Loves riddle A pastorall comædie; written, at the time of his being Kings scholler in Westminster Schoole, by A. Cowley.

Author: Cowley, Abraham, 1618-1667.1638

VERA EFFIGIES. ABRAHAMI COWLEY. REGII ALVMNI SCHOLAE WEST:

LOVES RIDDLE. A PASTORALL COMAEDIE; Written, At the time of his being Kings Scholler in Westminster Schoole, by A. Cowley.

LONDON, Printed by Iohn Dawson, for Henry Seile, and are to be sold at the Tygres head in Fleet street over against S^t. Dunstans Church. 1638.

[Page]
[Page]
To the truly Worthy, and Noble, Sir KENELME DIGBIE Knight.THis latter Age, the Lees of Time, hath knowne,
Few, that have made both Pallas arts their owne.
But you, Great Sir, two Lawrels weare, and are
Victorious in Peace, as well as War.
Learning by right of Conquest is your owne,
And every liberall Art your Captive growne.
As if neglected Science (for it now
Wants some defenders) fled for helpe to you.
Whom I must follow, and let this for mee
An earnest of my future service bee.
Which I should feare to send you, did I know
Your judgement onely, not your Candor too.
For t'was a Worke, stolne (though you'le justly call
This Play, as fond as those) from Cat, or Ball.
Had it beene written since, I should, I feare,
Scarse have abstain'd from a Philosopher.
[Page]Which by Tradition here is thought to bee
A necessarie Part in Comedie.
Nor need I tell you this; each line of it
Betray's the Time and Place wherein t'was writ▪
And I could wish, that I might safely say
To th' Reader, that t' was done but th' other day.
Yet 'tis not stuff'd with names of Gods, hard words,
Such as the Metamorphosis affords.
Nor has't a part for Robinson, whom they
At schoole, account essentiall to a Play.
The stile is low, such as you'le easily take
For what a Swaine might speake, and a Boy make.
Take it, as early fruits, which rare appeare
Though not halfe ripe, but worst of all the yeare.
And if it please your tast, my Muse will say,
The Birch which crown'd her then, is growne a Bay.
Yours in all observance, A. COVVLEY.

[Page]

The Scaene Sicily.

The Actors names.

Demophil: two old folke of a Noble family.
Spodaia: two old folke of a Noble family.
Florellus: their Children.
Callidora: their Children.
Philistus: two Gent. both in love with Callidora.
Aphron: two Gent. both in love with Callidora.
Clariana,: sister to Philistus.
Melarnus: a crabbed old Shepheard.
Truga: his Wife.
Hylace: their Daughter.
Aegon: — an ancient Countrey man.
Bellula: —his supposed Daughter.
Palaemon: — a young Swaine in love with Hylace.
Alupis: — a merry Shepheard.
Clariana's: Mayd.

[Page]

Actus I.
Scaena I.

Enter Callidora disguised in mans apparell.

MAdde feet, yee have beene traytours to your Master:

Where have you lead me? sure my truant mind

Hath taught my body thus to wander too;

Faintnesse and feare surprize me; Yee just gods,

If yee have brought me to this place to scourge

The folly of my love, (I might say madnesse)

Dispatch me quickly; send some pittying men

Or cruell beast to find me; let me bee

Fed by the one, or let mee feed the other.

Why are these trees so brave? why doe they weare

Such greene and fresh apparell? how they smile!

How their proud toppes play with the courting wind!

Can they behold me pine and languish here,

And yet not sympathize at all in mourning?

Doe they upbraid my sorrowes? can it bee

That these thick branches never seene before

But by the Sunne, should learne so much of man?

The trees in Courtiers gardens, which are conscious

Of their guilt Masters statelinesse and pride,

Themselves would pitty me; yet these— Who's there?

Enter Alupis singing.

1.Rise up thou mournfull Swaine,
[Page]For 'tis but a folly
To be melancholy
And get thee thy pipe againe.

2.Come sing away the day,
For 'tis but a folly
To be melancholly,
Let's live here whilst wee may.

Cal.

I marry Sir, this fellow hath some fire in him,

Me thinkes a sad and drowsie shepheard is

A prodigiein Nature, for the woods

Should bee as farre from sorrow, as they are

From sorrowes causes, riches and the like.

Haile to you swaine, I am a Gentleman

Driven here by ignorance of the way, and would

Confesse my selfe bound to you for a curtesie,

If you would please to helpe me to some lodging

Where I may rest my selfe.

Alu.

For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Cal.

Well; if the rest bee like this fellow here;

Then I have travel'd fairely now; for certainly

This is a land of fooles; some Colonie

Of elder brothers have beene planted here,

And begot this faire generation.

Prithee, good Shepheard, tell mee where thou dwelst?

Alu.

For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Call.

Why art thou madde?

Alu.

What if I bee?

I hope 'tis no discredit for me Sir?

For in this age who is not? I'le prove it to you,

Your Citizen hee's madde to trust the Gentleman

Both with his wares and wife. Your Courtier

Hee's madde to spend his time in studying postures,

Cringes, and fashions, and new complements;

Your Lawyer hee's madde to sell away

His tongue for money, and his Client madder

[Page]To buy it of him, since 'tis of no use

But to undoe men, and the Latine tongue;

Your Schollers they are madde to breake their braines,

Out-watch the Moone, and looke more pale then shee,

That so when all the Arts call him their Master,

Hee may perhaps get some small Vicaridge,

Or be the Vsher of a Schoole; but there's

A thing in blacke called Poet, who is ten

Degrees in madnesse above these; his meanes

Is what the gentle Fates please to allow him

By the death or mariage of some mighty Lord,

Which hee must solemnize with a new song.

Cal.

This fellowes wit amazeth me; but friend,

What doe you thinke of lovers?

Alu.

Worst of all;

Is't not a pretty folly to stand thus,

And figh, and fold the armes, and cry my Coelia,

My soule, my life, my Calia, then to wring

Ones state for presents, and ones brayne for Sonnets?

O! 'tis beyond the name of Phrenzie.

Cal.

What so Satyricke Shepheard? I beleeve

You did not learne these flashes in the Woods;

How is it possible that you should get

Such neere acquaintance with the Citie manners,

And yet live here in such a silent place,

Where one would thinke the very name of City

Could hardly Enter.

Alu.

Why, I'le tell you Sir:

My father dyed, (you force me to remember

A griefe that deserves teares) and left me young,

And (if a Shepheard may be said so) rich,

I in an itching wantonnesse to see

What other Swaines so wondred at, the Citie,

Streight sold my rurall portion (for the wealth

Of Shepheards is their flockes) and thither went,

Where whil'st my money lasted I was welcome,

[Page]And liv'd in credit, but when that was gone,

And the last piece sigh'd in my empty pocket,

I was contemn'd, then I began to feele

How dearely I had bought experience,

And without any thing besides repentance

To load me, return'd back, and here I live▪

To laugh at all those follyes which I saw.

Song.The merry waves dance up and downe, and play,
Sport is granted to the Sea.
Birds are the queristers of th'empty ayre,
Sport is never wanting there.
The ground doth smile at the Springs flowry birth,
Sport is granted to the earth.
The fire it's cheering flame on high doth reare,
Sport is never wanting there.
If all the elements, the Earth, the Sea,
Ayre, and fire, so merry bee;
Why is mans mirth so seldome, and so small,
Who is compounded of them all?

Cal.

You may rejoyce; but sighes befit me better.

Alu.

Now on my conscience thou hast lost a Mistris;

If it be so, thanke God, and love no more;

Or else perhaps she'has burnt your whining letter,

Or kist another Gentleman in your sight,

Or else denyed you her glove, or laught at you,

Causes indeed, which deserve speciall mourning,

And now you come to talke with your God Cupid

In private here, and call the Woods to witnesse,

And all the streames which murmure when they heare

The injuries they suffer; I am sorry

I have beene a hindrance to your meditations,

Farewell Sir.

Cal.

Nay, good Shepheard, you mistake mee.

Alu.

Faith, I am very chary of my health,

[Page]I would be loath to be infected Sir.

Cal.

Thou needest not feare; I have no disease at all

Besides a troubled mind.

Alu.

Why that's the worst, the worst of all.

Cal.

And therefore it doth challenge

Your piety the more, you should the rather,

Strive to be my Physitian.

Alu.

The good Gods forbid it; J turne Physitian?

My Parents brought me up more piously,

Then that I should play booty with a sicknesse,

Turne a consumption to mens purses, and

Purge them, worse then their bodyes, and set up

An Apothecaries shop in private chambers,

Live by revenew of close-stooles and urinals,

Deferre off sick mens health from day to day

As if they went to law with their disease.

No, I was borne for better ends, then to send away

His Majesties subjects to hell so fast,

As if I were to share the stakes with Charon.

Cal.

Your wit erres much:

For as the soule is nobler then the body,

So it's corruption askes a better medicine

Then is applyed to Gouts, Catarrs, or Agues,

And that is counsell.

Alu.

So then: I should bee

Your soules Physitian; why, I could talke out

An houre or so, but then I want a cushion

To thump my precepts into; but tell me 'pray,

What name beares your disease?

Cal.

A feaver, shepheard, but so farre above

An outward one, that the vicissitudes

Of that may seeme but warmth, and coolenesse only;

This, flame, and frost.

Alu.

So; I understand you,

You are a lover, which is by translation

A foole, or a beast, for I'le define you; you're

[Page]Partly Chamaeleon, partly Salamander,

You're fed by th'ayre, and live i' the fire.

Cal.

Why did you never love? have you no softnesse,

Nought of your mother in you? if that Sun

Which scorched me, should cast one beame upon you.

T'would quickly melt the ice about your heart,

And lend your eyes fresh streames.

Alu.

'Faith, I thinke not;

I have seene all your beautyes of the Court,

And yet was never ravisht, never made

A dolefull Sonnet unto angry Cupid,

Either to warme her heart, or else coole mine,

And no face yet could ever wound me so,

But that I quickly found a remedie.

Cal.

That were an art worth learning, and you need not

Be niggard of your knowledge; See the Sunne

Though it have given this many thousand yeares

Light to the world, yet is as bigge and bright

As e're it was, and hath not lost one beame

Of his first glory; then let charity

Perswade you to instruct me, I shall bee

A very thankfull scholler.

Alu.

I shall: for 'tis both easily taught and learn'd,

Come sing away the day, &c.

Mirth is the only physick,

Cal.

It is a way which I have much desired

To cheate my sorrow with; and for that purpose

Would faine turne shepheard, and in rurall sports

We are my lifes remnant out; I would forget

All things, my very name if it were possible.

Alu.

Pray let me learne it first.

Cal.

'Tis Callidorus.

Alu.

Thanke you; if you your selfe chance to forget it

Come but to me I'le doe you the same curtesie,

In the meane while make me your servant Sir,

I will instruct you in things necessary

[Page]For the creation of a Shepheard, and

Wee two will laugh at all the world securely,

And fling jests'gainst the businesses of state

Without endangering our eares.

Come, come away,

For'tis but a folly

To be melancholy,

Let's live here whil'st we may.

Exeunt.

Enter Palaemon, Melarnus, Truga, Aegon Bellula, Hylace.

Pa.

I see I am undone.

Mel.

Come no matter for that, you love my Daughter? By Pan; but come, no matter for that; you my Hilace?

Tru.

Nay good Duck, doe not vexe your selfe; what though he loves her? you know she will not have him.

Mel.

Come, no matter for that; I will vex my selfe, and vex him too, shall such an idle fellow as he strive ro entice away honest mens children? let him goe feed his flocks; but alas! he has none to trouble him; ha, ha, ha, yet hee would marry my daughter.

Pa.

Thou art a malicious doting man,

And one who cannot boast of any thing

But that shee calls thee father, though I cannot

Number so large a flock of sheepe as thou,

Nor send so many cheeses to the City,

Yet in my mind I am an Emperour

If but compar'd with thee.

Tru.

Of what place I pray?

'Tis of some new discovered Countrey, is't not?

Pa.

Prithee good Wintor if thou wilt be talking,

Keepe thy breath in a little, for it smells

Worse then a Goat; yet thou must talke,

For thou hast nothing left thee of a woman

But lust, and tongue

Hyl.

Shepheard, here's none so taken with your wit

[Page]But you might spare it; if you be so lavish,

You'le have none left another time to make

The song of the forsaken Lover with.

Pa.

I'me dumbe, my lips are seal'd, seal'd up for ever

May my rash tongue forget to be interpreter,

And organ of my senses, if you say,

It hath offended you.

Hyl.

Troth if you make

But that condition, I shall agree to't quickly:

Mel.

By Pan well said Girle; what a foole was I

To suspect thee of loving him? but come

'Tis no matter for that; when e're thou maried

I'le adde ten sheepe more to thy portion,

For putting this one jest upon him.

Aegon.

Nay now I must needs tell you that your anger

Is grounded with no reason to maintaine it,

If you intend your Daughter shall not marry him,

Say so, but play not with his passion,

For 'tis inhumane wit which jeeres the wretched.

Mel.

Come 'tis no matter for that; what I doe, I doe;

I shall not need your counsell.

Tru.

I hope my husband and I have enough wisdome

To governe our owne child; if we want any

'Twill be to little purpose, I dare say,

To come to borrow some of you.

Aeg.

'Tis very likely pritty Mistris Maukin,

You with a face lookes like a winter apple

When 'tis shrunke up together and halfe rotten,

I'de see you hang'd up for a thing to skare

The crowes away before Ile spend my breath

To teach you any.

Hyl.

Alas good shepheard!

What doe you imagine that I should love you for?

Pal.

For all my services, the vertuous zeale

And constancie with which I ever woed you,

Though I were blacker then a starlesse night,

[Page]Or consciences where guilt and horror dwell,

Although splay-legd, crooked, deform'd in all parts,

And but the Chao's only of a man;

Yet if I love and honor you, humanitie

Would teach you not to hate, or laugh at me.

Hy.

Pray spare your fine perswasions, and set speeches,

And rather tell them to those stones and trees,

'Twill be to as good purpose quite, as when

You spend them upon me.

Pa.

Give me my finall answer, that I may

Bee either blest for ever, or die quickly;

Delay's a cruell rack, and kils by piece-meales.

Hy.

Then here 'tis, you're an asse,

(Take that for your incivilitie to my mother)

And I will never love you.

Pal.

You're a woman;

A cruell and fond woman, and my passion

Shall trouble you no more; but when I'me dead

My angry Ghost shall vex you worse then now

Your pride doth mee, Farewell.

Enter Aphron madde meeting Palaemon going out.

Aph.

Nay stay Sir, have you found her?

Pa.

How now? whats the matter?

Aph.

For I will have her out of you, or else

I'le cut thee into atomes, til the wind

Play with the shreeds of thy torne body. Looke her

Or I will do't.

Pal.

Whom; or where?

