University of Virginia Library

To his worthie friend the Authour, Master Thomas Heywood.

Heywood , when men weigh truly what thou art,
How the whole frame of learning claimes a part
In thy deepe apprehension; and then see,
To knowledge added so much industry;
Who will deny thee the best Palme and Bayes?
And that to name thee, to himselfe is praise.
As first, which I must ever first preferre,
Thy skill in Poëtry, where thou so farre
Hast gone, as none beyond thee, and hast writ,
That after-ages must despaire of wit
Or matter to write more. Nor art thou lesse,
In whatsoere thy fancy will expresse.
Thy pen commands all history, all actions,
Counsels, Decrees, men, manners, States, and factions,
Playes, Epicediums, Odes, and Lyricks,
Translations, Epitaphs, and Panegyricks:
They all doe speake thy worth. Nor dost thou teach
Things meere prophane; but thy great Muse does reach
Above the Orbes, unto the utmost skie,
And makes transition unto Deitie.
When thou with such high straines detainst our eares,
As might become the Angels, or the Spheares.
What Reader then in justice can decline
From this assertion? Poets are divine,
Rapt with a heavenly fire, which is made knowne
By no example better than thine owne.

To the learned Authour Master Thomas Heywood.

VVho can deny but Poets take their birth
From some thing that's more excellent than earth:
Since those harmonious strains that fill our eares,
Proclaime their neere allyance with the Spheares,
And shewes their Art all Arts as farre exceed
As doth the fiery-Cane, the weakest Reed.
That Matter which six lines of Prose rehearse,
May fitly be contained in one Verse;
Yea, and so pithily (if well compacted)
That out of it whole Bookes may be extracted,
A President whereof if thou wouldst find,
I prethee gentle Reader bend thy mind
To what this little Volume doth containe,
And sure the fruit will recompence thy paine.
The subject with the Authours names agree,
Who all have left unto Posteritie
Such Noble badges of their learned fame,
That my weake Pen can no way shew the same;
Therefore doe thou, ô Heywood, weare the Bayes
As thy just merit many thousand wayes.
For this thy Worke, with others heretofore
Shall honor thee till time shall be no more.

To my praise-worthy friend Master Thomas Heywood.

Thy Worth unto the Knowing World is knowne,
Let Criticks censure others by their owne,
And tinct their foreheads with a purple shame,
When they shall see thy Works, or heare thy Name,
Whilst with thy owne, thou setst forth others fame;
Whose lofty Anthems, in our English tone
Thou sing'st, and mak'st them live, though dead & gone,
What barking or untutor'd Momus then
Will dare to belch against thy learned Pen?
Whose worthier Lines, unto their foule disgrace,
Shall spit defiance in a brasen face;
And when th'art dead, thy Poësie shall sing
Such pleasant straines, whereof the World shall ring;
And Envies selfe, in spight of all Assayes,
Shall crowne thy Tombe-stone with eternall Bayes.

[The Dialogue of Erasmus, called Naufragium]

The Argument of Erasmus his Dialogue called Naiagaion, or Naufragium.

Here you may reade an accurate Narration
Of dangers incident to Navigation:
With diuers foolish superstitions us'd
By Mariners, (some not to be excus'd)
Here is describ'd a Tempest to the height,
With casting out of Goods, to ease their freight;
And severall humors (to the life exprest)
Of men in danger, and by sea distrest:
Some, to the blessed Virgin call for aid:
By others, Vowes to seuerall Saints are made.
But this our Author will approue of none
To be invok' t, but the Great God alone.

The Interlocutors or Speakers, Antonius and Adolphos.

The Dialogue.

Anthon.
Thou tel'st me wondrous things; Is that to saile,
Where humane helpe so little can preuaile?
Forbid it Heav'n, to come into my thought,
That euer Wit so dearely should be bought.

Adol.
What hath as yet been spoke are trifles meere,
If to what I shall speake thou lend an eare.

Anth.
So much from thee I haue already had,
That I still tremble, and it makes me sad,
As I had then been present.

Adol.
Dangers past
Are vnto me of much more pleasing tast:
That night there hapned what much tooke away
All comfort from the Pilot.

Anth.
What, I pray?

Adol.
Dark was the night; when by the top-mast stands
(Got thither by the help of feet and hands)
One of the ship-men, and as from a

It is commonly called the Bowland.

Ioover
He lookt from thence, if so he might discouer
Some part of land: when on the instant, neare
Vnto his side was seen a fiery Spheare;
To Sea-men a sad Omen, if it shine
Single: but twinnes, they better lucke divine:
And in the times of old they call'd such too
Castor and Pollux.

Anth.
What had they to do
With Mariners? since those we understand
Were Champions both, and vs'd to fight on land.

Adol.
The Poets so would haue it. He at th' sterne
Casting his eye vp did the light discerne:
Who calling said, My Mate (It is a word
That Sailers interchangeably afford
To one another) speake, dost thou not see
The fire aboue that clings so close to thee?
Who answer'd thus: I do, and I pray God
That vnto vs it no misfortune boad.
The flaming Globe straight by the tackles slid,
And came close to the Pilot.

Anth.
I! But did
Not he sinke downe with feare?

Adol.
The fright he'endur'd,
They being to such prodigies inur'd.
There hauing staid a while, by the ship sides
It rowles it selfe, but there not long abides,
But leaping from the hatches, vanisht so.
Towards mid-day the tempest 'gan to grow
More and more raging. Didst thou euer see
The Alps?

Anth.
I haue.

Adol.
Those hills appeare to bee
But warts to such sea billowes, (if compar'd:)
Be judge then, how with us it that time far'd;
How often were we lifted vp so high,
Till to the very Moone we came so nigh,
To touch it with our fingers. Then againe
So low cast, that the Channell rent in twaine,
To let vs downe to Hell.

Anth.
Mad men, no doubt,
Who leaue the land, to seeke such dangers out.

Adol.
The Sailers striuing with the Storme some space,
(But all in vaine) the Pilot with a face
Like ashes, came to vs.

Anth.
And now I feare,
By his wan colour, some strange mischiefe neare.

Adol.
I am no more your Pilot now (saith he)
My friends, the Windes command both ship and me:
Prepare for all extremes, there's now no hope
Saue in our God, no trust in Saile or Rope.

Anth.
('Twas an hard speech.)

Adol.
First therefore let vs ease
Our ship (saith he) by casting in the seas
Her weighty lading; for so now commands
Necessitie: It with more safety stands,
By losse of goods, death present to preuent,
Than with them perish here incontinent.
The truth persuades them; Instantly they hoise
Into the Maine, rich Wares, and Vessels choise,
And those in plenty.

Anth.
This a Wracke indeed
May well be call'd.

Adol.
Silence till I proceed.
Amongst the rest, a rich Italian there,
Imployd in Embassy, who was to beare
Some Presents into Scotland, and this Lord
Had coffers, caskets, and stuft trunks abord,
With plate, rings, Iewels, change of garments.

Anth.
Say,
Was that man willing to cast all away?

Adol.
No: but being askt that question, made reply,
He with his wealth would liue, or with it dy;
And therefore storm'd.

Anth.
What said the Pilot then?

Adol.
Better it were, of these despairing men,
That he alone should perish, than (to saue
His proper wealth) all suffer in the waue:
And therefore told him plainly, But if hee
Vnto the generall safety would agree,
(Need so compeld) that without further plea,
Him and his wealth they'd tosse into the sea.

Anth.
A very Sailers speech.

Adol.
So, forc't at last,
With his owne hands his goods away he cast,
With many bitter curses; much inrag'd
With gods and divels, that he had ingag'd
Himselfe to such a barbarous element.

Anth.
A meere Italians pray'r.

Adol.
Obserue th'euent:
(These our free-offrings notwithstanding) neither
The windes nor waues were sated, but together
Conspir'd: Our tackles were asunder blowne,
And our torne sailes into the Ocean throwne.

Anth.
Distresse indeed.

Adol.
The Pilot comes againe.

Anth.
To preach as at the first?

Adol.
In a sad straine
He thus salutes vs: Friends, as the case stands,
I wish you would commend you to heav'ns hands,
And so prepare for death. Some who had been
At sea before, and in that Art well seen,
Askt him, How long he thought he could maintaine
His ship to liue? who briefely said againe,
Not full three houres, (as being then at worst.)

Anth.
Why this was harder doctrine than the first.

Adol.
Which hauing said, the Sailers he straight bid
To cut the cords asunder: which they did.
And next, To saw the main-Mast by the root:
Who instantly apply themselues vntoo't;
Which, with the saile and saile-yard, they soone threw
Into the sea.

Anth.
Why so?

Adol.
Because they knew,
Bee'ng torne, a burthen they might rather call
Their sailes, than helpe, (now of no vse at all)
For all their hope was in the helme.

Anth.
Meane space,
What did the passengers?

Adol.
A wretched face
Of things you now might see: Some then in place
Began to sing, Haile Mary full of Grace;
And the blest Virgin Mother to implore:
She, who plaine Mary had been call'd before,
They now stile, The Seas Star, The Queen of heav'n ,
The Lady of the world: Titles not giv'n
To her in sacred Scriptures.

Anth.
I indeed
Neuer that she at sea was yet could reed.

Adol.
But Venus (I haue heard) once tooke no scorne
To haue the charge of Sailers, (as sea-borne.)
But thinking she had quite giv'n vp her care;
All their Devotions now directed are
In stead of her, a mother, and no maid,
Her that was Maid and Mother, to persuade.

Anth.
Come now you jest.

Adol.
Some of them prostrat lie
Vpon the hatches, and for succor crie
Vnto the Storme, and (as had they been mad)
pour'd out into the Maine what oile they had;
Flattring the raging billowes of the seas,
As if some angry pow'r they would appease.

Anth.
What did they say?

Adol.
O Sea most mercifull,
O generous Sea, ô Sea most beautifull,
O you the most rich Channels of the Deepe
Saue vs, haue mercy, vs preserue and keepe.

Anth.
Ridiculous superstition. What the rest?

Adol.
Their stomacks some disgorg'd; one in his brest
Was meditating Vowes. An English man
(I well remember) said, O if I can
But get to land safe, Pilgrimage I'l frame
Vnto the blessed Maid of Walsinghame;
And promis'd golden mountaines. Others vow'd
To such a Crosse: but that some disallow'd.
And nam'd another in a remoat place
Thence many countries distant. In like case
They with the Virgin Mary dealt, who raignes
In sundry Regions: and since need constraines,
They pray to her, but thinke they are not heard,
Vnlesse they name some Temple to her rear'd.

Anth.
Vaine were such Orisons, since the Saints dwell
In heav'n aboue.

Adol.
Some said, If they came well
And safe to shore, Carthusians they would bee.
One promis'd, If the sea he once could free,
Bare-foot and bare head, naked saue his shirt,
And that of male close to his body girt,
Nay, begging all the way, vow'd, steps hee'd tell
To where Saint Iames yet liues in Compostell.

Anth.
Did none thinke of Saint Christopher?

Adol.
I heard
(Not without laughter) one to him indear'd:
He in the chiefe Church of

Or Paris

Lutetia stands,
(More like a mountaine than a man) his hands
Lift vp: who with a voice strep'rous and loud
(That all they in the ship might heare him) vow'd
To set before that Saint a waxen Light
Big as himselfe. To whom one that fore-right
Before him sate, (well knowne to him) reply'd,
(After he first had jogg'd him on the side)
Take heed friend what you promise; should you sell
Your whole estate, which is to me knowne well,
You cannot make it good. He then in feare,
(Lest him perchance S. Christopher might heare)
Answer'd in a low voice, Peace foole, be still,
Think'st thou my words are suting to my will;
If once I finde safe landing may be had,
I'l of a farthing candle make him glad.

Anth.
O stupid braine! Some Hollander?

Adol.
None such:
He was of Zeeland sure.

Anth.
I wonder much,
None that time of th'Apostle Paul did thinke;
(For he was wrackt, and when the ship did sinke,
Got to the shore) who knowing shipwracke best,
Would soone haue helpt them in that kinde distrest.

Adol.
Of him there was no mention.

Anth.
Did they pray?

Adol.
Yes; and at once some sung, and some did say
Haile Virgin: others, their Beleefe: some mutter'd
Certaine peculiar pray'rs, as had they vtter'd
Soft Magicke spells 'gainst danger.

Anth.
How distresse
Makes men deuout? when they thinke nothing lesse
Than of their God, if fortune seeme to smile,
Or of his Saints. But what didst thou the while?
Vowd'st thou to none of them?

Adol.
No.

Anth.
Why?

Adol.
Because
Cov'nants with Saints made, are still with some clause
After the forme of Contract: This I giue,
If thou performe: If at this time I liue,
Then such a thing I'l do; I'l at thy Shrine
Offer a Taper, if I scape the Brine;
Or if thou keepst me, vnto Rome I'l go
On Pilgrimage.

Anth.
But to none prayd'st thou?

Adol.
No.

Anth.
Shew me the cause?

Adol.
I thought, Heav'n far extended:
To any one Saint should I haue commended
My safety, say Saint Peter, who bee'ng neare
Vnto the doore, most likely was to heare;
Before he could haue left the gate, to finde
where God was, or deliver'd him my minde,
I might haue perisht.

Anth.
What then didst thou do?

Adol.
Tooke the next course, and did direct vnto
The Father my Deuotions, and began,
Father which art in heav'n, &c. I perceiv'd than,
None of the Saints could sooner heare, nor any
Abler to saue or helpe, though they be many.

Anth.
Did not thy conscience pricke thee the mean time,
Remembring with how many an hainous crime
Thou hadst offended him?

Adol.
Shall I speake true?
Part of my confident boldnesse it withdrew;
But straight it thus in my conception runne:
No Father is so angry with his Sonne,
But if he spy him in a brooke or lake,
Ready to drowne, hee'l by the haire him take,
And plucke him from the danger. 'Mongst the rest,
A woman who a childe had at her brest
Then sucking, in that feare seem'd troubled least.

Anth.
And what did she?

Adol.
Nor clamor loud, nor weepe;
Nor promise what she neuer meant to keepe:
Only embrac'd her infant, softly pray'd
Vnto her selfe, none hearing what she sayd.
Meane time the Barke inclining neere the shore,
The Master fearing lest she would be tore
And split to pieces; her with cables bound
From helme to the fore-decke.

Anth.
Comfort vnsound.

Adol.
Vp then a sacrificing Priest arose,
Ag'd sixty yeares, through doublet and through hose
His torne shirt seene, (call'd Adam) who his shooes
(That had no soles) cast off, and 'gins to vnloose
His wretched habit; bidding all prepare
Themselues to swim, who of their liues had care.
And standing on the decke, begins to preach
Alowd to vs, and out of Gerson teach
Five truths; what profit from Confession growes,
Wishing we would make ready to dispose
Our selues to life or death. Then present there
Was a Dominican Frier of looke austere,
To whom some few confest themselues.

Anth.
But what
didst thou mean space?

Adol.
I well perceiuing, that
All things were full of tumult, soone confest
My selfe to God, 'gainst whom I had transgrest;
Blaming mine owne injustice, and commended
My selfe to him, whom I had most offended.

Anth.
Hadst thou then perisht, whither hadst thou gon?

Adol.
That I committed vnto God alone,
As most vnwilling mine owne judge to be:
And yet a faire hope did still comfort me.
Whilst these things past, the Pilot came againe,
With his eies full of teares, and saith, In vaine
We striue 'gainst heav'n: each man himselfe prepare;
The shaken ship in which distrest we are
Cannot the fourth part of an houre well last,
At sundry leaks the water poures so fast.
Soone after he brings newes he did descry
A Chappell afar off: bids vs apply
Our pray'rs, the small space that the ship still floated,
Vnto that Saint to whom it was deuoted:
When suddenly most part are groueling throwne,
Deuoutly praying to the Saint vnknowne.

Anth.
Had they but nam'd him, he would sure haue heard.

Adol.
But that they knew not. Then the Pilot steard
His torne ship that way, ready now to sinke,
(Such quantitie of water forc't to drinke)
And split she had in pieces in that weather,
Had not the cables bound her fast together.

Anth.
'Twas an hard case.

Adol.
It drawing now towards even,
Vpon the sudden we so far were driven
Towards the coast, that vs th' inhabitants spy'de,
And seeing our extremes, call'd out and cry'de;
And with their hats vpon their staues end, stand
Pointing to vs the safest place to land:
Then with their armes stretcht out, seeme to deplore
Our wretched case, distrest so neare the shore.

Anth.
I long to know what happen'd.

Adol.
Our Barke now
Had tooke in so much water, that I vow
There hardly any diffrence could be knowne,
Because the ship and sea appear'd all one.

Anth.
To th' holy Anchor it was time to flye.

Adol.
And yet small comfort, seeing death so nye.
The Sailers hoise the boat, and let it downe
Into the Sea: then there's a tumult growne,
Who should presse soonest in. Some gan t' exclaime,
Crying, Why throng you thus? Be rul'd for shame;
The Boat 's but small, and were you not thus rude,
Vncapable of such a multitude.
They bid them search, and what came neerest, get
To saue themselues. When now there was no let,
But ev'ry one, that which came next him snatches:
One lights vpon a piece of the torne hatches:
An empty barrell he: another takes
A planke: that man a pole: and none but makes
Some shift or other: so themselues commit
Vnto the sea.

Anth.
You haue not told me yet,
What of the woman and the childe became,
She only that was heard not to exclaime.

Adol.
She got to shore first.

Anth.
Tell me how that past?

Adol.
Her to a crooked planke we ty'de so fast,
That hardly she could slide thence: in whose hand
We put a boord (such as she might command)
In stead of a small oare: then hauing prayd
For her successe, as she was thereon layd,
Expos'd her to the waues, and with a speare,
Thrust her from off the ship, which now was neare
Hid in the sea, her infant she bestow'd
In her left arme, and with her right hand row'd.

Anth.
A stout Virago.

Adal.
When nought else remain'd,
One snatcheth an old Image, blur'd and stain'd,
Part of it eat with rats, which once presented
The mother Virgin: and with that contented,
Begins to swim.

Anth.
But came the boat to shore?

Adol.
They were the first that perisht, none before;
For thirty had therein together got.

Anth.
By what ill chance was that?

Adol.
'Twas their hard lot;
For e're they from the ship themselues could free,
The weake boat split, and sunke immediatly.

Anth.
A sad disaster: But what then?

Adol.
I cherisht
Others, and had my selfe like to haue perisht.

Anth.
As how?

Adol.
I stayd till nothing did appeare
Helpfull to swim.

Anth.
Corke had been vsefull there.

Adol.
I tell thee Friend, iust at that instant space
I'de rather had a Corke tree to embrace,
Than a rich golden Candlesticke. About
Looking, to spy what best I could finde out,
I soone bethought me of the poore remaine
Of the split Mast, at which I tugg'd in vaine;
And therefore call'd an helper. We combine
Our double strength, and both to it incline,
Trusting our selues to sea; and in that fright
He by the left part holds: I take the right.
Thus by the billowes tost, the Predicant, whom
I nam'd before, iust at our backs did come,
And threw himselfe vpon vs: like an hulke
To us he seem'd, being of a mighty bulke.
Wherewith much troubled, both aloud 'gan call,
Who is that third who meanes to drowne vs all?
He gently vs bespake, and bad vs bee
Of comfort, there was roome enough for three.

Anth.
But wherefore did he leaue the ship so late?

Adol.
He purpos'd in the boat to try his fate
With the Dominican Frier; the rest to grace
Their Orders, willing to afford them place.
But though they both were in the ship confest,
Belike forgetting some word 'mongst the rest,
They fell to it againe, and somewhat s'ed
Laying ones hand vpon the others head:
Meane time the boat sunke, by the waues controld:
For so much, after, to me Adam told.)

Anth.
But what of the Dominican became?
He, first invoking sundry Saints by name.
(So Adam said) did strip himselfe to th' skin;
And hauing left his cloathes behinde, leapt in.

Anth.
What Saints did he invoke?
He named (thick,
As fast as he could speake) S. Dominick,
Saint Thomas, and Saint Vincent, and one Peter,
(I know not which) but one she-Saint, with sweeter
And fairer words hee'ntreated; and her name,
Katherine Senensis, she, it seem'd, the same
To whom he trusted most.

Anth.
I, but Christs aid
Implor'd he not at all?

Adol.
So the Priest said.

Anth.
Me thinks he better might haue far'd that day,
Had he not cast his holy hood away.
For being naked like another man,
How could the Saint know the Dominican?
Touching thy selfe proceed.

Adol.
Whilst we were tost
Neere to the barke, still fearing to be lost,
Part of the sterne then floating, burst his thigh,
Who held the left part of the mast, whilst I
Made good the right: who soone his hold lets slip,
And so was drown'd. Into whose place doth skip
Adam the Priest, repeating a short prayer
That his soule (then departing) well might fare;
Exhorting me to be of courage bold,
Stretch out my legs, and with my hands keepe hold:
Mean time we drunke much brine out of the Ocean,
'Twas not a salt bath only, but salt potion.
(So Neptune then would haue it) for which he
(Adam I meane) would shew a remedie.

Anth.
And what was that?

Adol.
Still as he spy'de the waue
To come vpon vs, he himselfe to saue,
Oppos'd it with the hinde part of his head,
Keeping his mouth fast shut.

Anth.
I neuer read
Of a more stout old fellow.

