(SCENE 4.)

Enter Nimphidius, Lucan, Scevinus, with a guard.

Nimph. Though Pisoes suddennesse and guilty hand Prevented hath the death he should have had, Yet you abide it must.

Lucan. O may the earth lye lightly on his Course, Sprinckle his ashes with your flowers and teares; The love and dainties of mankind is gone.

Scevin. What onely now we can, we'le follow thee That way thou lead'st and waite on thee in death; Which we had done had not these hindred us.

Nimph. Nay, other ends your grievous crimes awaite, Ends which the law and your deserts exact.

Scevin. What have we deserved?

Nimph. That punishment that traitors unto Princes, And enemies to the State they live, in merit.

Scevin. If by the State this government you meane I iustly am an enemy unto it. That's but to Nero, you and Tigellinus. That glorious world that even beguiles the wise, Being lookt into, includes but three or foure Corrupted men, which were they all remov'd 'Twould for the common State much better be.

Nimph. Why, what can you ith' government mislike, Unlesse it grieve you that the world's in peace Or that our arm[i]es conquer without blood? Hath not his power with forraine visitations And strangers honour more acknowlldg'd bin Then any was afore him? Hath not hee Dispos'd of frontier kingdomes with successe? Given away Crownes, whom he set up availing? The rivall seat of the Arsacidae, That thought their brightnesse equall unto ours, Is't crown'd by him, by him doth raigne? If we have any warre it's beyond Rhene And Euphrates, and such whose different chances Have rather serv'd for pleasure and discourse Then troubled us. At home the Citie hath Increast in wealth, with building bin adorn'd, The arts have flourisht and the Muses sung; And that his Iustice and well tempered raigne Have the best Iudges pleas'd, the powers divine, Their blessings and so long prosperitie Of th'Empire under him enough declare.

Scevin. You freed the State from warres abroad, but 'twas To spoile at home more safely and divert The Parthian enmitie on us; and yet The glory rather and the spoyles of warre Have wanting bin, the losse and charge we have. Your peace is full of cruelty and wrong; Lawes taught to speake to present purposes; Wealth and faire houses dangerous faults become; Much blood ith' Citie and no common deaths, But Gentlemen and Consulary houses. On Caesars owne house looke: hath that bin free? Hath he not shed the blood he calls divine? Hath not that neerenes which should love beget Always on him bin cause of hate and feare? Vertue and power suspected and kept downe? They, whose great ancestors this Empire made, Distrusted in the government thereof? A happy state where Decius is a traytor, Narcissus true! nor onley wast unsafe T'offend the Prince; his freed men worse were feard, Whose wrongs with such insulting pride were heard That even the faultie it made innocent If we complain'd that was it selfe a crime, I, though it were to Caesars benefit: Our writings pry'd into, falce guiltines Thinking each taxing pointed out it selfe; Our private whisperings listned after; nay, Our thoughts were forced out of us and punisht; And had it bin in you to have taken away Our understanding as you did our speech, You would have made us thought this honest too.

Nimph. Can malice narrow eyes See anything yet more it can traduce?

Scevin. His long continued taxes I forbeare, In which he chiefely showed him to be Prince; His robbing Alters,[75] sale of Holy things, The Antique Goblets of adored rust And sacred gifts of kings and people sold. Nor was the spoile more odious than the use They were imployd on; spent on shame and lust, Which still have bin so endless in their change And made us know a divers servitude. But that he hath bin suffered so long And prospered, as you say; for that to thee, O Heaven, I turne my selfe and cry, "No God Hath care of us." Yet have we our revenge, As much as Earth may be reveng'd on Heaven: Their divine honour Nero shall usurpe, And prayers and feasts and adoration have As well as Iupiter.

Nimph. Away, blaspheming tongue, Be ever silent for thy bitternesse.

[Exeunt.



(SCENE 5.)

Enter Nero, Poppaea, Tigellinus, Flavius, Neophilus, Epaphroditus, and a yong man.

Nero. What could cause thee, Forgetfull of my benefits and thy oath, To seeke my life?

Flav. Nero, I hated thee: Nor was there any of thy souldiers More faithful, while thou faith deserv'dst, then I. Together did I leave to be a subject, And thou a Prince. Caesar was now become A Player on the Stage, a Waggoner, A burner of our houses and of us, A Paracide of Wife and Mother.[76]

Tigell. Villaine, dost know where and of whom thou speakst?

Nero. Have you but one death for him? Let it bee A feeling one; Tigellinus, bee't[77] Thy charge, and let me see thee witty in't.

Tigell. Come, sirrah; Weele see how stoutly you'le stretch out your necke.

Flav. Wold thou durst strike as stoutly. [Exit Tigell. and Flav.

Nero. And what's hee there?

Epaphr. One that in whispering oreheard[78] What pitie 'twas, my Lord, that Pisoe died.

Nero. And why was't pitie, sirrah, Pisoe died?

Yong. My Lord, 'twas pitie he deserv'd to die.

Poppaea. How much this youth my Otho doth resemble; (aside.) Otho my first, my best love who is now (Under pretext of governing) exyl'd To Lucitania, honourably banish't.

Nero. Well, if you be so passionate, Ile make you spend your pitie on your Prince And good men, not on traytors.

Yong. The Gods forbid my Prince should pitie need. Somewhat the sad remembrance did me stirre Oth' fraile and weake condition of our kind, Somewhat his greatnesse; then whom yesterday The world but Caesar could shew nothing higher. Besides, some vertues and some worth he had, That might excuse my pitie to an end So cruell and unripe.

Poppaea. I know not how this stranger moves my mind. (Aside.) His face me thinkes is not like other mens, Nor do they speake thus. Oh, his words invade My weakned senses and overcome my heart.

Nero. Your pitie shewes your favour and your will, Which side you are inclinde too, had you[79] power: You can but pitie, else should Caesar feare. Your ill affection then shall punisht bee. Take him to execution; he shall die That the death pities of mine enemie.

Yong. This benefit at least Sad death shall give, to free me from the power Of such a government; and if I die For pitying humane chance and Pisoes end There will be some too that will pitie mine.

Poppaea. O what a dauntlesse looke, what sparkling eyes, (aside.) Threating in suffering! sure some noble blood Is hid in ragges; feares argues a base spirit; In him what courage and contempt of death! And shall I suffer one I love to die? He shall not die.—Hands of this man! Away! Nero, thou shalt not kill this guiltlesse man.