Aph.

I'le tell thee honest fellow; thou shalt goe

From me as an Embassador to the Sunne,

For men call him the eye of heaven, (from which

Nothing lyes hid) and tell him—doe you marke me—tell him

From me—that if he send not word where shee is gone,

— I will — nay by the Gods I will.

Aeg.

Alas poore Gentleman!

Sure he hath lost some Mistris; beautious women

[Page]Take notice of him, (pray) your speaking is

Worth more then all the rest.

Bell.

You're very welcome

Cal.

Thanke you fayre Nymph, this is indeed a welcome Salutes her,

Bell.

I never saw, beauty and affability

So well conjoyn'd before; if I stay long

I shall be quite undone.

Alu.

Nay come, put on too.

Hyl.

You are most kindly welcome.

Cal.

You blesse mee too much;

The honour of your lip is entertainment

Princes might wish for.

Hyl.

Blesse me how hee lookes!

And how he talkes; his kisse was honey too,

His lips as red and sweet as early cheryes,

Softer then Bevers skins

Bel,

Blesse me, how I envy her!

Would I had that kisse too!

Hyl,

How his eye shines! what a bright flame it shootes!

Bel.

How red his cheekes are! so our garden apples

Looke on that side where the hot Sun salutes them.

Hyl,

How well his haires become him!

Just like that starre which ushers on the day.

Bell.

How faire he is! fairer then whitest blossomes?

Trug.

They two have got a kisse;

Why should I lose it for want of speaking?

You're welcome shepheard.

Alu.

Come on: For 'tis but a folly, &c:

Tru.

Doe you heare? you are welcome.

Alu.

Oh! here's another must have a kisse:

Tru.

Goe you're a paltry knave, I, that you are,

To wrong an honest woman thus.

Alu.

Why hee shall kisse thee, never feare it, alas!

I did but jest, he'le do't for all this,

Nay, because I will be a Patron to thee

I'le speake to him.

Tru.

[Page]

You're a slandering knave,

And you shall know't, that you shall▪

Al.

Nay, if you scould so lowd

Others shall know it too; He must stop your mouth,

Or you'le talke on this three houres; Callidorus

If you can patiently endure a stinke,

Or have frequented ere the City Beare-garden,

Prithee salute this fourescore yeares, and free me,

She sayes you're welcome too.

Cal.

I cry you mercy Shepheardesse,

By Pan I did not see you.

Tru.

If my husband and Alupis were not here

I'de rather pay him back his kisse againe,

Then be beholding to him.

Al.

What, thou hast don't?

Well if thou dost not dye upon't, hereafter

Thy body will agree even with the worst

And stinking'st ayre in Europe.

Cal.

Nay, be not angry Shepheardesse, you know

He doth but jest as 'tis his custome.

Tru.

I know it is his custome; he was alwayes

Wont to abuse me, like a knave as he is,

But I'le endure't no more.

Al.

Prithee good Callidorus if her breath

Be not too bad, goe stop her mouth againe,

She'le scould till night else.

Tru.

Yes marry will I, that I will, you rascall you,

I'le teach you to lay your frumps upon me;

You delight in it, doe you?

Al.

Prithee be quiet, leave but talking to me

And I will never jeere thee any more,

We two will be so peaceable hereafter.

Tru.

Well upon that condition.

Al.

So, I'me deliver'd, why how now Ladds?

What have you lost your tongues? Ile have them cry'd,

Palaemon, Aegon, Callidorus, what?

[Page]Are you all dumbe? I pray continue so,

And i'le be merry with my selfe.

Song.'Tis better to dance then sing,
The cause is if you will know it,
That I to my selfe shall bring
A Poverty
Voluntary
If once I grow but a Poet.

Aegon.

And yet me thinkes you sing,

Al.

O yes, because here's none doe dance,

And both are better farre then to be sad.

Aegon.

Come then let's have a round.

Al.

A match; Palaemon whither goe you?

Pa.

The Gods forbid that I should mock my selfe,

Cheate my owne mind, I dance and weepe at once?

You may: Farewell.

Exit.

Al.

'Tis such a whining foole; come, come, Melarnus.

Mel.

I have no mind to dance; but come no matter for that, rather then breake the squares.—

Cal.

By your leave, fayre one.

Hil.

Would I were in her place.

Al.

Come Hilace, thee and I wench I warrant thee,

You and your wife together. God blesse you; so—

For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Dance.

Tru.

So there's enough, I'me halfe a weary,

Mel.

Come no matter for that,

I have not danc't so much this yeare.

Al.

So farewell, you'le come along with me.

Cal.

Yes, farewell gentle Swaines.

Tru.

Farewell good Shepheard,

Bel.

Your best wishes follow you.

Hyl.

Pan alwayes guide you.

Mel.

It's no matter for that, come away.

Exeunt.

Finis Actus primi.

[Page]

Actus II.
Scaena I.

Enter Demophil, Spodaia, Philistus, Clariana.

DEmo.

Nay, shee is lost for ever, and her name

Which us'd to be so comfortable, now

Is poyson to our thoughts, and to augment

Our misery paints forth our former happinesse,

O Callidora, O my Callidora!

I shall ne're see thee more.

Spo.

If cursed Aphron

Hath caryed her away, and tryumphs now

In the destruction of our hoary age

'Twere better shee were dead;

Dem.

'T were better we were all dead; the enjoying

Of tedious life is a worse punishment

Then losing of my Daughter; Oh! my friends,

Why have I lived so long?

Cla.

Good Sir be comforted: Brother speake to them.

Spo.

Would I had dyed, when first I brought thee forth

My Girle, my best Girle, then I should have slept

In quiet, and not wept now.

Phi.

I am halfe a statue

Freeze me up quite yee Gods, and let me be

My owne sad monument.

Cla.

Alas! you doe but hurt your selves with weeping;

Consider pray, it may be she'le come back.

Dem.

Oh! never, never, 'tis impossible

[Page]As to call back sixteene, and with vaine Rhetoricke

Perswade my lifes fresh Aprill to returne,

Shee's dead, or else farre worse, kept up by Aphron

Whom if I could but see, me thinkes new bloud

Would creepe into my veines, and my faint sinewes

Renew themselves, I doubt not but to find

Strength enough yet to be reveng'd of Aphron.

Sp.

Would I were with thee, Girle, where ere thou art.

Cla.

For shame good Brother, see if you can comfort them,

Me thinkes you should say something.

Phi.

Doe you thinke

My griefes so light? or was the interest

So small which I had in her? I a comforter?

Alas! she was my wife, for we were married

In our affection, in our vowes; and nothing

Stopt the enjoying of each other, but

The thinne partition of some ceremonies.

I lost my hopes, my expectations,

My joyes, nay more, I lost my selfe with her;

You have a son, yet left behind, whose memorie

May sweeten all this gall.

Spo.

I, we had one,

But fate's so cruell to us, and such dangers

Attend a travelling man, that 'twere presumption

To say we have him; we have sent for him

To blot out the remembrance of his sister:

But whether we shall ever see him here,

The Gods can only tell, we barely hope.

Dem.

This newes, alas!

Will be but a sad welcome to him.

Phi.

Why doe I play thus with my misery?

'Tis vaine to thinke I can live here without her,

Ile seeke her where e're she is; patience in this

Would be a vice, and men might justly say

My love was but a flash of winged lightning,

And not a Vestall flame, which alwayes shines

[Page]His woing is a complement, not passion,

Who can if fortune snatch away his Mistris,

Spend some few teares, then take another choyce,

Mine is not so; Oh Callidora!

Cla.

Fye Brother, you're a man,

And should not be shaken with every wind,

If it were possible to call her back

with mourning, mourning were a piety,

But since it cannot, you must give me leave

To call it folly:

Phi.

So it is;

And I will therefore shape some other course,

This diolefull place shall never see me more,

Vnlesse it see her too in my embraces,

You sister may retyre unto my Farme,

Adjoyning to the woods;

And my estate I leave for you to manage,

If I find her, expect me there, if not

Doe you live happier then your Brother hath:

Cla.

Alas! how can I if you leave me? but

I hope your resolutions may be altered.

Ph.

Never, farewell: good Demophil,

Farewell Spodaia, temper your laments;

If I returne we shall againe be happy.

Spo.

You shall not want my prayers.

Dem.

The Gods that pitty Lovers (if there bee any) attend upon you.

Cla.

Will you needs goe?

Ph.

I knit delayes; 'twere time I were now ready,

And I shall sinne if I seeme dull or slow

In any thing which touches Callidora,

Dem.

Oh! that name wounds me; we'le beare you company

A little way, and Clariana looke

To see us often at your Countrey Farme,

Wee'le sigh, and grieve together.

Exeunt.

[Page] Enter Alupis and Palaemon.

Alu.

Come, come away, &c.

Now where are all your sonnets? your rare fancies?

Could the fine morning musick which you wak'd

Your Mistris with, prevaile no more then this?

Why in the Citie now your very Fidlers

Good morrow to your worship, will get something,

Hath she denyed thee quite?

Pa.

Shee hath undone me; I have plow'd the Sea,

And begot storming billowes,

Al.

Can no perswasions move her?

Pa.

No more then thy least breath can stirre an oake,

Which hath this many yeares scorn'd the fierce warres

Of all the winds.

Al.

'Tis a good hearing; then

She'le cost you no more payres of Turtle Doves,

Nor garlands knit with amorous conceits,

I doe perceive some ragges of the Court fashions

Visibly creeping now into the woods,

The more hee shewes his love, the more shee slights him,

Yet will take any gift of him, as willingly

As Countrey Justices the Hens and Geese

Of their offending neighbours; this is right;

Now if I lov'd this wench I would so handle her,

I'de teach her what the difference were betwixt

One who had seene the Court and Citie tricks,

And a meere shepheard.

Pa.

Lions are tam'd, and become slaves to men,

And Tygres oft forget the cruelty

They suckt from their fierce mothers; but, a woman

Ah me! a woman! —

Al.

Yet if I saw such wonders in her face

As you doe, I should never doubt to win her.

Pa.

How pray? if gifts would doe it, she hath had

[Page]The daintiest Lambes, the hope of all my flock,

I let my apples hang for her to gather,

The painfull Bee did never load my hives,

With honey which she tasted not.

Al.

You mistake me Friend; I meane not so.

Pa.

How then? if Poetry would do't, what shade

Hath not beene Auditor of my amorous pipe?

What bankes are not acquainted with her prayses?

Which I have sung in verses, and the sheepheards

Say they are good ones, nay they call me Poet,

Although I am not easie to beleeve them.

Al.

No, no, no; that's not the way.

Pa.

Why how?

If shew of griefe had Rhetorick enough

To move her, I dare sweare she had beene mine

Long before this, what day did ere peepe forth

In which I wept not dulier then the morning?

Which of the winds hath not my sighes encreas'd

At sundry times? how often have I cryed

Hylace, Hylace, till the docile woods

Have answered Hylace; and every valley

As if it were my Rivall, sounded Hylace.

Al.

I, and you were a most rare foole for doing so,

Why 'twas that poyson'd all; Had I a Mistris

I'de almost beat her, by this light, I would,

For they are much about your Spaniels nature,

But whilst you cry deare Hylace, ô Hylace!

Pitty the tortures of my burning heart,

She'le alwayes mince it, like a Citizens wife,

At the first asking; though her tickled bloud

Leapes at the very mention; therefore now

Leave off your whining tricks, and take my counsell.

First then be merry; For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Pal.

'Tis a hard lesson for my mind to Iearne,

But I would force my selfe, if that would helpe me▪

Al.

Why thou shalt see it will; next I would have thee

[Page]To laugh at her, and mocke her pittifully;

Study for jeeres against next time you see her,

I'le goe along with you, and helpe to abuse her,

Till we have made her cry, worse then e're you did;

When we have us'd her thus a little while,

Shee'le be as tame and gentle. —

Pa.

But alas!

This will provoke her more.

Al.

Ile warrant thee: besides, what if it should?

She hath refus'd you utterly already.

And cannot hurt you worse; come, come, be rul'd;

And follow me, we'le put it straight in practize.

For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Pa.

A match; Ile try alwayes; she can but scorne me,

There is this good in depth of misery

That men may attempt any thing, they know

The worst before hand.

Exeunt.

Enter Callidorus.

How happy is that man, who in these woods

With secure silence weares away his time!

Who is acquainted better with himselfe

Then others; who so great a stranger is

To Citie follyes, that he knowes them not.

He sits all day upon some mossie hill

His rurall throne▪ arm'd with his crooke, his scepter,

A flowry garland is his country crowne;

The gentle lambes and sheepe his loyall subjects

Which every yeare pay him their fleecy tribute;

Thus in an humble statelinesse and majestie

He tunes his pipe, the woods best melody,

And is at once, what many Monarches are not

Both King and Poet. I could gladly wish

To spend the rest of my unprofitable,

And needlesse dayes in their innocuous sports,

[Page]But then my father, mother, and my brother

Recurse unto my thoughts, and straight plucke downe

The resolution I had built before;

Love names Philistus to me, and o'th' sudden

The woods seeme base, and all their harmlesse pleasures

The daughters of necessity, not vertue.

Thus with my selfe I wage a warre, and am

To my owne rest a traytor; I would faine

Goe home, but still the thought of Aphron frights me.

How now? who's here? ô 'tis faire Hylace

The grumbling shepheards daughter.

Enter Hylace.

Brightest of all those starres that paint the woods,

And grace these shady habitations,

You're welcome, how shall I requite the benefit

Which you bestow upon so poore a stranger

With your faire presence?

Hyl.

If it be any curtesie, 'tis one

Which J would gladly doe you, I have brought

A rurall present, some of our owne apples,

My father and my mother are so hard,

They watch'd the tree, or else they had beene more,

Such as they are, if they can please your tast,

My wish is crown'd.

Cal.

O you're too kind,

And teach that duty to me which I ought

To have perform'd; I would I could returne

The halfe of your deserts! but I am poore

In every thing but thankes.

Hy.

Your acceptation only is reward

Too great for me.

Cal.

How they blush?

A man may well imagine they were yours,

They beare so great a shew of modesty.

Hyl.

O you mock my boldnesse

To thrust into your company; but truly

I meant no hurt in't; my intents were vertuous.

Cal.

[Page]

The Gods forbid that I should nurse a thought

So wicked, thou art innocent I know,

And pure as Venus Doves, or mountaine snow

Which no foot hath defil'd, thy soule is whiter

if there be any possibilitie of't)

Then that cleere skin which cloathes thy dainty body.

Hy.

Nay my good will deserves not to be jeer'd,

You know I am a rude and countrey wench.

Cal.

Farre be it from my thoughts, I sweare I honour

And love those maiden vertues which adorne you.

Hy.

I would you did, as well as I doe you,

But the just Gods intend not me so happy,

And I must be contented — I'me undone.

