laughes at our annoy.
Hard by this grove there is a goodly plaine
Betwixt two hils, still fresh with drops of raine,
Where never spreading Oake nor Poplar grew
Might hinder the prospect or other view,
But all the country that about it lyes
Presents it selfe vnto our mortall eyes;
Save that vpon each hill, by leavie trees,
The Sun at highest his scorching heat may leese:
There, languishing, my selfe I will betake
As heaven shal please and only for her sake.

_Io_. Stay, maister; I have spied the fellow that mocks vs all this
while: see where he sits.

_Aramanthus sitting_.

_Asca_. The very shape my vision told me off,
That I should meet with as I strayed this way.

_Io_. What lynes he drawes? best go not over farre.

_Asca_. Let me alone; thou doest but trouble mee.

_Io_. Youle trouble vs all annon, ye shall see.

_Asca_. God speed, faire Sir.

_Io_. My Lord, do ye not mark
How the skie thickens and begins to darke?

_Asca_. Health to ye, Sir.

_Io_. Nay, then, God be our speed.

_Ara_. Forgive me, Sir; I sawe ye not indeed.

_Asca_. Pardon me rather for molesting you.

_Io_. Such another face I never knew.

_Ara_. Thus, studious, I am wont to passe the time
By true proportion of each line from line.

_Io_. Oh now I see he was learning to spell:
Theres A. B. C. in midst of his table.

_Asca_. Tell me, I pray ye, sir, may I be bold to crave.
The cause of your abode within this cave?

_Ara_. To tell you that, in this extreme distresse,
Were but a tale of Fortunes ficklenesse.
Sometime I was a Prince of _Lesbos_ Ile
And liv'd beloved, whilst my good stars did smile;
But clowded once with this world's bitter crosse
My joy to grife, my gaine converts to losse.

_Asca_. Forward, I pray ye; faint not in your tale.

_Io_. It will not all be worth a cup of Ale.

_Ara_. A short discourse of that which is too long,
How ever pleasing, can never seeme but wrong;
Yet would my tragicke story fit the stage:
Pleasaunt in youth but wretched in mine age,
Blinde fortune setting vp and pulling downe,
Abusde by those my selfe raisde to renowne:
But that which wrings me neer and wounds my hart,
Is a false brothers base vnthankfull part.

_Asca_. A smal offence comparde with my disease;
No doubt ingratitude in time may cease
And be forgot: my grief out lives all howres,
Raining on my head continual, haplesse showers.

_Ara_. You sing of yours and I of mine relate,
To every one seemes worst his owne estate.
But to proceed: exiled thus by spight,
Both country I forgoe and brothers sight,
And comming hither, where I thought to live,
Yet here I cannot but lament and greeve.

_Asca_. Some comfort yet in this there doth remaine,
That you have found a partner in your paine.

_Ara_. How are your sorrowes subiect? let me heare.

_Asca_. More overthrowne and deeper in dispaire
Than is the manner of your heavie smart,
My carelesse griefe doth ranckle at my hart;
And, in a word to heare the summe of all,
I love and am beloved, but there-withall
The sweetnesse of that banquet must forgo,
Whose pleasant tast is chaungde with bitter wo.

_Ara_. A conflict but to try your noble minde;
As common vnto youth as raine to winde.

_Asca_. But hence it is that doth me treble wrong,
Expected good that is forborne so long
Doth loose the vertue which the vse would prove.

_Ara_. Are you then, sir, despised of your Love?

_Asca_. No; but deprived of her company,
And for my careles negligence therein
Am bound to doo this penaunce for my sin;
That, if I never finde where she remaines,
I vowe a yeare shal be my end of paines.

_Ara_. Was she then lost within this forrest here?

_Asca_. Lost or forlorn, to me she was right deere:
And this is certaine; vnto him that could
The place where she abides to me vnfold
For ever I would vow my selfe his friend,
Never revolting till my life did end.
And there fore, sir (as well I know your skill)
If you will give me physicke for this ill
And shewe me if _Eurymine_ do live,
It were a recompence for all my paine,
And I should thinke my ioyes were full againe.