Nero. He guiltlesse? Strumpet!

(Spurns her, and Poppaea falls.)

She is in love with the smooth face of the boy.

Neoph. Alas, my Lord, you have slaine her.

Epaphr. Helpe, she dies.

Nero. Poppaea, Poppaea, speake, I am not angry; I did not meane to hurt thee; speake, sweet love.

Neoph. She's dead, my Lord.

Nero. Fetch her againe, she shall not die: Ile ope the Iron gates of hell And breake the imprison'd shaddowes of the deepe, And force from death this farre too worthy pray. She is not dead: The crimson red that like the morning shone, When from her windowes (all with Roses strewde) She peepeth forth, forsakes not yet her cheekes; Her breath, that like a hony-suckle smelt, Twining about the prickled Eglintine, Yet moves her lips; those quicke and piercing eyes, That did in beautie challenge heaven's eyes,[80] Yet shine as they were wont. O no, they doe not; See how they grow obscure. O see, they close And cease to take or give light to the world. What starres so ere you are assur'd to grace The[81] firmament (for, loe, the twinkling fires Together throng and that cleare milky space, Of stormes and Phiades and thunder void, Prepares your roome) do not with wry aspect Looke on your Nero, who in blood shall mourne Your lucklesse fate, and many a breathing soule Send after you to waite upon their Queene. This shall begin; the rest shall follow after, And fill the streets with outcryes and with slaughter.

[Exeunt.]



(SCENE 6.)

Enter Seneca with two of his friends.

Seneca. What meanes your mourning, this ungrateful sorrow? Where are your precepts of Philosophie, Where our prepared resolution So many yeeres fore-studied against danger? To whom is Neroes cruelty unknowne, Or what remained after mothers blood But his instructors death? Leave, leave these teares; Death from me nothing takes but what's a burthen, A clog to that free sparke of Heavenly fire. But that in Seneca the which you lov'd, Which you admir'd, doth and shall still remaine, Secure of death, untouched of the grave.

1 Friend. Weele not belie our teares; we waile not thee, It is our selves and our owne losse we grieve: To thee what losse in such a change can bee? Vertue is paid her due by death alone. To our owne losses do we give these teares, That loose thy love, thy boundlesse knowledge loose, Loose the unpatternd sample of thy vertue, Loose whatsoev'r may praise or sorrow move. In all these losses yet of this we glory, That 'tis thy happinesse that makes us sorry.

2 Friend. If there be any place for Ghosts of good men, If (as we have bin long taught) great mens soules Consume not with their bodies, thou shalt see (Looking from out the dwellings of the ayre) True duties to thy memorie perform'd; Not in the outward pompe of funerall, But in remembrance of thy deeds and words, The oft recalling of thy many vertues. The Tombe that shall th'eternall relickes keepe Of Seneca shall be his hearers hearts.

Seneca. Be not afraid, my soule; goe cheerefully To thy owne Heaven, from whence it first let downe. Thou loathly[82] this imprisoning flesh putst on; Now, lifted up, thou ravisht shalt behold The truth of things at which we wonder here, And foolishly doe wrangle on beneath; And like a God shalt walk the spacious ayre, And see what even to conceit's deni'd. Great soule oth' world, that through the parts defus'd Of this vast All, guid'st what thou dost informe; You blessed mindes that from the [S]pheares you move, Looke on mens actions not with idle eyes, And Gods we goe to, aid me in this strife And combat of my flesh that, ending, I May still shew Seneca and my selfe die.

[Exeunt.



(SCENE 7.)

Enter Antonius, Enanthe.

Anton. Sure this message of the Princes, So grievous and unlookt for, will appall Petronius much.

Enan. Will not death any man?

Anton. It will; but him so much the more That, having liv'd to his pleasure, shall forgoe So delicate a life. I doe not marvell[83] That Seneca and such sowre fellowes can Leave that they never tasted, but when we That have the Nectar of thy kisses felt, That drinkes away the troubles of this life, And but one banquet make[s] of forty yeeres, Must come to leave this;—but, soft, here he is.

Enter Petronius and a Centurion.

Petron. Leave me a while, Centurion, to my friends; Let me my farewell take, and thou shalt see Neroes commandement quickly obaid in mee. [Ex. Centur. —Come, let us drinke and dash the posts with wine! Here throw your flowers; fill me a swelling bowle Such as Mecenas or my Lucan dranke On Virgills birth day.[84]

Enan. What meanes, Petronius, this unseasonable And causelesse mirth? Why, comes not from the Prince This man to you a messenger of death?

Petron. Here, faire Enanthe, whose plumpe, ruddy cheeke Exceeds the grape!—It makes this[85]—here, my geyrle. (He drinks.) —And thinkst thou death a matter of such harme? Why, he must have this pretty dimpling chin, And will pecke out those eyes that now so wound.

Enan. Why, is it not th'extreamest of all ills?

Petron. It is indeed the last and end of ills. The Gods, before th'would let us tast deaths Ioyes, Plact us ith' toyle and sorrowes of this world, Because we should perceive th'amends and thanke them; Death, the grim knave, but leades you to the doore Where, entred once, all curious pleasures come To meete and welcome you. A troope of beauteous Ladies, from whose eyes Love thousand arrows, thousand graces shootes, Puts forth theire fair hands to you and invites To their greene arbours and close shadowed walkes,[86] Whence banisht is the roughness of our yeeres! Onely the west wind blowes, its[87] ever Spring And ever Sommer. There the laden bowes Offer their tempting burdens to your hand, Doubtful your eye or tast inviting more. There every man his owne desires enioyes; Fair Lucrese lies by lusty Tarquins side, And woes him now againe to ravish her. Nor us, though Romane, Lais will refuse; To Corinth[88] any man may goe; no maske, No envious garment doth those beauties hide, Which Nature made so moving to be spide. But in bright Christall, which doth supply all, And white transparent vailes they are attyr'd, Through which the pure snow underneath doth shine; (Can it be snowe from whence such flames arise?) Mingled with that faire company shall we On bankes of Violets and of Hiacinths, Of loves devising, sit and gently sport; And all the while melodious Musique heare, And Poets songs that Musique farre exceed, The old Anaiccan[89] crown'd with smiling flowers, And amorous Sapho on her Lesbian Lute Beauties sweet Scarres and Cupids godhead sing.

Anton. What? be not ravisht with thy fancies; doe not Court nothing, nor make love unto our feares.

Petron. Is't nothing that I say?

