University of Virginia Library

SCE. 9.

Satyre.
Doth this man then beleeue Corisea, following her steps
Into the Caue of Ericina? Well, hee's mad,
He knowes her not; beleeue mee he had need
Haue better hold of her ingaged fayth,
Then I had of her heare: But knottes more stranged,
Then gaudy guiltes on her he cannot tie.
This damned Whoore hath sold her selfe to him,
And here shee'le pay the shamefull markets price.
Shee is within, her steps bewray the same.
This falles out for her punishment, and thy reuenge:
With this great ouerstunding stone close thou the Caue,
Goe then about, and fetch the Priest with thee:
By the hill way which few or none do know,
Let her be executed as the law commaunds,
For breach of marriage troth, which she to Coridon


Hath plighted, though she euer it conceal'd
For feare of me, so shall I be reueng'd
Of both at once. I'le leese no farther time:
From off this Elme I'le cut a bough, with which
I may more speedely remoue this stone: Oh how great it is!
How fast it stickes. I'le digge it round about.
This is a worke in deed: Where are my wonted forces:
Oh peruerse Starres! in spight of you I'le moou't.
Oh Pan Liccus, helpe me now, thou wert a louer once,
Reuenge thy loue disdaind, vpon Corisea.
So, in the name of thy great power it mooues.
So, in the power of thy great name it falles.
Now is the wicked Foxe ta'ne in the trappe.
Oh that all wicked Women were with thee within,
That with one fire they might be all destroyd.

Chorus.
How puissaunt art thou Loue,
Natures miracle, and the Worldes wonder?
What sauadge nation, or what rusticke hart
Is it that of thy power feeles no part?
But what Wit's so profound can pull a sunder
That powers strength?
Who feeles those flames thy fire lightes at length,
Immoderate and vaine,
Will say a mortall spright thou sole dost raigne
And liue, in the corporall and fleshly brest.
But who feeles after how a louer is
Wak'ned to Vertue, and how all those flames
Do tremble out at sight of honest shames,
(Unbrid' led blust'ring lustes brought downe to rest)
Will call thee Spright of high immortall blisse,
Hauing thy holy receptacle in the soule.
Rare miracle of humans and diuine aspectes,
(That blind) dost see, and Wisedome (mad) corrects,
Of sence and vnderstanding intellects,
Of reason and desire confus'd affects.


Such Emperie hast thou on earth,
And so the heauens aboue dost thou controule
Yet (by your leaue) a wonder much more rare,
And more stupendious hath the world then you,
For how you make all wonders yeeld and bow
Is safety knowne. Your powers do berthe,
And being taken from vertue of a woman faire.
O Woman gusts of the high heauenly skie,
Or rather his who did their spangled gowne
So gorgious make vnto our mortall eye:
What hath it which a Womans beautie rush not downe,
In his vast brow a monstrous Ciclop like,
It onely one eye hath,
Which to beholding gazers giues no light,
But rather doth with terrour [illeg.] strike:
Yf it do sigh or speake, t'is like the wrath
Of an enraged Lion that would fight:
And not the skies alone but euen poore fielles,
Are blasted with the flames his lightning weildes.
Whilst thou with Lampes most sweete,
And with an amorous angelicke light
Of two Sunnes visible that neuer meete,
Dost alwayes the tempesteous troubled spright
Of thy beholder quiet and delight:
Sound, motion, light, that beautie doth assume,
State, daintinesse, and valew, do aright
Mixe such a harmony in that faire sight,
That skyes themselues with vanitie presume,
Yf lesse then Paradice those skies do shine
To Paragon with thee (thing most deuine)
Good reason hath that soueraigne creature (nam'd
A Man) to whom all mortall thinges do bow,
If thee beholding, higher cause allow
And yeeld to bee.
What though he rule and triumph truely fam'd,
It is not for high powers more worth do see
In him then is in thee,
Either of scepter or of victorie:


But for to make thee farre more glorious, stand,
Because the Conqueror thou dost commaund:
And she must bee, for mans humanitie
Is subiect still to Beauties deitie.
Who will not trust this, but contrary saith,
Let him behold Mirtilloes wondrous fayth:
Yet Woman to thy worth this is a staine,
Loue is made to be so hopelesly and vaine.