_Ara_. They know the want of health that have bene sick:
My selfe, sometimes acquainted with the like,
Do learne in dutie of a kinde regard
To pittie him whose hap hath bene so hard,
How long, I pray ye, hath she absent bene?

_Asca_. Three days it is since that my Love was seene.

_Io_. Heer's learning for the nonce that stands on ioynts;
For all his cunning Ile scarse give two poynts.

_Ara_. _Mercurio regnante virum, sub-sequente Luna Faeminum

_Io_. Nay, and you go to Latin, then tis sure my maister shall finde
her if he could tell where.

_Ara_. I cannot tell what reason it should bee,
But love and reason here doo disagree:
By proofe of learned principles I finde
The manner of your love's against all kinde;
And, not to feede ye with uncertaine ioy,
Whom you affect so much is but a Boy.

_Io_. A Riddle for my life, some antick Iest?
Did I not tell ye what his cunning was?

_Asca_. I love a Boy?

_Ara_. Mine art doth tell me so.

_Asca_. Adde not a fresh increase vnto my woe.

_Ara_. I dare avouch, what lately I have saide,
The love that troubles you is for no maide.

_Asca_. As well I might be said to touch the skie,
Or darke the horizon with tapestrie,
Or walke upon the waters of the sea,
As to be haunted with such lunacie.

_Ara_. If it be false mine Art I will defie.

_Asca_. Amazed with grief my love is then transform'd.

_Io_. Maister, be contented; this is leape yeare:
Women weare breetches, petticoats are deare;
And thats his meaning, on my life it is.

_Asca_. Oh God, and shal my torments never cease?

_Ara_. Represse the fury of your troubled minde;
Walke here a while, your Lady you may finde.

_Io_. A Lady and a Boy, this hangs wel together,
Like snow in harvest, sun-shine and foule weather.

_Enter Eurymine singing_.

_Eu_. _Since[121] hope of helpe my froward starres denie,
Come, sweetest death, and end my miserie;
He left his countrie, I my shape have lost;
Deare is the love that hath so dearly cost_.

Yet can I boast, though _Phoebus_ were uniust,
This shift did serve to barre him from his lust.
But who are these alone? I cannot chuse
But blush for shame that anyone should see
_Eurymine_ in this disguise to bee.

_Asca_. It is (is't[122] not?) my love _Eurymine_.

_Eury_. Hark, some one hallows: gentlemen, adieu;
In this attire I dare not stay their view.

_Asca_. My love, my ioy, my life!
By eye, by face, by tongue it should be shee:
Oh I, it was my love; Ile after her,
And though she passe the eagle in her flight
Ile never rest till I have gain'd her sight.

_Ara_. Love carries him and so retains his minde
That he forgets how I am left behind.
Yet will I follow softly, as I can,
In hope to see the fortune of the man.

_Io_. Nay let them go, a Gods name, one by one;
With all my heart I am glad to be alone.
Here's old[123] transforming! would with all his art
He could transform this tree into a tart:
See then if I would flinch from hence or no;
But, for it is not so, I needs must go.

_Enter Silvio and Gemulo_.

_Sil_. Is it a bargaine _Gemulo_ or not?

_Ge_. Thou never knew'st me breake my word, I wot,
Nor will I now, betide me bale or blis.

_Sil_. Nor I breake mine: and here her cottage is,
Ile call her forth.

_Ge_. Will _Silvio_ be so rude?

_Sil_. Never shall we betwixt ourselves conclude
Our controversie, for we overweene.

_Ge_. Not I but thou; for though thou iet'st in greene,
As fresh as meadow in a morne of May,
And scorn'st the shepheard for he goes in gray.
But, Forrester, beleeve it as thy creede,
My mistresse mindes my person not my weede.

_Sil_. So 'twas I thought: because she tends thy sheepe
Thou thinkst in love of thee she taketh keepe;
That is as townish damzels, lend the hand
But send the heart to him aloofe doth stande:
So deales _Eurymine_ with _Silvio_.