Adol.
Floating long,
And mouing somewhat onward, he bee'ng strong,
And wondrous tall, saith to me, Be of cheare,
For by my foot I finde the ground is neare.
But I that time more timerous and afraid,
(Hoping no such good fortune) to him said,
Most certaine we are farther from the shore,
Than to hope land. He now incourag'd more,
Saith to me, With my foot I touch the sand.
Perhaps, said I, some chest driv'n neere the land,
Wrought thither by the sea. He affirmes No,
And saith, the ground he toucheth with his to.
We still were tost, and he againe feeles shore:
Do what thou wilt (then said) for here no more
I'le trust my selfe, but towards land make hast;
So farewell, for I'le leaue thee to thy mast.
Then watching when the waue began to breake,
With speed pursues it, and no more would speake:
But as the billow (shrinking backe) he sees,
With either hand embracing both his knees,
He waits for it, drencht ouer head and eares,
(As Ducks or sea-Birds) and againe appeares
When the waue's past, and runnes. Finding his fate
So well succeed, I thought to imitate
Him in his course: There stood vpon the sands
Some people with long javelins in their hands,
Men strong and vs'd to stormes; these reacht their staues
To ev'ry faint hand that their succor craues.
Who catching hold, some by that means they drew
Safe to the shore.

Anth.
How many of that Crew?

Adol.
Seven only, of which, two brought to the fire,
But feeling warmth, did instantly expire.

Anth.
How many were i'th ship?

Adol.
Iust fifty eight.

Anth.
O cruell sea, to ruine such a freight.
'Tmight with the tenths at most haue been suffis'd,
Priests aske no more when they are best advis'd.
But of so great a number did so few
Escape the Wracke?

Adol.
I speake it who best knew:
And there we found a remarkt approbation
Of a most generous and indulgent Nation;
Who with alacritie and much cheare gaue
Harbor, meat, drinke, with all things we could craue.

Anth.
What country?

Adol.
Holland.

Anth.
None I take to bee
More generous, fuller of humanitie,
Though girt with barbarous countries. But I feare
Thou'lt not to sea in haste.

Adol.
Troth not this yeare,
No nor the next: I'le be no more such pray,
Vnlesse (quite mad) Heav'n take my wits away.

Anth.
For such discourses I so little loue them,
That I had rather heare them far, than proue them.

[The Dialogue of Erasmus, called Procus and Puella]

The Speakers, Pamphilvs and Mary.

The Dialogve.

Pam.
Haile to thee, ô thou Cruel, who canst vant
Of nothing else saue iron and Adamant.

Mar.
Haile to thee too (at length) ô Pamphilus,
How, and as oft as thou shalt please: but thus
Wherfore You should salute me, know I not,
It seemes to me my name you haue forgot.
Maria I am call'd.

Pam.
Hadst thou thy right,
Thou Martia hadst been nam'd.

Mar.
I cannot fight,
For know I what Mars meanes: Pray wherefore then
Ranke you me with that murtherer of men?

Pam.
Because I hold thee more obdurat far,
And thirsting bloud, than is the god of War.
He kills for sport, (but such as he doth hate)
But thou thy Louers, (Cruell and ingrate.)

Mar.
Good words I pray; to make me better skil'd.
Shew me the strage of those whom I haue kil'd?
Or where's the bloud?

Pam.
One Corse liuelesse and cold
Thou look'st vpon when thou dost me behold.

Mar.
What do I heare? Did any euer know
A dead man (like thee) both to speake and go?
Should no more terrible Ghosts to me appeare,
Trust me I neuer should be strooke with feare.

Pa.
Thou jest'st with me, and mean time strik'st me dead,
And by degrees I'm hourely massacred,
Worse than if thou with steele shouldst pierce my brest;
For now with lingring death I am opprest.

Mar.
How many childing women with wet eies
Were present to lament your obsequies?

Pam.
And yet my palenesse argues (to my cost)
I am more bloudlesse than a walking Ghost.

Mar.
And yet that palenesse hath a violets hew:
You so looke pale, as we in Summer view
The ripening Cherry, and your cheeke is dy'de
Like th' Autumne Grape that's purpled on one side.

Pam.
In sooth you do not well to jeere and flam
Me, knowing in what wretched case I am.

Mar.
If thou beleev'st me not, there's a glasse by,
Reach it, and that will speake as much as I.
No glasse I wish, no Mirror can allow,
Saue that in which I do behold me now.

Mar.
What Mirror's that you speake of?

Pam.
Your cleare eies.

Mar.
You'ar the same Sophister, and still so wise
As you were euer: but I pray make't plaine,
How you are liuelesse? and by me how slaine?
Or is't the use of Shadowes to take meat?

Pam.
They do (like me) but taste not what they eat.

Mar.
What is their food?

Pam.
Leekes, Mallowes, Pulse.

Mar.
Indeed?
But sometimes you on Cocke and Partridge feed.

Pam.
But to my pallat are as much default
As should I feed on sallads without salt.

Mar.
O miserable man! yet by this light
To me Y'appeare fat, fresh, and in good plight:
But can the Dead discourse?

Pam.
Yes, they may speake,
But with a voice (like me) low, faint, and weake.

Mar.
And yet (but lately) when reuenge you vow'd
Vpon your Riuall, you spake shrill and lowd.
But tell me further, as the Shadowes talke,
Are they (like you) apparel'd? Can they walke?
Or do they sleepe?

Pam.
They do, such is their fate:
Nay more than that, sometimes subagitate
After their kinde.

Mar.
You trifle finely now:

Pam.
But will you in your judgement yeeld and bow,
If it by Achillean proofes be try'de,
That I am dead, and you the homicide?

Mar.
Far be that Omen from vs: But proceed
With that your Sophisme.

Pam.
First then 'tis agreed,
Death's nothing but the absence of the Soule
From the fraile body: (none can this controule)
And that you'l grant.

Mar.
Well.

Pam.
That which you agree,
You'l not recall hereafter.

Mar.
'T shall not bee.

Pam.
You'l not deny, That such as take a life
From any other, kill?

Mar.
'Tis without strife.

Pam.
You'l likewise yeeld to that approv'd long since
By Authors, such as no man can convince,
Namely, That from the body the soule moues,
And is not where it liues, but where it loues.

Mar.
Therein th'advantage you of me haue got;
Pray make't more plaine, I vnderstand it not.

Pam.
In that I'm most vnhappy, since I see
You are not alike sensible with mee.

Mar.
Then make me so.

Pam.
You might with like pretence
Bid me to teach the Adamant to haue sence.

Mar.
I am a Maid, not stone.

Pam.
And yet most sure,
Than th' hardest Adamant y' are more obdure.

Mar.
Well, recollect your selfe.

Pam.
(Though to be'admir'd)
All that with divine Raptures are inspir'd.
'Tis said, nor heare, nor smell, nor see, nor feele,
Although you wound them with transpiercing steele.

Mar.
So I haue heard.

Pam.
Know you the cause?

Mar.
Not I:
Explaine it you who reade Philosophy.

Pam.
Because the Soule's in heav'n, when't doth affect,
And absent from the flesh in that respect.

Mar.
What then?

Pam.
What then? thou Cruel? why this makes it plain,
Thou art the Murdresse: I the man new slain.

Mar.
Where's then thy soule?

Pam.
Why where it loues?

Mar.
But who
Hath tooke it from thee? Wherefore sigh'sts thou so?
Speake freely, and vncheckt?

Pam.
One cruell, yet
She whom in death I neuer shall forget.

Mar.
Y' are witty: But (my rare Philosopher)
Why likewise take you not a soule from her,
Repaying like with like?

Pam.
Nor thinke it strange;
Nothing could proue more happy than such change,
And make me more essentially blest,
Then myne in hers, if hers in myne would rest.

Mar.
Shall I haue leaue (as thou but late with me)
That I may play the Sophister with thee?

Pam.
The Sophistresse.

Mar.
Can it with probabilitie be sed,
That the same body is alive and dead?

Pam.
But not at the same time.

Mar.
The soule confine,
The bodie's dead, nor canst thou call it thine.

Pam.
I grant.

Mar.
Nor quickens but when 'tis in place.

Pam.
Well, be it so.

Mar.
Speake then, how stands the case?
That being where it liues, in former state,
It keepes the body, whence it shifted late;
Or where it elsewhere liues, if it giue breath,
How can it (whilst it liues) be taxt of death?

Pam.
In Sophistrie I see well skil'd you are,
Yet can I easily euade this snare.
The Soule which doth the liuing body sway,
Vnproperly (me thinks) title you may
A soule, when those that do the men controule,
Are truly some small reliques of the soule,
And nothing else. As when you take a Rose,
And smell to it, howeuer you dispose
Of the floure after: being gon againe,
The sent thereof will on your hand remaine.

Mar.
I see they onely shall lost labor win,
Who seeke to catch an old Fox in a gin:
But there is one thing more that I demand,
And I from you would gladly vnderstand;
Doth not he act, that's staind with murthers gilt?
And suffer not all such whose blouds are spilt?

Pam.
Most true.

Mar.
How comes it then, when as the Wooer
In this case may be said to be the doer,
And she that's woo'd, the Patient (which is plaine,
And stiffely to oppose it were but vaine)
She that's belov'd, no such intent pursuing,
Should not be that? he cause of his owne ruin.

Pam.
Quite contrarie: he (we see daily prov'd)
Suffer, who loues: she acts that is belov'd.

Mar.
The Areopagitæ (Grammar-skil'd)
In this cannot evince me.

Pam.
Y'are selfe-will'd:
Yet shal th' Amphictriones by Logicke doo't.

Mar.
There's one doubt, prethee answer me untoo't;
Whether is this your loue free, or constrain'd?

Pam.
Most willingly I loue, though thus disdain'd.

Mar.
Since not to loue, men likewise haue free-will,
Who euer loues, doth aime himselfe to kill:
And the inditement well against him laid,
'Twere great injustice to accuse the Maid.

Pam.
She is not said the Louer to haue slaine,
Because belov'd, but not to loue againe.
For all such persons may be said to stay,
Who can preserue, and will not when they may.

Mar.
Say a yong man vnlawfully should dote
Vpon a Vestall, from the world remote;
Or cast his eye vpon anothers wife:
Must these lie prostrat, to preserve his life?

Pam.
But where this yong man his affection vowes,
The act both Law and Pietie allowes,
And yet is slaine. But if that murther hee
A sinne that doth appeare so sleight to thee.
I can of Witchcraft challenge thee.

Mar.
O fie!
Witchcraft? Forbid it you blest Pow'rs on hye:
Wouldst thou make me a Circes?

Pam.
I divine,
Thou art worse far, because a Beare or Swine
I' de rather bee, than as thou seest me now,
Sencelesse and without life.

Mar.
Pray tell me how,
Or by what kinde of Witchcraft do I kill?

Pam.
By fascination.

Mar.
Is it then thy will
I turne my noxious eies from thee?

Pam.
Not so,
But rather let them still dwell here.

Mar.
Fie no,
If in myne eies there be effascination,
How comes it there is no such alteration
In others I behold? Now I diuine,
The witchcraft's not in mine eies, but in thine.

Pam.
Is't not enough, thy vow'd friend to transperse,
But thou wilt still insult upon his herse?

Mar.
O pleasant dead man, that can talke so free:
But I pray speake, When shall thy funerall bee?

Pam.
Sooner than thou do'st deeme, (I am afraid)
Vnlesse thou suddenly afford'st me aid.

Mar.
Can I worke such a wonder?

Pam.
Thou mayst doo
A greater act, and with small labour too,
Restore the Dead to life.

Mar.
Had I the weed
Call'd Panaces.

Pam.
Of Simples there's no need:
Onely repay my loue, that's void of lust,
(Than which, what thing more easie, or more iust)
There's nothing else can thee of murther cleere.

Mar.
But at what bar shall I be call'd to appeare?
Before the Areopagitæ?

Pam.
No,
But at the bar of Venus.

Mar.
Those that know
That goddesse, say shee's placable.

Pam.
So ye'haue heard;
But there is none to be more dread and feard.

Mar.
Carrieth she lightning?

Pam.
Not.

Mar.
Or doth she beare
A Trident?

Pam.
Neither.

Mar.
Doth she vse a speare?

Pam.
Not any: but shee's goddesse of the seas.

Mar.
I do not vse to saile.

Pam.
But more than these;
She hath a Boy.

Mar.
His age can none affright.

Pam.
But hee's peruerse, reuengefull, and of might.

Mar.
What can he do to me?

Pam.
What can he? All
The gods forbid, that you should prostrat fall
Beneath his fury: loth would I presage
Ill vnto her, to whom my selfe I'engage.

Mar.
I am not superstitious, speake thy minde.

Pam.
I shall: If thou hereafter prov'st vnkinde,
Or shalt appeare so peevish or so fond
To one whose loue with thine may correspond:
Should such a sute to Venus be commenc'd
By her the Boy would be so much insenc'd,
To aime a shaft in Stiptick poison dipt,
By which thy hard brest on the sudden ript,
It shall besot thee on some sordid Swaine,
Which shall thy loue repay with cold disdaine.

Mar.
An horrid punishment thou talkst of, I
A thousand times had rather wish to die,
Than perditly to'affect one base and vile,
And he his heart towards me not reconcile.

Pam.
Yet of a Virgin subiect to like fate
There hath been knowne a sad example late.

Mar.
What place?

Pam.
Aurelia.

Mar.
Since how many yeares?

Pam.
How many moneths you would say, Still appeares
The lamentable ruine, and the fame
Is loud and frequent.

Mar.
Speake, what was her name?
Why dost thou pause?

Pam.
I know her even as well
As I do thee.

Mar.
Then why dost thou not tell
What her name is?

Pam.
'Tis for the Omens sake.
Which doth not please me: I wish she could take
Some other name vpon her. You may gather
What hers is, by your owne.

Mar.
Who was her father?

Pam.
A man of qualitie, and one that liues
Amongst the Lawyers, vnto whom he giues
No common luster.

Mar.
I am now ambitious
To know what his name is.

Pam.
Hee's cal'd Mauritius:

Mar.
But his syrname?

Pam.
Aglaius.

Mar.
Liues her mother?

Pam.
No, but of late chang'd this life for another.

Mar.
But of what sicknesse dy'de she?

Pam.
Wouldst thou know?
Of sorrow, that her childe was shipwrackt so.
Her father too, of valour prov'd and try'de,
Did little want but of conceit had dy'de.

Mar.
How was her mother styl'd, pray tell me true?

Pam.
I will: Sophronia: one that none but knew.
But what meane all these questions? do you thinke
I speake a thing that's forg'd?

Mar.
It cannot sinke
Into my head: you rather may suspect
Our sex for that, since fables we affect.
But say, what hapned to her then?

Pam.
The Maid
Was borne in honest place, as I then said,
Of happy dower, and amiable feature:
Why should I hold you long? She was a creature
Fit for a Princes bed; and sought by one
Then euery way her equall: there was none
More meriting.

Mar.
How call'd?

Pam.
The Omen doth offend: yet thus
Receiue his name, he was calld Pamphilus:
Who though he prov'd all possible waies to win her,
Yet save disdaine, when he found nothing in her,
Griefe wasted him away: when she soone after
Doated vpon a Groome compos'd for laughter;
Whom you might rather call an Ape than Man.

Mar.
What is't you say?

Pam.
So poorely, that I can
Scarce giue thereof expression.

Mar.
She so faire,
To dote on one deformed?

Pam.
Thin his haire,
Besides, disorderd and vnkembd, his crowne
Picked, made steeple-wise, and ouergrowne
With scurfe and dandruffe; bald he was beside,
Extremely squint-eyd, and his nosthrils wide
And bending vpward, with a mouth most spacious,
His teeth both gagg'd and furr'd, his tongue vngratious,
Stammering at every word; a scabbed chin,
And easily seene, because his beard was thin;
Crookt-backt, gow-bellied, bending at the knee
His legs.

Mar.
Thersites thou describ'st to me.

Pam.
Nay more; They say he hath but one eare left.

Mar.
Perhaps the tother was in war bereft.

Pam.
Most sure 'twas lost in peace.

Mar.
Such an affront
What's he durst giue him?

Pam.
Now I thinke vpon't,
It was the hangman.

Mar.
Notwithstanding this,
Perhaps what in his feature is amisse,
His substance may make good.

Pam.
But hee's no better
Than a meere Bankrupt, one that is a debter
Of his owne soule, and he hath pawnd it oft.
And yet she that's so tender, smooth, and soft,
Doth with this Monster bosome, drinke, and eat;
Nay, at his churlish hands is oft times beat.

Mar.
A wretched tale, if truly understood.

Pam.
And yet so

Venus.

Nemesis hath thought it good.
Most true it is, nor could the goddesse long
Defer due vengeance for the yong mans wrong.

Mar.
Than such a monster of a man to brooke,
I rather wish here to be thunder-strooke.

Pam.
Then let not Nemesis be iustly mov'd,
Provoke her not, love where thou art belo'vd.

Mar.
Would that suffice, with all my soule I'de doo't.

Pam.
Speake not the word, vnlesse thou stand vntoo't.
I wish moreouer, That your love may be
Lasting, and only proper vnto me.
A wife, no mistresse, I haue now in chase.

Mar.
I do not doubt it: yet in such a case,
When as our vowes continue with our fate,
Behooues vs long time to deliberate.

Pam.
I haue long enough consider'd.

Mar.
Lest you erre,
Take heed, for Love's but a bad Counseller,
And as they say, hee's blinde.

Pam.
Blinde love I scorne;
But that love sees, which is of judgement borne.
Thou dost not therefore seeme to me so faire,
Because I loue thee; but I therefore dare
To love thee, since thou art as thou appear'st.

Mar.
And yet beware how you esteeme me dearest:
When you pull on your shoo you best may tel
In what part it doth chiefely pinch you.

Pam.
Well,
Dice must be cast for that, I and the rather,
Because by many Auguries I gather.
Things better may succeed.

Mar.
An Augur too?

Pam.
I am.

Mar.
But what can your sooth-saying doo?
Saw you the night-Crow flie?

Pam.
'T had been in vaine;
Shee onely flies to such as haue no braine.

Mar.
Or did you see two Turtles take their flight
Either vpon the left hand or the right?

Pam.
Tush these are toyes: yet one thing I haue seene,
And long time markt; The goodnesse that hath beene
Deriv'd vnto you, nor doth it foretell
Any bad Omen, to be borne so well;
Nor forreigne vnto me were their conditions,
Or with how many wholsome admonitions
Thy education from the first hath bin,
With faire examples free from sight of sin.
“And better 'tis (the Dowrie to adorne)
“To haue one well instructed, than well borne.
There is another Augurie beside:
My Ancestors (I speake it not in pride)
Are not of meanest ranke, and in times past
With thine made league, which to this day doth last.
And that, not vulgar, from our cradles wee
Haue knowne each other; but to disagree
Were neuer knowne: there is a parity
In our two yeares; in the nobility,
Riches, and honour of our parents. More,
(Which in this match I should haue plac'd before)
Your sweet indowments and behauiour rare
Did in all points with my condition square:
But whether myne with yours haue suted well
In correspondence, that I cannot tell.
These are the Birds which I observ'd to flie,
Predicting only by their Augurie.
And these presage a marriage to ensue,
Happy and blest, nay alwaies seeming new.
Vnlesse from your most delicate warbling throat
Should now proceed some harsh vnpleasing noat
To crosse my hopes.

Mar.
Say, What song do you wish?

Pam.
I will begin, now answer you to this,
'Tis but two words, and they soone learnd; I am thine:
Now echo vnto me, and sing, Thou myne.

Mar.
'Tis a short song, and hath as short a theme,
And yet it beares a long Epiphoneme.

Pam.
What matters it how long, so it be sweet.

Mar.
And yet I should be loth, as we now meet,
That I to any motion should consent,
Of which perhaps in time you may repent.

Pam.
O cease to boad vs ill.

Mar.
I may grow strange,
When age or sicknesse shall my beauty change.

Pam.
Craz'd or in health, thou shalt to me be one,
Equall in both, so deare vnto me none.
I gaze not on this building, rare and neat;
The guest within I loue.

Mar.
What guest I'entreat?

Pa.
Thy mind, whose splendor with thy yeres doth grow.

Mar.
He'had need of more than Lynceus eyes, that so
Can through so many roofes at once espy.

Pam.
Thy minde by myne I see perspicuously.
To adde to these, we in our children may,
As we wax old, grow yonger euery day.

Mar.
I, but Virginitie meane time is lost.

Pam.
Tell me, if you your selfe had layd great cost
Vpon an Orchard, you would thinke it sin,
Should nothing else but bare floures grow therein:
Had you not rather (all the floures bee'ng cropt)
To see the trees full branches vnderpropt,
Laden with ripe fruit?

Mar.
O, you argue fine.

Pam.
Or answer me: To see a drooping Vine
Falne, and there putrifying where 'tis laid?
Or see one by her owne kinde claspings staid;
And round about some faire growne Elme to run,
Whilst her full clusters ripen 'gainst the Sun?
Which is the goodlier sight?

Mar.
Now answer me:
Which of the two sights had you rather see:
A milke white Rose still shining in its thorne:
Or cropt, and in some durty bosome worne,
To lose her faire leaves?

Pam.
As I vnderstand,
That Rose is happier, gatherd by the hand,
And withers, after it doth both delight
The nose with the sweet smell, the eye with sight.
Rather than that which giues no more content,
Than to the Brier forfeit both leaues and sent.
It grew for use, first to be gathered, then
To wither after. So the wine that men
At merry meetings jovially downe poure,
Is happier far, than what (vndrunke) growes soure.
Nor is the Virgin floure maturely growne,
Blasted as soone as cropt. Some I haue knowne,
Before their marriage languish and looke sickly,
Who after congresse haue recover'd quickly,
As if they had but then begun to spring.

Mar.
And yet Virginitie (you know's a thing)
Gracious and plausible to all.

