_As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles_.
LONDON: Printed by _Thomas Creede_, for _Richard Oliue_, dwelling
in long Lane. 1600.
_THE PROLOGUE.
The manifold, great favours we have found,
By you to us poore weaklings still extended;
Whereof your vertues have been only ground,
And no desert in us to be so friended;
Bindes us some way or other to expresse,
Though all our all be else defeated quite
Of any meanes save duteous thankefulnes,
Which is the utmost measure of our might:
Then, to the boundlesse ocean of your woorth
This little drop of water we present;
Where though it never can be singled foorth,
Let zeale be pleader for our good intent.
Drops not diminish but encrease great floods,
And mites impaire not but augment our goods_.
The Maydes Metamorphosis.
_Actus Primus_.
_Enter Phylander, Orestes, Eurymine_.
_Eurymine_. _Phylander_ and _Orestes_, what conceyt
Troubles your silent mindes? Let me intreat,
Since we are come thus farre, as we do walke
You would deuise some prettie pleasant talke;
The aire is coole, the euening high and faire:
Why should your cloudie lookes then shew dispaire?
_Phy_. Beleeue me, faire _Eurimine_, my skill
Is simple in discourse, and vtterance ill;
_Orestes_, if he we were disposde to trie,
Can better manage such affaires than I.
_Eu_. Why then, _Orestes_, let me crave of you
Some olde or late done story to renew:
Another time you shall request of me
As good, if not a greater, curtesie.
_Or_. Trust me, as now (nor can I shew a reason)
All mirth vnto my mind comes out of season;
For inward I am troubled in such sort
As all vnfit I am to make report
Of any thing may breed the least delight;
Rather in teares I wish the day were night,
For neither can myself be merry now
Nor treat of ought that may be likte of you.
_Eu_. Thats but your melancholike old disease,
That neuer are disposde but when ye please.
_Phy_. Nay, mistresse, then, since he denies the taske,
My selfe will strait complish what ye aske;
And, though the pleasure of my tale be small,
Yet may it serue to passe the time withall.
_Eu_. Thanks, good _Phylander_; when you please, say on:
Better I deeme a bad discourse then none.
_Phy_. Sometime there liu'd a Duke not far from hence,
Mightie in fame and vertues excellence;
Subiects he had as readie to obey
As he to rule, beloued eueryway;
But that which most of all he gloried in
(Hope of his age and comfort of his kin)
Was the fruition of one onely sonne,
A gallant youth, inferior vnto none
For vertue shape or excellence of wit,
That after him vpon his throne might sit.
This youth, when once he came to perfect age,
The Duke would faine have linckt in marriage
With diuers dames of honourable blood
But stil his fathers purpose he withstood.
_Eu_. How? was he not of mettal apt to loue?
_Phy_. Yes, apt enough as wil the sequel proue;
But so the streame of his affection lay
As he did leane a quite contrary way,
Disprouing still the choice his father made,
And oftentimes the matter had delaid;
Now giuing hope he would at length consent,
And then again excusing his intent.
_Eu_. What made him so repugnant in his deeds?
_Phy_. Another loue, which this disorder breeds;
For euen at home, within his father's Court,
The Saint was shrinde whom he did honor most;
A louely dame, a virgin pure and chaste,
And worthy of a Prince to be embrac'te,
Had but her birth (which was obscure, they said)
Answerd her beautie; this their opinion staid.
Yet did this wilful youth affect her still
And none but she was mistres of his will:
Full often did his father him disswade
From liking such a mean and low-born mayde;
The more his father stroue to change his minde
The more the sonne became with fancy blinde.
_Eu_. Alas, how sped the silly Louers then?
_Phy_. As might euen grieue the rude vnciuilst men:
When here vpon to weane his fixed heart
From such dishonour to his high desert
The Duke had labourd but in vaine did striue,
Thus he began his purpose to contriue:
Two of his seruants, of vndoubted trvth,
He bound by vertue of a solemne oath
To traine the silly damzel out of sight
And there in secret to bereaue her quite--
_Eu_. Of what? her life?
_Phy_. Yes, Madame, of her life,
Which was the cause of all the former strife.
_Eu_. And did they kill her?
_Phy_. You shall heare anon;
The question first must be discided on
In your opinion: whats your iudgement? say.
Who were most cruell, those that did obay
Or he who gaue commandment for the fact?
_Eu_. In each of them it was a bloody act,
Yet they deserue (to speake my minde of both)
Most pardon that were bound thereto by oath.
_Phy_. It is enough; we do accept your doome
To passe vnblam'd what ere of you become.
_Eu_. To passe vnblam'de what ere become of me!
What may the meaning of these speeches be?
_Phy_. _Eurymine_, my trembling tongue doth faile,
My conscience yrkes, my fainting sences quaile,
My faltring speech bewraies my guiltie thought
And stammers at the message we haue brought.
_Eu_. Ay me! what horror doth inuade my brest!
_Or_. Nay then, _Phylander_, I will tell the rest:
Damzell, thus fares thy case; demand not why,
You must forthwith prepare your selfe to dye;
Therefore dispatch and set your mind at rest.
_Eu_. _Phylander_, is it true or doth he iest?
_Phy_. There is no remedie but you must dye:
By you I framde my tragicke history.
The Duke my maister is the man I meant,
His sonne the Prince, the mayde of meane discent
Your selfe, on whom _Ascanio_ so doth doate
As for no reason may remoue his thought
Your death the Duke determines by vs two,
To end the loue betwixt his sonne and you;
And for this cause we trainde you to this wood,
Where you must sacrifice your dearest blood.
_Eu_. Respect my teares.