_Ge_. Al be she looke more blithe on _Gemulo_
Her heart is in the dyall of her eye,
That poynts me hers.

_Sil_. That shall we quickly trye.

_Ge_. _Erynnis_, stop thy throte;
Unto thy hound thou hallowst such a note.
I thought that shepheards had bene mannerlesse,
But wood-men are the ruder groomes I guesse.

_Sil_. How shall I call her swaine but by her name?

_Ge_. So _Hobinoll_ the plowman calls his dame.
Call her in Carroll from her quiet coate.

_Sil_. Agreed; but whether shall begin his note?

_Ge_. Draw cuttes.

_Sil_. Content; the longest shall begin.

_Ge_. Tis mine.

_Sil_. Sing loude, for she is farre within.

_Ge_. Instruct thy singing in thy forrest waies,
Shepheards know how to chant their roundelaies.

_Sil_. Repeat our bargain ere we sing our song,
Least after wrangling should our mistresse wrong:
If me she chuse thou must be well content,
If thee she chuse I give the like consent.

_Ge_. Tis done: now, _Pan_ pipe, on thy sweetest reede,
And as I love so let thy servaunt speede.--

_As little Lambes lift up their snowie sides
When mounting Lark salutes the gray eyed morne--

Sil. As from the Oaken leaves the honie glides
Where nightingales record upon the thorne--

Ge. So rise my thoughts--

Sil. So all my sences cheere--

Ge. When she surveyes my flocks

Sil. And she my Deare.

Ge. Eurymine!

Sil. Eurymine!

Ge. Come foorth--

Sil. Come foorth--

Ge. Come foorth and cheere these plaines--

(And both sing this together when they have sung it single.)

Sil. The wood-mans Love

Ge. And Lady of the Swaynes.

Enter Eurymine_.

Faire Forester and lovely shepheard Swaine,
Your Carrolls call _Eurymine_ in vaine,
For she is gone: her Cottage and her sheepe
With me, her brother, hath she left to keepe,
And made me sweare by _Pan_, ere she did go,
To see them safely kept for _Gemulo_.

(_They both looke straungely upon her, apart each from other_.)

_Ge_. What, hath my Love a new come Lover than?

_Sil_. What, hath my mistresse got another man?

_Ge_. This Swayne will rob me of _Eurymine_.

_Sil_. This youth hath power to win _Eurymine_.

_Ge_. This straungers beautie beares away my prize.

_Sil_. This straunger will bewitch her with his eies.

_Ge_. It is _Adonis_.

_Sil_. It is _Ganymede_.

_Ge_. My blood is chill.

_Sil_. My hearte is colde as Leade.

_Eu_. Faire youthes, you have forgot for what ye came:
You seeke your Love, shee's gone.

_Ge_. The more to blame.

_Eu_. Not so; my sister had no will to go
But that our parents dread commaund was so.

_Sil_. It is thy sense: thou art not of her kin,
But as my Ryvall com'ste my Love to win.

_Eu_. By great _Appollos_ sacred Deitie,
That shepheardesse so neare is Sib[124] to me
As I ne may (for all the world) her wed;
For she and I in one selfe wombe were bred.
But she is gone, her flocke is left to mee.

_Ge_. The shepcoat's mine and I will in and see.

_Sil_. And I.

[_Exeunt Silvio and Gemulo_.

_Eu_. Go both, cold comfort shall you finde:
My manly shape hath yet a womans minde,
Prone to reveale what secret she doth know.
God pardon me, I was about to show
My transformation: peace, they come againe.

_Enter Silvio and Gemulo_.

_Sil_. Have ye found her?

_Ge_. No, we looke in vaine.

_Eu_. I told ye so.

_Ge_. Yet heare me, new come Swayne.
Albe thy seemly feature set no sale
But honest truth vpon thy novell tale,
Yet (for this world is full of subtiltee)
We wish ye go with vs for companie
Unto a wise man wonning[125] in this wood,
Hight _Aramanth_, whose wit and skill is good,
That he may certifie our mazing doubt
How this straunge chaunce and chaunge hath fallen out.