Anton. But empty words.

Petron. Why, thou requir'st some instance of the eye. Wilt thou goe with me, then, and see that world Which either will returne thy old delights, Or square thy appetite anew to theirs?

Anton. Nay, I had rather farre believe thee here; Others ambition such discoveries seeke. Faith, I am satisfied with the base delights Of common men. A wench, a house I have, And of my own a garden: Ile not change For all your walkes and ladies and rare fruits.

Petron. Your pleasures must of force resign to these: In vaine you shun the sword, in vaine the sea, In vaine is Nero fear'd or flattered. Hether you must and leave your purchast houses, Your new made garden and your black browd wife, And of the trees thou hast so quaintly set, Not one but the displeasant Cipresse shall Goe with thee.[90]

Anton. Faith 'tis true, we must at length; But yet, Petronius, while we may awhile We would enjoy them; those we have w'are sure of, When that thou talke of's doubtful and to come.

Petron. Perhaps thou thinkst to live yet twenty yeeres, Which may unlookt for be cut off, as mine; If not, to endlesse time compar'd is nothing. What you endure must ever, endure now; Nor stay not to be last at table set. Each best day of our life at first doth goe, To them succeeds diseased age and woe; Now die your pleasures, and the dayes you[91] pray Your rimes and loves and jests will take away. Therefore, my sweet, yet thou wilt goe with mee, And not live here to what thou wouldst not see.

Enan. Would y'have me then [to] kill my selfe, and die, And goe I know not to what places there?

Petron. What places dost thou feare? Th'ill-favoured lake they tell thee thou must passe, And the[92] blacke frogs that croake about the brim?

Enan. O, pardon, Sir, though death affrights a woman, Whose pleasures though you timely here divine, The paines we know and see.

Petron. The paine is lifes; death rids that paine away. Come boldly, there's no danger in this foord; Children passe through it. If it be a paine You have this comfort that you past it are.

Enan. Yet all, as well as I, are loath to die.

Petron. Judge them by deed, you see them doe't apace.

Enan. I, but 'tis loathly and against their wils.

Petron. Yet know you not that any being dead Repented them and would have liv'd againe. They then there errors saw and foolish prayers, But you are blinded in the love of life; Death is but sweet to them that doe approach it. To me, as one that tak'n with Delphick rage, When the divining God his breast doth fill, He sees what others cannot standing by, It seemes a beauteous and pleasant thing.— Where is my deaths Phisitian?

Phisi. Here, my Lord.

Petron. Art ready?

Phisi. I, my Lord.

Petron. And I for thee: Nero, my end shall mocke thy tyranny.

[Exeunt.

Finis Actus Quarti.



Actus Quintus.

Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus, Epaphroditus and other attendants.

Nero. Enough is wept, Poppaea, for thy death, Enough is bled: so many teares of others Wailing their losses have wipt mine away. Who in the common funerall of the world Can mourne on[e] death?

Tigell. Besides, Your Maiestie this benefit In their diserved punishment shall reape, From all attempts hereafter to be freed. Conspiracy is how for ever dasht, Tumult supprest, rebellion out of heart; In Pisoes death danger it selfe did die.

Nimph. Piso that thought to climbe by bowing downe, By giving a way to thrive, and raising others To become great himselfe, hath now by death Given quiet to your thoughts and feare to theirs That shall from treason their advancement plot; Those dangerous heads that his ambition leand on; And they by it crept up and from their meannesse Thought in this stirre to rise aloft, are off. Now peace and safetie waite upon your throne; Securitie hath wall'd your seat about; There is no place for feare left.

Nero. Why, I never feard them.

Nimph. That was your fault: Your Maiestie might give us leave to blame Your dangerous courage and that noble soule To prodigall[93] of it selfe.

Nero. A Princes mind knowes neither feare nor hope: The beames of royall Maiestie are such As all eyes are with it amaz'd and weakened, But it with nothing. I at first contemn'd Their weak devises and faint enterprise. Why, thought they against him to have prevail'd Whose childhood was from Messalinas spight By Dragons[94] (that the earth gave up), preserv'd? Such guard my cradle had, for fate had then Pointed me out to be what now I am. Should all the Legions and the provinces, In one united, against me conspire I could disperce them with one angry eye; My brow's an host of men. Come, Tigellinus, Let turne this bloody banquet Piso meant us Into a merry feast; weele drink and challenge Fortune.—Whose that Neophilus?

Enter a Roman.

Neoph. A Currier from beyond the Alpes, my Lord.

Nero. Newes of some German victory, belike, Or Britton overthrow.

Neoph. The letters come from France.

Nimph. Why smiles your Maiestie?

Nero. So, I smile? I should be afraid; there's one In Armes, Nimphidius.

Nimph. What, arm'd against your Maiestie?

Nero. Our lieutenant of the Province, Julius Vindex.

Tigell. Who? that guiddy French-man?

Nimph. His Province is disarm'd, my Lord; he hath No legion nor a souldier under him.

Epaphr. One that by blood and rapine would repaire His state consum'd in vanities and lust.

Enter another Roman.

Tigell. He would not find out three to follow him.

A Mess. More newes, my Lord.

Nero. Is it of Vindex that thou hast to say?

Mess. Vindex is up and with him France in Armes; The Noblemen and people throng to th'cause; Money and Armour Cities doe conferre; The countrey doth send in provision; Young men bring bodies, old men lead them forth; Ladies doe coine their Iewels into pay; The sickle now is fram'd into a sword And drawing horses are to manage taught; France nothing doth but warre and fury breath.

Nero. All this fierce talk's but "Vindex doth rebell"; And I will hang him.

Tigell. How long came you forth after the other messenger?

Mess. Foure dayes, but by the benefit of sea and Weather am arrivd with him.

Nimph. How strong was Vindex at your setting forth?

Mess. He was esteem'd a hundred thousand.

Tigell. Men enough.

Nimph. And souldiers few enough; Tumultuary troops, undisciplin'd, Untrain'd in service; to wast victuals good, But when they come to look on warres black wounds, And but afarre off see the face of death—

Nero. It falles out for my empty coffers well, The spoyle of such a large and goodly Province Enricht with trade and long enioyed peace.

Tigell. What order will your Maiestie have taken For levying forces to suppresse this stirre?

Nero. What order should we take? weele laugh and drinke. Thinkst thou it fit my pleasures be disturb'd When any French-man list to breake his necke! They have not heard of Pisoes fortune yet; Let that Tale fight with them.