Ent. Bellula

Here's Bellula; what is she growne my rivall?

Bell.

Blesse me! whom see I? Hylace? some cloud

Or friendly mist involve me.

Hy.

Nay Bellula; I see you well enough.

Cal.

Why doth the day start backe? are you so cruell

To shew us first the light, and having struck

Wonder into us snatch it from our sight?

If Spring crown'd with the glories of the earth

Appeare upon the heavenly Ram, and streight

Creepe back againe into a grey-hayr'd frost,

Men will accuse its forwardnesse.

Hy.

Pray heaven

Hee be not taken with her, shee's somewhat faire;

He did not speake so long a speech to mee

I'me sure of't, though I brought him apples.

Bell.

I did mistake my way; Pray pardon me.

Hyl.

I would you had else.

Cal.

I must thanke fortune then which lead you hither,

But you can stay a little while and blesse us?

Bel.

Yes (and Love knowes how willingly) alas!

I shall quite spoyle my garland ere I give it him,

With hiding it from Hylace, 'Pray Fan

Shee hath not stolne his heart already from him,

[Page]And cheated my intentions.

Hy.

I would faine be going, but if I should leave her

It may be I shall give her opportunity

To winne him from me, for I know she loveth him,

And hath perhaps a better tongue then I,

Although I should bee loth to yeeld to her

In beauty or complexion.

Bell.

Let me speake

In private with you; I am bold to bring

A garland to you, 'tis of the best flowers

Which I could gather, I was picking them

All yesterday.

Cal.

How you oblige me to you!

I thanke you sweetest, How they flourish still!

Sure they grow better, since your hand hath nipt them.

Bell.

They will doe, when your brow hath honour'd them,

Then they may well grow proud, and shine more freshly.

Call.

What perfumes dwell in them?

They owe these odours to your breath.

Hy.

Defend me yee good Gods, I thinke he kisses her,

How long they have beene talking? now perhaps

Shee's woing him; perhaps he forgets me

And will consent, I'le put him in remembrance;

You have not tasted of the apples yet,

And they were good ones truly.

Call.

I will doe presently best Hilace.

Hy.

That's something yet, would he would speake so alwayes.

Cal.

I would not change them for those glorious apples

Which give such fame to the Hesperian gardens.

Bell.

She hath out-gone me in her present now,

But I have got a Beechen cup at home

Curiously graven with the spreading leaves,

And gladsome burthen of a fruitfull vine,

Which Damon, the best Artist of these woods

Made and bestow'd upon me, I'le bring that tomorrow

And give it him, and then I'le warrant her

[Page]Shee will not goe beyond me.

Hy.

What have you got a chaplet? ôh!

This is I see of Bellula's composing.

Bell.

Why Hylace? you cannot make a better,

What flowers' pray doth it want?

Cal.

Poore soules I pitty them, and the more,

Because I have not beene my selfe a stranger

To these love passions, but I wonder

What they can find in me worth their affection

Truly I would faine satisfie them both,

But can doe neither; 'tis fates crime, not mine.

Ball.

Weither goe you shepheard?

Hyl.

You will not leave us will you?

Cal.

Indeed I ought not,

You have both me bought with your courtesies

And should divide me.

Hy.

Shee came last to you.

Bell.

She hath another love,

And kills Palaemon with her cruelty,

How can shee expect mercy from another?

In what a Labyrinth doth Love draw mortalls

And then blindfolds them! what a mist it throwes

Vpon their senses! if he be a God

As sure he is (his power could not be so great else)

He knowes the impossibilitie which Nature

Hath set betwixt us, yet entangles us,

And laughs to see us struggle. D'yee both love me?

Bell.

I doe I'me sure.

Hyl.

And I as much as she.

Cal.

I pitty both of you, for you have sow'd

Vpon unthankfull sand, whose dry'd up wombe

Nature denyes to blesse with fruitfulnesse,

You are both fayre, and more then common graces

Inhabite in you both, Bellula's eyes

Shine like the lampe of Heaven, and so doth Hylaces.

Hylaces cheekes are deeper dy'd in scarlet

[Page]Then the chast mornings blushes, so are Bellula's,

And I protest I love you both. Yet cannot,

Yet must not enjoy either.

Bell.

You speake riddles.

Cal.

Which times commentarie

Must only explaine to you; and till then

Farewell good Bellula, farewell good Hylace,

I thanke you both.

Exit.

Hyl.

Alas! my hopes are strangled.

Exit.

Bell.

I will not yet despaire: He may grow milder,

He bade me farewell first; and lookt upon me

With a more stedfast eye, then upon her

When he departed hence: 'twas a good signe;

At least I will imagine it to be so,

Hope is the truest friend, and seldome leaves one.

Exit.

Enter Truga.

I doubt not but this will move him,

For they're good apples, but my teeth are gone,

I cannot bite them; but for all that though

Ile warrant you I can love a young Fellow

As well as any of them all: I that I can,

And kisse him too as sweetly. Oh! here's the mad-man.

Enter Aphron.

Ap.

Hercules, Hercules, ho Hercules, where are you?

Lend me thy club and skin, and when I ha'done,

Ile fling them to thee againe, why Hercules?

Pox on you, are you drunke? can you not answer?

Ile travell then without them, and doe wonders.

Tru.

I quake all over, worse then any fitt

Of the palsie which I have had this forty yeares

Could make me doe.

Ap.

So I ha' found the plot out,

First I'le climbe up, on Porter Atlas shoulders,

And then craule into Heaven, and I'me sure

[Page]I cannot chuse but find her there▪

Tru.

What will become of me if he should see me?

Truly he's a good proper Gentleman,

If he were not mad, I would not be so 'fraid of him.

Ap.

What have I caught thee fayrest of all women?

Where hast thou hid thy selfe so long from Aphron?

Aphron who hath beene dead till this blest minute?

Tru.

Ha, ha, ha, whom doth he take me for!

Ap.

Thy skin is whiter then the snowy feathers

Of Leda's Swannes.

Tru.

Law you there now,—

I thought I was not so unhandsome, as they'd make me

Ap.

Thy haires are brighter then the Moones,

Then when she spreads her beames and fills her orbe

Trug.

Beshrew their heart that call this Gentleman mad,

He hath his senses Ile warrant him, about him,

As well as any fellow of them all.

Apu.

Thy teeth are like two Arches made of Ivory,

Of purest Ivory.

Tru.

I for those few I have,

I thinke they're white enough.

Ap.

Thou art as fresh as May is, and thy look

Is picture of the Spring.

Tru.

Nay, I am but some fourscore yeares and tenne

And beare my age well; yet Alupis sayes

I looke like January, but I'le teach the knave

Another tune Ile warrant him.

Ap.

Thy lips are cheryes, let me taft them sweet?

Tru.

You have begd so handsomly.

Ap.

Ha! yee good Gods defend me! 'tis a Witch, a Hag.

Trug.

What am I?

Ap.

A witch, one that did take the shape

Of my best Mistris, but thou couldst not long

Belye her purenesse.

Tru.

Now he's starke mad againe upon the sudden;

He had some sense even now.

Ap.

[Page]

Thou lookst as if thou wert some wicked woman

Frighted out of the grave; defend me, how

Her eyes doe sinke into their ugly holes,

As if they were afraid to see the light.

Tru.

I will not be abus'd thus, that I will not

My haire was bright even now, and my lookes fresh:

Am I so quickly changed?

Ap.

Her breath infects the ayre, and sowes a pestilence

Where e're it comes; what hath she there?

J! these are apples made up with the stings

Of Scorpions, and the bloud of Basiliskes;

Which being swallowed up, a thousand paines

Eate on the heart, and gnaw the entrailes out

Tru.

Thou lyest; J, that thou do'st,

For these are honest apples, that they are;

I'me sure I gathered them my selfe.

Ap.

From the Stygian tree; Give them me quickly, or I will—

Tru.

What will you doe? pray take them.

Ap.

Get thee gone quickly, from me, for I know thee;

Thou art Tisiphone.

Tru.

'Tis false; for I know no such woman.

I'me glad I am got from him, would J had

My apples too, but 'tis no matter though,

J'le have a better gift for Callidorus

To morrow.

Ap.

The fiend is vanisht from me,

And hath left these behind for me to tast of,

But I will be too cunning; Thus I'le scatter them,

Now I have spoyld her plot; Vnhappy hee

Who finds them.

Exit.

Finis Actus secundi.

[Page]

Actus III.
Scaena I.

Enter Florellus.

THe Sun five times hath gone his yearly progresse,

Since last I saw my Sister, and returning

Bigge with desire to view my native Sicilie,

I found my aged parents sadly mourning

The funerall (for to them it seemes no lesse)

Of their departed Daughter; what a welcome

This was to me, all in whose hearts a veine

Of marble growes not, easily may conceive

Without the dumbe perswasions of my teares.

Yet as if that were nothing, and it were

A kind of happinesse in misery

If't come without an army to attend it,

As I pass'd through these woods I saw a woman

Whom her attyre call'd Shepheardesse, but face

Some disguis'd Angell, or a Silvan Goddesse;

It struck such adoration (for I durst not

Harbour the love of so divine a beauty)

That ever since I could not teach my thoughts

Another object; (In this happy place

(Happy her presence made it) she appear'd,

And breath'd fresh honours on the smiling trees,

Which owe more of their gallantry to her

Then to the musky kisses of the West wind.

Ha! sure 'tis she; Thus doth the Sunne breake forth

[Page]From the blacke curtaine of an envious cloud.

Enter Alupis, Bellula, Hylace.

Al.

For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Hyl.

Wee did not send for you; pray leave us.

Alu.

No, by this light, not till I see you cry;

When you have shed some penitentiall teares

For wronging of Palaemon, there may be

A truce concluded betwixt you and me.

Bell.

This is uncivill

To thrust into our company; doe you thinke

That we admire your wit? pray goe to them

That doe, we would be private.

Al.

To what purpose?

You'd aske how many shepheards she hath strooken,

Which is the properest man? which kisses sweetest?

Which brings her the best presents? And then tell

What a fine man wooes you, how redde his lips are?

How bright his eyes are? and what dainty sonnets

He hath composed in honor of your beauty?

And then at last, with what rare tricks you foole him?

These are your learn'd discourses; but were all

Men of my temperance, and wisdome too,

You should wooe us, I, and wooe hardly too

Before you got us.

Flo.

Oh prophanenesse!

Can hee so rudely speake to that blest virgin,

And not be strucken dumbe?

Al.

Nay, you have both a mind to me; I know it,

But I will marry neither; I come hither

Not to gaze on you, or extoll your beauty;

I come to vex you.

Flo.

Ruder yet? I cannot,

I will not suffer this; madde fellow, is there

No other Nymph in all these spacious woods,

To fling thy wilde, and saucie laughter at,

[Page]But her, whom thy great Deity even Pan

Himselfe would honor, doe not dare to utter

The smallest accent if not cloath'd with reverence,

Nay, doe not looke upon her but with eyes

As humble and submissive as thou wouldst

Vpon the brow of Majesty, when it frownes,

I speake but that which duty binds us all to,

Thou shalt not thinke upon her, no not thinke,

Without as much respect and honor to her

As holy men in superstitious zeale

Give to the Images they worship.

Bell.

Oh! this is the Gentleman courted me th'other day.

Al.

Why? have you got a Pattent to restraine me?

Or doe you thinke your glorious sute can fright me?

'Twould doe you much more credit at the Theater,

To rise betwixt the Acts, and looke about

The boxes, and then cry, God save you Madame,

Or heare you out in quarreling at an Ordinary,

And make your oathes become you; have you shown

Your gay apparell every where in towne,

That you can afford us the sight oft, or

Hath that Grand Divell whose eclipped sergeant,

Frighted you out of the City?

Flo.

Your loose jests

When they are shot at me, I scorne to take

Any revenge upon them, but neglect,

For then 'tis rashnesse only, but as soone

As you begin to violate her name,

Nature and conscience too bids me be angry,

For then 'tis wickednesse.

Al.

Well, if it be so,

I hope you can forgive the sinne that's past

Without the dolefull sight of trickling teares,

For I have eyes of pumice; I'me content

To let her rest in quiet, but you have given me

Free leave t' abuse you, on the condition

[Page]You will revenge it only with neglect,

For then 'tis rashnesse only.

Flo.

What are you biting?

Where did you pick these fragments up of wit.

Al.

Where I pay'd deare enough a conscience for them,

They should be more then fragments by their price,

I bought them sir, even from the very Merchants,

I scorn'd to deale with your poore City pedlers, that sell

By retayle: But let that passe; For 'tis but a folly:

Flo.

Then you have seene the City.

Al.

I and felt it too, I thanke the Divell; I'me sure

It suckt up in three yeares the whole estate

My father left, though he were counted rich,

A pox of forlorne Captaines, pittifull things,

Whom you mistake for souldiers, only by

Their sounding oathes, and a buffe jerkin, and

Some Histories which they have learn'd by roate,

Of battailes fought in Persia, or Polonia,

Where they themselves were of the conquering side,

Although God knowes one of the City Captaines,

Arm'd with broad scarfe, feather▪ and scarlet breeches,

When he instructs the youth on Holy-dayes,

And is made sicke with fearfull noyse of Guns,

Would pose them in the art Military; these

Were my first Leeches.

Flo.

So, no wonder then you spent so fast.

Al.

Pish, these were nothing:

I grew to keepe your Poets company

Those are the soakers, they refin'd me first

Of those grosse humors that are bred by money

And made me streight a wit, as now you see,

For 'tis but a folly.

Flo.

But hast thou none to fling thy salt upon

But these bright virgins?

Al.

Yes now you are here;

You are as good a theame as I could wish.

Hy.

[Page]

'Tis best for me to goe, whilst they are talking

For if I steale not from Alupis sight,

He'le follow me all day to vex me.

Exit.

Al.

What are you vanishing coy Mistris Hylace?

Nay, I'le be with you streight, but first I'le fetch

Palaemon, now if he can play his part

And leave off whining, wee'le have princely sport,

Well, I may live in time to have the women

Scratch out my eyes, or else scould me to death,

I shall deserve it richly: Farewell Sir:

I have employment with the Damsell gone

And cannot now intend you.

Exit.

Flo.

They're both gone,

Direct me now good love, and teach my tongue

Th' inchantments that thou woo'dst thy Psyche with.

Bell.

Farewell Sir.

Flo.

Oh! be not so cruell,

Let me enjoy my selfe a little while,

Which without you I cannot.

Bell.

Pray let me goe,

To tend my sheepe, there's none that lookes to them,

And if my father misse me, he'le so chide.

Flo.

Alas! thou needest not feare, for th' Wolfe himselfe

Though hunger whet the fury of its nature,

Would learne to spare thy pretty flocks, and be

As carefull as the shepheards dog to guard them,

Nay if he should not, Pan would present be,

And keepe thy tender lambes in safety for thee,

For though he be a God he would not blush

To be thy servant.