_Eu_. I am content; have with ye when ye will.

_Sil_. Even now.

_Eu_. Hee'le make ye muse if he have any skill.


_Actus Quintus_.

_Enter Ascanio and Eurymine_.

_Asca_. _Eurymine_, I pray, if thou be shee,
Refraine thy haste and doo not flie from mee.
The time hath bene my words thou would'st allow
And am I growne so loathsome to thee now?

_Eu_. _Ascanio_, time hath bene, I must confesse,
When in thy presence was my happinesse,
But now the manner of my miserie
Hath chaung'd that course that so it cannot be.

_Asca_. What wrong have I contrived, what iniurie
To alienate thy liking so from mee?
If thou be she whom sometime thou didst faine,
And bearest not the name of friend in vaine,
Let not thy borrowed guise of altred kinde
Alter the wonted liking of thy minde,
But though in habit of a man thou goest
Yet be the same _Eurymine_ thou wast.

_Eu_. How gladly would I be thy Lady still,
If earnest vowes might answere to my will.

_Asca_. And is thy fancie alterd with thy guise?

_Eu_. My kinde, but not my minde in any wise.

_Asca_. What though thy habit differ from thy kinde,
Thou maiest retain thy wonted loving minde.

_Eu_. And so I doo.

_Asca_. Then why art thou so straunge,
Or wherefore doth thy plighted fancie chaunge?

_Eu_. _Ascanio_, my heart doth honor thee.

_Asca_. And yet continuest stil so strange to me?

_Eu_. Not strange, so far as kind will give me leave.

_Asca_. Unkind that kind that kindnesse doth bereave:
Thou saist thou lovest me?

_Eu_. As a friend his friend,
And so I vowe to love thee to the end.

_Asca_. I wreake not of such love; love me but so
As faire _Eurymine_ loved _Ascanio_.

_Eu_. That love's denide vnto my present kinde.

_Asca_. In kindely shewes vnkinde I doo thee finde:
I see thou art as constant as the winde.

_Eu_. Doth kinde allow a man to love a man?

_Asca_. Why, art thou not _Eurymine_?

_Eu_. I am.

_Asca_. _Eurymine_ my love?

_Eu_. The very same.

_Asca_. And wast thou not a woman then?

_Eu_. Most true.

_Asca_. And art thou changed from a woman now?

_Eu_. Too true.

_Asca_. These tales my minde perplex.
Thou art _Eurymine_?

_Eu_. In name, but not in sexe.

_Asca_. What then?

_Eu_. A man.

_Asca_. In guise thou art, I see.

_Eu_. The guise thou seest doth with my kinde agree.

_Asca_. Before thy flight thou wast a woman tho?

_Eu_. True, _Ascanio_.

_Asca_. And since thou art a man?

_Eu_. Too true, deare friend.

_Asca_. Then I have lost a wife.

_Eu_. But found a friend whose dearest blood and life
Shal be as readie as thine owne for thee;
In place of wife such friend thou hast of mee.

_Enter Ioculo and Aramanthus_.

_Io_. There they are: maister, well overtane,
I thought we two should never meete againe:
You went so fast that I to follow thee
Slipt over hedge and ditch and many a tall tree.

_Ara_. Well said, my Boy: thou knowest not how to lie.

_Io_. To lye, Sir? how say you, was it not so?
You were at my heeles, though farre off, ye know.
For, maister, not to counterfayt with ye now,
Hee's as good a footeman as a shackeld sow.

_Asca_. Good, Sir, y'are welcome: sirrha, hold your prate.

_Ara_. What speed in that I told to you of late?

_Asca_. Both good and bad, as doth the sequel prove:
For (wretched) I have found and lost my love,
If that be lost which I can nere enjoy.

_Io_. Faith, mistresse, y'are too blame to be so coy
The day hath bene--but what is that to mee!--
When more familiar with a man you'ld bee.

_Ara_. I told ye you should finde a man of her,
Or else my rule did very strangely erre.

_Asca_. Father, the triall of your skill I finde:
My Love's transformde into another kinde:
And so I finde and yet have lost my love.