Pam.
'Tis true,
Than a yong Virgin, nothing to the view
More gratefull: but what object can there bee
Worse, than an old and wrinkled maid to see?
Vnlesse thy mother had let fall her floure,
Thy blossome had not flourisht at this houre.
And if our future marriage (as I hope)
Do not proue barren, we shall then haue scope,
Though that Virginitie be lost and gone,
To yeeld the world a many for that one.

Mar.
And yet pure chastitie 's a thing (they say)
To God most gratefull.

Pam.
And I therefore pray,
Hee'l send me a chast Virgin to my wife,
With whom to leade a chast vnquestion'd life:
And by that means shall grow the greater Tye,
Of mindes, then bodies; so shall you and I
Get to the publique weale, to Christ beget.
Then how far distant is this wedlocke set
From true Virginitie: it may so fall,
That we in time may proue as conjugall
As Ioseph liv'd with Mary. Meane time wee
Shall practise 'twixt our selues a chastitie,
To whose sublimitie none can come neare,
Vpon the sudden.

Mar.
What is this I heare?
Must chastitie be violated, and
Then after learnd?

Pam.
What else? (Pray vnderstand)
As when by drinking of a lesser draught,
We, by degrees, abstemiousnesse are taught:
In this affaire with vs so stands the state.
Which of the two hold you more temperate;
He at a full and furnisht table plac't,
And of no tempting delicate will tast;
Than he, remov'd from all that might accite,
Or any way prouoke his appetite?

Mar.
I hold him of a temp'rance far more great,
Who, when beset with dainties, will not eat.

Pam.
In case of Chastitie which stand you for?
Him that hath made himselfe an Eunuch; or
One that is able bodied, strong, and sound,
And yet in whom there's no intemperance found?

Mar.
Vpon the last I dare bestow the Bayes;
On the first, madnesse, and no other praise.

Pam.
All such as by the strictnesse of their Vow,
No matrimoniall Contract will allow,
What do they else but gueld themselues?

Mar.
You say't.

Pam.
It is not vertue, not to copulate.

Mar.
How is it not?

Pam.
Obserue me: If it were
A vertue in it selfe, not to cohere;
It must be then a vice to hauecongresse.
But that to be most lawfull we may guesse,
By mutuall consocietie. Againe,
Marriage is honorable.

Mar.
Make it more plaine,
Why you infer this?

Pam.
Since so oft it falls:
As, to the louing wife the husband calls
For due benevolence; it only beeing
For issues sake.

Mar.
But say there's disagreeing,
When it proceeds from wantonnesse and lust;
Then, to deny him, is't not right and iust?

Pam.
Rather admonish and intreat him faire;
That you may do: howeuer, bound you are
To yeeld to him, beeing instant. In that straine
Scarce heare I husbands of their wives complaine.

Mar.
But libertie is sweet.

Pam.
Yet further heare;
Virginitie 's a weighty load to beare.
But I thy King, and thou my Queen shalt bee;
Wee'l rule and reigne in our owne family:
Can that appeare to thee a servitude?

Mar.
But I haue oft heard marriage, by the rude
And Vulgar, calld an Halter that fast ties.

Pam.
All those that sacred mariage so despise,
Are of an halter worthy. This decide:
Is not thy Minde vnto thy Body ty'de?

Mar.
It seemes to be so.

Pam.
Even iust as you see
A Bird incage'd; whom aske to be set free,
He will deny 't: and wherefore? Can you tell?
Because her bondage doth content her well.

Mar.
Our means are but indifferent.

Pam.
Therefore more
Safe. The best way then to encrease our store,
Is your good houswifery at home, whilst I
Abroad will vse my vtmost industry.

Mar.
But many children still bring many cares.

Pam.
And many pleasures too: I haue knowne heires,
For all the troubles and vncessant feares,
The cost and charge that in their tender yeares
They haue put their parents to; being growne men,
Haue payd them backe with double vse agen.

Mar.
A miserable thing it were, I vow,
To haue had children, then to lose them.

Pam.
Now,
Are you not childelesse? But at no good rate,
Of doubtfull things thus ill you ominate.
Which wish you rather to your lot might fall,
Be borne to die, or not be borne at all?

Mar.
Why of the two, borne (as I am) to die.

Pam.
So much more wretched is that Orbitie
And deprivation, which yet never had,
Or euer shall haue issue; (to make glad)
As they more happy are, borne to the earth,
Than they, nor borne, nor euer to haue birth.

Mar.
But who are they that are not, nor shall be?
Nay heare me yet a little further: He
Who humane frailties shall refuse to beare,
(To which even all men while they sojourne here,
Are equally obnoxious; keepe the State,
Or be they low degreed) must yeeld to Fate.
But as for thee, let come what can betide;
For thou shalt beare but halfe, I will divide
The burthen with thee: nay, the greater share
I'le cast on myne owne shoulders, (in my care)
But so, that in each joyfull accident
Doubled shall be thy pleasure in th'event.
If ought disastrous; my societie may
Take (of the griefe) the greatest part away:
And for your selfe (did but the Fates so please)
I wish on me no greater joy might sease,
Nor would I further happinesse desire,
Than in thy sweet embraces to expire.

M.
That which by Natures common course doth chance,
You men disgest with easiest countenance.
But I see with some parents how it fares,
In whom their childrens manners breed more cares,
Than can their deaths.

Pam.
But please you be content,
It lies in vs that danger to prevent.

Mar.
As how?

Pam.
I'le make it plaine; because we see
Neuer bad Fruit proceed from a good Tree,
As touching the condition, Nor is 't read,
That ravenous Kytes of gentle Doves are bred.
Let vs first study goodnesse; then provide,
That from the milke we may their youth so guide,
By holy precepts and good admonitions,
That we may rectifie their bad conditions:
'Tis of great consequence, what is infus'd
Into a Vessell when it first is vs'd.
Adde to the rest, in our domesticke state,
Examples, such as they may imitate.

Mar.
'Tis hard you speake.

Pam.
No wonder, because faire;
And that's some reason why so hard you are.
But the more difficult it seemes to be,
'Twill aske from vs the greater industry.

Mar.
Me of a pliant mettall you shall finde;
See then you cast and shape me to your minde.

Pam.
Pronounce three words in th' interim.

Mar.
'Twere small paine;
But words once past, fly neuer backe againe.
I'le giue you counsell, and consider of it,
Which may no doubt redownd to both our profit.
Solicite you our parents to this match,
They once agreed, we would make quicke dispatch.

Pam.
You would haue me, the bush to beat about,
When in three words you may resolue this doubt.

Mar.
Whether I can, is yet to me vnknowne,
Because I am my parents, not myne owne:
Neither did Contracts in times past proceed,
Vnlesse by th'Elders they were first agreed.
But howsoever, I presume, 'twixt us
This match will proue the more auspitious,
Lesse casuall too, to both, and much more sweet.
If by our parents free consents we meet.
To move them in't, your office 'tis, you know,
Because in me it comely would not show:
Virginitie loves to be forc't; maids still,
What they giue freely, grant against their will.

Pam.
Before I moue them, shall I thus indent;
May I presume I haue your free consent?

Mar.
Thou hast, my Pamphilus, then be of cheare.

Pam.
Y'are now to me religiously deare.

Mar.
But your owne voice I'de wish you stil suspend,
And e're begin, consider first the end.
Do not Affection vnto Counsell call,
But summon Reason, which should governe all:
For what Affection swayes is apt to vary,
And is (indeed) no more than temporarie:
But that which Reason dictates, be thou sure,
Is permanent, and euer shall endure.

Pam.
How sweetly play you the Philosopher?
And I shall no way from your counsels err.

Mar.
It shall not much repent you. But againe,
There is one doubt that much distracts my braine.

Pam.
Now let all scruples vanish.

Mar.
Is't your will
I marry to a dead man?

Pam.
I live still,
Reviv'd by you.

Mar.
The scruple is remov'd;
And now at length, farewell my best Belov'd.

Pam.
Be that your care.

Mar.
I wish you a glad night.
Whence came that deepe suspire?

Pam.
From no affright.
A glad night did you say? Now as I live,
What you last wisht, would you had will to giue.

Mar.
It is not fit that too much haste be made,
For yet you see your harvest's in the blade.

Pam.
Shall I beare nothing from you?

Mar.
This sweet-Ball,
Take it to cheare your heart.

Pam.
A kisse withall.

Mar.
By no meanes, since to bring thee, I desire,
A chastitie vnblemisht and intire.

Pam.
Can that detract from modestie?

Mar.
Desist:
Or would you I by others should be kist?

Pam.
Reserue them then, as these you solely owe
To me and to my use.

Mar.
I'le keepe them so:
Yet I could tell you of another cause
Wherefore I dare not kisse.

Pam.
Speake't without pause.

Mar.
You say, your whole soule, or the greater part
Is fled into my body; and your heart
Empty'd of vitall heate, (or little there
Remaining still) it therefore is my feare,
Lest by a kisse, the little which is left,
I drawing, you be quite of life bereft.
But take this hand, symbole of that affection
Which mutually confirmes our free election.
So once againe farewell: be for my sake
Carefull (I intreat) in that you undertake.
Mean time I'le pray, what yet remaines vndone,
May in a faire and prosp'rous course be run.

[The Dialogue of Ravisius Textor, called Earth and Age]

The Argument of the Dialogue betwixt Earth and Age.

In Earth and Age is to the life exprest,
How bad all Men are, when they are at best:
How fraile, how fading, and in their great'st glory
Unsettled, wretched, vaine, and transitory.
It shewes all Learning, Beauty, Youth, and Strength,
All Pompe, all Wealth to nothing comes at length:
No Statue, Structure, Trophee, so sublime,
Which is not quite lost and defac' t by Time.
O who can then our common

Earth.

Parent blame,
Since all things she produceth that haue name,
As they haue birth from her still-teeming wombe,
So the same place is likewise made their tombe.
No wonder then her griefe so far exceeds,
Since she is forc't to bury all she breeds.

The Dialogue.

Earth.
What's he so many tongues can me allow,
As he had eies who watcht the

Meaning Io transformed into a Cow, by Iupiter (who had before stuprated her) to conceale her from the jealousie of his wife Iuno: the whole story you may read in the Dialogue intituled Iupiter and Io: shee lived in the yeare of the world 2200. according to Hel.

Pharian Cow?
So many mouthes to me who's he can give,
As Fame reports the

The Sibils were in number ten. Persica, Libyca, Delphica, Erithræa, Samia, Hellespontiaca, Tiburtina, Albinœca, Cumæa, Cumana: of these you may read Varro, Gellius, Augustin, Suidas, and Lactantius. And of the long life of Cumana, Virgil in his Æneids.

Sybels yeares did live?
Had I as many words my thoughts to expresse,
As (by th'

Ascræan, so titled from Ascra a Towne in Boetia, neare unto the mount Helicon, where the famous Poet Hesiod was borne, from which place hee had the sirname Ascræus.

Ascræan Poet) we may guesse,
The antient gods liv'd dayes? Had I beside,
As many brasen throats open and wide,
As Xerxes shot darts, (after fight begun)
Whose number from the earth shadow'd the Sun?
So many rivulets of teares what's hee
Can to myne eyes infuse, as was by thee
Cyrus (if we may trust antiquity)
Let into Ganges drops, thereby to breed
Dry waste vnto that

King Cyrus, because he had a Steed whom he much loved, drowned in the river Ganges: to be revenged therof, caused so many currents to bee cut, that hee dryed the Channell.

Channell drown'd his steed?
Who can my clamorous words supply with sorrow?
So many deepe suspires where shall I borrow;
As Valiant Roman Spirits (scorning to yeeld)
fell in one fatall day at

It hath reference to the great battaile fought by Hannibal against the Romanes neare unto the Village Cannas, where he slew 80. thousand in that one conflict: from thence the people of Italy are call'd Cannenses.

Canna's field?
O my great griefe, which in the height appeares,
Not to be calm'd with words, nor washt with teares.

Age.
Of the gods high straine.
What, or whence are you, that so loud exclaime?

Earth.
Earth, Parent of all things.

Age.
Why weepe you?

Earth.
Why?
Haue I not just cause? (who so great as I?
Being a Mother) in this wretched state,
To see my Sons hourely snatcht hence by Fate,

Age.
You haue iust cause to doo't.

Earth.
I pray what lesse
Perceiue you in the vntam'd Lionesse,
When she but one whelp misseth from her den?

Age.
She mournes.

Earth.
What of the ravenous Tygre then,
To lose her yong she tender'd with such care?

Age.
She grieves and raves.

Earth.
How doth the poore Hen fare,
Clocking amidst her brood, when in her sight
One Chicken is snatcht from her by the Kite?

Age.
She sorrowes.

Earth.
What doth the fleece-bearing Dam,
When 'fore her face the Wolfe deuours her Lamb?

Age.
Laments.

Earth.
Doth not the Cow with bellowing teare
The aire, to finde her Calfe spoyld by the Beare?

Age.
Alas she lowes.

Earth.
What doth the Sow, to spy
Out any of her Pigs stolne from her stie?

Age.
She calls loud after.

Earth.
O then what should I?
If whatsoever I produce or cherish,
Procreate or beare, I see before me perish?
Is it not wondrous, Forrests should at length
Bide putrifaction, rot, and lose their strength?
The shadowie tree Time of her beauty 'reaves,
Despoiling her both of her fruit and leaves.

Age.
'Tis wondrous I confesse, but so 't must bee.

Earth.
What is it then, that I behold and see
The brazen statues of the gods decay,
The monuments of Princes turne to clay;
Mighty

Collossæ vel Colossis, was a towne of Phrygia, neare unto Laodicea, which was demolisht by an earth-quake in the time of Nero.

Colossi, Temples deckt with Vaines,
Supported with rich Columnes (by the braines
Of the best Architects) made wide and large,
With spacious arches, sacred, in the charge
Of many a golden Relique: these to fall,
And in a few short seasons perish all.

Age.
So it hath pleas'd the gods.

Earth.
The gods are then
Too cruell and austere to vs and men;
Since whatsoeuer the Earths fertile wombe
Brings forth to aire, and in the world to have roome;
Whatever in her bosome she hath ta'ne
To feed and foster: what doth now remaine,
Or shall hereafter be? That all these must
Needs be involv'd in rottennesse and dust.

Age.
'Tis fit.

Earth.
O anguish never to abate,
Or have cessation!

Age.
So the gods will ha't.

Earth.
Then, as I said before, th'are too severe,
And mercilesly in this kinde austere.
Is't not enough strong walls are beaten downe,
And lofty turrets level'd with the ground;
Cities are sackt, to ruine made a pray,
The famous statues of the gods decay;
That rust the iron doth consume and waste,
And pleasant Orchards of corruption taste;
But Man must perish too, and cannot shun
Times fearefull havocke, but to ruine run?

Age.
The Fates so will.

Earth.
What pitty can there be
Ascrib'd to any pow'rfull deity?
But what art thou? What goddesse? or how styl'd?

Age.
Age I am call'd.

Earth.
Hence false Virago, vyld
Infernall Fury; for 'tis thou alone
Bringst all my Issue to confusion:
Swift feather-footed Time and ravenous Age
Devour all things in their remorselesse rage.

Age.
What's sublunarie, Fate will haue to fall.

Earth.
Say Tyrannesse, thou Age, consuming all,
Where be those high Pyramides so fam'd,
By which the barbarous

Memphis was built by King Ogdous, and tooke name of his daughter (so called) it is a great and spacious City in Egypt, famous for the Pyramides and stately sepulchers of King there set up: it is at this day called Alcayrum, or Grand-Cayre.

Memphis first was nam'd,
Rear'd by so many workmens sweat and toile?

Age.
As all things else, even these have suffer'd spoile.

Earth.
Where 's Pharos Isle? the Sepulchre renownd
Of King

Mausolus, was King of Caria, to whose memory his wife Artimesia reared a most sumptuous Tombe which was reckoned one of the seven wonders of the world, this Monument was reared in the yeare of the world 3590.

Mausolus? where's the Image crownd
Of chast

It hath reference to the stately Temple of Diana in the City of Ephesus: which was afterwards maliciously burnt downe by Herostratus.

Diana? Strumpet tell me.

Age.
Gone.

Earth.
Where's the

Tarpeian alludeth to Tarpeia, a Vestall virgin in Rome, who covenanting with the Sabines their enemies, to betray the Capitoll, for the bracelets they wore on their left armes, when they entred the City, and she stood ready to receive that which she had contracted for, in stead of their bracelets, they cast their Targets upon her, by which she was smothered and pressed to death: this happened in the yeare of the world 3205. The Tarpeian Mount was so called because she was there buried, and Iupiter was sirnamed Tarpeius, because there worshipped.

Tarpeian Masse, a structure none
More famous? where's the hundred gated Towne
Calld Thebes? or strong immur'd Babylon?
Where's populous Ninive? what's Romes sublime
Vast Theatre by Cæsar built? by Time
Confounded all; where's the Colosse of Rhods?

Age.
Their ruins all were foreseen by the gods.

Earth.
What's Troy? old Sparta? or Corinthus hye?
What's Solomons Temple, Harlot?

Age.
All these lye
In darke oblivion buried; and in vaine
You fret, chide, wrangle, and perplex your braine,
Deare Mother Earth; weepe riuers from thine eies,
With clamors cleave thy jawes, make thy lungs rise,
Consume thy marrow, breake thy backe, and teare
Thy intrals out; the Fates are so severe,
Thou canst not breake their order, their strict lawes
Inviolate are, and will admit no clause:
For them the mightiest Kings cannot oppose,
The Souldiers shield hath no defence 'gainst those;
The rich mans purse, the learning of the Wise,
No nor the Poets Verse (let that suffice.)

Earth.
If then with such ferocitie they bee
So deeply incenst; and that the gods agree
In such inclemencie: advise me how
I shall demeane me?

Age.
You of force must bow
To their eternall doome, though you complaine,
Grieve, sorrow, and lament, all is but vaine.

Earth.
I will not therefore.

Age.
Your best is to advise
Man to leave th'earth, and looke vp to the skies:
To put no confidence in Mundane Glory,
Which (like himselfe) is meerly transitory.
Not to grow proud of Beauty, Wisdome, Wealth,
Nor of his Strength, since Age by silent stealth
Will rifle him of all. To him relate,
Of far fam'd men the most vnhappy state.

Earth.
Your consolable words have given reliefe
To my suspence, and now exil'd all griefe.

Age.
That's all.

Earth.
I will obey. Man, answer me.

Man.
Who's that?

Earth.
Thy Mother.

Man.
Mine? It cannot be.

Earth.
Thy mother Earth.

Man.
Deare mother then All haile;
What seeke you?

Earth.
I lament.

Man.
Can teares prevaile?
Deare Parent cease to grieve: lies it in mee
To give least ease to your calamity?

Earth.
No, Sonne.

Man.
Why mourne you?

Earth.
Have not all things birth
From me thy wretched and sad mother Earth?

Man.
I know it well.

Earth.
Dost thou not see how I
Give to the woods production as they lie?
Sap to the Trees, Increase vnto the Graine;
Hug in my fertile bosome stones? Againe,
Afford the Vine Grapes, and the tough Oke Mast;
Food to the Fish, and to the Birds repast:
'Tis I that to th' embroider'd medowes yeeld
Hay, to the Gardens Floures, Grasse to the Field:
And last, as to the best of all my brood,
Birth unto Man; and after bearing food.

Man.
I do confesse it, Mother.

Earth.
I much lament,
Deare Childe, and from hence growes my discontent,
That hauing such a fertile wombe, so free,
And ever-teeming; only that by mee
So many shapes and bodies hourely grow,
So firme in substance, and so faire in show,
That nothing can her ravenous throat asswage,
But all must die and be consum'd by Age:
She ruines Forrests, the hard marble weares,
Frets iron, wasts Palaces, strong bulwarks teares,
Spoiles Camps, doth Citadels demolish quite;
Even the gods sacred statues takes from sight.
She not high consecrated Temples spares,
But that which teares and torments to my cares
Still addes, That Man she ruthlesly deuoures,
And makes him perish at vncertaine houres:
Therefore beware, my sweetest Childe, take heed,
Lest tympanous pride within thy bosome breed,
Of this beware, my sonne.

Man.
Mother I shall.

Earth.
Then first, lest warlike glory thee assaile,
And make thee to forget thou art but Dust;
Heare vnto what the god-like Heroes trust,
Whom Age hath worne out of all memorie.

Hector.
Lest any in his potencie rely,
Or in his militarie armes take pride,
Or powerfull skill in

By Getick weapons are meant these which the Getæ used, a people of Scythia in Europe, Ælius Spartan. From them derives the Nation of the Goths, who after conquered Italy and Rome.

Geticke weapons tryde,
Let him consider me, puissant indeed,
Hector, the strongest of all Priams Seed,
Potent in battell, and whilst I did stand,
Ilium was safe, secur'd by sea and land:
(In borrow'd armes) 'twas I Patroclus slew;
Before me, Legions of the Grecians flew,
When I came arm'd in fury: Troy opprest
With ten yeares siege, I garded with this brest.
I whom alone Achilles quak't to see,
Have yeelded vnto Fate, and vnto thee
Andromache (a widow) left my sonne.
Thus Age ends all things an the earth begun.

Achilles.
The Trojans terror, Great Achilles, I
In sinewie strength excelling, and thereby
Famous of old, the only hope and stay
Of the Greeke Heroes, who alone made way
Through all the Dardan host. 'Twas I alone
Was dreaded in the field, and but me none.
Alone of far-fam'd Hector was I fear'd,
And Priam quak't when he my name but heard:
Able my nerves, and matchlesse might my grace,
In body mighty, terrible my face,
Big shoulderd and broad brested, sterne my brow;
Yet to

By Minerva's Altar, is intended that which stood in the Temple of Pallas within the City of Troy, where Achilles at his marriage to Polyxena daughter to King Priam and Hecuba was slaine by Paris.