Bell.

Oh! you're courtly Sir.

But your fine words will not defend my sheepe,

Or stop them if they wander; Let me goe.

Flo.

Are you so fearefull of your cattels losse?

Yet so neglectfull of my perishing,

(For without you how can I choose but perish?)

[Page]Though I my selfe were most contemptible,

Yet for this reason only, that I love

And honour you, I deserve more then they doe.

Bell.

What would you doe, that thus you urge my stay?

Flo.

Nothing I sweare that should offend a Saint,

Nothing which can call up thy maiden bloud

To lend thy face a blush, nothing which chaste

And vertuous sisters can deny their Brothers,

I doe confesse I love you, but the fire

In which Iove courted his ambitious Mistris,

Or that by holy men on Altars kindled,

Is not so pure as mine is; I would only

Gaze thus upon thee; feed my hungry eyes

Sometimes with those bright tresses, which the wind

Farre happier then I, playes up and downe in,

And sometimes with thy cheekes, those rosy twins;

Then gently touch thy hand, and often kist it,

Till thou thy selfe shouldst checke my modesty

And yeeld thy lips, but further, though thou should'st

Like other maids with weake resistance aske it,

(Which I am sure thou wilt not) I'de not offer

Till lawfull Hymen joyne us both, and give

A licence unto my desires.

Bell.

Which I

Need not bestow much language to oppose,

Fortune and nature have forbidden it,

When they made me a rude and homely wench

You (if your clothes and cariage be not lyers,)

By state and birth a Gentleman.

Flo.

I hope

I may without suspition of a boaster

Say that I am so, else my love were impudence

For doe you thinke wise Nature did intend

You for a Shepheardesse, when she bestow'd

Such paines in your creation? would she fetch

The perfumes of Arabia for your breath?

[Page]Or ransack Pestum of her choycest roses

T'adorne your cheekes? would she bereave the rock

Of corall for your lips? and catch two starres

As they were falling, which she form'd your eyes of?

Would she her selfe turne work-woman and spinne

Threeds of the finest gold to be your tresses?

Or rob the Great to make one Microcosme?

And having finisht quite the beauteous wonder,

Hide it from publique view and admiration!

No; she would set it on some Pyramide,

To be the spectacle of many eyes:

And it doth grieve me that my niggard fortune

Rays'd me not up to higher eminency,

Not that I am ambitious of such honors

But that through them I might be made more worthy

To enjoy you.

Bell.

You are for ought I see

Too great already; I will either live

An undefiled virgin as I am

Or if I marry, not belye my birth,

But joyne my selfe to some plaine vertuous shepheard

(For Callidorus is so, and I will be either his or no bodyes.)

Aside.

Flo.

Pray heare me.

Bell.

Alas! I have Sir, and doe therefore now

Prepare to answer, if this passion

Bee love, my fortune bids me to deny you;

If lust, my honesty commands to scorne you,

Farewell.

Flo.

O stay a little! but two words: she's gone,

Gone like the glorious Sun, which being sette

Night creepes behind and covers all; some way

I must seeke out to win her, or what's easier

(And the blind man himselfe without a guide

May find) some way to dye; would I had beene

Borne a poore shepheard in these shady woods.

[Page]Nature is cruell in her benefits

And when she gives us honey, mingles gall.

She said that if she married, the woods

Should find a husband for her. I will wooe her

In Sylvan habit, then perhaps she'le love me —

But yet I will not, that's in vaine; I will too,

It cannot hurt to try.

Exit.

Enter Alupis, Palaemon, after them Hylace.

Al.

Nay come, she's just behind us, are you ready?

When she scoulds, bee you low deft, if she cry

Then laugh abundantly, thus we will vex her

Into a good conceit of you.

Pal.

I'le warrant you; you have instructed me enough,

Shee comes.

Hyl.

Is't possible that Bellula—

Pal.

Fayre creature—

Hyl.

Sure thou wert borne to trouble me, who sent for thee▪

Pa.

Whom all the Nymphs (though women use to be)

As you know, envious of anothers beauty)

Confesse the pride and glory of these woods.

Hyl.

When did you make this speech? 'tis a most neat one

Goe, get you gone, looke to your rotting cattell,

You'le never keepe a wife, who are not able

To keepe your sheepe.

Al.

Good! she abuses him

Now 'tis a miracle he doth not cry.

Pal.

Thou whom the starres might envy 'cause they are

Outshone by thee on earth.

Hyl.

Pray get you gon,

Or hold your prating tongue, for whatsoever

Thou sayest, I will not heare a syllable,

Much lesse answer thee.

Pa.

No; I'le try that streight

I have a present here—

[Page]Which if you'le give me leave, I shall presume

To dedicate to your service.

Hy.

You're so cunning,

And have such pretty wayes to entice me with,

Come let me see it.

Pa.

Oh! have you found a tongue?

I thought I had not beene worth an answer?

Hy.

How now; what tricks are these?

Give it me quickly, or —

Pa.

Pray get you gon, or hold your prating tongue;

For whatsoever thou sayest I will not heare

A syllable, much lesse answer thee.

Al.

Good boy'faith: now let me come.

Hy.

This is some plot I see, would I were gone,

I had as lief see the wolfe as this Alupis.

Al.

Here's a fine Ring, I faith, a very pretty one,

Doe your teeth water at it Damsell? ha?

Why we will sell our sheepe, and oxen, girle,

Hang them scurvy beasts, to buy you pretty knacks

That you might laugh at us, and call us fooles

And jeere us too, as farre as your wit reaches,

Bid us be gone, and when we have talkt two houres,

Deny to answer us; Nay you must stay

She offers to be gone.

And heare a little more.

Hy.

Must I? are you

The master of my businesse? I will not.

Al.

Faith but you shall; heare therefore and be patient.

I'le have thee made a Lady, yes a Lady,

For when thou'st got a chaine about thy necke

And comely bobes to dandle in thine eares;

When thou'st perfum'd thy haire, that if thy breath

Should be corrupted, it might scape unknowne,

And then bestow'd two houres in curling it,

Vncovering thy breast hither, thine armes hither,

And had thy Fucus curiously lay'd on;

Thou'dst be the finest proud thing, Ile warrant thee

[Page]Thou would'st outdoe them all. So, now goe thee to her

And let me breathe a little; For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Hy.

Oh! is't your turne to speake againe? no doubt

But we shall have a good oration then,

For they call you the learned shepheard; well

This is your love I see.

Pa.

Ha, ha, ha,

What should I love a stone? or wooe a picture?

Alas! I must be gone, for whatsoe're

I say, you will not heare a syllable

Much lesse answer; goe, you thinke you are,

So singularly handsome, when alas,

Galla, Menalca's daughter, Bellula,

Or Amaryllis overcome you quite.

Hy.

This is a scurvy fellow; Ile fit him for't,

No doubt they are; I wonder that your wisdome

Will trouble me so long with your vaine suite,

Why doe you not wooe them?

Pa.

Perhaps I doe;

I'le not tell you, because you'le envy them,

And alwayes be dispraising of their beauties.

Hy.

It shall appeare I will not, for I'le sooner

Embrace a Scorpion, then thee, base man.

Pa.

Ha, ha, ha.

Alupis do'st thou heare her? she'le cry presently,

Doe not despaire yet girle, by your good carriage

You may recall me still; some few entreatyes

Mingled with teares may get a kisse perhaps.

Hy.

J would not kisse thee for the wealth of Sicily

Thou wicked perjur'd Fellow.

Pal.

Alupis, ôh!

We have incenst her too much! how she lookes?

Prithee Alupis helpe me to intreate,

You know we did but jest, deare Hylace,

Alupis, prithee speake, best, beauteous Hylace,

I did but doe't to try you, pray forgive me,

[Page]Vpon my knees I begge it.

Al.

Here's a pretious foole.

Hyl.

Do'st thou still mock me? hast thou found more wayes?

Thou need'st not vex thy wit to move my hate,

Sooner the Sunne and starres shall shine together,

Sooner the Wolfe make peace with tender lambes

Then I with thee; thou'rt a disease to me

And wound'st my eyes.

Exit.

Pal.

Eternall night involve me! if there be

A punishment, (but sure there is not any)

Greater then what her anger hath inflicted,

May that fall on me too? how have I fool'd

Away my hopes? how have I beene my selfe

To my owne selfe a theefe?

Al.

I told you this,

That if she should but frowne, you must needs fall

To your old tricks againe.

Pa.

Is this your art?

A lovers curse upon it; Oh! Alupis

Thou hast done worse then murthered me: for which

May all thy flocks pine and decay like me,

May thy curst wit hurt all; but most its Master,

May'st thou (for I can wish no greater ill)

Love one like me, and be, like me, contemn'd.

Thou'ast all the darts my tongue can fling at thee,

But I will be reveng'd some other way

Before I dye, which cannot now be long.

Alu.

Poore Shepheard, I begin to pitty him.

I'le see if J can comfort him; Palaemon,—

Pal.

Nay, doe not follow me, griefe, passion

And troubled thoughts are my companions,

Those I had rather entertaine then thee,

If you choose this way let me goe the other,

And in both parts distracted error, thee

May revenge quickly meet, may death meet me.

Exit.

Alu.

Well, I say Pan defend me from a lover

[Page]Of all tame mad-men certainly they're the worst,

I would not meet with two such creatures more

For any good, they without doubt would put me,

If it be possible into a fit of sadnesse,

Though it Be but a folly, &c.

Well; I must find some plot yet to salve this

Because I have engaged my wit in the businesse,

And 'twould be a great scandall to the Citie

If I who have spent my meanes there, should not be

Able to cheate these shepheards. How now, how now,

Have we more distressed lovers here?

Enter Aphron.

Aph.

No, I'me a madde man.

Al.

I gave a shrewd ghesse at it at first sight

I thought thee little better.

Aph.

Better? why?

Can there be any better then a mad-man?

I tell thee, I came here to be a mad-man,

Nay, doe not disswade me from't, I would bee

A very Madman.

Al.

A good resolution!

'Tis as gentile a course as you can take,

I have knowne great ones have not beene asham'd of't,

But what cause pray drove you into this humour?

Aph.

Why a Mistris,

And such a beauteous one—do'st thou see no body?

She sits upon a throne amongst the starres

And outshines them, looke up and bee amazed

Such was her beauty here,—sure there doe lye

A thousand vapours in thy sleepy eyes,

Do'st thou not see her yet? not yet, nor yet?

Alu.

No in good troth.

Aph.

Thou'rt dull and ignorant,

Not skill'd at all in deepe Astrology.

Let me instruct thee?

Alu.

Prithee doe, for thou

Art in an admirable case to teach now,

Ap.

[Page]

I'le shew thee first all the coelestiall signes,

And to begin, looke on that horned head.

Al.

Whose is't? Iupiters?

Ap.

No, 'tis the Ramme!

Next that, the spacious Bull fils up the place.

Al.

The Bull? 'tis well, the fellowes of the Guard

Intend not to come thither; if they did

The Gods might chance to lose their beefe.

Ap.

And then,

Yonder's the signe of Gemini, do'st see it?

Alu.

Yes, yes, I see one of the zealous sisters

Mingled in friendship with a holy Brother▪

To beget Reformations.

Ap.

And there sits Capricorne.

Al.

A Welchman is't not?

Ap.

There Cancer creepes along with gouty pace,

As if his feet were sleepy, there, Doe you marke it?

Al.

I, I, Alderman-like a walking after dinner,

His paunch orechargd with capon and with white broth.

Ap.

But now, now, now, now, gaze eternally

Hadst thou as many eyes as the blacke night

They would be all too little; seest thou Virgo?

Al.

No by my troth, there are so few on earth,

I should be loth to sweare there's more in heaven,

Then onely one.

Ap.

That was my Mistris once, but is of late

Translated to the height of deserv'd glory,

And addes new ornaments to the wondring heavens.

Why doe I stay behind then, a meere nothing

Without her presence to give life and being?

If there be any hill whose lofty top

Nature hath made contiguous with heaven,

Though it be steepe, rugged as Neptunes brow,

Though arm'd with cold, with hunger, and diseases,

And all the other souldiers of misery,

Yet I would climbe it up, that I might come

[Page]Next place to thee, and there be made a starre.

Al.

I prithee doe, for amongst all the beasts

That helpe to make up the coelestiall signes

There's a Calfe wanting yet.

Ap.

But stay —

Al.

Nay, I have learn'd enough Astrology.

Ap.

Hunger and faintnesse have already seaz'd me,

'Tis a long journey thither, I shall want

Provision; canst thou helpe me, gentle shepheard?

And when I am come thither I will snatch

The Crowne of Ariadne, and fling't downe

To thee for a reward.

Al.

No doubt you will;

But you shall need no victuals, when you have ended

Your toylesome journey, kill the Ram you talke of,

And feed your selfe with most celestiall mutton.

Ap.

Thou'rt in the right, if they deny me that

I'le pluck the Beare downe from the Artique Pole,

And drowne it in those waters it avoids,

And dares not touch; I'le tugge the Hyades

And make them to sinke downe in spight of Nature;

I'le meet with Charles his Wayne, and overturne it

And breake the wheeles of 't, till Böotes start

For feare, and grow more slow then e're he was.

Al.

By this good light he'le snuffe the Moone anon,

Here's words indeed would fright a Conjurer

'Tis pitty that these huge Giganticke speeches

Are not upon the stage, they would doe rarely

For none would understand them, I could wish

Some Poet here now, with his table-booke.

Ap.

I'le cuffe with Pollux, and out-ride thee, Castor,

When the fierce Lyon roares I'le plucke his heart out

And be call'd Cordelion; I'le grapple with the Scorpion,

Take his sting out and fling him to the earth.

Al.

To me good Sir,

It may perhaps rayse me a great estate

[Page]With shewing it up and downe for pence apiece

Ap.

Alcides freed the earth from savadge monsters,

And I will free the heavens and bee call'd

Don Hercules Alcido de secundo.

Al.

A brave Castilian name.

Ap.

'Tis a hard taske,

But if that fellow did so much by strength,

I may well do't arm'd both with love and fury.

Alup.

Of which thou hast enough.

Aph,

Farewell thou ratte.

The Cedar bids the shrub adiew.

Al.

Farewell

Don Hercules Alcido de secundo.

If thou scar'st any, 'twill be by that name.

This is a wonderfull rare fellow, and

I like his humor mightily—who's here?

Enter Truga.

The Chronicle of a hundred yeares agoe!

How many crowes hath she outliv'd? sure death

Hath quite forgot her; by this Memento mori

I must invent some trick to helpe Palaemon.

Tru.

I am going againe to Callidorus,

But I have got a better present now,

My owne ring made of good Ebony,

Which a yong handsome shepheard bestow'd on me

Some fourescore years agoe, then they all lov'd me,

I was a handsome Lasse, J wosse in those dayes.