Nimph. What order needs? Your Maiestie shal finde This French heat quickly of it selfe grow cold.

Nero. Come away: Nothing shall come that this nights sport shall stay.

[Ex. Ner. Nimph. Tig. and attendants.

Mane[n]t Neophilus, Epaphroditus.

Neoph. I wonder what makes him so confident In this revolt now growne unto a warre, And ensignes in the field; when in the other, Being but a plot of a conspiracie, He shew'd himselfe so wretchedly dismaid?

Epaphr. Faith, the right nature of a coward to set light Dangers that seeme farre off. Piso was here, Ready to enter at the Presence doore And dragge him out of his abused chaire; And then he trembled. Vindex is in France, And many woods and seas and hills betweene.

Neoph. 'Twas strange that Piso was so soone supprest.

Epaphr. Strange? strange indeed; for had he but come up And taken the Court in that affright and stirre While unresolv'd for whom or what to doe, Each on [of?] the other had in iealousie (While as apaled Maiestie not yet Had time to set the countenance), he would Have hazarded the royall seat.

Neoph. Nay, had it without hazard; all the Court Had for him bin and those disclos'd their love And favour in the cause, which now to hide And colour their good meanings ready were To shew their forwardnesse against it most.

Epaphr. But for a stranger with a naked province, Without allies or friends ith' state, to challenge A Prince upheld with thirty Legions, Rooted in foure discents of Ancestors And foureteene yeares continuance of raigne, Why it is—

Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus to them.

Nero. Galba and Spaine? What? Spaine and Gal[b]a too?

[Ex. Ner. Nimph.

Epaph. I pray thee, Tigellinus, what furie's this? What strange event, what accident hath thus Orecast your countenances?

Tigell. Downe we were set at table and began With sparckling bowles to chase our feares away, And mirth and pleasure lookt out of our eyes; When, loe, a breathless messenger arrives And tells how Vindex and the powers of France Have Sergius Galba chosen Emperor; With what applause the Legions him receive; That Spaines revolted, Portingale hath ioyn'd; As much suspected is of Germany. But Nero, not abiding out the end, Orethrew the tables, dasht against the ground The cuppe which he so much, you know, esteem'd; Teareth his haire and with incensed rage Curseth false men and Gods the lookers on.

Neoph. His rage, we saw, was wild and desperate.

Epaph. O you unsearched wisedomes which doe laugh At our securitie and feares alike, And plaine to shew our weaknesse and your power Make us contemne the harmes which surest strike; When you our glories and our pride undoe Our overthrow you make ridiculous too.

[Exeunt.



(SCENE 2.)

Enter Nimphidius solus.

Slow making counsels and the sliding yeere Have brought me to the long foreseene destruction Of this misled young man. His State is shaken And I will push it on; revolted France Nor the coniured Provinces of Spaine Nor his owne guilt shall like to me oppresse him. I to his easie yeelding feares proclaime New German mutenys and all the world Rowsing it selfe in hate of Neroes name; I his distracted counsels doe disperce With fresh despaires; I animate the Senate And the people, to ingage them past recall In preiudice of Nero: and in briefe Perish he must,—the fates and I resolve it. Which to effect I presently will goe Proclaime a Donative in Galbaes name.

Enter Antoneus to him.

Anton. Yonders Nimphidius, our Commander, now. I with respect must speake and smooth my brow. —Captaine, all haile.

Nimph. Antoneus, well met. Your place of Tribune in this Anarchi.

Anton. This Anarchy, my Lord? is Nero dead?

Nimph. This Anarchy, this yet unstiled time While Galba is unseased of the Empire Which Nero hath forsooke.

Anton. Hath Nero then resign'd the Empire?

Nimph. In effect he hath for he's fled to Egypt.

Anton. My Lord, you tell strange newes to me.

Nimph. But nothing strange to mee, Who every moment knew of his despaires. The Curriers came so fast with fresh alarmes Of new revolts that he, unable quite To beare his feares which he had long conceal'd, Is now revolted from himselfe and fled.

Anton. Thrust with report and rumours from his seat! My Lord, you know the Campe depends on you As you determine.

Nimph. There it lies Antonius. What should we doe? it boots not to relie On Neroes stinking fortunes; and to sit Securely looking on were to receive An Emperor from Spaine: which how disgracefull It were to us who, if we waigh our selves, The most materiall accessions are Of all the Roman Empire. Which disgrace To cover we must ioyne ourselves betimes, And therefore seeme to have created Galba. Therefore He straight proclaime a Donative Of thirty thousand sesterces a man.

Anton. I thinke so great a gift was never heard of. Galba, they say, is frugally inclinde: Will he avow so great a gift as this?

Nimph. Howere he like of it he must avow it, If by our promise he be once ingaged; And since the souldiers care belongs to mee, I will have care of them and of their good. Let them thank me if I through this occasion Procure for them so great a donative. [Ex. Nimph.

Anton. So you be thankt it skils not who prevaile, Galba or Nero,—traitor to them both. You give it out that Neroes fled to Egypt, Who, with the frights of your reports amaz'd, By our device doth lurke for better newes, Whilst you inevitably doe betray him. Workes he all this for Galba then? Not so: I have long seene his climbing to the Empire By secret practises of gracious women. And other instruments of the late Court. That was his love to her that me refus'd; And now by this he would [gain?] give the souldiers favour. Now is the time to quit Poppaeas scorne And his rivallity. Ile straight reveale His treacheries to Galbaes agents here. [Exit.



(SCENE 3.)

Enter Tigellinus with the Guard.

Tigell. You see what issue things doe sort unto; Yet may we hope not only impunitie But with our fellowes part oth' guift proclaim'd.

Nero meets them.

Nero. Whether goe you? stay, my friends; 'Tis Caesar calls you; stay, my loving friends.

Tigell. We were his slaves, his footstooles, and must crouch But now with such observance to his feet; It is his misery that calles us friends.

Nero. And moves you not the misery of a Prince? O stay, my friends, stay, harken to the voyce Which once yee knew.

Tigell. Harke to the peoples cryes, Harke to the streets that Galba, Galba, ring.

Nero. The people may forsake me without blame, I did them wrong to make you rich and great, I tooke their houses to bestow on you; Treason in them hath name of libertie: Your fault hath no excuse, you are my fault And the excuse of others treachery.

Tigell. Shall we with staying seeme his tyrannies T'uphold, as if we were in love with them? We are excus'd (unlesse we stay too long) As forced Ministers and a part of wrong.