Minerva's Altar as I bow,
Paris behinde me steales, and with his dart
Wounds me i'th heele, which rankles to my heart.
And thus the Valiant perish, and thus Age
All things consumes in her devouring rage.

Alexander.
What's life but frailtie, bubble, or a blast,
A cloud, a smoke, no sooner seene than past?
Yeares, like a ball, are voluble, and run;
Houres, like false Vowes, no sooner spoke than done:
Time quickly wasteth by vnwary dayes,
Nothing can bribe the Sisters to delayes.
The horrid sword of Death whoso would fly,
Let him but looke into myne age, how I
Am gon and spent; I that was calld and knowne
By name of Alexander Macedon:
Whose fame hath from the Suns vprise been heard
Beyond the place Ioves Sonne his pillars reard.
Through Hespery and all the Easterne lands
Have I been fam'd, whom none (oppos'd) withstands.
The populous city Thebes my arme o'rethrew,
I many thousand Persian souldiers slew;
Phœnicians, Ciclicks, Paphlagonians, all
My sword subdu'd: thrice did Darius fall
Beneath my potencie: great Babylon,
Mighty in walls, I sieg'd, and seised on.
And after, golden-wav'd Hidaspes past;
Porus (foure cubits high) I queld at last,
Whom, conquer'd, I set free. This done, I then
From India saild, to Babylon agen.
Returning, I fell sicke, soone after dyde;
Thus Time and ravenous Age shall all things hide.

Sampson.
Let Fame, th' admirer of all Ancestrie,
And such as are renown'd for Chivalrie,
Here shew her selfe, and in her shape divine;
Surveigh all places where the Sun doth shine,
In which large progresse let her see the head
Of flowing Nile: or say that she be fled
Vnto the Sun-burnt

They were called Garamantes of Garamus, a King of Lybia, who built a City there, which he called after his owne name: their Country lyeth along by the banke of Numidia, in a tract of ground from the Atlanticke Ocean, by the river Nilus. They were held in old time to be the farthest people Southward.

Garamanti, there
To enquire newes, or what she else can heare
From the Numidians or remoat estates
Of (the oft-shifting place) the

The Sauromat's are a Septentrionall Nation which some Authors, as Ortelius and Scaliger held to be the inhabitants of Russia and Tartaria.

Sanzonats.
Search Thetis Empire through, or further go
To what the fabricke of the world can show,
She shall not finde that mortall wight that dare
With me in nerves or strength of armes compare,
I am the mighty Sampson, famous yet,
To whom for strength Alcides would submit:
To strangle Lions was no more than play,
Or to out-run swift Tygres on the way.
What though I with the jaw-bone of an asse
A thousand slew, and through their army passe?
What though the city gates I rend and teare,
And (after) them vpon my shoulders beare?
Yet notwithstanding my great power and strength,
I yeeld to death, Age swallowes all at length.

Earth.
Know now my Son, that such most happy are,
Whom others harmes can teach how to beware.
See, whatsoeuer I produce or bring,
Nurse or giue fostring to, even every thing
Devouring Age consumes. Dost thou not see
Renowned Hector yeeld to Destinie?
How great Achilles, after wars rough stormes,
Despoil'd of life, to be the food for wormes?
Sampson and Alexander in their prime,
Though strong, yet they both perisht: This can Time.
Now lest faire Feature should in thee breed pride,
Natures indowments, or ought else beside;
See women next, in face and forme excelling,
Swallow'd in dust; all Beauty Age expelling.

Hellen.
O you blind men, with feminine shape oretaken,
Whose amorous hearts are with their culture shaken,
Now do I finde too late, and grieve to thinke,
All mortall beauty must in Lethe sinke.
We kembe these haires, and trim them vp in gold.
(Our curled tresses with rich gems inrol'd)
Our fronts we burnish, and there cannot passe
One blemish, but corrected by the glasse.
By art we adorne our heads, and by art wee
Dispose the face and haire; by art we see.
And yet these haires, this head, these eies, this face,
Vanish like moving waves which flote apace.
Behold! I that was faire, am wormes meat made,
My flesh corrupt, and buried in the shade.
Behold (I say) that Grecian Hellen, shee
Rap't, Menelaus, in her prime from thee:
Me

Helena was in her Nonage first rap't by Theseus before her mariage to Menelaus King of Sparta, and after by Paris ravisht, and carried to Troy.

Theseus ravisht first, and left me so,
That saving kisses I did nothing know.
False Paris last (by Fate or Fury led)
Hosting with me, made stealth into my bed:
Foole that he was, he little then did know,
This snare for me was Troys sad overthrow.
This putrified Coarse by him so bought,
was after by a thousand ships re-sought.
O Greece, what preparation didst thou make,
To fetch that flesh which now the wormes forsake?
What broiles? what strage? what slaughter to destroy,
Did this loath'd carkasse breed 'twixt Greece and Troy?
Became it thee, friend Paris, to forsake
Thy houshold gods, and such a journey take,
To hazard seas, only to fetch away
From Greece this rottennesse, this putrid Clay?
And you the

Atrides, were the two brothers, Agamemnon and Menelaus, so called from their father Atreus.

Atrides, would you saile so far,
And for this dust maintaine a ten yeares war?
That this vile earth, this stench you might returne,
To close these ashes in my fathers urne?

Lais.
If any fables haue bin sung in praise
Of Prostitutes, what fame their shapes could raise;
I the Corinthian Lais, choice and best,
Haue been the crowne and grace to all the rest.
My chin the Ivorie stain'd, Lillies my brow,
To match myne eies the world then knew not how:
My necke was long and straight, and my veins blew,
Soft lips, in my cleare cheekes fresh roses grew;
My nose was neither crooked, long, nor flat,
My visage it became, it graced that:
My wanton paps like two round hillocks grow,
From which moist springs two milky rivers flow,
My belly comely sweld, for it became
Like a plumpe Peacocks, soft as the yong lambe:
My stomacke like the temperat Turtles feeding;
Modest my dyet, and no surfets breeding;
My armes much whiter than the Lillies shwoing,
Or floures,

Alcinous was King of the Phœacians, and lived in Corcyra, who much delighted in Orchards and Gardens.

Alcinous, in thy garden growing.
Who that my leg did looke on, but did thinke
He burnt in flames, or in the seas did sinke?
Or who my backe parts did behold, but sed,
O that I were a flea in Lais bed.
Or who my foot, but wisht himselfe a stone,
With vpward eies for me to tread vpon.
And yet this face, these cheeks, these lips, these eies,
This necke, these haires, these temples, legs and thighes,
This stomacke, belly, backe, armes, hands, and feet
Are wormes meat now, and with corruption meet.
Learne yong man then, that which we trust in most
Is dust and filth; in Age are all things lost.

Thisbe.
The Babylonian Thisbe is my name,
Noble my birth, my beauty great in fame;
No lovely Maid that had in th' Orient place,
But with much envy gaz'd me in the face.
Inraged Iove I with a smile could please,
Or pull his threatning thunder backe with ease.
Iuno her selfe of me hath jealous bin,
And fear'd lest Iove in Babylon would sin.
The white

The Swans are cald Caistrian birds, from the river Caister, where they are said to breed in great number.

Caistrian Bird to me did yeeld,
And to my blush the Roses of the field.
Yet not this feature, not this front or face,
Nor these myne eyes, to which the stars gave place,
Could ransome me from the wormes fearefull rage,
Or the rude phangs of all-devouring Age.

Lucretia.
Who the divining Sybels shall commend,
Or thee,

Penelope the wife of Vlysses, famous for her beauty and constancy.

Penelope, and not offend?
Of

Dido was otherwise called Elisa, the daughter of Belus King of Tyre, and espoused to Sychæus, one of Hercules Priests, whom her brother Pigmalion slue for his wealth, she after built the famous Citty Carthage, and in the end (as Virgil relates) kild herselfe for the love of Æneas.

Dido's feature who shall smoothly write?
Or the

Leucades two beautifull sisters, rapt by the two famous brothers Castor and Pollux, the sonnes of Læda the mother of Helen, who was comprest by Iupiter.

Leucadian sisters beauty cite?
Behold me Lucrece, softer than the downe,
Or the swans brest, and whiter: who was knowne
More tractable than wax; fresh as the aire,
Softer my skin than the ripe Melons are.
With this faire body I the wormes haue fed,
And a small urne containes me being dead.
These paps, that

Cato, for his austerity cald Censorius.

Cato the Severe would turne,
Or chaste

Hippolitus, the sonne of Theseus and Hyppolita the Amazon, who when his father was abroad, his stepmother Phædra sollicited him to incestuou love, which he refusing, she accused him to his father that he would have forced her, but when hee perceived him to give credit to her false information, he tooke his Chariot and horses to flie his fury, but by the way his steeds being frighted with Sea-calves, ran with him to the mountaines, and dashed the Coach in pieces, and him also, he lived in the yeare of the world, 2743.

Hippolitus in ardor burne.
This pretious flesh, this shape is chang'd to dust
And putrifaction, to which all may trust.
Nothing the earth brings forth, but Age can wast,
One and the same fate meets with all at last.

Earth.
Considerthen, my Sonne, these shapes you haue,
Splendor nor feature, ransoms from the Grave:
That all things suffer change, necke, brest, and throat,
Lips, cheeks, brow, stomacke, all on which we doat,
Convert to ashes. Yet lest thou be won,
Thinking to scape by other gifts; my son
Attend with prepar'd eares, heare what the Learnd,
The Rich and others have 'tofore discernd;
These and the rest haue the same accent sung:
Now whilst they speake, thou still suppresse thy tongue.

Virgil.
If Learning from himselfe shall man divide,
And make him like the Peacocke strut with pride,
He offends in madnesse, sencelesly is vaine.
Behold, I Virgil, of the learned straine,
Of Poets Prince, their glory and their grace,
To whom Apollo did afford prime place;
Me the most sacred Muses favor'd still,
For me the

The Driades were Nymphæ, or Sylvarum Deæ, that is Wood-fayries or Druides.

Driades their laps would fill
With various floures, and the Napæe bring
Chaplets of Bayes to crowne me when I sing.
To th' Palaces of Emperors accited,
And to the banquets of great Kings invited:
And yet I dy'de. What profit did it breed,
That I first taught the wanton Goats to feed,
To till, to sow and reape; or be fam'd far
For the rude slaughters of a ten yeares war?
Yet was I food for wormes. What's Poesie then?
Instable Age ends what she will, and when.

Xerxes.
Lest opulencie should elate man high,
And make him set his face against the skie,
Trust to his youth, or what his riches brings,
Behold me Xerxes, mightiest of all Kings,
And most magnipotent, I that haue bin
Possest of such an infinite Magozin
Of gold and treasure, so immense a store,
As neuer Persian King enjoyd before;
That when my pride toward Grecia 'gan to aspire,
Gave to so many souldiers food and hire;
So many legions from the Orient brought,
That in the first great battell which we fought,
Such store of shafts and darts my campe did yeeld,
As kept the Suns bright lustre from the field:
So many ships of mine the Ocean swayd,
As made astonisht Neptune fly, afraid,
And hide him in his Deeps. What's plenty then?
Or what doth Pompe or Greatnesse profit men?
We vanish all like shadowes: and even thus
Dy'de

Crœsus a rich King of Lydia.

Crœsus,

Crassus surnamed Marcus, the richest man amongst the Romanes, who held no man worthy to be cald rich, who could not within his yearely revenue maintaine an Army: hee was extremely covetous, and managed warre against the Parthians, by whom, both hee and thirty thousand Romanes were slaine, and because the barbarous enemy conjectured that hee made an assault upon them for their gold: therefore they melted a great quantity, and powred it into his dead body, to sate him with that, with which in his life time; hee could never be satisfied. He lived in the yeare of Romes foundation 693. and before the Incarnation 57.

Crassus,

Midas, a rich King of Phrygia who asked of Bacchus whom he feasted, that whatsoever he touched might be turned into gold, &c. He lived in the yeare of the world 2648. about the time that Debora judged Israel.

Midas,

Priam King of Troy potent in wealth, and strength, but after slaine, and his Citty utterly subverted by the Grecians.

Priamus,

Pigmalion, an avaritious King (before spoken of) brother to Queene Dido.

Pigmalion, whom both Age and Death constraines
To walke with Xerxes in th' Elysian plaines.

Nero.
If any aire to Tyrants breathing gives;
If any

Catiline, a seditious Conspiratour of Rome whose plots were brought to light by Marc Cicero then Consull of Rome with Antonius.

Catiline or

Marius, one that was seven times Consull of Rome, and after much pestered the Citty, by the division betwixt him and Sylla: He lived the yeare before the Incarnation 65.

Marius lives;
Or if there any sterne

Mezentius, was King of the Tyrenians, remembred by Virgil in his Æneids, to be a great contemner of the gods.

Mezentius be,
Contemner of the gods: these looke on me,
I the base sinke of sin, the ship of shame,
Quaffer of humane bloud, Nero, the same
Whose murthers have been bruted over all,
From the Suns uprise, to his Westerne fall:
Whose gluttonies and lusts Nilus knew plaine,
And

Calpe, is one of the hills in Spaine, called Hercules Pillars.

Calpes, to the farthest parts of Spaine.
To rip my mothers wombe was my desire:
Who knowes not too, I set great Rome on fire?
Who knowes not, that my fury did betray
The lives of Lucian and wise Seneca?
Who knowes not, that Saint Paul and Peter tryde
My sword, by which most of the Senat dy'de?
But what was then my miserable fate?
Prest by my feares, and by the peoples hate,
Scornd by each sex, abhorr'd in myne owne land,
Contemn'd of all, I fell by myne owne hand:
Thus Nero dy'de, thus none can Age withstand.

Sardanapal.
Lest soft effeminacie, lust, and abuse
Of Natures gifts, might pleade the least excuse;
I am that Sensuallist Sardanapal,
Who to my selfe thinking to ingrosse all
Voluptuousnesse, deckt in their womanish sutes,
I spent my time 'mongst common Prostitutes;
False periwigs vpon my head I wore,
And being man, the shape of woman bore.
Yet this ranke body a small urne containes;
To this we must, to this, Age all constraines.

Earth.
Son dost thou see how all things Age outweares?
How the Strong perish, with the prime in yeares?
How the Faire falls, and how the Learn'd decay?
And how the Rich consume and fade away?
How Tyrants dye? How death the Wanton tasts?
And, to conclude, how swift Time all things wasts?

Man.
What (Mother) shall I do? If I liue chast,
I am not therefore safe: or if I wast
My houres in Venus sports, I am not free:
If ever weepe, what shall become of me?
If ever sport, what profit can it bring?
And though I ever mourne, or ever sing,
All's one, for die I must. Since Death ends all,
Let my corrupted body die and fall
To dust, to earth or wormes, pleasure's my store,
Let me enioy that, I desire no more.

Earth.
Thus I conclude; Though mans life be vnstayd,
And as we see, by Custome hourely fade,
Even as the parched leaues by Autumne change
And fall to nothing; yet (which is most strange)
Of his owne fruit he is vnmindefull still,
And followes what proves to himselfe most ill.

[A Dialogue from Lucianus Samosatensis, called Misanthropos, or the Man-hater]

The Argument of the Dialogue intituled Misanthropos, or the Man-Hater.

This Dialogue of Riches doth entreat;
Of their true use: how they with lucre great
Are long acquir'd, and how soone lost. The cause
Of this Discourse is grounded from th' applause
Timon first had in Athens, where he sway'd,
For his wealths sake, being honor' d and obay' d.
Who after a most riotous expence,
Having consum' d his state, and growne to sence
Of Povertie; such as he rais' d he tries,
But findes them now his person to despise.
He seeing how base avarice did blinde
The world that time, in hate of all Mankinde,
So devious from Vertue, did propose
A new name to himselfe, Misanthropos;
Which gives this Tractat name. Th' Authors intent
Being to shew, how proud and insolent
Riches make men: and have it understood,
How they pursue the Bad, but fly the Good.
Reade and observe, this Dialogue affords
Much excellent matter, coucht up in few words.

The Dialogve.

Timon.

Iupiter.
What is he, so vociferously exclaimes,
O Mercury, and Vs so often names?
Hs tedious clamors in myne eares sound shrill
(Neere vnto Athens) from Himettus hill,
Iust at the mountaines foot, deject and sad,
Pale, meager, lame, and in a goats skin clad?
It seemes to me that delving is his trade,
His eies cast downe, he leanes vpon his spade:
'Tis a bold speaking fellow, confident too
In what he saith. After this sort to doo
Philosophers were wont, and they alone,
And 'tis a wonder but this fellow's one,
That dares against our deitie devise
Such impious and vnheard of blasphemies.

Mercury.
Do you not know him (Father) thus forlorne,
Son to Echicratides, in Collite borne;
Timon his name, with whom we both haue guested,
And in our annuall Sacreds often feasted:
He on the sudden with such plenty fill'd,
Who at the altars of the gods hath kild
Whole Hecatombs, and in his height of wealth
Hath quaft vnto vs many a gratefull health.

Iupiter.
Whence comes this sudden change? But is this he
The honest rich man that was knowne so free,
Whom Athens with her loud encomiums grac'd,
And such a multitude of friends embrac'd?
How happens it he is so poorely arrayd,
So miserably dejected and dismaid?
I guesse him by the spade on which he leanes,
Some painfull labourer that works for meanes.

Merc.
You see how his humanitie hath chang'd him,
And freenesse, from his dearest friends estrang'd him:
His mercy vnto others, being so kinde,
And then amongst so many not to finde
One gratefull, hath distraction in him bred,
Still to be living, but to them thought dead.
Considering next how he is scorn'd, derided,
And his revenue and estate divided,
Not amongst Crowes and Wolves, but worser far,
Ravenous and tearing vultures, who still are
Gnawing vpon his liver; those whom he
His friends and best familiars thought to be.
For they who now in his aboundance swim,
Were more delighted in his feasts than him:
Nay, those who at his table did applaud him;
When even unto the bare bones they had gnawne him,
They suckt his very marrow, and then fled;
So to the world gaue him both lost and dead:
Being so far, from miserie to free him,
They would not seeme to know him when they see him.
These brought him to this base despised trade,
And hurld him from the Scepter to the Spade;
Turn'd him out of his purple, here to sweat
And hardly earne his meat before he eat:
For which hee's so possest with mortall spleen
Against mankinde that so ingrate hath been;
Since whom his bounty rais'd and brought to fame,
Scarse now remember Timon had a name.

Iupiter.

Mercury.
O but much more availes it for a man
To stretch his throat with all the power he can,
To be obstreperous and heard from far;
I do not meane the balling at the Bar,
Loud railing for fat fees and gaine of gold;
But those like Timon, clamorous and bold,
Who in his Orisons hath been so shrill,
To make great Iove attentive 'gainst his will;
Who had he (smothering griefe) sate still and mute,
Might have long labor'd in a thred-bare sute.

Plutus.
To him, ô Iupiter, I will not go.

Iupiter.
Tell me, ô excellent Plutus, wherefore so?
Especially when thou by us art sent.

Plutus.
Because I have a fearefull president:
Me he with many injuries afflicted,
When I was wholly to his love adicted.
He shooke me off, as one that did deride me,
And into mamocks and small bits divide me,
Even cut me into pieces: would not sell me,
But being his domesticke friend expell me
With forks and prongs, as one insenc'd with ire,
Or casting from his hand hot coles of fire.
And shall I once again enter his dores,
To be consum'd on Sycophants and whores,
Flatterers and such? Send me, ô Iove, I entreat,
To some that vnderstand a gift so great,
Him that to incorporat and hug me strives,
Or such as prize me dearer than their lives.
This stupid fellow hath a covenant made
With Povertie, preferring a poore trade:
A mattocke and a skin-coat from her tooke,
Before my golden and all-tempting looke:
Who now with foure small halfe-pence can make shift,
And yet hath given ten talents at a gift.

Iupiter.

Plutus.

Iupiter.
Why fretst thou against those made to endure
Strange punishments for sinnes blacke and impure?
Or wherefore art thou at such slaves astonisht,
Who in themselves seest their owne vices punisht:
The one like

Tantalus, was the sonne of Iupiter and Plota, the Nymph, grandfather to Agamemnon, and Menelaus, who entertaining certaine of the gods at a banquet, to make tryall of their divinity, killed, dressed, and served his son Pelops at the feast; which fact, the gods after they had discovered, so abhorr'd, that for the loathsome banquet he made them, they provided him another as distastfull, for being confined to hell, they set him in water up to the chin, and ripe Apples above his head touching his lips, yet gave him not power to stoope to the one to quench his thirst, nor reach to the other, to satisfie his hungry appetite. But for Pelops his sonne, so miserably massacred, Iupiter revived him, and for his shoulder which Ceres unadvisedly had eaten up, he made him one of Ivory; who after this went and sojourned with Oenomaus the father of Meleager, and Deianira, which as Helv. reports, was about the yeare of the world 2650.

Tantalus, in sight of meat,
And alwaies gaping, but forbid to eat:
With such dry chaps they gape vpon their gold,
Not with that sated which they still behold.
The other, though they have it in their pawes,
Ready to glut themselves; from their starv'd jawes
The Harpies snatch it, as from

Phineus, was a King of Arcadia, and the Harpiæ were the daughters of Pontus and Terra, dwelling in Ilands, partly by Sea, partly by land, so called, â rapiendo, or ravening: they are feigned to be fowles, with faces like virgins, and hands like tallons or clawes. Some call them Iupiters dogs: and these, whatsoever the forenamed King provided to eate, snatcht from his table, and greedily devoured: they were after destroyed by Hercules.

