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.
[_Exit_.
_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
vpon.
_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
neighbour.
_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
that?
_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
that?
_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
wickedly.
_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
advantage.
_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.
[_Exit_.
_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_.
[_Exit_.
_Io_. I may goe with thee, for I shall speed even so too by staying
behinde.
_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
designat_.
_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.
[_Exit_.
_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.
[_Exit_.
_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.
[_Exit_.
_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.
[_Exit_.
_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.
_Eurymine_!
_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--