[Ex. praeter Nero.

Nero. O now I see the vizard from my face, So lovely and so fearefull, is fall'n off, That vizard, shadow, nothing, Maiestie, Which, like a child acquainted with his feares, But now men trembled at and now contemne. Nero forsaken is of all the world, The world of truth. O fall some vengeance downe Equall unto their falsehoods and my wrongs! Might I accept the Chariot of the Sunne And like another Phaeton consume In flames of all the world, a pile of Death Worthy the state and greatnesse I have lost! Or were I now but Lord of my owne fires Wherein false Rome yet once againe might smoake And perish, all unpitied of her Gods, That all things in their last destruction might Performe a funerall honour to their Lord! O Iove dissolve with Caesar Caesars world; Or you whom Nero rather should invoke, Blacke Chaos and you fearefull shapes beneath, That with a long and not vaine envy have Sought to destroy this worke of th'other Gods; Now let your darknesse cease the spoyles of day, And the worlds first contention end your strife.

Enter two Romanes to him.

1 Rom. Though others, bound with greater benefits, Have left your changed fortunes and doe runne Whither new hopes doe call them, yet come we.

Nero. O welcome come you to adversitie; Welcome, true friends. Why, there is faith on earth; Of thousand servants, friends and followers, Yet two are left. Your countenance, me thinks, Gives comfort and new hopes.

2 Rom. Doe not deceive your thoughts: My Lord, we bring no comfort,—would we could,— But the last duty to performe and best We ever shall, a free death to persuade, To cut off hopes of fearcer cruelty And scorne, more cruell to a worthy soule.

1 Rom. The Senate have decreed you're punishable After the fashion of our ancestors, Which is, your necke being locked in a forke, You must be naked whipt and scourg'd to death.

Nero. The Senate thus decreed? they that so oft My vertues flattered have and guifts of mine, My government preferr'd to ancient times, And challenge[d] Numa to compare with me,— Have they so horrible an end sought out? No, here I beare which shall prevent such shame; This hand shall yet from that deliver me, And faithfull be alone unto his Lord. Alasse, how sharp and terrible is death! O must I die, must now my senses close? For ever die, and nere returne againe, Never more see the Sunne, nor Heaven, nor Earth? Whither goe I? What shall I be anone? What horred iourney wandrest thou, my soule, Under th'earth in darke, dampe, duskie vaults? Or shall I now to nothing be resolv'd? My feares become my hopes; O would I might. Me thinkes I see the boyling Phlegeton And the dull poole feared of them we feare, The dread and terror of the Gods themselves; The furies arm'd with linkes, with whippes, with snakes, And my owne furies farre more mad then they, My mother and those troopes of slaughtred friends. And now the Iudge is brought unto the throne, That will not leave unto Authoritie Nor favour the oppressions of the great!

1 Rom. These are the idle terrors of the night, Which wise men (though they teach) doe not beleeve, To curbe our pleasures faine[d] and aide the weake.

2 Rom. Deaths wrongfull defamation, which would make Us shunne this happy haven of our rest, This end of evils, as some fearefull harme.

1 Rom. Shadowes and fond imaginations, Which now (you see) on earth but children feare.

2 Rom. Why should our faults feare punishment from them? What doe the actions of this life concerne The tother world, with which is no commerce?

1 Rom. Would Heaven and Starres necessitie compell Us to doe that which after it would punish?

2 Rom. Let us not after our lives end beleeve More then you felt before it.

Nero. If any words had[95] made me confident And boldly doe for hearing others speake Boldly, this might.[96] But will you by example Teach me the truth of your opinion And make me see that you beleeve yourselves? Will you by dying teach me to beare death With courage?

1 Rom. No necessitie of death Hangs ore our heads, no dangers threaten us Nor Senates sharpe decree nor Galbaes arms.

2 Rom. Is this the thankes, then, thou dost pay our love? Die basely as such a life deserv'd; Reserve thy selfe to punishment, and scorne Of Rome and of thy laughing enemies.

[Exeunt.

Manet Nero.

Nero. They hate me cause I would but live. What was't You lov'd, kind friends, and came to see my death? Let me endure all torture and reproach That earth or Galbaes anger can inflict; Yet hell and Rodamanth are more pittilesse.

The first Romane to him.

Rom. Though not deserv'd, yet once agen I come To warne thee to take pitie on thy selfe. The troopes by the Senate sent descend the hill And come.

Nero. To take me and to whip me unto death! O whither shall I flye?

Rom. Thou hast no choice.

Nero. O hither must I flye: hard is his happe Who from death onely must by death escape. Where are they yet? O may not I a little Bethinke my selfe?

Rom. They are at hand; harke, thou maist heare the noise.

Nero. O Rome, farewell! farewell, you Theaters Where I so oft with popular applause In song and action—O they come, I die. (He falls on his sword.)

Rom. So base an end all iust commiseration Doth take away: yet what we doe now spurne The morning Sunne saw fearefull to the world.

Enter some of Galbaes friends, Antoneus and others, with Nimphidius bound.

Gal. You both shall die together, Traitors both He to the common wealth and thou to him And worse to a good Prince.—What? is he dead? Hath feare encourag'd him and made him thus Prevent our punishment? Then die with him: Fall thy aspiring at thy Master's feete. (He kils Nimph).

Anton. Who, though he iustly perisht, yet by thee Deserv'd it not; nor ended there thy treason, But even thought oth' Empire thou conceiv'st. Galbaes disgrace[d] in receiving that Which the sonne of Nimphidia could hope.

Rom. Thus great bad men above them find a rod: People, depart and say there is a God.

[Exeunt.

FINIS.



INTRODUCTION TO THE MAYDES METAMORPHOSIS.

The anonymous comedy of the Maydes Metamorphosis (1600), usually attributed to Lilly, shews few traces of the mannerisms of the graceful but insipid Euphuist. It is just such a play as George Wither or William Browne might have written in very early youth. The writer was evidently an admirer of Spenser, and has succeeded in reproducing on his Pan-pipe some thin, but not unpleasing, echoes of his master's music. Mr. Edmund W. Gosse has suggested that the Maydes Metamorphosis may be an early work of John Day; and no one is better able to pronounce on such a point than Mr. Gosse. The scene at the beginning of Act ii., and the gossip of the pages in Acts ii. and iii., are certainly very much in Day's manner. The merciless harrying of the word "kind" at the beginning of Act v. reminds one of similar elaborate trifling in Humour out of Breath; and the amoebaean rhymes in the contention between Gemulo and Silvio (Act i.) are, in their sportive quaintness, as like Day's handiwork as they are unlike Lilly's. In reading the pretty echo-scene, in Act iv., the reader will recall a similar scene in Law Trickes (Act v., Sc. I). On the other hand, the delightful songs of the fairies[97] (in Act iii.), if not written by Lilly, were at least suggested by the fairies' song in Endymion. It would be hard to say what Lilly might not have achieved if he had not stultified himself by his detestable pedantry: his songs (O si sic omnia) are hardly to be matched for silvery sweetness.