Phineus, spoiling
Those dainties for which he so long was toiling,
Go thou from Vs to Timon without feare,
To whom (no doubt) thou wilt be henceforth deare.

Plutus.
But thinke you thatat leng th he will forbeare
To poure me into leaking vessels, where
Though with great labor you maintaine it still,
The liquor runs out faster than you fill;
Sooner exhausting me, to draw me dry,
Than I my selfe can with my selfe supply:
He fearing when I shall with plenty crowne him,
I haue but meerly laid a plot to drowne him.
I shall be as in

Danaus daughters: This Danaus was a King of the Argives, and dwelt in the City Argus. He called the Country, formerly called Achaia, Danaæ, and the generall Nation of the Grecians, Danai. He had fifty daughters, whom he caused to slay in one night the fifty sons of his brother Ægyptus, to whom they were wedded, for whch they were punished by the gods with a perpetual I torment, namely that with bottomlesse pales, they were to fill a tunne without a bottome. They lived in the yeare of the world, 2510.

Danaus daughters tunnes,
No sooner ought pour'd in, but out it runnes;
So many holes being in the bottom drild,
That it draines faster than it can be fild.

Iupiter.
But though the liquor through the vessel breaks,
And that he hath no will to stop these leaks,
But by perpetuall dropping and effusion,
All must of force be wasted in conclusion:
Yet 'mongst the lees and dregs no doubt hee'l finde
His leathern pelt and spade still left behinde.
Go you mean time and see the man possest
Of treasure in aboundance, and the best.
That done, ô Hermes, call at Ætna, where
The

Cyclopes, they were so called because they had but one eye, and that was orbicular and round, they were Vulcans ministers, and forg'd or fram'd his thunder-bolts, there are three amongst them themost eminent, according to the Poets, namely, Brontis, Sterope, and Pirachmon, they were mighty great men, and called Giants, &c.

Cyclops are at worke, and (dost thou heare?)
Bid them repaire to me at my first sending,
For tell them that my three tynd bolt wants mending,
Both edge and point is dull'd and in my spleene
I now must have it sharpen'd and made keene.

Merc.
Plutus let's walke. But stay (thou of such fame)
Tell me how on the sudden cam'st thou lame?
What, and blinde too?

Plutus.
These imperfections lye
Not alwaies, Hermes, in my foot or eye;
Only at some set times. For being sent
By Iove, I am thus lame incontinent,
I know not by what means compeld vntoo't,
But instantly I halt on either foot,
And ere the place before me reach I can,
I am growne a lame decrepit weake old man.
But if I be to part from such, I fly
Swifter than birds make way beneath the sky;
No bars can stop me, furlongs are no more
To me, than narrow strides, I strip before
The windes swift wings, and can deceiue the eye
With my unparaleld velocitie:
Nay even the publique Criers have agreed
To crowne me Victor for my pace and speed.

Merc.
I now perceive thou Plutus idlely pratest,
Since all things are not true that thou relatest:
How many have I knowne but yesterday
Ready to hang themselues, that could not pay
One single halfpenny downe vpon the naile,
To buy an halter with: yet now they saile
In gold and purple; some in Chariots ride,
That had not late a poore Asse to bestride,
Wealth flowing on them in so swift a streame,
That they themselves haue thought it but a dreame.

Plutus.

Merc.
These are no question true: but when thou go'st
On thine owne feet (being blinde) say how thou know'st
The way thou art to take? how canst thou finde
Such men as are of good and honest minde?
To whom (as now) my father oft times sends thee,
And in his care and providence commends thee.

Plutus.
Thinkst thou I finde those I am sent unto?

Merc.
By Iove not I: if so, how didst thou do,
When lately being to Aristides sent,
Thou to Hipponicus and Callius went,
And other base Athenians, scarce worth thought,
Or a poore single halfpenny, to be bought?
What is the course thou tak'st vpon the way?

Plutus.
Now high, now low, in each blinde path I stray,
Till unawares upon some one I fall,
And be he what he will, that man gets all:
He that is next me, and can first catch hold,
To fasten on me, having seis'd my gold,
Secludes me to some obscure place, possessing
What he long wisht, then openly confessing,
In prayers and vowes, he is to Hermes bound,
By whose assistance this great fortune's found.

Merc.
Is Iove deceiv'd, presuming that thou go'st
To inrich such as he affecteth most,
And thinks them worthy of his largesse?

Plutus.
Right,
O Mercurie, and justly too, my sight
Being defective, and at such times blinde;
And sending me to seeke that, which to finde
So difficult is, and scarcely hath a Being,
Is that a taske with my dim sight agreeing?
In which had quick eyd Argus in my sted
been his inquisitor, he scarce had sped:
The path so narrow and obscure, beside,
It being so rare to see a good man guide
A Cities weale; for those corrupt still sway,
And those in numbers flocking in my way:
I groping, can I possibly eschew
To avoid the many, and select the few?
The wicked alwaies yawning after gaines,
(The others not) how can I scape their traines?

Merc.
I but how comes it, when th'art to forsake
These wretches, thou such voluble speed dost make?
And without rub or the least stumbling, when
Thou canst not see the path before thee?

Plutus.
Then
Both eies and feet assist, and then alone,
When Time invites and calls me to be gone.

Merc.
Another thing resolue me: Tell me how
It comes to passe (ô god of Wealth) that thou
First being blinde, next, of a pale complexion,
Last, crippled in thy feet, canst gaine th' affection
Of so many great friends and lovers, such
As thinke they cannot gaze on thee too much?
Nor can imagin they are truly blest,
Before of thee undoubtedly possest?
Againe, If he that after thee enquires,
Chance to be frustrat in his hot desires;
For such I haue knowne many, and some noted,
That so debashtly on thy person doted,
That at their courting if thou seem'dst but coy,
Have ready been their owne lives to destroy:
Who when they saw they Plutus could not please,
Themselves from hye rocks cast into the seas,
And yet I know, and thou must needs confesse,
(View but thy selfe as I do) thou wilt guesse,
If not conclude, it is not love, but madnesse
Makes them despaire in doating on thy badnesse.

Plutus.
But thinkst thou, Mercurie, I to them appeare
In the same forme as thou beholdst me here,
Or lame or blinde, with such defects about me?

Merc.
O by no means, for I should then misdoubt me
That they were blind as thou art.

Plutus.
But not quite,
O Mercury, like me depriv'd of sight:
And yet there falls on them, as by some chance,
A kinde of error or blinde ignorance,
Which occupies them all, over their eies
Casting a shadowie filme, which doth disguise
My deform'd parts; so I appeare to them
In golden habit, stucke with many a gem:
In pictur'd vesture I seem, passing by,
And thousand colours, to deceive the eye.
These fooles imagining, what I present,
To be my sole and native ornament:
And therefore being enamor'd on my forme,
If not enioy me, then they rage and storme.
But should I be before them naked laid,
And my mis-shapen ouglinesse displaid,
No doubt they would condemne themselves, pursuing
A seeming good, which leades them to their ruin:
Th'are only apt themselves to reconcile
To things in their owne nature base and vile.

Merc.
But when it comes vnto such passe that they
Are filld with wealth, and supply'd every way;
When they have hedg'd, nay walld their riches in,
Some notwithstanding looke so bare and thin,
Withall so gripple, you may sooner teare
Head from the body, than impart what's there?
Besides, it is not probable, but such
As haue with greedy eies perus'd thee much,
Must needly know, (howe're they proudly boast,
Thy outside tin-foild, or but guilt at most?

Plut.
These my defaults (with others) to supply,
I have many ready helps, ô Mercury.

Merc.
Name them I prethee.

Plut.
They no sooner fasten
With greedinesse vpon me, but they hasten
To ope their gates wide, then with me by stealth
Enter (for alwaies they attend on wealth)
Hawtinesse, Boasting, with the mindes destraction,
Effœminacie, and to make vp the faction,
Oppression and Deceit, with th' interest
Of thousand more; with which the heart possest,
Is suddenly subjected and brought under,
To admire toyes which are not worth the wonder,
And covet that which they ought most to fly.
Now with this band of Pensioners garded, I
When thus attended they my state behold,
They never dreame of other god than Gold:
For with such adoration they respect me,
To endure all torments, rather than reject me.

Merc.
How smooth and slick thou art, no where abiding,
But when men thinke thee safest, swiftly gliding
Thorow their fingers, neither can I spy
A handle or an haft to stay thee by,
As we hold pots and glasses; they slip through
The hand as snakes and serpents use to doo.

Plut.
What?

Merc.
That we did not bring
Treasure along, it being Ioves intent,
And the chiefe businesse about which we are sent.

Plut.
For that take thou no care: I do not enter
Vpon the earth, (being calld, and leave my Center,
But I have still a care upon my store,
At my departure to shut fast my dore,
Which only opens to me when I call.

Merc.
Let's thither then, and Plutus lest thou fall,
Hold by my cloake, and follow till we come
Vnto the place assign'd.

Plut
Hermes well done,
To leade me thus; for if thou shouldst forsake
Me as I am, I might perchance mistake
My way, and wandring, through my want of sight,
On Hyperbolus or on Cleon light.
But stay, What noise is that? I heare some one
Is with his pick-axe striking against stone.

Merc.
'Tis Timon, who laboriously doth wound
A piece of mountainous and stony ground.
O wondrous! Poverty by him fast stands,
And the rough fellow Labor, with galld hands.
Here's Wisedome, Health, and with them Fortitude,
And besides these, a populous multitude
Of such like Groomes, Need them to worke compelling,
And yet a troupe (me-thinks) thy Gard excelling.

Plut.
Therefore let's post hence with what speed we can.
For, Hermes, how shall we invade a man
Girt with so great an army?

Merc.
Be not afraid,
'Tis Ioves command, whose will must be obayd.

Pov.
O whether lead'st thou Plutus?

Merc.
To inlarge
Timon from hence; for so Iove gave in charge.

Poverty.
Comes he againe to Timon, whom (bereav'd
Of health by many surfets) I receiv'd,
To Wisedome and to Industry commended,
And in his cure so far my skill extended,
I soone restor'd him (as he still doth finde)
Sound in his body, and vpright in minde.
Have I deserv'd such scorne, or do I merit
A wrong, what is myne owne not to inherit?
That you are come, with colorable pretence,
Him (now my sole possession) to take hence?
Whose ruin'd vertues with exactest care
I have much toyld and labor'd to repaire.
Being againe in that blinde gods protection,
Hee'l bring them vassald to their late subjection,
Fill him with arrogance, disdaine, and pride,
And every ill that Goodnesse can mis-guide;
And when all hope of faire amendment's past,
Returne him backe as I receiv'd him last,
Effœminate, sloathfull, franticke, or what not,
A thing of nothing, a meere brainlesse Sot.

Merc.
Thou hear'st Ioves will.

Poverty.
And I to it agree.
Knowledge and Labor doe you follow me,
With all my traine: hee'l shortly to his cost
Finde what a mother he (in me) hath lost;
What a good helper, what a true instructer.
In all good arts a tutresse and conducter:
He, whilst with me he had commerce, was still
Able and healthfull, having strength at will,
Leading a manly life, turning his eies
Vpon his brest, and of proud vanities
And gawdy frailties had at all no care,
But held them trifles, as indeed they are.

Merc.
They now are gone, let us approch more neare.

Timon.
What slaves be these that to myne eies appeare?
Why are you come? what would you? what require?
Of a poore laboring man that works for hire?
You shall not part hence laughing, for know, I
Have store of stones that round about me ly.

Merc.
Assault us not, ô Timon, for in vaine
Thou shalt do so, we are not of the straine
Of mortall race, but gods: I, Mercury:
This, Plutus, sent from the great Deity,
Who doth at length commiserat thy state,
With purpose now to make thee fortunate:
All shall be well, we come to ease thy paine,
Leave off thy worke, henceforth be rich againe.

Tim.
Though to your selves the name of gods you borrow,
Keepe off, or I shall give you cause of sorrow:
Come not too neere me, I at random strike,
For gods and men I now hate both alike:
As for that blinde slave, him I'le first invade,
I vow to rap him soundly with my spade.

Plut.
Let vs be gone, ô Mercurie, hee's mad,
Lest some sad mischiefe from his hand be had.

Merc.
This barbarous spleen good Timon strive to hide,
And thy ferocitie cast quite aside.
With gratitude receive what Iove hath sent,
I strike thee lucke, be rich incontinent:
Prince of th' Athenians thou shalt henceforth bee,
And to contemne them that disdained thee,
Punish their base ingratitude, bee't their griefe
To see thee rais'd, live happy, and their Chiefe.

Plut.
I have no need of you, pray give me leave
To use my labor, and at night receive
My competent wages, 'tis a gainfull trade,
I have wealth enough in using this my spade:
I should be happy if you would forbeare me,
But then most blest if no man would come neere me.

Merc.
Thou speakst too inhumanely; Timon I
This thy harsh language and absurd reply
Will tell my father: Say that from mans brest
Th'hast had more wrongs than thou canst well disgest,
Yet 'tis not good the gods thou shouldst despise,
Who as thou seest all for thy good devise.

Tim.
To thee, ô Mercury, Iove, and the rest
Of the Cœlestiall gods, I here protest,
I hold my selfe much bound, and thanke them for
Their care of me, but Plutus I abhor,
And him I'le not receive.

Merc.
Why?

Tim.

Merc.
Not so, good man, let me advise the best,
Study thyne owne peace, and let others rest.
This peevish (rather childish) spleen forbeare,
And from myne hand receive god Plutus here.
In man 'tis prophanation to despise
Such blessings as Iove sends the Iust and Wise.

Plut.
Wilt thou, ô Timon, heare me to the end,
Whilst I against thee myne owne cause defend,
And suffer me with patience?

Timon.
Speake, but briefly,
Avoiding Proëms and preambles, chiefly
Vs'd by damn'd Orators: see thou be'st short,
I'le listen to thee, but thanke Hermes for't.

Plut.
More liberty by right I ought to claime,
Whom thou of wrongs injuriously dost blame;
Thy invective is with bitternesse extended,
Yet innocent I in nothing have offended,
Who thee of all delicious things prouided,
At thy free will to be dispos'd and guided:
I was the author and chiefe instrument
Of thy authoritie and gouernment;
I gave thee crownes, and furnisht thee with treasure,
Made thee conspicuous, to abound in pleasure.
In all rarieties I thee instated:
By me thou wert observ'd, and celebrated.
If since, ought ill have unto thee betided,
('Cause thou perhaps my goodnesse hast misguided)
By seeming friends or servants, canst thou blame
Plutus for this? I rather should exclaime
On thee, for many contumelies past,
Powring me out 'mongst sordid knaves so fast:
Who only sweld thee with vain-glorious pride,
Devising strange prestigious tricks beside,
Only to draw me from thee. I'th last place
Where thou hast utter'd to my foule disgrace,
I left thee in thy want to starve and pine,
Be witnesse Hermes if the fault were myne:
Who after injuries not to be borne,
Didst cast me from thee in contempt and scorne,
Hence comes it, for thy cloake of purple die,
Thy late beloved Mistresse Poverty
Hath wrapt thee in this skin coat. I attest
Thee, Mercury, how much I was opprest:
And but that Iove commands, by no facilitie
Could I be woon to attone this our hostilitie.

Merc.
But Plutus thou now find'st how he is chang'd,
And from his former humor quite estrang'd.
Therefore have free commerce, dig Timon still,
And in the mean time Plutus vse thy skill,
That as by Ioves behest thou art assign'd,
In delving deep he may this treasure finde.

Timon.
Well Hermes, I obey, and am prepar'd
To be againe made rich: For man 'tis hard
To wrestle with the gods. Observe, I 'ntreat,
Into what miseries and mischiefs great
Thou hast headlong cast me, who (I vow) vntill
This houre liv'd happy, as I might do still.
What ill have I deserv'd, now to be vext,
And once againe with infinite cares perplext,
By fastning on this treasure?

Merc.
And yet take
All, I intreat, in good part for my sake;
Beare it, however weighty and indeed
Almost intolerable, bee't but to breed
Envy in those base Claw-backs: I mean time
Having past Ætna, must Olympus clime.

Plut.

Gnaton.
Did I not ever thinke the gods above
Could not neglect, but still this good man love?
Haile Timon, thou most faire, most sweet, most kinde,
Bounteous, and alwaies of a generous minde.

Tim.
Haile too Gnatonides, (the corruptest slave
That ever gourmandis'd) what wouldst thou have,
Thou more than many Vultures still devouring?

Gnaton.
It was his custome alwaies to be pouring
Harsh jeasts vpon his friends; his quicke dicacitie
Would evermore be taunting my voracitie,
And it becomes him well. Where shall we dine,
Or whether go to quaffe thy health in wine?
I have a new song got into my pate,
Out of quaint

Dithyrams, were songs sung in honour of Bacchus.

Dythirambs I learn'd it late.

Timon.
But at this time I rather could advise
That thou wouldst study dolefull Elegies,
Such as this spade can teach.

Gnaton.
O Hercules!
Strikes Timon then? with thee, I witnesse these,
Before the

Areopagitæ Iudges or Senatours amongst the Athernians, so called of the place where they sate.

Areopagitæ I
Will have thee call'd in Court: ô I shall die,
See, thou hast wounded me.

Timon.
Nay be not gone;
Two labors thou mayst save me so in one:
Thou shalt complaine of murther.

Gnat.
Timon No:
But rather on my broken pate bestow
Some of thy gold to apply too't, and be sure,
It's both a speedy and miraculous Cure.

Tim.
Still stay'st thou?

Gnat.
I am gon. Wondring hee's growne
Of late so rude, that was so civill knowne.

Tim.
Who's he comes next, all bare and bald before?
Philiades: I know him of the store
Of Sycophants most execrable, who wound
Me in not long since for a piece of ground,
Besides two talents for his daughters dower,
And all that substance did the slave devour,
Because he prais'd my singing: when the rest
Were silent all, he only did protest
And sware, that I did admiration breed,
Nay, dying Swans in sweetnesse much exceed.
I since being sicke, desiring him to have care
Over my health, the Villein did not spare
To spurne me from his gate.

Philiades.
Ingratefull age,
Dost thou at length know Timon, he, the sage
And wise good man: full well did he requite
Gnatonides the soothing Parasite,
And Temporiser, who is only friend
To such as of their wealth can know no end.
But he hath what he merits, a just fate
Depending on th' Vnthankfull and Ingrate:
But we that have been table-guests of old,
Equals, and fellow Citisens, enrold;
Who'twixt us interchang'd the name of brother,
And were not chargeable one to another,
We should renew acquaintance: Sir, God save you,
And beware henceforth how you do behave you
To sacrilegious Parasits that appeare
Alwaies at banquets and abundant cheare:
They are only Smell-feasts, waiting on the Cooks,
But little differing from base Crowes and Rooks,
Men are of late so'bnoxious vnto crimes,
There is no trust to any of these times;
Vnthankfull they are all, and bad: but I
Knowing thy wants, and willing to supply
Thy present uses, purpos'd to have brought
A talent with me; fearing thou hadst owght
To some harsh Creditor; or might have need
For other ends: but by the way indeed,
Hearing to what a surplusage of gaine,
Thou hast arriv'd, I held it a thing vaine.
Yet came I of thy bounty to make proofe,
And counsell thee of things for thy behoofe:
But needlesse were it, Timon being so wise,
That (if he liv'd) he Nestor might advise.

Tim.
'Twas kindely done, Philiades, come neere
And see what welcome I have for thee heere.

Phil.
Thou wretched churle; what vndeserved punishment
Hast thou repaid me for my late admonishment?
I feare he hath broke my necke.

Tim.
Behold a third,
Demeas the Orator; indeed a Bird
Of the same feather: he hath bills, records,
Fables, a man meerly compos'd of words.
He calls himselfe my kinsman; who in one day
(Of myne) to th'Cities Chamber had to pay
Sixteen whole talents, he then in execution:
Yet I redeem'd him, and made full solution
Of all his debts; when he was fast in hold,
I freed him thence: yet was the slave so bold,
That comming after unto eminent place,
Where he with

Erictheides, whom some think to be Ericthonius, or Ericthæus, the fourth King of Athens; he first found oue the use of Coaches, because his feet were deformed. Hs lived in the yeare of the world 2463. about eleven yeare after Israels departure out of Egypt.

Erichtheiades had grace,
(Who had the charge of the whole Treasurie,
And mony by account then due to mee)
He being my feed Advocate as then,
Protested that I was no Citisen;
Therefore not capable my due to claime:
Most loudly lying without feare or shame.

Demeas.

Tim.
I have not so much as spectator bin
Of what thou sayst I am so eminent in.

Demeas.
All's one for that, we Orators are free,
And what's not yet done may hereafter be:
These are but things of course, and aptly fitted,
I see no reason they should be omitted.
But the last yeare, no longer since, how well
Did he demeane himselfe, nay how excell,
When he against the Achernenses fought,
And their great army vnto ruin brought?
The Spartans in two battels he subdu'd.

Timon.
How can these be? Do not my sence delude:
I never being souldier, nor had minde,
Or the least purpose to be so inclin'd.

