University of Virginia Library

Scene 2.

Chorus of Countreymen,
Crœsus, Atis, Adrastus, Cœlia.
Lend (Sir) a willing eare to humble words,
Let not our basenesse barre us from your grace,
Which still it selfe alike to all affords,
Who blesse their sight with that Majesticke face;
“For simple subjects Monarchs must take care,
“Though this our state be thought but abject now,
“You are our head, and we your members are,
“And you must care for us, we care for you;
“Our poverty to us is no reproach,
“Which innocent integrity adornes,
“On others states we never do encroach,
“But live by labours, prickt with many thornes;
“And ever busied for the Countries good,
“We have no time to muse of vaine conceits,
“But (earning with continuall toile our food)
“Must entertaine the pompe of prouder states;
“And (Sir, though plaine) thinke not our meaning ill,
“Who thus dare speake so freely as we do,
“Whil'st Mediatours do dilate our will,
“They wrest it as they will, and spoile us too;
“To count'nance such as us, you need not shunne:
“A great man too well grac'd may do more harme;
“And it stains not the glory of the Sunne,
“Though oft his beams an abject object warme.

Crœ.
Be not discourag'd by your base estate,
Ye are my people, and Ile heare your plaint,
“A King must care for all, both small and great,
“And to do good (like God) should never faint;
“The Scepter such as those should chiefly shroud,
“Not Cotages, but Castles spoile the Land,
“To spare the humble, and to plague the proud,
“A vertue is that doth make Kings to stand.

Cho.
Sir, our estate some hastie help requires:
In Misia neare the celebrated rounds
Of great Olympus which the world admires,
There haunts a Boare the horrour of these bounds:
His body bigge, and hideous is his forme,
Whose foamie jaw with tusks like javelins strikes,
And in deformity all parts conforme,
His backe hath bristles like to iron pikes.
This Natures Monster, wondred at by men,
The forrests Tyrant, and the Countries terrour,
Doth murder all, and draws them to his denne,
Who chance to crosse his way by fatall errour;
In teares whil'st melting, tender mothers waile,
(The goared infants tumbling in their bloud;)
This beast to be abhorr'd doth them assaile,
And in his bowels buries both for food;
Then when we flie the field where he doth haunt,
To have his hunger, or his rage allay'd,
He all our labours quickly doth supplant,
And poore mens hopes are strangely thus betray'd;
Ere this, of true repose we were the types,
And pasturing on each plaine our fleecie flocks,
Did make a consort of our warbling pypes
With moving Crystals, playing on the rocks;
And oft to ease our toils (all rang'd in bands)
With garlands guarded from Apollo's beames,
We gaz'd upon Pactolus golden sands,
Glass'd, bath'd, and quench'd our thirst, with his pure streames;
Whil'st we preferr'd, the river seem'd amaz'd,
Even to his golden bed his grassie banke,
And lay and look'd whereas our cattell graz'd,
Farre from all envy of a greater ranke;
That to represse oppression you take care,
Though we were dumbe, the publick rest may speake:
Your Laws, like Spiders webs are not a snare
For little flyes, that them the bigge may breake;
Meane men by them from great mens pride are sav'd,
The heavens continue long your prosp'rous raigne,
And let us not by such a beast be brav'd,
Which by our ruine would your Scepter staine.

Crœ.
What would you then that should be done by me,
That may repay your losse, repaire this wrong?

Cho.
We crave none of your wealth, but wish to see
This Boare be-bloud the staffe of the most strong:
Let valorous Atis worthily your Sonne,
With Lydian youth incapable of feares,
Go to the fields before the rising Sunne,
To quench his thirst have drunk the mornings teares,
And we shall leade them crown'd with lawrell forth,
Where in strict bounds, yet a theatre large
For men to make a triall of their worth,
They with advantage may this Monster charge;
So shall we reape repose, and they delight,
Whil'st that prodigious body justly smarts,
Though fearfull once, then made a pleasant sight,
When like a wood it planted is with darts.