Al.

I so thou wert I'le warrant; here's good signe of't

Now Ile begin the worke, Reverend Truga,

Whose very Autumne shewes how glorious

The spring-time of your youth was—

Tru.

Are you come

To put your mocks upon me?

Al.

I doe confesse indeed my former speeches

[Page]Have beene too rude and saucy; I have flung

Madde jests too wildly at you; but considering

The reverence which is due to age, and vertue,

I have repented, will you see my teares?

And beleeve them? Oh for an onyon now!

Or J shall laugh alowd; ha, ha, ha!)

Aside.

Tru.

Alas good soule I doe forgive you truly;

I would not have you weepe for me, indeed

I ever thought you would repent at last,

Al.

You might well,

But the right valewing of your worth and vertue

Hath turn'd the folly of my former scorne

Inro a wiser reverence, pardon me

If I say love.

Tru.

I, I, withall my heart,

But doe you speake sincerely?

Al.

Oh! it grieves me

That you should doubt it, what I spoke before

Were lyes, the off-spring of a foolish rashnesse,

I see some sparks still of your former beauty▪

Which spight of time still flourish.

Tru.

Why, I am not

So old as you imagined, I am yet

But fourescore yeares. Am I a January now?

How doe you thinke? I alwayes did beleeve

You'd be of another opinion one day;

I know you did but jest.

Al.

Oh no, oh no, (I see it takes)

Aside.

How you bely your age— for— let me see—

A man would take you—let me see— for—

Some forty yeares or thereabouts (I meane foure hundred)

Not a jot more J sweare.

Aside.

Tru.

Oh no! you flatter me,

But I looke something fresh indeed this morning.

I should please Callidorus mightily,

But I'le not goe perhaps; this fellow is

[Page]As handsome quite as he, and I perceive

He loves me hugely, I protest I will not

Aside

Have him grow madde, which he may chance to doe

If I should scorne him.

Al.

I have something here

Which I would faine reveale to you, but dare not

Without your licence.

Tru.

Doe in Pans name, doe; now, now.

Al.

The comely gravity which adornes your age,

And makes you still seeme lovely, hath so strucken me—

Tru.

Alas good soule! I must seeme coy at first,

But not too long, for feare I should quite lose him.

Al.

That I shall perish utterly, unlesse

Your gentle nature helpe me.

Tru.

Alas good Shepheard!

And in troth I faine would helpe you

But I am past those vanities of love.

Al.

Oh no!

Wise nature which preserv'd your life till now

Doth it because you should enjoy these pleasures

Which doe belong to life, if you deny me,

I am undone.

Tru.

Well you should not win me

But that I am loath to be held the cause

Of any young mans ruine, doe not thinke it

My want of chastity, but my good nature

Which would see no one hurt.

Al.

Ah pretty soule!

Aside.

How supple 'tis like wax before the Sun▪

Now cannot I chuse but kisse her, there's the plague of 't,

Let's then joyne our hearts, and seale them with a kisse

Tru.

Well, let us then:

'T were incivility to be your debtor,

I'le give you back againe your kisse, sweetheart,

And come in th'afternoone, I'le see you;

My husband will be gone to sell some kine,

[Page]And Hylace tending the sheepe, till then

Farewell good Duck

(Offers to goe.)

But doe you heare, because you shall remember

(Turnes back.)

To come I'le give thee here this Ebon ring

But doe not weare it, lest my husband chance

To see't: Farewell Duck.

Al.

Lest her husband chance

To see't; she cannot deny this, here's enough;

My Scoene of love is done then, is she gone?

I'le call her back; ho Truga; Truga hô:

Tru.

Why doe you call me Duck?

Only to aske one foolish question of thee:

Ha'n't you a husband?

Tru.

Yes, you know I have.

Al.

And doe you love him?

Tru.

Why doe you aske? I doe.

Al.

Yet you can be content to make him cuckold

Tru.

Rather then to see you perish in your flames.

Al.

Why art thou now two hundred yeares of age,

Yet hast no more discretion but to thinke

That I could love thee? ha, ha, were't mine

I'de sell thee to some gardiner, thou wouldst serve

To scare away the theeves aswell as crowes.

Tru.

Oh, you're dispos'd to jest I see, Farewell.

Al.

Nay, I'me in very earnest; I love you?

Why thy face is a vizard.

Trug.

Leave off these tricks, I shall be angry else,

And take away the favours I bestow'd.

Al.

'Tis knowne that thou hast eyes by the holes only,

Which are crept farther in, then thy nose out,

And that's almost a yard; thy quarreling teeth

Of such a colour are, that they themselves

Scare one another, and doe stand at distance.

Thy skin hangs loose as if it fear'd the bones

(For flesh thou hast not) and is growne so black

That a wilde Centaure would not meddle with thee.

[Page]To conclude, Nature made thee when she was

Only dispos'd to jest, and length of time

Hath made thee more ridiculous.

Tru.

Base villaine, is this your love?

Give me my ring againe?

Al.

No, no; soft there:

I intend to bestow it on your husband;

He'le keepe it better farre then you have done.

Trug.

What shall I doe? Alupis, good Alupis,

Stay but a little while, pray doe but heare me.

Al.

No, I'le come to you in the afternoone

Your husband will be selling of some kine

And Hylace tending the sheepe.

Tru.

Pray heare me, command me any thing

And be but silent of this, good Alupis;

Hugh, Hugh, Hugh.

Al.

Yes, yes, I will be silent,

I'le only blow a trumpet on yon hill,

Till all the countrey swaines are flockt about me.

Then show the ring, and tell the passages

'Twixt you and me.

Trug.

Alas! I am undone.

Al.

Well now 'tis ripe; I have had sport enough

Since I behold your penitentiall teares

I'le propose this to you, if you can get

Your Daughter to be married to Palaemon

This day, for I'le allow no longer time;

To morrow I'le restore your ring, and sweare

Never to mention what is past betwixt us,

If not— you know what followes— take your choyse.

Tru.

I'le doe my best endevour.

Al.

Goe make hast then,

You know your time's bnt short, and use it well:

Now if this faile the Divel's in all wit.

Exit Truga.

[Page]I'le goe and thrust it forward, if it take,

I'le sing away the day,

For 'tis but a folly

To be melancholly,

Let's live here whilst wee may.

Exit.

Finis Actus Tertij.

[Page]

Actus IIII.
Scaena I.

Enter Callidorus, Bellula, Florellus.

CAl.

Pray follow me no more, me thinks that modesty

Which is so lively painted in your face

Should prompt your maiden heart with feares and blushes

To trust your selfe in so much privatnesse

With one you know not.

Bel.

I should love those feares

And call them hopes, could I perswade my selfe,

There were so much heate in you as to cause them;

Prithee leave me; if thou dost hope successe

To thine owne love, why interrupt'st thou mine?

Flo.

If love cause you

To follow him, how can you angry bee?

Because love forces me without resistance

To doe the same to you?

Bell.

Love should not grow

So subtill as to play with arguments.

Flo.

Love should not be an enemy to reason.

Cal.

To love is of it selfe a kind of Folly,

But to love one who cannot render back

Equall desire, is nothing else but madnesse:

Bell.

Tell him so; 'tis a lesson he should learne.

Flo.

Not to love is of't selfe a kind of hardnesse,

But not to love him who hath alwayes woo'd you

With chast desires, is nothing lesse then tyranny.

Bell.

[Page]

Tell him so; 'tis a lesson he should learne.

Call.

Why doe you follow him that flyes from you?

Flo.

Why doe you fly from him that followes you?

Bell.

Why doe you follow? Why doe you fly from me?

Call.

The Fates command me that I must not love you.

Flo.

The Fates command me that I needs must love you.

Bell.

The Fates impose the like command on me,

That you I must, that you I cannot love.

Flo.

Vnhappy man! when I begin to cloath

My love with words, and court her with perswasions,

She stands unmov'd, and doth not cleare her brow

Of the least wrinkle which sate there before;

So when the waters with an amorous noyse

Leape up and downe, and in a wanton dance

Kisse the dull rocke, that scornes their fond embraces,

And darts them back; till they with terror scattered,

Drop downe againe in teares.

Bell.

Vnhappy woman!

When I begin to shew him all my passion,

He flyes from me, and will not cleare his brow

Of any cloud which covered it before;

So when the ravishing Nightingale hath tun'd

Her mournfull notes, and silenc'd all the birds,

Yet the deafe wind flirts by, and in disdaine

With a rude whistle leaues her.

Cal.

We are all three

Vnhappy; borne to be the proud example

Of Loves great God-head, not his God-like goodnesse.

Let us not call upon our selves those miseries

Which love hath not, and those it hath beare bravely,

Our desires yet are like some hidden text,

Where one word seemes to contradict another,

They are Loves nonsence, wrapt up in thicke clouds

Till Fate be pleas'd to write a Commentary,

Which doubtlesse 'twill; till then let let us endure,

And sound a parlee to our passions,

Bell.

[Page]

We may joyne hands though, may we not?

Flo.

We may, and lips too, may we not?

Bell,

We may; come let's sit downe and talke.

Cal.

And looke upon each other.

Flo.

Then kisse againe.

Bell.

Then looke.

Call.

Then talke againe,

What are we like? the hand of Mother Nature

Would be quite pos'd to make our simile.

Flo.

We are the Trigon in Loves Hemisphere.

Bel.

We are three strings on Venus dainty'st Lute,

Where all three hinder one anothers musick,

Yet all three joyne and make one harmony.

Call.

We are three flowers of Venus dainty garden,

Where all three hinder one anothers odor,

Yet all three joyne, and make one nosegay up.

Flo.

Come let us kisse againe.

Bell.

And looke.

Call.

And talke.

Flo.

Nay rather sing, your lips are Natures organs,

And made for nought lesse sweet then harmony.

Call.

Pray doe.

Bell.

Though I forfeit

My little skill in singing to your wit,

Yet I will do't, since you command.

Song.It is a punishment to love,
And not to love a punishment doth prove;
But of all paines there's no such paine,
As 'tis to love, and not be lov'd againe.

Till sixteene parents we obey,
After sixteene, men steale our hearts away
How wretched are we women growne,
Whose wills, whose minds, whose hearts are ne're our owne!

Call.

[Page]

Thanke you.

Flo.

For ever be the tales of Orpheus silent,

Had the same age seene thee, that very Poet,

Who drew all to him by his harmony,

Thou would'st have drawne to thee.

Cal.

Come shall we rise?

Bell.

If it please you, I will.

Call.

I cannot chuse

But pitty these two Lovers, and am taken

Much with the serious trifles of their passion.

Let's goe and see, if we can breake this net

In which we all are caught; if any man

Aske who we are, we'le say we are Loves riddle.

Exeunt.

Enter Aegon, Palaemon, Alupis.

Pa.

Thou art my better Genius, honest Aegon,

Al.

And what am I?

Pa.

My selfe, my soule, my friend,

Let me hugge thee Alupis, and thee Aegon,

Thee for inventing it, thee for putting it

In act; But doe you thinke the plot will hold?

Alu.

Hold? why I'le warrant thee it shall hold,

Till we have ty'd you both in wedlock fast,

Then let the bonds of Matrimonie hold you

If 'twill, if that will not neither, I can tell you

What will I'me sure; A Halter.

Then sing, &c. —

Aegon

Come, shall we knock?

Al.

I doe; For 'tis, &c. —

Aegon.

Ho Truga; who's within there?

Al.

You, Winter, Ho, you that the grave expected

Some hundred yeares agoe, you that intend

To live till you turne Skeleton, and make

All men aweary of you but Physitians,

Pox on you, will you come.

[Page] Enter Clariana and her Maid.

Cla.

Did you command the servants to withdraw?

I did forsooth.

Cla.

And have you shut the doores?

Yes.

Cl.

Is there none can over-heare our talke?

Your curious enquiry much amazeth me,

And I could wish you would excuse my boldnesse

If I should aske the reason.

Cl.

Thou knowest well

That thou hast found me alwayes liker to

Thy Kinswoman then Mistris, that thy brest

Has beene the Cabinet of all my secrets,

This I tell thee, not as an exprobration,

But because I must require thy faith

And counsell here. And therefore prithee sweare—

Sweare? to doe what?

Cl.

To be more silent then the dead of night,

And to thy power to helpe me.

Would my power

To assist you were as ready as my will,

And for my tongue that Mistris I'le condemne

Vnto perpetuall silence, ere it shall

Betray the smallest word that you commit to't.

By all —

Cl.

Nay doe not sweare, I will not wrong thy vertue

To bind it with an oath. Ile tell thee all;

Doth not my face seeme paler then 'twas wont?

Doth not my eye looke as it borrowed flame

From my fond heart; could not my frequent weepings,

My sudden sighes, and abrupt speeches tell thee

What J am growne?

You are the same you were,

Or else my eyes are lyars.

Cl.

No, I'me a wretched Lover; could'st thou nor

[Page]Read that out of my blushes? fie upon thee;

Thou art a novice in Loves schoole I see;

Trust me I envy at thy ignorance,

That canst not find out Cupids characters

In a lost Mayd, sure thou didst never know him.

Would you durst trust me with his name,

Sure he had charmes about him that might tempt

Chast Votaries, or move a Scythian rock

When he shot fire into your chaster breast.

Cl.

I am asham'd to tell thee, prithee ghesse him,

Why 'tis impossible.

Cl.

Thou saw'st the gentleman whom I this morning

Brought in to be my guest.

Yes, but am ignorant, who, or from whence he is;

Cl.

Thou shalt know all;

The freshnesse of the morning did invite me

To walke abroad, there I began to thinke

How I had lost my Brother, that one thought

Like circles in the water begat many,

Those and the pleasant verdure of the fields

Made me forget the way, and did entice me

Farther then either feare or modesty

Else would have suffred me, beneath an oake

Which spread a flourishing Canopy round about,

And was it selfe alone almost a wood,

I found a Gentleman distracted strangely,

Crying alowd for either food, or sleepe,

And knocking his white hands against the ground,

Making that groane like me, when I beheld it,

Pitty, and feare, both proper to us women,

Drave my feet backe farre swifter then they went,

When I came home, I tooke two servants with me

And fetch'd the gentleman, hither I brought him,

And with such cheare as then the house afforded,

Replenished him, he was much mended suddenly,

Is now asleepe, and when he wakes I hope

[Page]Will find his senses perfect.

You did shew

In this, what never was a stranger to you,

Much piety; but wander from your subject;

You have not yet discovered, who it is

Deserves your love.

Cl.

Fy, Fy, how dull thou art,

Thou dost not use in other things to be so;

Why I love him; His name I cannot tell thee;

For 'tis my great unhappinesse to bee

Still ignorant of that my selfe. He comes,

Looke, this is hee, but doe not grow my rivall If thou canst thuse.