Demeas.
'Tis modestie in you, I must confesse,
To be so sparing of your worthinesse.
But as for us, we should be most ingrate,
If we your great worth did not celebrate.
Besides, in Lawes, which (truly understood)
Have been inacted for the publique good;
In privat consultations about war
Or peace, he did transcend all others far,
And brought unto the publique State such profit,
That there is none can speake too loudly of it.
For these just causes it is held convenient,
And by the Lords and Commons thought expedient,
(Being a man so generally respected)
To have a golden statue erected
To this great Commonwealths man Timon, grac'd
So far, as to be next Minerva plac'd,
In her owne Temple, shaking in his hand
(As imitating Iove) a fulminous brand,
Bright raies about his head, and at the least,
Deckt with seven Crownes, to have his name increast.
Next, to have all his glories open laide
In the new Tragedies to Bacchus made.
These solemne Sacreds must be kept this day,
And who more fit than he to act them, pray?
Demect to this decree doth first subscribe,
Because he counts himselfe of Timons tribe,
His neere Ally and kinsman, or indeed
His scholler rather, for he doth exceed
In learning the superlative degree,
As being all what he can wish to bee.
This is the generall suffrage, and thy due:
But how had I forgot? that to thy view
I did not bring my son and heire, the same
Whom I have since calld Timon, by thy name.

Tim.
How can that be, ô Demeas, when thou hast
No wife at all, pretending to live chast?
Thou art a Batchelor.

Dem.
Tush, do not feare,
My purpose is to marry the next yeare.
If heaven permit, and thou shalt heare relation,
That all my study shall be procreation.
Then my first Borne (a boy it shall be sure)
I'le Timon call, to make thy name endure.

Tim.
But if in this sad stroke I not miscarry,
'Twill be a doubt if euer thou shalt marry.

Demeas.
O me, what means this out-rage? art thou wise,
That dost upon thy friends thus tyrannise?
To beat him hence, that hath more quicke conceit
And apprehension in this broken pate,
Than thou in thy great Mazard: neither can
This iustifie thee for an honest man,
Or a good Citisen: This out-rage don,
Shall question thee before the setting Sun;
For I dare justifie, thou durst aspire
To set the Cities Citadel on fire.

Tim.
That calumny will to thyne owne shame turne,
Because the place hath not been seen to burne.

Dem.
But being rich, it may suspected bee,
That thou hast robd the common Treasurie.

Tim.
The bolts and locks are whole, and 'twill appeare
Most vile to such as shall thy scandals heare.

Dem.
It may be rob'd hereafter; i'th mean time
Thou thus possest art guilty of that crime.

Tim.
Mean time take that, 'twill speed thee if't hit right.

Dem.
O me; that blow'twixt neck and shoulders light.

Tim.

Thrasicles.

Tim.
All that thou speakst I (Thrasicles) allow;
Yet e're I fill thy wallet, heare me now,
I'le stuffe thy head with tumors, having made
True measure of thy skull with this my spade.

Thrasic.
O Liberty! ô Lawes! neere a free City,
Thus to be us'd by one devoid of pitty!

Tim.
Why, Thrasicles, thus angry dost thou show thee?
Have I not paid thee the full debt I owe thee?
Stay but a little, and t' expresse my love,
Foure measures thou shalt have o're and above.
What further businesse have we now in breeding?
Multitudes hither flocke, in throngs exceeding;
There's Blepsias, Laches, Cniphon, and in brief,
A thousand more that hasten to their grief,
As if they ran for blowes; see how they flocke:
Therefore I'le clyme to th' highest part of this rocke,
I hold that course is for the present best,
And to my wearied spade to give some rest:
Of scatterd'd stones I'le gather me an heape,
And from that place I'le make them skip and leape,
Pouring my haile on them.

Bleps.
Hurle not, we pray,
O Timon, instantly wee'l trudge away.

Tim.
And yet thou shalt with difficultie doo't,
Without some bloud-shed and deep wounds to boot.

[A Dialogue of the Same Author, betwixt Iupiter and Ganimede]

The Argument of the Dialogue intitled Ivpiter and Ganimede.

Ioves Masculine love this Fable reprehends,
And wanton dotage on the Trojan Boy.
Shap'd like an Eagle, he from th'earth ascends,
And beares through th' aire his new Delight and Ioy.
In Ganimed's exprest a simple Swaine,
Who would leave Heaven, to live on Earth againe.

The Dialogve.

Iupiter.
Now kisse me, lovely Ganimed, for see,
Wee are at length arriv'd where wee would bee:
I have no crooked beak, no tallons keen,
No wings or feathers are about me seen;
I am not such as I but late appear'd.

Ganimed.
But were not you that Eagle who late fear'd,
And snatcht me from my flocke? where is become
That shape? you speake now, who but late were dumbe.

Iupit.
I am no man, faire Youth, as I appeare,
Nor Eagle, to astonish thee with feare:
But King of all the gods, who for some reason
Have by my power transhap't me for a season.

Ganim.
What's that you say? you are not Pan, I know:
Where's thē your pipe? or where your horns, should grow
Vpon your temples? where your hairy thighes?

Iupiter.
Thinks Ganimed that godhood only lies
In rurall Pan?

Gan.
Why not? I know him one:
We Shepheards sacrifice to him alone.
A spotted Goat into some cave we drive,
And then he seiseth on the beast alive.
Thou art but some Childe-stealer, that's thy best.

Iupit.
Hast thou not heard of any man contest
By Ioves great Name? nor his rich Altar view'd
In Gargarus, with plenteous showres bedew'd?
There seen his fire and thunder?

Ganim.
Do you then
Affirme your selfe the same, who on us men
Of late pour'd haile-stones? he that dwells above us,
And there makes noise; yet some will say doth love vs?
To whom my Father did observance yeeld,
And sacrific'd the best Ram in the field.
Why then (if you of all the gods be chiefe)
Have you, by stealing me, thus play'd the thiefe;
When in my absence the poore sheep may stray,
Or the wilde ravenous Wolves snatch them away?

Iupit.
Yet hast thou care of Lambs, of Folds, of sheep,
That now art made immortall, and must keep
Societie with Vs?

Ganim.
I no way can
Conceive you. Will you play the honest man,
And beare me backe to Ida?

Iup.
So in vaine
I shap'd me like an Eagle, if againe
I should returne thee backe.

Ganim.
My father, he
By this hath made inquirie after me;
And if the least of all the flocke be eaten,
I in his rage am most sure to be beat.

Iup.
Where shall he finde thee?

Ganim.
That's the thing I feare,
He never can clime up to meet me here,
But if thou beest a good god, let me passe
Into the mount of Ida where I was:
And then I'le offer, in my thankfull piety,
Another well fed Goat unto thy diety,
(As price of my redemption) three yeares old,
And now the chiefe and prime in all the fold.

Iup.
How simple is this innocent Lad? a meere
Innocuous childe. But Ganimed now heare.
Bury the thoughts of all such terren drosse,
Thinke Ida and thy fathers flocks no losse:
Thou now art heavenly, and much grace mayst do
Vnto thy father and thy country too.
No more of cheese and milke from henceforth thinke,
Ambrosia thou shalt eat, and Nectar drinke,
Which thy faire hands in flowing cups shalt fill
To me and others, but attend us still;
And (that which most should moove thee) make thy'abode
Where thou art now, thou shalt be made a god,
No more be mortall, and thy glorious star
Shine with refulgence, and be seen from far.
Here thou art ever happy.

Ganim.
But I pray,
When I would sport me; who is here to play?
For when in Ida I did call for any,
Both of my age and growth it yeelded many.

Iup.
Play-fellowes for thee I will likewise finde,
Cupid, with divers others to thy minde,
And such as are both of thy yeares and sise,
To sport with thee all what thou canst devise:
Only be bold and pleasant, and then know
Thou shalt have need of nothing that's below.

Ganim.
But here no service I can do indeed,
Vnlesse in heaven you had some flocks to feed.

Iup.
Yes, thou to me shalt fill celestiall wine,
And wait upon me when in state I dine:
Then learne to serve in banquets.

Ganim.
That I can
Already, without help of any man:
For I use ever when we dine or sup,
To poure out milke, and crowne the pastorall cup.

Iup.
Fie, how thou still remember'st milke and beasts,
As if thou wert to serve at mortall Feasts:
Know, this is heaven, be merry then and laugh;
When thou art thirsty thou shalt Nectar quaffe.

Ganim.
Is it so sweet as milke?

Iup.
Pris'd far before,
Which tasted once, milke thou wilt aske no more.

Ganim.
Where shall I sleep a nights? what, must I ly
With my companion Cupid?

Iup.
So then I
In vaine had rap'd thee: but I from thy sheep
Of purpose stole thee, by my side to sleep.

Ganim.
Can you not lie alone? but will your rest
Seeme sweeter, if I nuzzle on your brest?

Iup.
Yes, being a childe so faire:

Ganim.
How can you thinke
Of beauty, whil'st you close your eies and winke?

Iup.
It is a sweet inticement, to increase
Contented rest, when our desire's at peace.

Ganim.
I, but my father every morne would chide,
And say, those nights he lodg'd me by his side
I much disturb'd his rest; tumbling and tossing
Athwart the bed, my little legs still crossing
His: either kicking this way, that way sprawling,
Or if hee but remov'd me, straitwaies yawling:
Then grumbling in my dreams, (for so he sed)
And oft times sent me to my mothers bed:
And then would she complaine vpon me worse.
Then if for that you stole me, the best course
Is even to send me backe againe; for I
Am ever so unruly where I lie,
Wallowing and tumbling, and such coile I keep,
That I shall but disturb you in your sleep.

Iupit.
In that the greater pleasure I shall take,
Because I love still to be kept awake.
I shall embrace and kisse thee then the ofter,
And by that means my bed seem much the softer.

Ganim.
But whilst you wake I'le sleepe.

Iup.
Mercury, see
This Lad straight taste of immortalitie;
And making him of service capable,
Let him be brought to wait on us at table.

Ivpiter and Ivno.

The Argument of the Dialogue.

Ivno of Ganimed is iealous growne,
And much vpbraids Iove with the Phrygian Swaine;
Willing (before him) to prefer her owne:
And therefore blames her husband, but in vaine.
Although this Fable to the gods extends,
Base sordid lust in man it reprehends.

The Dialogue.

Iuno.
Since this yong Trojan Swain to heav'n thou hast brought,
O Iupiter, thou set'st thy Wife at nought.

Iupit.
Of him too art thou jealous, a poore Swaine,
Though beautifull, yet innocent and plaine?
I was in hope thou only hadst a spleen
To women, such as I before have been
Familiar with.

Iuno.
Nor hast thou made expression
Of thy great deitie in such transgression,
Nor done such things as have thee well beseem'd;
Who being a god above the rest esteem'd,
Descendest downe to earth, making it full
Of thy Adulteries: somtimes like a Bull;
Then like a golden Showre, and keeping still
Those Prostitutes below to sate thy will.
But now againe, Thou, mightiest of the dieties,
Lest that there should be end of thy impieties;
Being now inflam'd with an unheard desire,
Hast this yong Phrygian Lad snatcht from his Sire,
Brought hither to out-brave me, and set ods
Betwixt us, filling Nectar to the gods.
Is there such want of Cup bearers? or weary
Is Hebe yet, or Vulcan, to make merry
Thy Guests invited? that no sooner thou
Tak'st from his hand the bowle, but straight to bow
And kisse his sweet lip, nay in all our sight:
In that kisse seeming to take more delight,
Than in the Nectar drunke: but which is worst,
Oft callst for drinke when there's no cause of thirst;
And as in sport (but sipping) thy arme stretchest,
And the full Chalice to the Wanton reachest,
And he but t sting, as shall please him best,
Then to his health carowsest all the rest;
And in the same place where his lip did touch,
Thou tak'st thy draught, thy lewd desire is such,
With heedfulnesse and care noting the brim,
So, at once kissing both the cup and him.
Not long since too, this King and potent Father
Of men and all mortalitie, the rather
To sport with him, his Scepter laid aside,
And thunders, with which late he terrify'de
The lower world. And speake, was not this wrong
To a Brow so great? a Beard so full and long?
All this I have seen, all these I have endur'd,
And nothing's done that is to me obscur'd.

Iupiter.
Why's this to thee so grievous, ô my wife,
That it should raise betwixt us the least strife?
That a yong Lad, so faire and sweet as this,
Should please me both with Nectar and a kisse?
Shouldst thou but taste those lips (which I am loth)
Thou wouldst not blame me to prefer them both
Before all Nectar and Ambrosia too;
Nay, if thou didst, even so thy selfe would doo.

Iuno.
These are the words of masculine love, much hated,
Nor am I mad, to be degenerated
By base effeminacies as to take delight
In the loath'd kisses of a Catamite.

Iup.
Pray (you most generous) do not so deprave
Those loves and pleasures I am pleas'd to have:
This pretty sweet effeminat Lad to me
Is dearer far—but I'le not anger thee.

Iuno.
I wish in my place you had that Lad wedded,
With whom you ofter than with me have bedded
Since his arrive: your loath'd wife shall bethinke her,
How better to behave her toward your Skinker.

Iup.
Is't only fit, Vulcan thy son should fill
Nectar, who being lame is apt to spill;
And bluntly running from the furnace, smells
Of smoke, dust, sweat, and what I know not else,
With sparks scarce quencht, before the gods to stand,
His sooty tongs new laid out of his hand,
To take from him the goblet? which being done,
To embrace, then kisse thy most deformed sonne;
Whom scarcely thou his mother wouldst so grace,
Fearing his smudg'd lips should begrime thy face.
Is he that only sweet Youth must adorne
The gods high banquets, being made their scorne?
And therefore must this Phrygian be confin'd,
Because hee's cleare in looks, as pure in mind?
Whose face so smooth, whose tongue doth so excell,
And in all points becomes the place so well.
But that which most torments thee, since his kisse
Many degrees more sweet than Nectar is:

Iuno.
Now Vulcan vnto thee (ô Iove) seems lame,
His forge, his apron, tongs, and tooles, thy shame:
What nastinesse? What loathsomnesse? but hee
Now at this instant doth appeare to thee
Infected with; whilst thou before thee hast
That faire fac'd Trojan Lad? but in times past,
None of this foule deformitie was seen,
No sparks, no soot, no dust to move thy spleen:
His furnace in those daies did not affright thee,
But then his filling Nectar much delight thee.

Iupit.
Thou mak'st thy selfe sicke of thine old disease,
O Iuno, and this Trojan doth more please,
Because of him th'art jealous: if thou scorne
From him to take the Cup; of thy selfe borne
Thou hast to fill thee, Vulcan, one so smug,
As if he gap'd still for his mothers dug.
But thou, ô Ganimed, to me alone
Reach the rich bowle. Two kisses for that one
I'le give thee still, when I receive it first,
And when returne it, having quencht my thirst,
Why weep'st thou? feare not, they that mean thee harme,
Mischiefe are sure to taste. Sweet boy thyne arme.

Ivpiter and Cvpid.

The Argument.

Great Iupiter on wanton Love hath seis'd,
Ripping up iniuries before time done;
And hardly is the Thunderers rage appeas'd,
But holds him fast that is about to runne.
The childish Wag submissive language useth,
And with what art he can himselfe excuseth.

The Dialogve.

Cupid.
Wherein have I, ô Iupiter, transgrest;
That by thy pow'r I should be thus opprest?
Being a childe, and therefore simple?

Iupiter.
Thou
A childe at these yeares, Cupid? who I vow,
Art older than Iapetus, hop'st thou to win
Favor, because no haire vpon thy chin
Appeares? and thou art beardlesse? but beguild
Must we be still in holding thee a childe?
Being both old and crasie?

Cup.
I pray tell
This subtill old man, whom you know so well,
What wrong he'hath done, that you would bind him?

Iup.
See,
Thou wretch, dost th nke it a small injurie,
To make me such a mockerie and a jest
To all men: that a god should to a beast
Transhape himselfe: into a Satyre, than
Into a Bull, an Eagle, and a Swan:
Next to a golden Showre? all these th'hast made me.
But that wherein thou chiefely hast betrayd me,
My will by force or sleight I must obtaine,
But never love, to be belov'd againe:
Nor by thy power have I more gratious been
To my wife Iuno the celestiall Queen;
But forc'd to use prestigious strange disguise,
In all my scapes to hide me from her eies.
Besides, our mutuall pleasures are not full,
They only kisse an Eagle or a Bull:
But should I in my personall shape appeare,
Even at my sight (poore things) they die with feare.

Cupid.
That only shewes thy power and divine might,
Since mortall eies cannot endure thy sight.

Iup.
How comes it, Hyacinthus is so deare,
And Branchus, to Apollo? Is his Spheare
More bright than ours? yet they about him cling,
In his owne shape.

Cup.
But Daphne that coy thing,
Though he shew'd yong and beardlesse, his cheeks red,
And each way lovely, his embraces fled.
If Iove then would be amorous, and apply
Himselfe to Love, his shield he must lay by,
And fearefull thunders, smoothly kembe his haire,
And part it both waies, to appeare more faire:
Weare on his head a Chaplet for a Crowne,
And flowing from his shoulders a loose gowne
Dy'de in Sidonian purple: on his feet
Sandals, whose ties with golden buckles meet:
Vnto the Pipe and Timbrell learne to dance,
And foot it to them finely: so by chance
More glorious Beauties may to him incline,
Than Menades attend the god of Wine.

Iup.
Away: I more esteeme my regall state,
Than to appeare so poorely effeminate:

Cup.
Love not at all, and that's more easie far.

Iup.
Yes, love I must, whil'st here such Beauties ar,
And gaine them with lesse trouble, mauger thee.
So for this time be gon.

Cup.
I now am free.

Vulcan and Apollo.

The Argument.

'Twixt Vulcan and Apollo speech is held
Of yong Cillenius, Maia's new-borne son;
How he in cheats and theevings hath exceld:
Relating strange things in his cradle done.
Since whom, all infants borne beneath his star,
In craft and guile exceed all others far.

The Dialogve.

Vulcan.
Hast thou not seen (Apollo) the yong Brat
So late brought forth by lovely Maia? that
Looks in his swathes so beautifully faire,
Snarling on all such as about him are;
Whom no one that beholds him, but surmises
That he is borne for some great enterprises?

Apollo.
Shall I (ô Vulcan) him an infant call?
Or thinke him borne for any good at all?
Who for his craft and subtiltie (I vow)
Is than Iapetus older.

Vulcan.
Tell me how?
What wrong can this yong Baby do, I pray,
Who came into the world but yesterday?

Apollo.
Aske Neptune that, whose Trident he hath stolne:
Demand of Mars, (with rage and anger swolne)
Whether his braine least subtiltie afford?
Out of whose scabberd he hath stolne his sword?
Or let me speake what by my selfe I know:
From me unwares my quiver and my bow
He slily snatcht.

Vulcan.
How can it be, his hands
Being ty'd up so close in swathing bands.

Apollo.
Yet be not thou too confident, I intreat thee,
For come he neere thy shop, hee'l likewise heat thee.

Vulcan.
He was with me but now.

Apollo.
Dost thou misdoubt thee
Of nothing lost? hast all thy tooles about thee?
What, not one wanting?

Vulc.
None.

Apollo.
Free from his wrongs
Art thou alone?

Vulc.
By Iove I misse my tongs,
Th'are stolne out of my forge.

Apoll.
These thou shalt finde
About him hid, do but his swathes unbinde.

Vulc.
Hath he such catching fingers? (past beleeving)
Sure in his mothers wombe he studied theeving.

Apollo.
Didst thou not heare him, Vulcan, talke and prate
With voluble tongue, and phrases accurate?
Now in his infancie, so yong, so small,
Offering to be a servant to us all.
No sooner borne, but Cupid he did dare
To try a fall with him, and threw him faire.
Him Venus for his victorie embrac't,
For which he steales her girdle from her wast.
Iove smiling at the theft, and therewith pleas'd,
Mean time the crafty wag his Scepter seis'd:
To steale his Trisulke he had made a shift,
But 'twas too heavy for his strength to lift.

Vulc.
Thou telst me of a Lad active and daring,
A nimble jugling Iack.

Apollo.
Nay, hee's not sparing
To professe Musicke too.

Uulc.
How is that knowne?

Apoll.
Th' invention too he seekes to make his owne:
Having the shell of a dead Tortoise found,
He makes an instrument thereof for sound;
To which a crooked necke he first made fast,
Boring therein round holes, and in them plac't
Pinnes to winde up the cords by: to th' Shells backe
A belly frames: seven strings, which he doth slacke,
And sometimes stretch, he fixeth; which but touch,
They yeeld a sweet sound that delighteth much.
Whose notes I envy, be they flat or sharpe.
Since he contends to exceed me in my Harpe.
Even Maia's selfe I oft have heard complaine,
She cannot in the heavens her son containe:
His ever-waking braine, in action still,
Can take no rest: by night (against her will)
In silence he conveyes himselfe to hell,
Whether to steale ought thence she cannot tell.
Besides, he hath wings, a Caducæus too
Of a miraculous power, and force to doo
Things wonderfull, by which he can bestow
Soules hence departed, in the fields below,
Or thence convey them hither.

Vulc.
Most sure I will
Adde something to encourage his rare skill.

Apoll.
Which he hath well requited; for to day
(No longer since) he stole thy tongs away.

Vulc.
'Twas well done to remember me of this,
Because my tongs are tooles I cannot misse.
Somewhere about him they are still, no doubt:
But first the fire I'le in my forge put out.

Mercvry and Apollo.

The Argument.

Of Iove and of Alcmena: The long night
In which the great Alcides was begot,
This Fable speakes. And if I guesse aright,
In this the Author much profaned not,
To tax the heathen Idols his pretence is,
Since men are punisht for the gods offences.

The Dialogve.