Crœ.
I may not spare my Sonne for a respect,
Which is not needfull now to be made knowne,
But others shall be sent for that effect,
That this out-ragious beast may be o're-thrown;
The stately gallants who attend our grace
(That by the world their valour may be view'd)
This enterprise will willingly embrace,
And not returne, till with his blood imbru'd;
I sweare, this monster shall when he is dead,
A memorable monument remaine;
In Phebes church men shall admire his head,
As Pythons spoiles, when by her brother slaine.

Atis.
Ah! wherein Father did I thus offend?
Or what vile signe of a degener'd minde
Have you but mark'd in me, whose course may tend
To the reproach of our imperiall kinde?
An abiect dastard, who for nought availes,
Whose worth the world must trust, but never trie!
As one whose strength, or then his Courage failes.
Must I in vile repose inglorious lie!
Lie like a wanton by vaine thoughts bewitch'd!
Who spoild of force, effeminately lives,
A Peacok poore, with painted pennes enrich'd?
Yet bare of every thing that glory gives;
What glory give those titles unto me,
Which by succession fall, not by desert?
Should but my fame with borrow'd feathers flie?
For, come of kings a kingdome is my part;
“Who honour as hereditary claimes,
“Like bastards base, doth but his birth-right blote,
I scorne to beg my worth from dead mens names,
Or to gaine credite onely by my Coate;
What comfort's this to have the highest seate,
And all the blisse that Majestie imparts,
If those whom onely we exceed in State,
Be our Superiours in farre better parts?
“More then a Crowne true worth should be esteem'd,
“Th'one fortunes gift, the other is our own,
“By which the minde from anguish is redeem'd,
When fortunes goods are by her selfe o'rethrown.

Crœ.
I see what brave desires boile in thy soule,
And make thee thus magnanimous to be,
This high-bent courage nothing can controule,
All Lydia is not large enough for thee:
Goe, seeke an Empire equall with thy minde,
Of which a Crowne is due to every thought;
But Glories love whilst courting in this kinde,
I feare by thine, our ruine may be wrought:
And pardon me (deare Sonne) great is the love
Which makes me watch so warily thy wayes;
A Fathers care what kind of thing can move,
Whom such a danger not in time dismayes?
The Heaven of late advertis'd me by dreames,
That some sad fortune threatned thee too soone,
Each day some ominous signe attendance claimes,
Which out of time are mark'd, when all is done:
This was the cause that hastned us so much,
To have thee bound to Hymens sacred law,
This was the cause that all our care was such,
Out of our sight all weapons to withdraw:
Scorne not those Comets which amazement notes,
“The starres to mortall states a bounds designe,
And doe not thinke t'is but my love that dotes,
For if thou fall, my fate depends on thine.

Atis.
Would God I had some meanes once ere my death,
To satisfie that infinite desert,
Which I shall hold, so long as I have breath,
Deepe registred with reverence in my heart;
“Yet (sir) we see this is a naturall thing,
“That too excessive loue engenders feares:
A sport like this can no great perill bring,
Where either all delights the eyes, or th'eares.
If from my former deedes I now should shrinke,
(As voide of vertue) to soft pleasure thrall,
Of your two Sonnes what might your Subjects thinke,
Th'one wanting but one sense, the other all?
What fancies might my late spous'd love possesse,
To see her husband hatefull in mens sights,
And honours bounds thus basely to transgresse,
As womaniz'd still wallowing in delights?
“Though women would have men at their devotion,
“They hate base mindes that hatch no noble notion.