You need not, fear't forsooth.

Enter Aphron.

Cl.

Leave me alone with him; withdraw.

I doe.

Exit Maid.

Ap.

Where am I now? under the Northerne Pole

Where a perpetuall winter binds the ground

And glazeth up the flouds? or where the Sun

With neighbouring rayes bakes the divided earth,

And drinkes the rivers up? or doe I sleepe?

Is't not some foolish dreame deludes my fancy?

Who am J? I begin to question that.

Was not my countrey Sicily? my name

Call'd Aphron, wretched Aphron?

Cla.

Yee good Gods

Forbid; is this that man who was the cause

Of all the griefe for Callidora's losse?

Is this the man that I so oft have curst?

Now I could almost hate him, and me thinkes

He is not quite so handsome as he was;

And yet alas he is, though by his meanes

My Brother is gone from me, and heaven knowes

If I shall see him more, Foole as I am,

I cannot chuse but love him.

Ap.

Cheate me not good eyes,

What woman, or what Angel doe I see?

[Page]Oh stay, and let me worship e're thou goest,

Whether thou beest a Goddesse which thy beauty

Commands me to beleeve, or else some mortall

Which I the rather am induc'd to thinke,

Because I know the Gods all hate me so,

They would not looke upon me.

Cl.

Spare these titles

I am a wretched woman, who for pitty

(Alas that I should pitty! t'had bin better

(Aside)

That I had beene remorslesse) brought you hither,

Where with some food and rest, thanks to the Gods

Your senses are recovered.

Ap.

My good Angell!

I doe remember now that I was madde

For want of meat and sleepe, thrice did the Sun

Cheere all the world but me, thrice did the night

With silent and bewitching darknesse give

A resting time to every thing but Aphron.

The fish, the beasts, the birds, the smallest creatures

And the most despicable snor'd securely.

The aguish head of every tree by Aeolus

Was rockt asleepe, and shooke as if it nodded.

The crooked mountaines seem'd to bow and slumber,

The very rivers ceas'd their daily murmur,

Nothing did watch, but the pale Moone, and I

Paler then shee; Griefe wedded to this toyle

What else could it beget but franticknesse?

But now me thinkes, I am my owne, my braine

Swimmes not as it was wont; O brightest Virgin

Shew me some way by which I may be gratefull,

And if I do't not, let an eternall Phrenzie

Jmmediatly seize on me.

Cl.

Alas! 'twas only

My love, and if you will reward me for't,

Pay that J lent you, J'le require no interest;

The Principall's enough.

Ap.

[Page]

You speake in mists.

Cl.

You're loth perhaps to understand.

Ap.

If you intend that I should love and honour you,

I doe by all the Gods.

Cl.

But I am covetous in my demands,

I am not satisfied with wind-like promises

Which only touch the lips; I aske your heart

Your whole heart for me, in exchange of mine,

Which so I gave to you.

Ap.

Ha! you amaze me.

Oh! you have spoken something worse then lightning,

That blasts the inward parts, leaves, the outward whole,

My gratitude commands me to obey you,

But I am borne a man, and have those passions

Fighting within me, which I must obey.

Whilst Callidora lives, although she bee

As cruell, as thy breast is soft and gentle;

'TIs sinne for me to thinke of any other.

Cl.

You cannot love me then?

Ap.

I doe I sweare,

Above my selfe I doe: my selfe? what said I?

Alas! that's nothing; above any thing

But heaven and Callidora.

Cl▪

Fare you well then,

I would not doe that wrong to one I love,

To urge him farther then his power and will;

Farewell, remember me when you are gone,

And happy in the love of Callidora.

Exit.

Ap.

When J doe not, may I forget my selfe,

Would I were madde againe; then I might rave

With priviledge, I should not know the griefes

That hurried me about, 'twere better farre

To lose the senses, then be tortured by them.

Where is she gone? I did not aske her name,

Foole that I was, alas poore Gentlewoman!

Can any one love me? yee cruell Gods,

[Page]Is't not enough that I my selfe am miserable,

Must I make others so too? Ile goe in

And comfort her; alas! how can I though?

Ile grieve with her, that is in ills a comfort.

Exit.

Enter Alupis, Melarnus, Truga, Palaemon, Aegon.

Pa.

Before when you denyed your Daughter to me

'Twas Fortunes fault, not mine, but since good Fate

Or rather Aegon, better farre then Fate

Hath raysd me up to what you aym'd at, riches,

I see not with what countenance you can

Coyne any second argument against me.

Mel.

Come, no matter for that:

Yes, I could wish you were lesse eloquent,

You have a vice call'd Poesie which much

Displeaseth me, but no matter for that neither.

Al.

Alas! hee'le leave that straight

When he has got but money; he that swims

In Tagus, never will goe back to Helicon.

besides, when he hath maried Hylace

Whom should he wooe, to praise her comely feature,

Her skin like falling snow, her eyes like starres,

Her cheekes like roses (which are common places

Of all your lovers praises) ôh! those vanities,

Things quite as light, and foolish as a Mistris,

Are by a Mistris first begot, and left

When they leave her.

Ra.

Why doe you thinke that Poesie

An art which even the Gods—

Al.

Pox on your arts,

Let him thinke what he will; what's that to us?

Aegon.

Well, I would gladly have an answer of you,

Since I have made Palaemon here my sonne,

If you conceive your Daughter is so good,

Wee will not presse you, but seeke out some other

[Page]Who may perhaps please me and him aswell.

Pa.

Which is impossi' —

Al.

Rot on your possibles —

Thy mouth like a crackt fiddle never sounds

But out of tune; Come, put on Truga

You'le never speake unlesse I shew the ring.

Tru.

Yes, yes, I doe, I doe; Doe yee heare sweet heart?

Are you madde to fling away a fortune

That's thrust upon you, you know Aegon's rich.

Mel.

Come, no matter for that,

That's thrust upon me? I would faine see any man

Thrust ought upon me; but's no matter for that,

I will doe that which I intend to doe,

And 'tis no matter for that neither, that's thrust upon me?

Pa.

Come, what say you Melarnus?

Mel.

What say I? 'tis no matter what I say,

I'le speake to Aegon, if I speake to any,

And not to you; but no matter for that;

Harke you, will you leave all the meanes you have

To this Palaemon?

Tru.

I Duck, he sayes he will.

Mel.

Pish, 'tis no matter for that, Ile heare him say so.

Aeg.

I will, and here doe openly protest,

That since my Bellula (mine that was once)

Thinkes her selfe wiser then her father is,

And will be govern'd rather by her passions,

Then by the square that I prescribe to her,

That I will never count her as my Daughter.

Al.

Well acted by God Pan, see but what 'tis

To have me for a tutor in these rogueries.

Mel.

But tell me now, good neighbour, what estate

Doe you intend to give him?

Aeg.

That estate

Which Fortune and my care hath given to me,

The money which I have, and that's not much,

The sheepe, and Goats.

Mel.

[Page]

And not the oxen too?

Aeg.

Yes; every thing.

Mel.

The Horses too?

Aeg.

I tell you, every thing.

Al.

By Pan hee'le make him promise him particularly

Each thing above the valew of a Beanes-straw.

You'le leave him the pailes too, to milke the Kine in,

And harnesse for the horses, will you not?

Mel.

I, I, what else; but 'tis no matter for that,

I know Palaemon's an ingenious man,

And love him therefore; But's no matter for that neither

Aeg.

Well, since we are both agreed, why do we stay here

I know Palaemon longs t'imbrace his Hylace.

Mel▪

I, I, 'tis no matter for that, within this houre

Wee will be ready, Aegon, pray be you so,

Farewell my son in Law that shall be,

But's no matter for that: Farewell all:

Come Truga.

Exeunt Melarnus and Truga.

Aeg.

Come on then, let's not stay too long in trifling,

Palaemon goe, and prepare your selfe against the time.

I'le goe acquaint my Bellula with your plot,

Lest this unwelcome newes should too much grieve her,

Before she know my meaning.

Doe, doe; and I'le goe study

Some new-found wayes to vex the foole Malernus.

For 'tis but a folly,

To be melancholy, &c.

Enter Florellus.

Whilst Callidorus lives, I cannot love thee.

These were her parting words; Ile kill him then;

Why doe I doubt it Foole? such wounds as these

Require no gentler med'cine; me thinkes Love

Frownes at me now, and sayes I am too dull,

Too slow in his command: and yet I will not,

[Page]These hands are virgins yet, unstain'd with villany,

Shall I begin to teach them?—me thinkes Piety

Frownes at me now, and sayes, I am too weake

Against my passions. Pietie! —

'T was feare begot that Bugbeare; for thee Bellula

I durst be wicked, though I saw Ioves hand

Arm'd with a naked thunderbolt: Farewell,

If thou beest any thing, and not a shadow

To fright boyes and old women) Farewell conscience,

Goe and be strong in other petty things

To Lovers come, when Lovers may make use of thee,

Not else: and yet,—what shall I doe or say?

I see the better way, and know 'tis beteer,

Yet still this devious error drawes me backward.

So when contrary winds rush out and meet,

And wrastle on the Sea with equall fury

The waves swell into mountaines, and are driven

Now back, now forward, doubtfull of the two

Which Captaine to obey.

Enter Alupis.

Al.

Ha, ha, Ile have such excellent sport

For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Flo.

Why here's a fellow now makes sport of every thing,

See one mans fate how it excels another,

Hee can sit, and passe away the day in jollity,

My musick is my sighes, whilst teares keepe time.

Al.

Who's here? a most rare posture!

How the good soule folds in his armes! he dreames

Sure that he hugges his Mistris now, for that

Is his disease without all doubt, so, good,

With what judicious garbe hee plucks his hat

Over his eyes; so, so, good! better yet;

He cryes; by this good light, he cryes; the man

Is carefull, and intends to water his sheepe

[Page]With his owne teares; ha, ha, ha, ha.

Flo.

Dost thou see any thing that deserves thy laughter,

Fond swaine?

Al.

I see nothing in good troth but you,

Flo.

To jeere those who are Fates May-game

Is a redoubled fault; for 'tis both sinne,

And folly too; our life is so uncertaine

Thou canst not promise that thy mirth shall last

To morrow, and not meet with any rubbe,

Then thou mayst act that part, to day thou laugh'st as

Al.

I act a part? it must be in a Comedy then,

I abhorre Tragedyes: besides, I never

Practiz'd this posture; Hey ho! woe, alas!

Why doe I live? my musick is my sighes

Whilst teares keepe time.

Flo.

You take too great a licence to your wit;

Wit, did I say? I meane, that which you think so.

And it deserves my pitty, more then anger.

Else you should find, that blowes are heavier farre

Then the most studied jefts you can throw at me.

Al.

Faith it will be but labour lost to beat mee,

All will not teach me how to act this part;

Woe's me! alas! I'me a dull rogue, and so

Shall never learne it.

Flo.

You're unmannerly

To talke thus sawcily with one you know not,

Nay, hardly ever saw before, be gone

And leave me as you found me, my worst thoughts

Are better company then thou.

Al.

Enjoy them then,

Here's no body desires to rob you of them.

I would have left your company without bidding,

'Tis not so pleasant, I remember well,

When I had spent all my money, I stood thus

And therefore hate the posture ever since.

D'yee heare? I'me going to a wedding now;

[Page]If you'ave a mind to dance, come along with me,

Bring your hard-hearted Mistris with you too,

Perhaps I may perswade her, and tell her

Your Musick's sighes, and that your teares keepe time.

Will you not goe? Farewell then, good Tragicall actor.

Now have at thee Melarnus; For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Exit

Flo.

Thou art a Prophet, Shepheard; She is hard

As rocks which suffer the continuall siege

Of Sea and wind against them; but I will

Win her or lose (which I should gladly doe)

My selfe: my selfe? why so I have already:

Ho! who hath found Florellus? he is lost,

Lost to himselfe, and to his parents likewise,

(who having miss'd me, doe by this time search

Each corner for to find me) ôh! Florellus,

Thou must be wicked, or for ever wretched,

Hard is the Physick, harder the disease.

Finis Actus Quarti.

[Page]

Actus V.
Scaena I.

Enter Alupis, Palaemon, Aegon.

PA.

The Gods convert these omens into good:

And mocke my feares; thrice in the very threshold,

Without its Masters leave my foot stood still,

Thrice in the way it stumbled:

Al.

Thrice, and thrice

You were a foole then for observing it.

Why these are follyes the young yeares of Truga

Did hardly know; are they not vanisht yet?

Pa.

Blame not my feare: that's Cupids Vsher alwayes;

Though Hylace were now in my embraces,

I should halfe doubt it.

Al.

If you chanc'd to stumble.

Aeg.

Let him enjoy his madnesse, the same liberty

hee'le grant to you, when you're a Lover too.

Al.

I, when I am, he may; yet if I were one

I should not be dismay'd because threshold—

Pa.

Alas! that was not all, as I came by

The oake to Faunus sacred, where the shepheards

Exercise rurall sports on Festivalls,

On that trees toppe an inauspicious Crow

Foretold some ill to happen.

Aeg.

And because Crowes

Foretell wet weather, you interpret it

The raine of your owne eyes; but leave these tricks

[Page]And let me advise you.

Melarnus speaking to Hylace within his dore.

Mel.

Well come, no matter for that; I doe beleeve thee; Girle

And would they have such sport with vexing me!

But's no matter for that; Ile vex them for't.

I know your fiery lover will be here strait,

But I shall coole him; but come, no matter for that!

Goe get you in, for I doe see them comming.

Aeg.

Here comes Melarnus.

Pa.

Hee lookes cheerefully, I hope all's well?

Aeg.

Melarnus, opportunely: we were a comming

Just now unto you.

Mel.

Yes, very likely; would you have spoken with me?

Aeg.

Spoken with you?

Why, are you madde? have you forgot your promise?

Mel.

My promise? oh! 'tis true, I said indeed

I would goe with you to day to sell some kine,

Stay but a little, Ile be ready streight.

Pa.

I am amaz'd; Good Aegon speake to him.

Al.

By this good light,

I see no likelyhood of any mariage,

Except betwixt the Kine and oxen. Harke you hither;

A rotte upon your beasts; is Hylace ready?

Mel.

It's no matter for that! who's there? Alupis?

Give me thy hand 'faith, thou'rt a merry fellow,

I have not seene thee here these many dayes,

But now I thinke on't, it's no matter for that neither.

Al.

Thy memory's fled away sure with thy wit.

Was not I here lesse then an houre agoe

With Aegon, when you made the match?

Mel.

Oh! then you'le goe along with us,

Faith doe; for you will make us very merry.

Al.

I shall, if you thus make a foole of me.

Mel.

Oh no! you'le make you sport with vexing me,

[Page]But mum; no matter for that neither: there

I bob'd him privatly, I thinke.