Mercury.
To thee, ô Phœbus, Iupiter doth say,
Forbear to mount thy Chariot for this day;
The next too, and the third, disclose no light,
But for that time make it continuall night.
Keepe in, command the Houres thy steeds to untrace,
And thy bright Sun beams plucke from off thy face.
For, without intermission being opprest
With such long paines, 'tis fit thou shouldst have rest,

Apollo.
Thou tellst me a new thing, unheard till now;
Have I transgrest my course, or been too slow,
Ot over-swift? that Iove should prove a way
To make the night thrice longer than the day.
There's no such thing; he only hath intent
At some one aime on which his minde is bent,
And this time only (but not still to bee)
To have this one night made as long as three.

Apollo.
Where is he now, or from whence art thou sent
To tell me this?

Merc.
Boetia's continent;
And from (If I shall make a true confession)
Amphitrio's wife, with whom he hath congression.

Apoll.
With her his courage then and strength he tries:
But for his lust will not one night suffice?

Merc.
O by no means, since in this copulation
Must be begot one that shall awe each Nation;
Of a most potent arme, and daring much,
And therefore 'tis not possible that such
A mighty worke as making up Ioves son,
Should in one night be perfected and don.

Apollo.
Well, I but little have to say unto him,
But with this great worke much good may it do him.
These things, ô Mercury (we are alone)
I'th antient daies of Saturne were not knowne;
He did not turne from Rhea, nor mis-led
Could he be to adulterat her chast bed:
Nor did he leave the heavens, in Thebes to sleepe;
The day was then day, and true course did keepe,
The night within her certaine houres was bounded,
No times, no seasons in his reigne confounded:
He had with mortall creatures no congresse.
But now for one poore womans sake (I guesse)
All things are topside-turn'd, and must be made
Prepostrous henceforth, and run retrograde.
My Steeds with rest will grow more fierce and hot:
The way more hard and difficult, because not
In three daies past: Men miserably dwell
Here on the earth in darknesse, as in hell.
And these are the faire fruits of his foule lust,
That sublunarie creatures suffer must;
Warning at once the absence of the Sun,
And waiting till this mighty worke be don.

Merc.
Phœbus no more: had Iove intelligence
Of what thou speakst, his rage it would incense.
I'le to the Moone and Sleep, and what in charge
I had from him, deliver them at large:
To her, to change the course she late did keepe:
To him, to fetter them in bonds of sleepe,
So fast, they may not dreame of that great wrong,
To have been kept from sight of day so long.

Mercvry and Maia.

The Argument.

Hermes his tedious labors doth complaine,
As troubled more than all the gods besides,
Not able his imployments to sustaine,
As one that in no certaine place abides.
Yet by his mother he at length is swayd,
Who tells him Ioves hests must be still obayd.

The Dialogve.

Merc.
Is there amongst the gods (ô Mother) any
So wretched as my self, though there be many?

Maia.
Take heed, my son, what thou speakst rashly.

Merc.
Why?
Can you name one that hath such cause as I?
Who have so many businesses in hand,
And those so great I scarce beneath them stand;
Into so many services divided,
I am tyr'd and spent, and for my paines derided.
For in the morning, e're I can devise
Of what my dreams were, I betimes must rise,
Then my first office is to sweep the house
Where all the gods must banquet and carouse.
That done, I next prepare the Consistorie,
Whereas the Deities in all their glory
Appoint their meetings: all things I make fit,
That they in ease as well as state may sit.
Then at Ioves elbow I attend, where he
Still sends me on his errands: I must be
Here, there, and every where, and these too all
Hurrying together; for hee'l sometimes call
As soon as I am sent. When the whole day
I have toild, not having time to wipe away
The dust and sweat, new labor I begin,
Supper comes on, and I must then serve in
Ambrosia: e're the Phrygian had to doo
With Ioves crownd Cup, I filld him Nectar too.
But what of all 's most tedious, and accites
Me to this spleen, I cannot rest a nights;
For whil'st each other god upon his bed
Takes due repose, even then I of the Dead
And new deceast have charge, and through the shade
To Pluto's Court I see them safe convay'd.
These done, I cannot rest me where I list,
But at their generall Sessions I assist,
For nothing's done without me. 'Tmight suffice,
That I all dayly businesse enterprise:
At Wrestlings I am present, at the Bar,
Where Causes and Law-Suits determin'd ar',
Instruct such Orators as Fees desire;
Sometimes supply the place of common Crier.
Nor would these things appeare so great a trouble,
But that th' affaires of hell make them seeme double.
The sonnes of Læda much more happy bee,
They interchangeably have leave to see
The heaven and hell by turnes; while one doth show
Himselfe above, the other stayes below.
Than these how much more miserable am I,
That in one person both their paines supply?
Alcmena and Semele (of mortall seed
Descended both) have free accesse to feed
Amongst the Deities: yet I on these
(Being son of Maia Atlantiades)
Am forc'd to'attend, I came from Sidon late,
As sent from Iove, to know in what estate
Cadmus faire daughter was. Almost quite spent,
Not having time to breathe, but I was sent
To Argos and faire Danae, in that tower
Where he was welcom'd in his golden shower.
In thy returne come by Boetia backe,
(Saith Iupiter) ô Hermes do not slacke
To visit faire Antiope by th'way.
My resolution is no more t'obay
Vnto his busie hests: To gaine myne ease,
I had much rather (did the Fates so please)
My selfe for ever to the earth retyre,
As a day-Laborer, and worke for hire.

Maia.
No more, my son, for thou too much hast said;
Thy father must in all things be obay'd.
Able and yong thou art, prepare agen,
To Argos first, and to Boetia then:
Hazard not stripes of him that swayes above:
Such are most angry that are crost in love.

Vulcan and Iupiter.

The Argument.

Vvlcan obeying to Ioves high designe,
With his keen hatchet cleaves his head in twaine:
Arm'd Pallas, who there full ten months had lain,
At this incision leaps out of his braine;
Then entring first the world. Whence we may gather,
Knowledge and Arts had birth from Iove their Father.

The Dialogve.

Uulcan.
What must I do, Iove? Prethee let me know:
See, I am come, for thou commandedst so;
And brought with me an Axe sharp above wonder,
Whose very edge will cleave a rocke in sunder.

Iupiter.
'Tis well done, Vulcan, 'tmust be thus apply'de,
Thou with that hatchet must my head divide.

Uulc.
Wouldst thou persuade me unto madnesse? say
What's to be done, or packe me hence away.
My pleasure is, with a strong blow and full,
With all thy force thou part in two my skull.
If thou refuse to doo't, as fearing skath,
Thy timerousnesse will but increase my wrath
And deep displeasure: therefore strike I say,
Instantly, boldly, and without delay:
Quickly deliuer me, I am full of paine,
A thousand throwes are laboring in my braine.

Vulc.
Well looke too't Iupiter, my axe is keen,
Nor can this birth be without bloud-shed seen.
'Twill be a dangerous wound made in thy head;
Beleeve't, Lucina brings not thus to bed.

Iupit.
Strike boldly then, ô Vulcan, feare not blood,
For I know best what for my selfe is good.

Vulc.
Though 'gainst my will, I shall, who dares withstand
When Iupiter himselfe shall give command.
What's here? A woman arm'd leaps on the Plain:
O Iove, thou hadst much mischiefe in thy brain.
No marvell thou wert angry and much paind,
When in thy Pia mater was containd
A live Virago, arm'd, and having spread
Castles and townes and towers about her head;
She leaps and capers, topt with rage divine,
And danceth (as she treads) the Matachine,
Shakes her steele-pointed Lance, and strikes her Tardge,
As if she had the god of War in charge.
Nay, which is more, she is exceeding faire,
And ripe for mariage, made in all parts rare,
And amiable, onely she hath blew eies,
But those her gracefull helme doth well disguise:
And therefore Iupiter, because I have
Thus playd the mid-wife for thee, what I crave,
Grant me for my reward, namely that she
May be my wife, this day espous'd to me.

Iupit.
Thou demandst that which cannot be allow'd,
For this Minerva is a Virgin vow'd,
Nay, a perpetuall Votary: but if I
In this could do thee any courtesie,
Thou mightst presume't.

Vulc.
It is my great desire,
And to my best of wishes I'le aspire
In waiting time to rape her.

Iupit.
O my sonne,
Thou aimst at that which neuer can be done:
She vowes to live a Virgin, let that guide thee,
Pursue not things which never can betide thee.

Neptvne and Mercvry.

The Argument.

Th'abortive Infant from the wombe tooke late
Of dying Semele, Iove doth translate
Into his owne thigh: but the time expir'd
For mature birth, which (pregnant) he desir'd;
This childe, by one conceiv'd, borne of another,
Bacchus, enioyes the name of

Bacchus bimater.

double Mother.

The Dialogve.

Nep.
May I not see my brother?

Merc.
Neptune, no.

Nep.
I do intreat thee, Nephew, let him know
That I attend without.

Merc.
It cannot be,
And therefore leave this importunitie;
You must not at this present be admitted.

Nep.
Hee's then in bed with Iano?
No, (Grosse witted.)
Or Ganimed? Prethee resolve me quickly.

Merc.
Neither; but Iove at this time's weake and sickly.

Nep.
How comes it that thou likewise lookst not well?

Merc.
There is a cause in't, which I blush to tell.

Nep.
What e're it be, the secret do not hide
From me thine Vncle, and so neere ally'de.

Mer.
Hee's newly brought to bed.

Nep.
Mercury fie,
Not possible; it is a thing that I
Cannot beleeve: it would have come to light
Ere now, had Iove been an Hermaphrodite.
Besides, I ne're perceiv'd his wombe to swell.

Merc.
'Tis true, in that (ô Neptune) thou sayst well:
His childing burthen did not lie within.

Nep.
Now to conceive thee better I begin;
Some other Pallas from his skull is ta'ne;
My Brother ever had a teeming braine.

Merc.
Not so; this burthen in his thigh was bred,
Tooke from the wombe of Semele, late dead.

Nep.
Wondrous! This generous god, by thy relation,
Will teach to us new waies of procreation.
But what's that Semele?

Merc.
Of Cadmus race,
A Theban Damsell, in whom Iove had place,
And left her great.

Nep.
Most kindely it was done,
To spare her throes, himselfe to beare her son.

Merc.
Ghest somwhat neere; not altogether, tho,
Iumping with truth. But wonders wilt thou know,
From thee yet forrein? Iuno (jealous still)
By strange deceit seeks means the wench to kill;
Persuades her (their united loves to sunder)
To beg of Iove, to bed with her in thunder
And blasting lightning (cause of all her griefe.)
To her the credulous Wanton gives beleefe;
She craves, Iove grants, descends in glorious fire,
And in these flames the poore Girle doth expire.
Who grieving the faire Theban so should die,
Caus'd me to rip her wombe vp instantly,
And bring the Infant, now seven moneths conceiv'd,
Whom from my hand he gratefully receiv'd:
Not knowing better how to make provision
For this Abortive, he made deep incision
In his owne thigh, and there it three moneths lay,
Till (now mature) it for it selfe made way.
This day he is deliver'd, and now growes
Somewhat distemperd by his painfull throwes.

Nep.
But where's the Infant?

Merc.
Him I did transport
To Nisa late, where the faire Nymphs resort,
By them with great care to be educated,
And by the name of Bacchus celebrated,
Or Dionysius.

Nep.
Then of this thy brother,
As Iove the father is, so hee's the mother.

Merc:
It so appeares: but Neptune I am gon,
For other things I now have thought vpon;
I must go fetch him Lotion for his wound,
Yet green, and will in few dayes scarce be sound.
There's nothing but to him we must apply,
That's done to women that in childe-bed lie.

Diogenes and Mausolus.

The Argument.

The dead Mausolus doth himselfe advance
Before all others of the buried Throng:
And therefore he erects his countenance,
Because on earth he was so faire and strong.
Diogenes derides his boastings vaine,
And proves himselfe more happy of the twaine.

The Dialogue.

Diog.
Attend, ô Carion, what is thine intent
To be even still so proud and insolent?
Prating of thy great worth, others to brave,
As if thou for some great desert wouldst have
Before us all precedence.

Maus.
I first claime
Prioritie, rais'd from a kingdomes name,
(O Synopesian) for I empir'd o're
All Caria: next, I pierc'd the Lydian shore,
There govern'd Nations barbarous and rude:
Besides, I many other Isles subdu'd.
The great'st part of Ionia I laid wast,
And my great army to Miletum past.
Nay more, I was of beautifull aspect,
Tall and well shap'd, and (what I much affect)
In power (before me) I exceeded all.
But that which made me most majesticall,
Of costly marble from the rocke dissected,
I have a stately monument erected
In Halicarnassus, fam'd for magnitude,
With rare and never equal'd pulchritude,
So faire, so large, that all that see it know,
No King that ere deceast the like can show.
Statues of men and horses 'bout it stand,
Graven and carv'd by a most elaborat hand;
In which expression Artists were at strife,
Not one of them but imitating life;
Of such admired height and spatious roome,
It rather seemes a Temple, than a Toome.
What wrong is't then, my glories not to smother,
And to claime a precedence before other?

Diogenes.
Is't potencie? is't beauty? or rich stones
In such huge number heap'd upon thy bones,
That swells thee with such pride?

Maus.
By Iove the same.

Diog.
And yet Mausolus, thou that hast the name
Of Beautifull, thy strength is not all one,
Nor face that was; both now are past and gone:
For an unpartiall Vmpire should we chuse
To point the Fairer out; let him but use
An unsway'd eye, not squinted with affections,
Shall finde small difference in our two complexions:
For both our heads are bald and alike bare,
Having no lips, our teeth apparant are;
Neither of us a nosthrill hath to show,
But through these empty holes alike we blow.
This being granted, if because thy shroud
Beneath so great a Structure make thee proud,
And that thy countrymen that Mole retaine,
Boasting of it with ostentations vaine,
To shew to strangers the rare excellence
Of polisht stone; what profit reapst thou thence,
Thou exquisite man? unlesse thy shallow wit
Account thy greatest hurt a benefit;
To have of huge stones, wondrously convay'd,
A greater heape than others on thee layd.

Maus.
Am I no whit the better then for these?
Is Mausolus one with Diogenes?

Diog.
Not so, good man, no paritie 's confest;
The Carian King shall be with griefe opprest,
Excruciated and perplext in minde,
To thinke of his great pleasures left behinde,
Honors and wealth: Diogenes the while
At thy vexation stand aloofe and smile.
Thou in thy lasting memorie shalt have
The art and charge bestow'd upon thy grave,
By thy faire sister and thy widdowed Queene,
In Halicarnassus still to be seene.
When as Diogenes yet doth not know
Whether on earth he have a grave or no;
Therefore can take no care for't. My fame lies
Tomb'd in the bosomes of the Iust and Wise.
Stories to future times deliver can,
I lead a life that did become a man.
Time shall thy Structure wast, but never myne,
(Thou impure Carian) for 'tis made divine:
My monument growes neerer to the skye,
As built in place much more sublime and hye.

Crates and Diogenes

The Argument.

Nature with too much darknesse overcast,
Is maskt and blinded with the worlds affaires,
Still doating upon things that cannot last,
As on vaine frailties fixing all their cares.
“Man that on mundane things himselfe assures,
“Cheats all his hopes; 'tis Vertue sole endures.

The Dialogve.

Crat.
Tell me Diogenes, hast thou not knowne
Rich Moerichus, the man so overgrowne
With wealth superfluous, that from Corinth came
With ships so richly fraught? the very same,
Cousin to Aristæus thought to be,
By computation full as rich as he:
Tkese two betwixt themselves use Homers phrase,
Claw me, I'le claw thee; Let's live many dayes.

Diog.
What was the reason, Crates, first did move
These monied men to enterchange such love?

Crat.

Diog.
But what's become of this their time out-wearing?
Speake freely Crates, 'tis a tale worth hearing.

Crat.
Those that each others state sought to betray
By bribes and flatteries, both dy'de in one day;
And that huge Magozin did chance to arrive
To those whom they scarce thought of, being alive,
Thrasicles and Eunomius their Allyance:
Yet the Diviners in their great pre-science
Ne're spake of them. Now the two rich men, they,
Fearelesse, still hoping with the Fates to play,
Being from Sycion unto Cyrra bound,
Were in the mid way neere Iapygium drownd.

Diog.
No matter, Crates, but when we were living,
There was no emulation, no such striving
To be each others heire; never did I
Desire of heaven, Antisthenes should die,
To be made his Executor; or summe
His dayes, in hope his staffe to me might come.
Nor do I thinke thou ever didst desire
(O Crates) I the sooner might expire,
To inherit my possessions, and to strip
Me from my Tun, and pulse left in my scrip.

Crat.
I had no need of them, nor thou to claime
His staffe for legacie, since thou didst aime
At a much fairer heritage, to bee
Better'd by him, as I have bin by thee;
And that in treasures richer and more hye,
Such as the Persian Empire cannot buy.

Diog.
And what be those?

Crat.
Wisedome, frugalitie,
Truth and good life, in all these libertie.

Diog.
By Iove, I well remember I had store
Of these from him, but thou (ô Crates) more.

Crat.
Yet others that have thought themselves more wise,
All such inheritances much despise;
Nor sycophant they us, such things to attaine
By us, as we from him were proud to gaine,
They only thirst and hunger after gold.

Diog.
No marvell, since they all of them have sold
Themselves to Ignorance, not capable
Of Knowledge and instructions profitable;
Having their mindes with dissolute lusts infected,
Like foule and loathsome dishes long neglected,
Grow fur'd and sluttish with voluptuous sin,
Corrupting the most choice Cates serv'd therein.
Th' are full of rifts and cranies, every houre
Greater than other: therefore should we poure
Into these leaking Vessels, Iudgement sound,
Or Truth, or Freedome, all drop to the ground,
Through their craz'd bottomes, and lie spilt and wasted,
Much with their putrid noisomnesse distasted:
(So Danaus daughters here in hell are said,
Laboring with Sives a flowing Spring to unlade)
And yet even those that can no goodnesse keep,
Will watch gold falling from them, and shun sleep,
Hoording it with all care.

Crat.
And so 'tis best
We do those vertues we in life possest.
Locke they their stuft bags in chests ne're so strong,
They shall but one poore halfe-penny bring along,
And that no further than to Charons barge;
The Ferriman will ease them of that charge.

Charon, Menippvs, Mercvry.

The Argument.

Charon the Ferriman exclaimes vpon
Menippus, for not paying him his fare,
By him being wafted ouer Phlegeton;
For which these two at great dissention are.
Charon is forc'd to pardon it in the end;
For he that nothing hath must nothing spend.

The Dialogve.

Char.
Pay me my fare, thou wretch.

Menip.
Nay, scold outright,
If thou to heare thy selfe speake tak'st delight.

Char.
My due for thy trajection downe here lay.

Menip.
I prethee how can he that hath not, pay?

Char.
Is't possible there any one can be
That is not worth a single halfpenny?

Menip.
I know not to whom else thou pratest here,
But for myne owne part I have none I sweare.

Char.
I'le bast thee with this ship-rope, if my hire
Thou tendrest not.

Menip.
Then shall my staffe aspire
To fly about thine eares.

Char.
So long a cut
Must I take paines to waft thee, and thou put
To no expence at all?

Menip.
Let Hermes stand
Ingag'd for me, who gave me to thine hand.

Merc.
By Iove, in time I shall be ill bested,
If I be put to pay fares for the dead.

Char.
He shall not so passe from me.

Men.
For his sake
Continue still thy course, and quickly make
Towards the shore; What to thy share can fall
from him who (as thou seest) hath nought at all?

Char.
Didst thou not know what thou shouldst bring along?

Menip.
'Tis true I did, but can excuse the wrong;
I had it not, because I want to give,
I'st therefore fit that I should ever live?

Char.
Wilt thou be he then, who alone canst boast
To have ferried this great river without cost?

Menip.
Not so, ô Charon, wanting to defray,
Thou hast my paines, I pumpt part of the way,
Then tug'd at th' oare, being that only soule
Who in thy barge did neither mourne nor houle.

Char.
Tush, these are nothing to my fare that's due,
Lay downe my halfpenny, my fare, in view.

Men.
Not having it, best way to end this strife,
Is, That thou Charon beare me backe to life.

Char.
For that Gramercy, so I might be sure,
From Æacus a beating to endure.
This base Ghost would persuade me to the whip.

Men.
Be not so peevish then.

Char.
What's in that scrip
Thou keepst so close about thee?

Men.
A small cheat,
A little pulse for Hecate to eat.

Char.
Tell me, ô Mercury, whence hast thou brought
This Dog to us? a wretch that mindeth nought.
What strange things talkt he by the way, I guiding
The helme, whilest he was all the while deriding
The passengers? what a loud coile he kept,
He only singing whilest the other wepr?

Merc.
Knowst thou not him? he hath a spirit daring,
Hee's bold, free spoken, and for nothing caring:
This is Menippus, (Foole.)

Char.
Well, if againe
I take him here,—

Men.
Thou threatnest me in vain:
This passage, though not for 'twixt shore and shore,
Yet once being past, cannot be traveld more.

Menippvs, Æacvs, Pythagoras, Empedocles, and Socrates.

The Argument.

Ivdge Æacus doth to Menippus show
The obscure Ghosts and Sulphur Vaults below.
And after that he brings him to the Plaine
Where both the Valiant and the Wise remaine:
Who as the freenesse of his tongue him guides,
(Wretched himselfe) their sorrowes he derides.

The Dialogve.

Menip.
Now even by Pluto I entreat thee show
(O Aeacus) to me the Vaults below.

Aeac.
Not all, Menippus, that were hard to do:
But such especially as belongs vnto
Thy late demand, namely the prime and choice;
If these content, I'le listen to thy voice.
Thou knowst that to be Cerberus, and him
The ferriman, who from the rivers brim
Trajected thee: this, Periphlegeton:
That the Lake Styx, thine eyes now dwell upon.