Crœ.
Well, well, my Sonne, I see thou must prevaile:
Goe, follow forth the chase, use thine owne for me,
Yet stay, or let my words this much availe,
Walke with more care to scape this threatned storme;
Thy hawtie sprite to tempt all hazards bent,
I feare transports thee to a fatall strife,
I wish to erre, yet the event prevent,
Lest that thy courage but betray thy life;
And (deare Adrastus) I must let him know,
What benefits I have bestow'd on thee,
Not to upbraid thee, no, but so to show
How I may trust thee best thus bound to mee;
When thou from Phrygia cam'st defil'd with blood,
And a fraternall violated love,
When desp'rate quite thou as distracted stood,
Fled from thy Fathers face; curst from above,
Thou foundst me friendly, and my Court thy rest,
A Sanctuary which thy life did save;
And dangers scap't (when one hath beene distress'd)
A wary wisdome by experience leave;
Yet all that favour past, was but a signe
Of generous greatenesse, which would gratious prove;
But in thy hands my soule I'le now consigne,
And give the greatest pledge that can binde love.
Behold how Atis of our age the shield,
Whose harme as you have heard, I fear'd ere now,
Is for his pastime to goe range the field,
And with his custodie I will trust you;
I must (my friend) even fervently exhort,
Waite on my Sonne, remember of my dreame.
This dangerously delectable sport,
Doth make mee feare the griefe exceeds the game.

Adrast.
I never shall those courtesies neglect:
It grieves me not to thinke, nor heare the same,
For whilst this sprite those members doth direct,
All shall concurre to celebrate your fame;
Yet were you pleas'd, I would not hence depart,
Who doe all things that mirth may move abhorre,
But with my passions here (retir'd a part)
Woe past would waile, and shunne all cause of more;
If to converse where not one crosse annoies,
I feare my fellowship infect with woe,
Those who themselves would recreate with Ioyes:
Still strange mishaps attend me where I goe,
But since you will commit this charge to mee,
Your Majestie I'le studie to content,
At least my faith shall from defects be free,
And all my paines shall as you please be spent.

Atis.
Now bent to see this monsters ougly shape,
With an inflam'd desire my thoughts doe burne,
And Father feare not, dreame of no mishap,
I hope with speed victorious to returne.

Cœlia.
Returne? from whence deare love? O deadly word.
That doth import thy parting from my sight,
I heard the name mishap, Ah! (my deare Lord)
Should such strict limites bound so large delight?
O cruell to thy selfe, unkinde to me!
And can'st thou condescend to leave me soe?
If (ere in doubt) abandon'd thus I be,
It may deferre, but not defraud my woe;
This might indeed to thee yeeld some reliefe,
To have thy eares not wounded by my mone,
But would wound me with a continuall griefe,
To feare all things, where I should feare but one;
Desist in time from this intended strife,
A course too rash, and not approv'd by me,
Remember I have int'rest in thy life,
Which thus to venter I doe not agree;
Hast thou not given a proofe in thy greene prime,
That may content the most ambitious heapes?
Whilst Atis was his own, then was it time
To follow fancies unconfined Scopes;
Thy selfe then onely camp'd in fortunes bounds,
Thou do'st endanger Cœlia likewise now;
You sigh her breath, she suffers in your wounds,
You live in her, and she must die in you.

Atis.
Life of my soule, how doe such broken speaches,
From troubled passions thus abruptly rise?
I know (my love) thy love my minde o're-reaches:
“Affection (Schoold with feares) is too too wise;
I goe alongst the fields, for sport to range;
Thy sighes doe but my soule with sorrow fill;
And pardon (deare) I finde this wond'rous strange,
That thou beginst now to resist my will;
If I trespasse in ought against my dutie,
Which makes thee thus my constancy mistrust;
Mistrust not yet the Chains of thine own beauty,
Which binde all my desires, and so they must;
Are wee not now made one? such feares o'recome,
Though I would flie, my selfe my selfe doe fetter,
And if that I would flie, from whom? to whom?
I can love none so well, none loves me better;
Have pitty of those pearles, (sweet eyes, soules pleasures)
Least they presage what thou would'st not have done;
The Heavens had not given me those pretious treasures,
Of such perfections to be spoil'd so soone.

Chorus.