_Orest_. We must regard our oath.
_Eu_. My tender yeares.
_Or_. They are but trifles both.
_Eu_. Mine innocency.
_Or_. That would our promise breake;
Dispatch forthwith, we may not heare you speake.
_Eu_. If neither teares nor innocency moue,
Yet thinke there is a heavenly power aboue.
_Orest_. A done, and stand not preaching here all day.
_Eu_. Then, since there is no remedie, I pray
Yet, good my masters, do but stay so long
Till I haue tane my farewell with a song
Of him whom I shall neuer see againe.
_Phy_. We will affoord that respit to your paine.
_Eu_. But least the feare of death appall my mind,
Sweet gentlemen, let me this fauour find,
That you wil vale mine eyesight with this scarfe;
That, when the fatall stroke is aymde at me,
I may not start but suffer patiently.
_Orest_. Agreed, giue me; Ile shadow ye from feare,
If this may do it.
_Eu_. Oh, I would it might,
But shadowes want the power to do that right.
_Shee sings_.
Ye sacred Fyres and powers aboue,
Forge of desires, working loue,
Cast downe your eye, cast downe your eye,
Vpon a Mayde in miserie.
My sacrifice is louers blood,
And from eyes salt teares a flood;
All which I spend, all which I spend,
For thee, _Ascanio_, my deare friend:
And though this houre I must feele
The bitter power of pricking steele,
Yet ill or well, yet ill or well,
To thee, _Ascanio_, still farewell.
_Orestes offers to strike her with his Rapier,
and is stayed by Phylander_.
_Orest_. What meanes, _Phylander_?
_Phy_. Oh, forbeare thy stroke;
Her pitious mone and gesture might prouoke
Hard flint to ruthe.
_Orest_. Hast thou forgot thy oath?
_Phy_. Forgot it? no!
_Or_. Then wherefore doest thou interrupt me so?
_Phy_. A sudden terror ouercomes my thought.
_Or_. Then suffer me that stands in feare of nought.
_Phy_. Oh, hold, _Orestes_; heare my reason first.
_Or_. Is all religion of thy vowe forgot?
Do as thou wilt, but I forget it not.
_Phy_. _Orestes_, if thou standest vpon thine oath,
Let me alone to answere for vs both.
_Or_. What answer canst thou giue? I wil not stay.
_Phy_. Nay, villain; then my sword shall make me way.
_Or_. Wilt thou in this against thy conscience striue?
_Phy_. I will defend a woman while I liue,
A virgin and an innocent beside;
Therefore put vp or else thy chaunce abide.
_Or_. Ile neuer sheath my sword vnles thou show,
Our oath reserued, we may let her go.
_Phy_. That will I do, if truth may be of force.
_Or_. And then will I be pleasd to graunt remorse.
_Eu_. Litle thought I, when out of doore I went,
That thus my life should stand on argument.
_Phy_. A lawfull oath in an vnlawfull cause
Is first dispenc't withall by reasons lawes;
Then, next, respect must to the end be had,
Because th'intent doth make it good or bad.
Now here th'intent is murder as thou seest,
Which to perform thou on thy oath reliest;
But, since the cause is wicked and vniust,
Th'effect must likewise be held odious:
We swore to kill, and God forbids to kill;
Shall we be rulde by him or by man's will?
Beside it is a woman is condemde;
And what is he, that is a man indeed,
That can endure to see a woman bleed?
_Or_. Thou hast preuaild; _Eurymine_, stand vp;
I will not touch thee for a world of gold.
_Phy_. Why now thou seemst to be of humane mould;
But, on our graunt, faire mayd, that you shall liue,
Will you to vs your faithfull promise giue
Henceforth t'abandon this your Country quite,
And neuer more returne into the sight
Of fierce _Telemachus_, the angry Duke,
Where by we may be voyd of all rebuke?
_Eur_. Here do I plight my chaste vnspotted hand,
I will abiure this most accursed land:
And vow henceforth, what fortune ere betide,
Within these woods and desarts to abide.
_Phy_. Now wants there nothing but a fit excuse
To sooth the Duke in his concern'd abuse;
That he may be perswaded she is slaine,
And we our wonted fauour still maintaine.
_Orest_. It shall be thus: within a lawne hard by,
Obscure with bushes, where no humane eye
Can any way discouer our deceit,
There feeds a heard of Goates and country neate.
Some Kidde or other youngling will we take
And with our swords dispatch it for her sake;
And, hauing slaine it, rip his panting breast
And take the heart of the vnguiltie beast,
Which, to th'intent our counterfeit report
May seeme more likely, we will beare to court
And there protest, with bloody weapons drawne,
It was her heart.
_Phy_. Then likewise take this Lawne,
Which well _Telemachus_ did know she wore,
And let it be all spotted too with gore.
How say you, mistresse? will you spare the vale?
_Eur_. That and what else, to verifie your tale.
And thankes, _Phylander_ and _Orestes_ both,
That you preserue me from a Tyrants wroth.
_Phy_. I would it were within my power, I wis,
To do you greater curtesie than this;
But what we cannot by our deeds expresse
In heart we wish, to ease your heauinesse.
_Eur_. A double debt: yet one word ere ye go,
Commend me to my deare _Ascanio_.
Whose loyall loue and presence to forgoe
Doth gall me more than all my other woe.
_Orest_. Our liues shall neuer want to do him good.
_Phy_. Nor yet our death if he in daunger stood:
_Or_. And, mistresse, so good fortune be your guide,
And ought that may be fortunate beside.
[_Exeunt_.
_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
empty.
_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.
[_Exeunt_.
_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.