Mr. Gosse thinks that the rhymed heroics, in which the Maydes Metamorphosis is mainly written, bear strong traces of Day's style; and as Mr. Gosse, who is at once a poet and a critic, judges by his ear and not by his thumb, his opinion carries weight. Day's capital work, the Parliament of Bees, is incomparably more workmanlike than the Maydes Metamorphosis; but the latter, it should be remembered, is beyond all doubt a very juvenile performance. Turning over some old numbers of a magazine, I found a reviewer of Mr. Tennyson's Princess complaining "that we could have borne rather more polish!" How the fledgling poet of the Maydes Metamorphosis would have fared at the reviewer's hands I tremble to think. But though his rhymes are occasionally slipshod, and the general texture is undeniably thin, still there is something attractive in the young writer's shy tentativeness. The reader who comes to a perusal with the expectation of getting some substantial diet, will be grievously mistaken; but those who are content if they can catch and hold fast a fleeting flavour will not regret the half-hour spent in listening to the songs of the elves and the prattle of the pages in this quaint old pastoral.



THE MAYDES METAMORPHOSIS.

As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles.

LONDON: Printed by Thomas Creede, for Richard Oliue, dwelling in long Lane. 1600.



_THE PROLOGUE.

The manifold, great favours we have found, By you to us poore weaklings still extended; Whereof your vertues have been only ground, And no desert in us to be so friended; Bindes us some way or other to expresse, Though all our all be else defeated quite Of any meanes save duteous thankefulnes, Which is the utmost measure of our might: Then, to the boundlesse ocean of your woorth This little drop of water we present; Where though it never can be singled foorth, Let zeale be pleader for our good intent. Drops not diminish but encrease great floods, And mites impaire not but augment our goods_.



The Maydes Metamorphosis.



Actus Primus.

Enter Phylander, Orestes, Eurymine.

Eurymine. Phylander and Orestes, what conceyt Troubles your silent mindes? Let me intreat, Since we are come thus farre, as we do walke You would deuise some prettie pleasant talke; The aire is coole, the euening high and faire: Why should your cloudie lookes then shew dispaire?

Phy. Beleeue me, faire Eurimine, my skill Is simple in discourse, and vtterance ill; Orestes, if he we were disposde to trie, Can better manage such affaires than I.

Eu. Why then, Orestes, let me crave of you Some olde or late done story to renew: Another time you shall request of me As good, if not a greater, curtesie.

Or. Trust me, as now (nor can I shew a reason) All mirth vnto my mind comes out of season; For inward I am troubled in such sort As all vnfit I am to make report Of any thing may breed the least delight; Rather in teares I wish the day were night, For neither can myself be merry now Nor treat of ought that may be likte of you.

Eu. Thats but your melancholike old disease, That neuer are disposde but when ye please.

Phy. Nay, mistresse, then, since he denies the taske, My selfe will strait complish what ye aske; And, though the pleasure of my tale be small, Yet may it serue to passe the time withall.

Eu. Thanks, good Phylander; when you please, say on: Better I deeme a bad discourse then none.

Phy. Sometime there liu'd a Duke not far from hence, Mightie in fame and vertues excellence; Subiects he had as readie to obey As he to rule, beloued eueryway; But that which most of all he gloried in (Hope of his age and comfort of his kin) Was the fruition of one onely sonne, A gallant youth, inferior vnto none For vertue shape or excellence of wit, That after him vpon his throne might sit. This youth, when once he came to perfect age, The Duke would faine have linckt in marriage With diuers dames of honourable blood But stil his fathers purpose he withstood.

Eu. How? was he not of mettal apt to loue?

Phy. Yes, apt enough as wil the sequel proue; But so the streame of his affection lay As he did leane a quite contrary way, Disprouing still the choice his father made, And oftentimes the matter had delaid; Now giuing hope he would at length consent, And then again excusing his intent.

Eu. What made him so repugnant in his deeds?

Phy. Another loue, which this disorder breeds; For euen at home, within his father's Court, The Saint was shrinde whom he did honor most; A louely dame, a virgin pure and chaste, And worthy of a Prince to be embrac'te, Had but her birth (which was obscure, they said) Answerd her beautie; this their opinion staid. Yet did this wilful youth affect her still And none but she was mistres of his will: Full often did his father him disswade From liking such a mean and low-born mayde; The more his father stroue to change his minde The more the sonne became with fancy blinde.

Eu. Alas, how sped the silly Louers then?

Phy. As might euen grieue the rude vnciuilst men: When here vpon to weane his fixed heart From such dishonour to his high desert The Duke had labourd but in vaine did striue, Thus he began his purpose to contriue: Two of his seruants, of vndoubted trvth, He bound by vertue of a solemne oath To traine the silly damzel out of sight And there in secret to bereaue her quite—

Eu. Of what? her life?

Phy. Yes, Madame, of her life, Which was the cause of all the former strife.

Eu. And did they kill her?

Phy. You shall heare anon; The question first must be discided on In your opinion: whats your iudgement? say. Who were most cruell, those that did obay Or he who gaue commandment for the fact?

Eu. In each of them it was a bloody act, Yet they deserue (to speake my minde of both) Most pardon that were bound thereto by oath.

Phy. It is enough; we do accept your doome To passe vnblam'd what ere of you become.

Eu. To passe vnblam'de what ere become of me! What may the meaning of these speeches be?

Phy. Eurymine, my trembling tongue doth faile, My conscience yrkes, my fainting sences quaile, My faltring speech bewraies my guiltie thought And stammers at the message we haue brought.

Eu. Ay me! what horror doth inuade my brest!

Or. Nay then, Phylander, I will tell the rest: Damzell, thus fares thy case; demand not why, You must forthwith prepare your selfe to dye; Therefore dispatch and set your mind at rest.