Aside.

Aeg.

Come, what's the businesse?

Al.

The businesse? why hee's madde, beyond the cure

Of all the herbes grow in Anticyra.

Aeg.

You see we have not fayl'd our word Melarnus,

I and my sonne are come.

Mel.

Your son! goodlack!

I thought, I sweare, you had no other child

Besides your Daughter Bellula.

Aegon.

Nay, then

I see you are dispos'd to make us fooles,—

Did not I tell you that 'twas my intent

To adopt Palaemon for my son and heire?

Al.

Did not you examine

Whether he would leave him all, lest that he should

Adopt some other heire to the cheese-presses,

The milking-pailes, and creame-boules? did you not?

Mel.

In troth 'tis well; but where is Bellula?

Aegon.

Nay; prithee leave these tricks, and tell me

What you intend, is Hylace ready?

Mel.

Ready? what else? shee's to be married presently:

To a young shepheard, but's no matter for that.

Fa.

That's I, hence feares;

Attend upon the infancie of love,

She's now mine owne.

Al.

Why I; did not the crow on the oake foretell you this?

Mel.

Hylace, Hylace, come forth,

Here's some are come to dance at your wedding,

And they're welcome.

(Enter Hylace.)

Pa.

The light appeares, just like the rising Sun,

When o're yon hill it peepes, and with a draught

Of morning dew salutes the day, how fast

The night of all my sorrow flyes away,

Quite banisht with her sight!

Hy.

Did you call for me?

Mel.

[Page]

Is Damaetas come? Fy, how slow he is

At such a time? but it's no matter for that;

Well get you in, and prepare to welcome him.

Pa.

Will you be gone so quickly, ôh! bright Hylace

That blessed houre by me so often begg'd,

By you so oft deny'd, is now approaching.

Mel.

What, how now? what doe you kisse her?

(Exit Hylace.)

If Damoetas were here, he would grow jealous,

But 'tis a parting kisse, and so in manners

She cannot deny it you; but it's no matter for that.

Al.

How?

Mel.

What doe you wonder at?

Why doe you thinke as soone as they are maried,

Damoetas such a foole, to let his wife

Be kist by every body?

Pa.

How now? Damoetas?

Why what hath he to doe with her?

Mel.

Ha, ha!

What hath the husband then to doe with's wife?

Good: 'tis no matter for that though; he knowes what.

Aeg.

You meane Palaemon sure, ha, doe you not?

Mel.

'Tis no matter for that, what I meane, I meane,

Well, rest ye merry gentlemen, I must in,

And see my Daughters wedding, if you please

To dance with us; Damaetas sure will thanke yee;

Pray bring your son and heire Palaemon with you,

Bellula's cast away, ha, ha, ha, ha!

And the poore foole Melarnus must be cheated,

But it's no matter for that; how now Alupis?

I thought you would have had most excellent sport

With abusing poore Melarnus? that same coxcombe,

For hee's a foole; but it's no matter for that,

Aegon hath cheated him, Palaemon is

Maried to Hylace, and one Alupis

Doth nothing else but vex him, ha, ha, ha!

But it's no matter for that; farewell gentles,

[Page]Or if yee'le come and dance, yee shall be welcome,

Will you Palaemon? 'tis your Mistris wedding.

I am a foole, a coxcombe, gull'd on every side,

No matter for that though; what I have done, I have done▪

Ha, ha, ha!

Exit.

Aeg.

How now? what are you both dumbe? both thunder-strooke?

This was your plot Alupis.

Al.

I'le begin.

May his sheepe rotte, and he for want of food

Be forc't to eat them then; may every man

Abuse him, and yet he not have the wit

To abuse any man, may he never speake

More sence then he did now; and may he never

Bee ridde of his old wife Truga, may his sonne

In Law be a more famous Cuckold made

Then any one I knew when I liv'd in the City.

Pa.

Foole as thou art, the Sun shall lose his course▪

And brightnesse too, ere Hylace her chastity.

Oh no! yee Gods, may she be happy alwayes,

Happy in the embraces of Damoetas;

And that shall be some comfort to my Ghost

When I am dead; and dead I shall be shortly.

Al.

May a disease seize upon all his Cattle,

And a farre worse on him; till he at last

Bee carried to some Hospitall i'the City,

And there kill'd by a Chirurgion for experience.

And when hee's gone, Ile wish this good thing for him,

May the earth lye gently on him— that the dogges

May teare him up the easier.

Aeg.

A curse upon thee!

And upon me for trusting thy fond counsels!

Was this your cunning trick? why thou hast wounded

My conscience and my reputation too,

With what face can I looke on the other Swaines?

Or who will ever trust me, who have broke

My faith thus openly?

Pa.

[Page]

A curse upon thee,

This is the second time that thy perswasions

Made me not only foole, but wicked too;

I should have dyed in quiet else, and knowne

No other wound, but that of her denyall;

Go now, and bragge how thou hast us'd Palaemon,

But yet me thinkes you might have chose some other

For subject of your mirth, not me.

Aeg.

Nor me.

Al.

And yet if this had prospered (as I wonder

Who it should be, betray'd us, since we three

And Truga only knew it, whom, if she

Betray'd us, I—) if this, I say, had prospered,

You would have hugg'd me for inventing it,

And him for putting it in act; foolish men

That doe not marke the thing but the event!

Your judgements hang on Fortune, not on reason▪

Aeg.

Dost thou upbraid us too?

Pa.

First make us wretched,

And then laugh at us? beleeve, Alupis,

Thou shalt not long have cause to boast thy villany.

Al.

My villany? doe what yee can: you're fooles,

And there's an end; Ile talke with you no more,

I had as good speake reason to the wind

As you, that can but hisse at it.

Aeg.

Wee will doe more; Palaemon, come away▪

He hath wrong'd both; and both shall satisfie.

Al.

Which he will never doe; nay, goe and plod,

Your two wise braines will invent certainely

Politique ginnes to catch me in.

Exeunt.

And now have at thee Truga, if I find

That thou art guiltie; mum,—I have a ring.—

Palaemon, Aegon, Hylace, Melarnus

Are all against me; no great matter: hang care,

For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Exit.

[Page] Enter Bellula.

This way my Callidorus went, what chance

Hath snatch'd him from my sight? how shall I find him?

How shall I find my selfe, now I have lost him?

With yee my feet and eyes I will not make

The smallest truce, till yee have sought him out.

Exit.

Enter Callidorus and Florellus.

Come, now your businesse.

Flo.

'Tis a fatall one,

Which will almost as much shame me to speake,

Much more to act, as 'twill fright you to heare it.

Cal.

Fright me? it must be then some wickednesse,

I am accustom'd so to misery,

That cannot do't.

Flo.

Oh! 'Tis a sinne young man,

A sinne which every one shall wonder at,

None not condemne, if ever it be knowne?

Me thinkes my bloud shrinkes back into my veines,

And my affrighted hayres are turn'd to bristles.

Doe not my eyes creepe backe into their cells▪

As if they seem'd to wish for thicker darknesse,

Then either night or death to cover them?

Doth not my face looke black and horrid too?

As black and horrid as my thoughts? ha! tell me.

Cal.

I am a novice in all villanyes,

If your intents be such, dismisse me, pray,

My nature is more easie to discover

Then helpe you; so, Farewell.

Flo.

Yet stay a little longer; you must stay▪

You are an actor in this Tragedy.

Cal.

What would you doe?

Flo.

Alas! I would doe nothing; but I must—

Cal.

What must you doe?

Flo.

[Page]

I must.—Love thou hast got the victory—

Kill thee.

Cal.

Who? me? you doe but jest,

I should believe you, if I could tell how

To frame a cause, or thinke on any injury

Worth such a large revenge, which I have done you.

Flo.

Oh no! there's all the wickednesse, they may seeme

To find excuse for their abhorred fact;

That kill when wrongs, and anger urgeth them;

Because thou art so good, so affable.

So full of graces, both of mind and body,

Therefore I kill thee, wilt thou know it plainely,

Because whilst thou art living, Bellula

Protested she would never be anothers,

Therefore I kill thee.

Call.

Had I beene your rivall

You might have had some cause; cause did I say?

You might have had pretence for such a villany:

He who unjustly kills is twice a murtherer.

Flo.

He whom love bids to kill is not a murtherer.

Cal.

Call not that love that's ill; 'tis only fury.

Flo.

Fury in ills is halfe excusable:

Therefore prepare thy selfe; if any sinne

(Though I beleeve thy hot and flourishing youth,

As innocent as other mens nativities)

Hath flung a spot upon thy purer conscience

Wash it in some few teares.

Call.

Are you resolv'd to be so cruell?

Flo.

I must, or be as cruell to my selfe.

Call.

As sick men doe their beds, so have I yet

Injoy'd my selfe, with little rest, much trouble:

I have beene made the Ball of Love and Fortune,

And am almost worne out with often playing.

And therefore I would entertaine my death

As some good friend whose comming I expected;

Were it not that my parents—

Flo.

[Page]

Here; see, I doe not come

(Drawes two swords from under his garment and offers one to Call.)

Like a foule murtherer to intrap you falsly,

Take your own choyse, and then defend your selfe.

Cal.

'Tis nobly done; and since it must be so,

Although my strength and courage call me woman

I will not dye like sheepe without resistance,

If innocence be guard sufficient,

I'me sure he cannot hurt me.

Flo.

Are you ready? the fatall Cuckow on yon spreading tree

Hath sounded out your dying knell already.

Cal.

I am.

Flo.

'Tis well, and I could wish thy hand

Were strong enough; 'tis thou deservest the victory,

Nay, were not th'hope of Bellula ingraven

In all my thoughts, I would my selfe play booty

Against my selfe; But Bellula—come on.

Fight

Enter Philistus.

This is the wood adjoyning to the Farme,

Where I gave order unto Clariana

My sister, to remaine till my returne;

Here 'tis in vaine to seeke her, yet who knowes?

Though it be in vaine Ile seeke; to him that doth

Propose no journeys end, no path's amisse.

Why how now? what doe you meane? for shame part Shepheards,

I thought you honest shepheards, had not had

Sees them fighting.

So much of Court, and Citie follies in you.

Flo.

'Tis Philistus; I hope he will not know me,

Now I begin to see how black and horrid

My attempt was; how much unlike Florellus,

Thankes to the juster Deityes for declining

From both the danger, and from me the sin.

Phi.

'Twould be a wrong to charity to dismisse yee

Before I see you friends, give me your weapons.

Cal.

'Tis he; why doe I doubt? most willingly,

[Page]And my selfe too, best man; now kill me shepheard—

Phi.

What doe you meane?

(Swounds)

Rise, prithee rise; sure you have wounded him.

Enter Bellula.

Deceive me not good eyes; what doe I see?

My Callidorus dead? 'Tis impossible!

Who is it that lyes slaine there? are you dumbe?

Who is't I pray?

Flo.

Faire Mistris—

Bel.

Pish, faire Mistris,—

I aske who 'tis; if it be Callidorus—

Phi.

Was his name Callidorus? it is strange.

Bel.

You are a villaine, and you too a villaine,

Wake Callidorus, wake, it is thy Bellula

That calls thee, wake, it is thy Bellula;

Why Gentlemen? why shepheard? fye for shame,

Have you no charity? ô my Callidorus!

Speake but one word —

Cal.

'Tis not well done to trouble me,

Why doe you envy me this little rest?

Bel.

No; I will follow thee.

(Swounds.)

Flo.

O helpe, helpe quickly,

What doe you meane? your Callidorus lives.

Bel.

Callidorus!

Flo.

And will be well immediatly, take courage,

Looke up a little: wretched as I am,

I am the cause of all this ill.

Phi.

What shall we doe? I have a sister dwells

Close by this place, let's hast to bring them thither.

But lets be sudden.

Flo.

As wing'd lightning is.

Come Bellula in spite of Fortune now

I doe embrace thee.

Phi.

I did protest without my Callidora

Ne're to returne, but pitty hath o'recome.

Bel.

[Page]

Where am I?

Flo.

Where I could alwayes wish thee: in those armes

Which would enfold thee with more subtill knots,

Then amorous Ivy, whilst it hugges the oake.

Cal.

Where doe ye beare me? is Philistus well?

Phi.

How should he know my name? 'tis to me a riddle

Nay Shepheard find another time to court in,

Make hast now with your burthen.

Flo.

With what ease should I goe alwaies were I burthened thus!

Exeunt

Enter Aphron.

She told me she was sister to Philistus ▪

Who having mist the beauteous Callidora,

Hath undertooke a long, and hopelesse journey

To find her out; then Callidora's fled,

Without her parents knowledge, and who knowes

When shee'le returne, or if she doe, what then?

Lambes will make peace, and joyne themselves with wolves

Ere she with me, worse then a wolfe to her:

Besides, how durst I undertake to court her?

How dare I looke upon her after this?

Foole as I am, I will forget her quite,

And Clariana shall hence-forth— but yet

How faire she was! what then? so's Clariana ▪

What graces did she dart on all beholders?

Shee did; but so does Clariana too,

Shee was as pure and white as Parian marble,

What then? Shee was as hard too; Clariana

Is pure and white as Ericina's Doves,

And is as soft, as gallesse too as they,

Her pitty sav'd my life, and did restore

My wandring senses, if I should not love her,

I were farre madder now, then when she found me,

I will goe in and render up my selfe,

For her most faithfull servant.

Wonderfull!

Exit. Enter againe.

Shee has lockt me in, and keepes me here her prisoner.

[Page]In these two chambers; what can she intend?

No matter, she intends no hurt I'me sure,

I'le patiently expect her comming to me.

Exit.

Enter Demophil, Spodaia, Clariana, Florellus, Callidora, Bellula, Philistus.

Dem.

My Daughter found againe, and son returnd!

Ha, ha! me thinkes it makes me young againe.

My Daughter and my Son meet here together!

Philistus with them too! that we should come

To grieve with Clariana, and find her here.

Nay, when we thought we had lost Florellus too

To find them both, me thinkes it makes me young againe.

Spo.

I thought I never should have seene thee more

My Callidora; come wench, now let's heare,

The story of your flight and life in the woods.

Phi.

Doe happy Mistris for the recordation,

Of fore past ils, makes us the sweetlier rellish

Our present good.

Cal.

Of Aphrons love to me, and my antipathy

Towards him, there's none here ignorant, you know too.

How guarded with his love, or rather fury,

And some few men he broke into our house

With resolution to make me the prey

Of his wild Iust.

Sp.

I, there's a villaine now; oh! that I had him here.

Cla.

Oh! say not so:

The crymes which Lovers for their Mistris act

Beare both the weight aud stampe of piety.

Dem.

Come girle; goe on, goe on. His wild lust—

Cla.

What sudden feare shooke me, you may imagine,

What should I doe? you both were out of towne,

And most of the servants at that time gone with you.