_Io_. Ye cannot tell, take her aside and prove.

_Asca_. But, sweet _Eurymine_, make some report
Why thou departedst from my father's court,
And how this straunge mishap to thee befell:
Let me entreat thou wouldst the processe tell.

_Eu_. To shew how I arrived in this ground
Were but renewing of an auncient wound,--
Another time that office Ile fulfill;
Let it suffice, I came against my will,
And wand'ring here, about this forrest side,
It was my chaunce of Phoebus to be spide;
Whose love, because I chastly did withstand,
He thought to offer me a violent hand;
But for a present shift, to shun his rape,
I wisht myself transformde into this shape,
Which he perform'd (God knowes) against his will:
And I since then have wayld my fortune still,
Not for misliking ought I finde in mee,
But for thy sake whose wife I meant to bee.

_Asca_. Thus have you heard our woful destenie,
Which I in heart lament and so doth shee.

_Ara_. The fittest remedie that I can finde
Is this, to ease the torment of your minde:
Perswade yourselves the great _Apollo_ can
As easily make a woman of a man
As contrariwise he made a man of her.

_Asca_. I think no lesse.

_Ara_. Then humble suite preferre
To him; perhaps our prayers may attaine
To have her turn'd into her forme againe.

_Eu_. But _Phoebus_ such disdain to me doth beare
As hardly we shal win his graunt I feare.

_Ara_. Then in these verdant fields, al richly dide
With natures gifts and _Floras_ painted pride,
There is a goodly spring whose crystall streames,
Beset with myrtles, keepe backe _Phoebus_ beames:
There in rich seates all wrought of Ivory
The Graces sit, listening the melodye,
The warbling Birds doo from their prettie billes
Vnite in concord as the brooke distilles,[126]
Whose gentle murmure with his buzzing noates
Is as a base unto their hollow throates:
Garlands beside they weare upon their browes,
Made of all sorts of flowers earth allowes,
From whence such fragrant sweet perfumes arise
As you would sweare that place is Paradise.
To them let us repaire with humble hart,
And meekly show the manner of your smart:
So gratious are they in _Apollos_ eies
As their intreatie quickly may suffice
In your behalfe. Ile tell them of your states
And crave their aides to stand your advocates.

_Asca_. For ever you shall bind us to you than.

_Ara_. Come, go with me; Ile doo the best I can.

_Io_. Is not this hard luck, to wander so long
And in the end to finde his wife markt wrong!

_Enter Phylander_.

_Phy_. A proper iest as ever I heard tell!
In sooth me thinkes the breech becomes her well;
And might it not make their husbands feare them[127]
Wold all the wives in our town might weare them.
Tell me, youth, art a straunger here or no?

_Io_. Is your commission, sir, to examine me so?

_Phy_. What, is it thou? now, by my troth, wel met.

_Io_. By your leave it's well overtaken yet.

_Phy_. I litle thought I should a found thee here.

_Io_. Perhaps so, sir.

_Phy_. I prethee speake: what cheere?

_Io_. What cheere can here be hopte for in these woods,
Except trees, stones, bryars, bushes or buddes?

_Phy_. My meaning is, I fane would heare thee say
How thou doest, man: why, thou tak'st this another way.

_Io_. Why, then, sir, I doo as well as I may:
And, to perswade ye that welcome ye bee,
Wilt please ye sir to eate a crab with mee?

_Phy_. Beleeve me, _Ioculo_, reasonable hard cheere.

_Io_. _Phylander_, tis the best we can get here.
But when returne ye to the court againe?

_Phy_. Shortly, now I have found thee.

_Io_. To requite your paine
Shall I intreat you beare a present from me?

_Phy_. To whom?

_Io_. To the Duke.

_Phy_. What shall it be?

_Io_. Because Venson so convenient doth not fall,
A pecke of Acornes to make merry withal.

_Phy_. What meanst thou by that?

_Io_. By my troth, sir, as ye see,
Acornes are good enough for such as hee.
I wish his honour well, and to doo him good,
Would he had eaten all the acorns in the wood.


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