Eu. Phylander, is it true or doth he iest?

Phy. There is no remedie but you must dye: By you I framde my tragicke history. The Duke my maister is the man I meant, His sonne the Prince, the mayde of meane discent Your selfe, on whom Ascanio so doth doate As for no reason may remoue his thought Your death the Duke determines by vs two, To end the loue betwixt his sonne and you; And for this cause we trainde you to this wood, Where you must sacrifice your dearest blood.

Eu. Respect my teares.

Orest. We must regard our oath.

Eu. My tender yeares.

Or. They are but trifles both.

Eu. Mine innocency.

Or. That would our promise breake; Dispatch forthwith, we may not heare you speake.

Eu. If neither teares nor innocency moue, Yet thinke there is a heavenly power aboue.

Orest. A done, and stand not preaching here all day.

Eu. Then, since there is no remedie, I pray Yet, good my masters, do but stay so long Till I haue tane my farewell with a song Of him whom I shall neuer see againe.

Phy. We will affoord that respit to your paine.

Eu. But least the feare of death appall my mind, Sweet gentlemen, let me this fauour find, That you wil vale mine eyesight with this scarfe; That, when the fatall stroke is aymde at me, I may not start but suffer patiently.

Orest. Agreed, giue me; Ile shadow ye from feare, If this may do it.

Eu. Oh, I would it might, But shadowes want the power to do that right.

Shee sings.

Ye sacred Fyres and powers aboue, Forge of desires, working loue, Cast downe your eye, cast downe your eye, Vpon a Mayde in miserie. My sacrifice is louers blood, And from eyes salt teares a flood; All which I spend, all which I spend, For thee, Ascanio, my deare friend: And though this houre I must feele The bitter power of pricking steele, Yet ill or well, yet ill or well, To thee, Ascanio, still farewell.

Orestes offers to strike her with his Rapier, and is stayed by Phylander.

Orest. What meanes, Phylander?

Phy. Oh, forbeare thy stroke; Her pitious mone and gesture might prouoke Hard flint to ruthe.

Orest. Hast thou forgot thy oath?

Phy. Forgot it? no!

Or. Then wherefore doest thou interrupt me so?

Phy. A sudden terror ouercomes my thought.

Or. Then suffer me that stands in feare of nought.

Phy. Oh, hold, Orestes; heare my reason first.

Or. Is all religion of thy vowe forgot? Do as thou wilt, but I forget it not.

Phy. Orestes, if thou standest vpon thine oath, Let me alone to answere for vs both.

Or. What answer canst thou giue? I wil not stay.

Phy. Nay, villain; then my sword shall make me way.

Or. Wilt thou in this against thy conscience striue?

Phy. I will defend a woman while I liue, A virgin and an innocent beside; Therefore put vp or else thy chaunce abide.

Or. Ile neuer sheath my sword vnles thou show, Our oath reserued, we may let her go.

Phy. That will I do, if truth may be of force.

Or. And then will I be pleasd to graunt remorse.

Eu. Litle thought I, when out of doore I went, That thus my life should stand on argument.

Phy. A lawfull oath in an vnlawfull cause Is first dispenc't withall by reasons lawes; Then, next, respect must to the end be had, Because th'intent doth make it good or bad. Now here th'intent is murder as thou seest, Which to perform thou on thy oath reliest; But, since the cause is wicked and vniust, Th'effect must likewise be held odious: We swore to kill, and God forbids to kill; Shall we be rulde by him or by man's will? Beside it is a woman is condemde; And what is he, that is a man indeed, That can endure to see a woman bleed?

Or. Thou hast preuaild; Eurymine, stand vp; I will not touch thee for a world of gold.

Phy. Why now thou seemst to be of humane mould; But, on our graunt, faire mayd, that you shall liue, Will you to vs your faithfull promise giue Henceforth t'abandon this your Country quite, And neuer more returne into the sight Of fierce Telemachus, the angry Duke, Where by we may be voyd of all rebuke?

Eur. Here do I plight my chaste vnspotted hand, I will abiure this most accursed land: And vow henceforth, what fortune ere betide, Within these woods and desarts to abide.

Phy. Now wants there nothing but a fit excuse To sooth the Duke in his concern'd abuse; That he may be perswaded she is slaine, And we our wonted fauour still maintaine.

Orest. It shall be thus: within a lawne hard by, Obscure with bushes, where no humane eye Can any way discouer our deceit, There feeds a heard of Goates and country neate. Some Kidde or other youngling will we take And with our swords dispatch it for her sake; And, hauing slaine it, rip his panting breast And take the heart of the vnguiltie beast, Which, to th'intent our counterfeit report May seeme more likely, we will beare to court And there protest, with bloody weapons drawne, It was her heart.

Phy. Then likewise take this Lawne, Which well Telemachus did know she wore, And let it be all spotted too with gore. How say you, mistresse? will you spare the vale?

Eur. That and what else, to verifie your tale. And thankes, Phylander and Orestes both, That you preserue me from a Tyrants wroth.

Phy. I would it were within my power, I wis, To do you greater curtesie than this; But what we cannot by our deeds expresse In heart we wish, to ease your heauinesse.

Eur. A double debt: yet one word ere ye go, Commend me to my deare Ascanio. Whose loyall loue and presence to forgoe Doth gall me more than all my other woe.

Orest. Our liues shall neuer want to do him good.

Phy. Nor yet our death if he in daunger stood:

Or. And, mistresse, so good fortune be your guide, And ought that may be fortunate beside.

[Exeunt.

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

Enter Siluio, a Raunger.

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

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

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

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

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

Enter Gemulo, the Shepheard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ge. And I an arbour may delight a Queene.

Sil. Her dyet shall be Venson at my boord.

Ge. Young Kid and Lambe we shepheards can affoord.

Sil. And nothing else?

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

Sil. These walkes are mine amongst the shadie trees.

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

Sil. The nightingale is my continuall clocke.

Ge. And mine the watchfull sin-remembring cocke.

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

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

Sil. Within these woods are many pleasant springs.

Ge. Betwixt yond dales the Eccho daily sings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enter shepheards singing.

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

Enter woodmen and sing.

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

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

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

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

The end of the First Act.



Actus Secundus.

Enter Ascanio, and Ioculo his Page.

Asca. Away, Ioculo.

Io. Here, sir, at hand.

Asca. Ioculo, where is she?

Io. I know not.

Asca. When went she?

Io. I know not.

Asca. Which way went she?