I on the sudden found a corner out,

And hid my selfe, till they wearied with searching,

[Page]Quitted the house, but fearing lest they should

Attempt the same againe ere your returne,

I tooke with me money and other necessaries;

And in a sute my Brother left behind

Disguis'd my selfe, thus to the woods I went,

Where meeting with an honest merry Swaine,

I by his helpe was furnisht, and made Shepheard.

Sp.

Nay, I must needs say for her, she was alwayes

A witty wench.

Dem.

Pish, pish: And made a Shepheard—

Cal.

It hapned that this gentle Shepheatdesse,

(I can attribute it to nought in me

Deserv'd so much) began to love me.

Phi.

Why so did all besides Ile warrant you,

Nor can I blame them, though they were my rivall.

Cal.

Another Shepheard with as much desire

Wooed her in vaine, as she in vaine wooed me,

Who seeing that no hope was left for him,

Whilst I enjoy'd this life t'enjoy his Bellula,

(For by that name she's knowne) sought to take me

Out of the way as a partition

Betwixt his love and him, whilst in the fields

Wee two were strugling, (him his strength defending.

And me my innocence.)

Flo.

I am asham'd to looke upon their faces.

What shall I say? my guilt's above excuse.

Cal.

Philistus; as if the Gods had all agreed

To make him mine, just at the nick came in

And parted us, with sudden joy I sounded,

Which Bellula perceiving (for even then

Shee came to seeke me) sudden griefe did force

The same effect from her, which joy from me.

Hither they brought us both, in this amazement,

Where being straight recover'd to our selves,

I found you here, and you your dutifull Daughter.

Spo.

The Gods be thankt.

Dem.

Goe on.

Cal.

[Page]

Nay, you have all Sir.

Dem.

Where's that Shepheard?

Flo.

Here.

Dem.

Here, where?

Flo.

Here, your unhappy sonne's the man; for her

I put on Sylvan weeds, for her faire sake

I would have stayn'd my innocent hands in bloud,

Forgive me all, 'twas not a sin of malice,

'Twas not begot by lust, but sacred love;

The cause must be the excuse for the effect.

Dem.

You should have us'd some other meanes, Florellus.

Cal.

Alas! 'twas the Gods will Sir, without that

I had beene undiscovered yet; Philistus

Wandred too farre, my Brother yet a Shepheard,

You groaning for our losse, upon this wheele

All our felicity is turn'd.

Sp.

Alas! you have forgot the power of love, sweet-heart.

Dem.

Be patient Son, and temper your desire,

You shall not want a wife that will perhaps

Please you as well, I'me sure befit you better.

Flo.

They marry not, but sell themselves t'a wife,

Whom the large dowry tempts, and take more pleasure

To hugge the wealthy bagges then her that brought them.

Let them whom nature bestowes nothing on

Seeke to patch up their want by parents plenty;

The beautifull, the chast, the vertuous,

Her selfe alone is portion to her selfe.

Enter Aegon.

By your leave; I come to seeke a Daughter.

O! are you there, 'tis well.

Flo.

This is her Father,

I doe conjure you Father, by the love

Which parents beare their children, to make up

The match betwixt us now, or if you will not

Send for your friends, prepare a coffin for me

And let a grave be dig'd, I will be happy,

[Page]Or else not know my misery to morrow;

Spo.

You doe not thinke what ill may happen husband,

Come, let him have her, you have meanes enough

For him, the wench is faire, and if her face

Be not a flatterer, of a noble mind,

Although not stocke.

Aeg.

I doe not like this stragling, come along,

By your leave Gentlemen, I hope you will

Pardon my bold intrusion.

Cl.

You're very welcome.

What are you going Bellula? pray stay,

Though Nature contradicts our love, I hope

That I may have your friendship.

Aeg.

Bellula!

Bel.

My father calls; farewell; your name, and memory

In spite of Fate, I'le love, farewell.

Flo.

Would you be gone, and not bestow one word

Vpon your faithfull servant? doe not all

my griefes and troubles for your sake sustaynd.

Deserve, Farewell Florellus?

Bel.

Fare you well then.

Flo.

Alas! how can I, Sweet, unlesse you stay,

Or I goe with you? you were pleas'd ere while

To say you honoured me with the next place

To Callidorus in your heart, then now

I should be first: doe you repent your sentence?

Or can that tongue sound lesse then Oracle?

Bel.

Perhaps I am of that opinion still,

But must obey my Father.

Aeg.

Why Bellula? would you have ought with her Sir?

Flo.

Yes, I would have her selfe; if constancy

And love be meritorious, I deserve her.

Why Father, Mother, Sister, Gentlemen,

Will you plead for me?

Dem.

Since't must be so, I'le beare it patiently,

Shepheard you see how much our son is taken

With your faire Daughter, therefore if you thinke

[Page]Him fitting for her husband speake, and let it

Be made a match immediatly, we shall

Expect no other dowrie then her vertue.

Aeg.

Which only I can promise; for her fortune

Is beneath you so farre, that I could almost

Suspect your words, but that you seeme more noble.

How now, what say you Girle?

Bel.

I only doe depend upon your will.

Aeg.

And Ile not be an enemy to thy good fortune.

Take her Sir, and the Gods blesse you.

Flo.

With greater joy then I would take a Crowne.

Al.

The Gods blesse you.

Flo.

They have don't already.

Aeg.

Lest you should thinke when time, and oft enjoying

Hath dul'd the point, and edge of your affection

That you have wrong'd your selfe and family,

By marying one whose very name, a Shepheardesse,

Might fling some spot upon your birth, I'le tell you,

She is not mine, nor borne in these rude woods:

Flo.

How! you speake misty wonders.

Aeg.

I speake truths Sir,

Some fifteene yeares agoe, as I was walking

I found a Nurse wounded, and groning out

Her latest spirit, and by her a faire child▪

And, which her very dressing might declare,

Of wealthy parents, as soone as I came to them

I as'kd her who had us'd her so inhumanly:

She answered Turkish Pirats; and withall

Desired me to looke unto the child,

For 'tis, said she, a Noblemans of Sicily,

His name she would have spoke, but death permitted not.

Her as I could, I caused to be buried,

But brought home the little Girle with me,

Where by my wives perswasions wee agreed,

Because the Gods had blest us with no issue,

To nourish as our owne, and call it Bellula

[Page]Whom now you see, your wife, your Daughter.

Spo.

Is't possible?

Flo.

Her manners shew'd her noble.

Aeg.

I call the Gods to witnesse, this is true.

And for the farther testimony of it,

I have yet kept at home the furniture,

And the rich mantle which she then was wrapt in,

Which now perhaps may serve to some good use

Thereby to know her parents.

Dem.

Sure this is Aphrons sister then, for just

About the time he mentions, I remember,

The governour of Pachinus, then his Father

Told me that certaine Pirats of Argier

Had broke into his house, and stolne from thence

With other things his Daughter, and her Nurse,

Who being after taken, and executed,

Their last confession was, that they indeed

Wounded the Nurse, but she fled with the child,

Whilst they were busie searching for more prey.

Whom since her father, neither saw, nor heard of.

Cla.

Then now I'me sure Sir, you would gladly pardon

The rash attempt of Aphron, for your Daughter,

Since fortune hath joyn'd, both of you by kindred.

Dem.

Most willingly:

Spo.

I, I, alas! 'twas love:

Flo.

Where should wee find him out?

Cla.

Ile save that labour.

Exit Clariana.

Cal.

Where's Hylace pray shepheard? and the rest

Of my good Silvan friends? me thinkes I would,

Faine take my leave of them.

Aeg.

I'le fetch them hither.

They're not farre off, and if you please to helpe

The match betwixt Hylace and Palaemon,

'Twould be a good deed, Ile goe fetch them.

Exit.

Enter Aphron, Clariana.

Ap.

Ha! whether have you led me Clariana?

Some steepy mountaine bury me alive,

[Page]Or rock intombe me in its stony intrayles,

Whom doe I see?

Cla.

Why doe you stare my Aphron?

They have forgiven all.

Dem.

Come, Aphron, welcome,

We have forgot the wrong you did my Daughter,

The name of love hath cover'd all; this is

A joyfull day, and sacred to great Hymen

'Twere sin not to be friends with all men now.

Sp.

Methinks, I have much adoe to forgive the rascall.

(Aside.)

Ap.

I know not what to say; doe you all pardon me?

I have done wrong to yee all, yea, to all those

That have a share in vertue. Can yee pardon me?

All.

Most willingly.

Aph.

Doe you say so faire Virgin?

You I have injur'd most: with love,

With saucy love, which I henceforth recall,

And will looke on you with an adoration,

Not with desire hereafter; tell me, pray,

Doth any man yet call you his?

Cal.

Yes; Philistus.

Ap.

I congratulate it Sir.

The Gods make yee both happy: foole, as I am,

You are at the height already of felicity,

To which there's nothing can be added now,

But perpetuity; you shall not find me

Your rivall any more, though I confesse

I honor her, and will for ever doe so.

Clariana, I am so much unworthy

Of thy love. That—

Cl.

Goe no farther Sir, 'tis I should say so

Of my owne selfe.

Phi.

How Sister? are you two so neere upon a match?

Ap.

In our hearts Sir,

Wee are already joyn'd, it may be though

You will be loth to have unhappy Aphron,

[Page]Stile you his Brother?

Phi.

No Sir, if you both

Agree, to me it shall not be unwelcome.

Why here's a day indeed; sure Hymen now

Meanes to spend all his torches.

Dem.

'Tis my Son Sir,

New come from travaile, and your Brother now.

Ap.

I understand not.

Dem.

Had you not a sister?

Ap.

I had Sir; but where now she is none knowes,

Besides the Gods.

Dem.

Is't not about some fifteene yeares agoe

Since that the Nurse scap't with her from the hands

Of Turkish Pyrats that beset the house?

Ap.

It is Sir.

Dem

Your sister lives then, and is maried

Now to Florellus; this is she, you shall be

Enform'd of all the circumstances anon.

Ap.

'Tis impossible.

I shall be made too happy on the sudden.

My Sister found, and Clariana mine!

Come not too thick good joyes, you will oppresse me.

Enter Melarnus, Truga, Aegon, Hylace, Palaemon.

Cal.

Shepheards you're welcome all; though I have lost

Your good society, I hope I shall not

Your friendship, and best wishes.

Aegon.

Nay, here's wonders;

Now Callidorus is found out a woman,

Bellula not my Daughter, and is maried

To yonder Gentleman, for which I intend

To doe in earnest what before I jested,

To adopt Palaemon for my heire.

Mel.

Ha, ha, ha!

Come it's no matter for that; doe you thinke

To cheate me once againe with your fine tricks?

[Page]No matter for that neither. Ha, ha, ha!

Alas! shee's maried to Dametas.

Aeg.

Nay, that was your plot Melarnus,

I met with him, and he denyes it to me.

Hy.

Henceforth I must not love, but honor you—to Callidora▪

Aeg.

By all the Gods I will.

Tru.

He will, he will; Duck.

Mel.

Of everything?

Aeg.

Of every thing; I call

These gentlemen to witnesse here, that since

I have no child to care for; I will make

Palaemon heire to those small meanes the Gods,

Have blest me with, if he doe marry Hylace.

Mel.

Come it's no matter for that, I scarce beleeve you.

Dem.

Wee'le be his suretyes.

Mel.

Hylace

What thinke you of Palaemon? can you love him?

H'as our consents, but it's no matter for that,

If he doe please you, speake, or now, or never.

Hyl.

Why doe I doubt fond Girle? shee's now a woman.

Mel.

No matter for that, what you doe, doe quickly.

Hyl.

My duty binds me not to be averse

To what likes you.—

Mel.

Why take her then Palaemon; she's yours for ever.

Pa.

With farre more joy

Then I would doe the wealth of both the Indyes,

Thou art above a father to me, Aegon.

W'are freed from misery with sense of joy,

Wee are not borne so; oh! my Hylace,

It is my comfort now that thou wert hard,

And cruell till this day, delights are sweetest?

When poysoned with the trouble to attaine them.

Enter Alupis.

For 'tis but a folly, &c

By your leave, I come to seeke a woman,

[Page]That hath outlived the memorie of her youth,

With skin as black as her teeth, if she have any,

With a face would fright the Constable and his watch

Out of their wits (and that's easily done you'le say) if they

should meet her at midnight.

O! are you there? I thought I smelt you somewhere;

Come hither my she Nestor, pretty Truga,

Come hither, my sweet Duck.

Tru.

Why? are you not asham'd to abuse me thus,

Before this company?

Al.

I have something more;

I come to shew the ring before them all;

How durst you thus betray us to Melarnus?

Tru.

'Tis false, 'twas Hylace that over-heard you;

Shee told me so; but they are maried now.

Al.

What doe you thinke to flam me? why ho! here's newes.

Pa.

Alupis art thou there? forgive my anger,

I am the happiest man alive, Alupis,

Hylace is mine, here are more wonders too,

Thou shalt know all anon.

Tru.

Alupis, give me.

Al.

Well, rather then be troubled.

Aeg.

Alupis welcome, now w'are friends I hope?

Give me your hand.

Mel.

And me.

Al.

With all my heart,

I'me glad to see yee have learn'd more wit at last.

Cal.

This is the Shepheard, Father, to whose care

I owe for many favours in the woods,

You're welcome heartily; here's every body

Payr'd of a sudden; when shall's see you maried?

Al.

Me? when there are no ropes to hang my selfe,

No rocks to breake my neck downe; I abhorre

To live in a perpetuall Belfary;

I never could abide to have a Master,

Much lesse a Mistris, and I will not marry,

Because, I'le sing away the day,

For 'tis but a folly to be melancholly,

[Page]Ile be merry whilst I may.

Phi.

You're welcome all, and I desire you all

To be my guests to day; a Wedding dinner,

Such as the sudden can afford, wee'le have,

Come will yee walke in Gentlemen?

Dem.

Yes, yes,

What crosses have yee borne before yee joyn'd!

What seas past through before yee touch't the port!

Thus Lovers doe, ere they are crown'd by Fates

With Palme, the tree their patience imitates.

FINIS.

[Page]
Epilogue Spoken by Alupis.THe Author bid me tell you—'faith, I have
Forgot what 'twas; and I'me a very slave
If I know what to say; but only this,
Bee merry, that my counsell alwayes is.
Let no grave man knit up his brow, and say,
'Tis foolish: why? 'twas a Boy made the Play.
Nor any yet of those that sit behind,
Because he goes in Plush, be of his mind.
Let none his Time, or his spent money grieve,
Bee merry; Give me your hands, and I'le believe.
Or if you will not, I'le goe in, and see,
If I can turne the Authors mind, with mee
To sing away the day,
For 'tis but a folly
To bee melancholy,
Since that can't mend the Play.

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