Io. I know not.

Asca. Where should I seeke her?

Io. I know not.

Asca. When shall I find her?

Io. I know not.

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

Io. Marry, sir, that I doo know.

Asca. What, villiane?

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

Asca. Ah, my sweet Boy!

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

Asca. What canst thou giue me no reliefe?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Io. I pray thee let me goe.

Asca. I pray thee stay.

Io. I faith Ile runne.

Asca. And doest not know which way.

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

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

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

Ascanio solus.

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

Enter Iuno and Iris.

Iuno. Come hither, Iris.

Iris. Iris is at hand, To attend Ioues wife, great Iunos hie command.

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

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

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

Iris. Goddes, the graunt consists alone in you.

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

Iris. Madam, my service is at your command.

Iuno. Dispatch it then, good Iris, out of hand, My Peacocks and my Charriot shall remaine About the shore till thou returne againe. [Exit Iuno.

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

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

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

Som. Ile take a nap and come annon.

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

Som. A vengeance split thy chaps asunder!

Enter Somnus.

Iris. What, Somnus!

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

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

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

Iris. Morpheus; if he in humane shape appeare.

Som. Morpheus, come forth in perfect likenes heere Of—how call ye the Gentlewoman?

Iris. Eurymine.

Som. Of Eurymine; and shewe this Gentleman What of his mistres is become. (Kneeling downe by Ascanio.)

Enter Eurymine, to be supposed Morpheus.

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

Iris. See how he catches to embrace the shade.

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

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

Iris. No, Somnus, no; go back unto thy bed; Iuno, she shall reward thee for thy paine.

Som. Then good night, Iris; Ile to rest againe.

Iris. Morpheus, farewell; to Iuno I will flie.

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

[Exeunt.

Ascanio starting sayes.

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

Enter at one doore Mopso singing.

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

Enter at the other doore Frisco singing.

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

Enter Ioculo in the midst singing.

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

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

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

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

Fris. Sirrha what art thou? and thou?

Io. I am a page to a Courtier.

Mop. And I a Boy to a Shepheard.

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

Io. What art thou?

Fris. I am Boy to a Raunger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mop. Your iest goes too low, sir.

Fris. O but tis a tickling iest.

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

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

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

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

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

Mop. But, soft; who comes here?

Enter the Faieries, singing and dauncing.

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

Io. What Mawmets[116] are these?

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

Mop. O we shall be pincht most cruelly.

1 Fay. Will you haue any musick sir?

2 Fay. Will you haue any fine musicke?

3 Fay. Most daintie musicke?

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

1 Fay. O but you shall, Sir.

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

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

Io. Where be your Fiddles?

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

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

1 Fay. My name is Penny.

Mop. I am sorry I cannot purse you.

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

2 Fay. My name is Cricket.[117]

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

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

3 Fay. My name is little, little Pricke.

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

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

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

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

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

1 Fay. Wilt please you daunce, sir.

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

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

They all daunce in a ring and sing, as followeth.

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

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

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



Actus Tertius.

(SCENE I.)

Enter Appollo and three Charites.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 Cha. Eurania some pleasant song shall sing To put ye from your dumps.

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

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

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

1 Cha. What will ye then we doo?

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

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

[Exeunt Charites.

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

THE SONG.

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

Enter Eurymine.

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

Ap. What seeke you, prettie mayde?

Eu. Forsooth, my heard of Deere.

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

Eu. I pray, sir, where?

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

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

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

Eu. My busines cannot so dispatched bee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ap. Alas, abandon not thy Louer so!

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

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

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

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

Eu. What know I that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enter Ioculo, Frisco, and Mopso, at three severall doores.

Mop. Ioculo, whither iettest thou? Hast thou found thy maister?

Io. Mopso, wel met; hast thou found thy mistresse?

Mop. Not I, by Pan.

Io. Nor I, by Pot.

Mop. Pot? what god's that?

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

Mop. Frisco, where hast thou beene frisking? hast thou found—

Fris. I haue found,—

Io. What hast thou found, Frisco?

Fris. A couple of crack-roapes.

Io. And I.

Mop. And I.

Fris. I meane you two.

Io. I you two.

Mop. And I you two.

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

(They all imbrace each other)

Mop. But Frisco, hast not found the faire shepheardesse, thy maister's mistresse?

Fris. Not I, by God,—Priapus, I meane.

Io. Priapus, quoth a? Whatt'in[118] a God might that bee?

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

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

Fris. My Maister sweares by Siluanus; I must sweare by his poore neighbour.

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

Mop. Pan's the shepheardes God; but thou swearest by Pot: what God's that?

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

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

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

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

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

Io. How sweare, forsweare, and sweare? how is that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mop. Do, and wee will burne our caps.

Fris. Are not we fooles?

Io. Is that a wise word?

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

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

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

Enter Aramanthus with his Globe, &c.

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

Mop. And thee to an Owle.

Io. And thee to a wood-cocke.

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

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

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

Aram. Welcome, bad boy.

Fris. He speakes to thee, Ioculo.

Io. Meaning thee, Frisco.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aram. Thy maister's Doe shall turne unto a Buck; (To Frisco.) Thy maister's Eawe be chaunged to a Ram; (To Mopso.) Thy maister seeks a maide and findes a man, (To Ioculo.) Yet for his labor shall he gaine his meede; The other two shall sigh to see him speede.

Mop. Then my maister shall not win the shepheardesse?

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

Mop. Ile run to warne my master of that. [Exit.

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

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

Fris. I am not sorie for it; farewell, Ioculo. [Exit.

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

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

[Exit ambo.



Actus Quartus.

Enter Ascanio and Ioculo.

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

Eccho. No.

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

Eccho. So.

Asca. How? that Eurymine is dead, or lives?

Eccho. Lives.

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

Eccho. Where?

Asca. In some remote far region or else neere?

Eccho. Neere.

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

Eccho. Disguise.

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

Eccho. Lyes.

Io. True we are both perswaded thou doest lye.

Eccho. Thou doest lye.

Io. Who? I?

Eccho. Who? I?

Io. I, thou.

Eccho. I, thou.

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

Eccho. Thy face.

Io. He make you then for ever prating more.

Eccho. More.

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

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

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

Aramanthus sitting.

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

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

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

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

Asca. God speed, faire Sir.

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

Asca. Health to ye, Sir.

Io. Nay, then, God be our speed.

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

Asca. Pardon me rather for molesting you.

Io. Such another face I never knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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