Men.
I know both thee and these, Æacus the Great,
Who in this portch hath a determin'd seat.
To observe all entrance, I have likewise seen
The Furies, with th' infernall King and Queen.
The men of old I now desire to see,
Precelling others in nobilitie.

Æac.
This Agamemnon is, Achilles hee,
That Idomen, a third rankt in degree,
And next them plac'd: The fourth discovered,
Ulysses, Ajax then, next Diomed.
The rest, the far fam'd Grecian Hero's are.

Menip.
O thou ingenious Homer, see how bare,
How groveling and how dejected lie,
How low the heads of thy great Rapsodie:
Ignoble and obscure they now are all,
Ashes and dust, trifles in value small;
For (as thy selfe said) nothing hath production,
But's mutable and subiect to corruption.
Now Æacus what's he?

Æac.
Cyrus hee's cal'd.
Now he that next him sits so much appal'd,
Crœsus the Rich; Sardanapalus then,
Who was the most effeminate of men:
Beyond these Midas, and that Xerxes,

Menip.
How?
Is it my fortune then to meet thee now
(Thou wickedest of wretches) in this plight,
Who once didst put whole Greece into affright?
That o're the raging Hellespont mad'st bridges,
And with thy fleet hadst purpose o're the ridges
Of mighty mountaines to have saild ('tis knowne.)
But what a poore Snake is that Crœsus growne?
Pardon me, Æacus, for above all,
I have a great minde with Sardanapal
To go to present buffets.

Æac.
Do not so.
He is so weake and womanish, the least blow
Will breake his skull to pieces.

Men.
As I can
I'le gripe him tho, halfe woman and halfe man.

Æac.
Wilt thou see those in wisedome did surpasse?

Menip.
By any means.

Æac.
Behold Pythagoras.

Men.
Haile, thou Euphorbus, or Apollo, or what
Thou wouldst be calld by else, I give thee that.

Pythag.
Haile to thee likewise.

Men.
Speake and do not lie,
Hast thou about thee still thy golden thigh?

Pythag.
I have it not. But tell me, I intreat,
If thou hast ought within thy scrip to eat?

Men.
Pulse, nothing else: Thy words are meerly wast,
For that I know thy pallat cannot taste.

Pythag.
Yet give me part; amongst us here below
Doctrines are taught which then we did not know.
As namely, That there nothing is to boot
Between a Bean and a Satyrion root.

Æac.
Cast thyne eyes further now, for besides these,
Here's Solon, son to Ercecestides,
Thales and Pittachus, With th' other Sages,
Whose memories shall live to after-Ages:
And these alone seem pleasant 'mongst the rest,
Iocond and free, as with no cares opprest.

Menip.
Cover'd with ashes from the toe to th' head
What might he be, that looks so like to bread
Bak'd on an hearth unswept, blister'd beside,
As if he late had rosted been, or fry'de?

Æac.
Empedocles.

Men.
He that from Ætna came,
Halfe broild of late, I know him for the same:
Thou excellent of foot, what was the cause
Thou threwst thee headlong into Ætna's jawes?

Emped.
Madnesse it was, Menippus.

Menip.
Not, by Iove;
But a vain arrogance, pride, and selfe-love,
With madnesse added, though thou didst not see't:
These scorcht thee, with the sandals on thy feet.
Thou Worthlesse, what have all thy feignings bred,
Being now as others thrust amongst the Dead.
But Socrates, ô Æacus, where's hee?
The only man I now desire to see.

Æac.
With Nestor and Palamedes consorting,
And those with whom he best loves to be sporting.

Menip.
Yet were he here, I would salute him faine.

Æac.
Behold then that bald Fellow.

Menip.
All are plaine
And without haire: it is an equall note,
As well amongst these, as in place remote.

Æac.
He without nose.

Menip.
Why, amongst great and small,
I cannot spy one wise amongst them all.

Socrat.
Dost thou seeke me, Menippus?

Menip.
Thee alone.

Socr.
How stand all things in Athens? long agone
It is since I came thence.

Menip.
Many yong men,
Puny and junior Sophists, such as then
Durst not have talkt in publique, now looke hye,
and openly professe Philosophie.
Nay, who their habits shall observe, the gate
Must needs confesse that they still imitate
The old Philosophers. Th'hast seen, I know,
How Aristippus to these Vaults below,
And Plato came: daubd with sweet unguents, th' one:
The other in smooth flatteries, cast upon
The Tyrant of Sicilia.

Socrat.
But of me
What censure they?

Menip.
A blessed Ghost to be,
And one, in those daies, whose predicting tongue
Spake of all things that to this place belong.
And therefore they admire thee, hold thee rare,
With whom none of the Sages might compare;
Above them skild, of such things speaking truest,
Yet (sooth to say) I thinke more than thou knewest.

Socr.
I spake of these things as my skill enabled,
Which they held dreams, and that I meerly fabled.

Menip.
What are these three about thee?

Socr.
In a word,
Charmides, Phedrus, Clima's son the third.

Menip.
'Tis well done (here too) to professe thy Sect,
And use those thy faire followers with respect.

Socr.
What can I better do, my selfe to please?
Come then, sit downe, and by us take thine ease.

Menip.
Not I, by Iove, but instantly returne,
To heare Sardanapal and Crœsus mourne:
Next to these two my mansion I will keepe,
Of purpose to deride them when they weepe.

Æac.
I must be gon too, and have speciall care
Lest some ghost steale hence whil'st we absent are.
My place is where thou foundst me, next the dore;
When next we meet, I'le shew thee ten times more.

Menip.
I thanke thee Æacus, even with my heart:
We have seen enough at one time, now let's part.

Nerevs, Thersites, Menippvs.

The Argument.

Betwixt Thersites and Aglaia's Son
A sudden emulation is begun,
Which of them both (being dead) is now most faire.
The Morall shewes, In death alike we are.

The Dialogve.

Ner.
To end this new borne strife, Thersites see,
Here comes Menippus, he shal Vmpire be.
Prethee thou Cynick thy free censure tel,
Which of us two in beauty most excell.

Menip.
Resolve me first, Who are you that thus seeke
To make me judge?

Ner.
I Nereus the faire Greeke.

Thers.
Deform'd Thersites I.

Men.
But tell me now,
Which

Nireus was a young man amongst the Greekes who came to the warres of Troy, whose beauty and feature Homer in his Iliades mightily commended: to whom I referre such as desire to be more fully satisfied of him.

Nereus, which

Thersites, a mishapen and deformed Captaine in the Grecian Host, as crooked in minde as body, who bitterly railing against Achilles, he being mightily inraged against him, slue him with a blow under the eare; his deformity was so great, that from thence arose a Proverbe which hath continued even to this day, Thersite fœdior, asperst upon any stigmatick, and crooked fellow; you shall reade him fully described and characterd by Homer in his first and second booke of Iliads.

Thersites? for I vow
I cannot guesse.

Thers.
In this thou art o'recome,
Nereus: Menippus cannot give his doome,
We are so like. What though blinde Homer boast,
And stile thee fairest of the Grecian host?
What though my thin and unkemb'd scattered haire
Fell in long Elfe-locks from my scalpe, now bare?
Do not my living ouglinesse revile,
Death ranks us now together in one file.
Therefore to have this difference quickly ended,
Now iudge

Menippus was a Poet, and master to Cicero the famous Oratour: but by this personated by Lucian, is intended a Cynick Philosopher, dogged both in his behaviour and writings, in imitation of whom, Varro the Orator writ a Satyr, and intitled it Satyra Menippea. It is reported of him, that such money as he had hoorded together by usury and the like sordid meanes, was so deare unto him, that being robbed thereof, he grew into despaire, and miserably hanged himselfe. His whole life ye may reade described at large by Diogenes Laertius.

Menippus.

Ner.
Am not I descended
From Charopes and Aglaia, fam'd so far
'Bove all that came vnto the Trojan war,
For my rare beauty?

Menip.
But Nereus know,
None bring their beauty to these Vaults below.
Of the fine flesh thou bragst of, wormes have fed,
Leaving thee nought save bones, like us now dead.

Ner.
Aske Homer, of what fame Nereus was then,
And he will answer, The most faire of men;
Ascribing Beauties praise fully to mee.

Men.
Thou tellst me dreames: I iudge by what I see.
If amongst them that knew thee in those daies
Thou wert so famous, seeke from them thy praise.

Ner.
Am I not then the fair'st?

Menip.
Nor he, nor thou,
Nor any one that is amongst us now,
Can claime precedence: for equalitie
Reignes 'mongst the Dead.

Thers.
And that's enough for me.

Ivpiter, Mercvry, Ivno, Pallas, Venvs, and Paris.

The Argument of the Dialogue, entituled Deorum Iudicium.

The Troian Paris, being yet a Swaine,
Is made the Iudge of Ates golden Ball.
Three goddesses contend, but two in vaine;
Venus (faire Beauties Queene) prevailes 'bove all.
With Youth, her fraile gifts are more potent charmes,
Than Iuno's state, than Pallas Arts or Armes.

The Dialogve.

Iupit.
Take (Mercury) this Apple, and make speed
To Phrygia, there where Priams son doth feed
His herds of Cattell; thou art sure to find him
In Ida mount, the part that's now assign'd him
Call'd Gargarus: and thus much to him say
From Iupiter, That we command him stay
All other his affaires; for being yong,
And beautifull withall, of a quicke tongue,
Whom most for amatorious things commend,
Him we appoint this doubtfull cause to end,
And he alone shall the prime Vmpier bee,
To tell which goddesse is the fair'st of three:
She that's crownd Victresse by the Trojan Boy,
For meed this golden Apple shall enioy.
This is the houre that calls you to be gon:
I am no competent judge to take upon
Me this arbitrement, since I approve,
They all have equall portion in my love;
And, were it possible, I would renowne
Each severall Beauty with a Victors Crowne,
As bee'ng to me like deare. Whoso shall give
The Palme to one, he cannot chuse but live
In envy of the other: therefore I
Allow me no fit Iudge. Go then, apply
Your selves in haste unto that Phrygian Swaine,
Who is descended of a regall straine,
And Cousin to my Ganimed; a Youth
Simple, (as mountain-bred) who nought save truth
Knowes, and there's none that hath beheld his face,
But would esteeme him worthy this great grace.

Venus.
For my part, Iupiter, what would I care,
If in this censure, Which should be most faire,
Thou wouldst us instantly to Minos send,
What can he finde in me to reprehend?
However I am confident, yet these
'Tis likewise fitting the yong man should please.

Iuno.
Neither have we, ô Venus, cause to feare,
Should Mars your Sweet-heart be made Vmpier here.
But to this Youth selected we assent,
And (be he what he will) we rest content.

Iup.
Is this your minde, my lovely Pallas? Tush,
I now perceive you turne your eies and blush:
Such bashfulnesse becomes chaste Virgins still;
I take thy silence for consent, thy will
I finde with theirs hath correspondence: Go,
And from yong Paris thy precedence know;
But take this charge from me, In those that speed not,
Malice or spleen against the Iudge it breed not,
Nor the yong man with any mischiefes threat,
Since all of you alike cannot be great.

Merc.
Proceed we then: this path directly leades
Vnto those Phrygian pastures and faire Meads;
I'le shew the way, you follow me apace,
Be all of courage, I both know the place,
And Paris too, a beautifull yong man,
And in these amorous contentions can
As much as any; fit to undergo
This charge, and will not iudge amisse, I know.

Venus.
All this is as it should be: I delight
In one not partiall, that will censure right.
But is he yet a Bachelor, canst tell,
Or doth some Wife or Damsell with him dwell?

Merc.
I cannot say hee's altogether cleare
And free from women.

Ven.
How's that? let me heare.

Merc.
There lives with him a smug Idæan Lasse,
Sufficiently faire, and one may passe
Amongst the rest, but rusticall, as bred
In the same mountaine where his herd is fed:
Oft in familiar conference I have seen them,
But tooke no note of any love between them.
Why aske you Venus?

Ven.
For no ill intent;
It came into my thoughts by accident.

Miner.
Ill dost thou, Mercury, and us much wrong,
To hold us in sad conference so long.

Merc.
Not so Minerva, lovely Venus spake
Nothing 'gainst you; only she chanc'd to make
A question, if this Paris had a Bride.

Minerv.
If nothing else, why didst thou closely hide
Such talke from us?

Merc.
She spake the word by chance;
To keep't from you was but my ignorance.

Miner.
Hath he none then?

Merc
It seemes not.

Miner.
Doth he incline
To militarie Arts and discipline?
Is he of warlike spirit, from a straine
Ambitious after glory? or meere Swaine?

Merc.
In that you plunge me; but as I can guesse,
Being yong and strong, what can he promise lesse,
Than prove a hopefull souldier?

Ven.
Well, you see
I 'plaine me not, nor is it griefe to mee,
That you two spake in privat; these complaints
Fit jealous heads, but none of Uenus Saints.

Merc.
Take nothing ill, faire Venus, I beseech,
For truly to resolve you, her late speech
To yours had reference: Then (as you are wise)
Presume this, nought can bate you of your prise;
The selfe same answer that to you I made,
I gave to her. I'th mean time whil'st we trade
In this discourse, the greatest part assign'd us
Of this our way we haue past, and left behind us
The stars already; Phrygia is not far,
For in our view Ida and Gargarus ar';
And if I be not much deceiv'd, I spy
Paris the Iudge that must your beauties try.

Iuno.
But I see no such man.

Merc.
Close by me stand,
And cast your eye that way, toward the left hand,
Not to the mountain top, but to the side,
Where you may spy a caves mouth gaping wide,
By which a faire herd's grasing.

Iuno.
No such sight myne eies are guilty of.

Merc.
Looke here forth-right,

Merc.
Iust as my finger points, and in your sight
Will fall a goodly herd of Beeves and Cowes;
Not where the rocke unto the steepest growes,
But towards the middle part, somewhat descending,
Behinde them comes a Swaine, it seemes, intending
To keepe them close together, lest they stray,
Downe from the rocks he makes his speediest way;
Holding withall a sharpe goad in his hand.

Iuno.
Now Hermes I begin to understand:
If that be he, I spy him.

Merc.
'Tis confest:
But being now so neere the earth, 'tis best
(If so you thinke it fitting) we descend,
And towards him a moderat pace extend;
Lest sousing on the sudden from an hye,
The frighted Swaine may take his heeles and fly.

Iuno.
Hermes speakes well: Let's all at once alight;
You (Venus) in this way have best insight,
As she therein best skild, who (as Fame tells)
Vpon this mountaine oft in caves and cells,
To satiate your lust, and pay Loves debt,
In Vulcans absence with Anchises met.

Venus.
Iuno, your scoffes and taunts are ill apply'de,
Nor do they move me.

Merc.

Paris.
The like to thee yong man: I only crave thee
To be resolv'd, What art thou? and to tell
What are these faire ones that in shape excell?
They are not such as daily we behold
Vpon these hills their flocks to graze and fold,
But fairer much.

Merc.
Know, these no women be,
But of more high strain and sublimitie;
That, Iuno; that Minerva; Venus shee,
And I the son of Maia, Mercurie.
Iove greets thee thus: Why do thy spirits faile?
Why trembl'st, and so suddenly lookst pale?
Feare not, there is no danger, his command
Is, Thou 'twixt these the vnpartiall Vmpire stand,
Of their choice features: Thus he bad me say,
Since thou thy selfe art beautifull, and may
(Though in this Ida there be Louers many)
Yet in these complements compare with any.
Therefore to thee this iudgement I commit,
As vnto him that best can censure it:
Behold this Golden Apple, and advise,
'Tis of the choicest beauty, the rare prise.

Paris.

Merc.
All I can say,
'Tis Ioves command, thou must perforce obey.

Paris.
One thing persuade them, Mercury, I intreat,
That the two Vanquisht would nor rage nor threat;
But to impute it, if they lose the prise,
To the fraile weaknesse of a Mortals eies.

Merc.
They so haue promis'd: but the time drawes on,
That now thy sentence must be call'd vpon.

Par.
Then to please one, I'le dare the spleen of two,
For in this straight what lesse can Paris do?
Yet one thing, Hermes, I with leave would know,
Is it enough to judge by th' outward shew,
Perusing them thus habited and clad?
Or wert not fit a nearer course were had?
To have them all stript naked, that myne eye
May view them with more curiositie?

Merc.
A question that from sound discretion growes,
And being Iudge, they are at thy dispose.

Paris.
At my dispose? Then I will haue all three
Stript to their skinnes.

Merc.
He'hath spoke; so it must be.
Vnbrace your selues, put off, and nothing hide;
Whilst he surveighs each part, I'le turne aside.

Iuno.
Well apprehended, Paris, and see, I
Disrobe me first: Now this way turne thine eye,
Behold my white wrists, and my arms quite bare,
And are not these incomparably rare?
I am nor staring, nor yet narrow ey'de,
These two the marks of Cowardise or Pride;
Where e're thy curious eye shall now invade,
I'am equally and vniformly made.

Paris.
Disrobe you likewise, Venus.

Minerva.
Not in haste,
Till she hath ta'ne her girdle from her waste,
And cast it by; that first thing let her grant thee,
For, Paris, shee's a Witch, and will inchant thee,
Being long studied in prestigious guiles,
And apt to circumvent thee with her smiles.
Nor was it meet she should have come thus gay,
Trickt vp in colours and such rich array,
Her cheeks with sundry paintings plaistred o're,
Like to some Prostitute or obscœne Whore:
When nothing but bare form and feature true
Should be expos'd vnto the Iudges view.

Paris.
Of that inchanted Belt you well advise;
Cast it away.

Venus.
Why doth not she likewise
Her glorious plumed helmet cast aside,
Or heave the brim that doth her forehead hide,
Displaying her uncover'd face and brest,
But with her truncheon strikes vpon her crest,
As if she meant the Iudge to terrifie,
That he th'upright cause might not verifie?
Or else (her threatning Burgaret cast hence)
Her blew faint eies might give the Iudge offence.

Miner.
There lies myne helmet.

Venus.
There my girdle by.

Iuno.
We now all bare to thine inspection ly.

Paris.
O Iove, thou Wonder-maker, make me bold,
What glorious objects do I now behold!
What pulchritude? What extasy'de delight?
What a rare Virgin 's that? how faire, how bright?
But she, how venerable? nay, divine?
What royall power within her front doth shine?
What majestie? yet intermixt with love,
She alone worthy to be wife to Iove
How lovely shines the tother in my face?
With what a moving irresistable grace?
Her tempting lips, so paralleld in meetnesse,
Whisper to me all blandishment and sweetnesse.
Of this vnbounded surplusage of pleasure,
I am now sated in abundant measure:
Therefore so please them to my will attone,
I gladly would peruse them one by one;
Being ambiguous in my selfe, and doubt,
(Distracted thus) I shall not long hold out:
How can my brain or eye be truly guided,
Being at once so many waies divided.

Venus.
So let us do.

Paris.
You two your selves retyre;
But Iuno stay.

Iuno.
It is my sole desire.
And when thou hast with thy acutest eyes
Perus'd this feature, void of all disguise,
And with thy most inquisitive eyes made way
Through all that thou canst possibly display,
I'le give the rest place. Great is my donation,
If I prevaile by thee: make proclamation,
That I am Vict'resse, and take Iuno's word,
I'le of all Asia make thee King and Lord.

Paris.
I am not sway'd with gifts; but be you gon,
What's right and iust must now be thought vpon.
Draw neere, Minerva.

Miner.
See, I am at hand:
If in this strife of Beauty first I stand,
And thou pronounce me fairest; from thy cattell,
I'le bring thee vnto many a glorious battell,
From whence thou, vanquisht never shalt retyre;
I'le make thee a prime Generall, and aspire
To deeds of fame and honor, in all which
Thou shalt be conqueror, crown'd with triumphs rich.

Paris.
Of thundring wars I (Pallas) have no feare;
Peace (as you see) is publisht every where,
Phrygia and Lydia are now both at rest,
Neither with forrein nor home-broiles opprest,
My fathers Empire is in quiet: yet
Thinke not that I your noble gifts forget;
You may hope well, yet know me thus far stayd,
I being Iudge must not with bribes be swayd:
Take up your garments, put your Helmet on,
I'have seen sufficient, you may now be gon.
Now your time calls you, Uenus.

Venus.

Paris.
Never, ô Venus, but you please me well
In her description: on: to whatsoe're
You speake of her, I'le give attentive eare.

Uenus.
She was the childe of Læda, than her mother,
(Till she outstript her) liv'd not such another.
For Læda was Ioves Paramor, who then
To have of her fruition, like a swan,
Downe sowsing came from heaven, by whose congression
Hellen, is Ioves owne daughter, by succession.

Paris.
Of what aspect is she?

Venus.
White without spot;
And needs she must, being 'twixt two Swans begot:
That she is soft and tender, agrees well;
Conceiv'd and born too in a smooth white shell;
Naked she wrestles oft for exercise,
And from these games returnes with many a prise:
Sutors from all parts have come thronging to her,
And happy he could finde the grace to woo her.
Nay, such as have bin forc'd to go without her,
Not only threatned, but rais'd war about her.
Even Theseus held her choice of all his blisses,
Nor could he stay till she were ripe for kisses,
But ravisht her yet yong: but when she came
To a full feather, her unequal'd fame
Grew with her feature: then the Optimates,
Princes, and of the Argives the chiefe States
Solicited her Nuptials: the prime man
Was Menelaus the Pelopidan,
He wood and woon; and yet if thou agree,
Her and her Dower I will confer on thee.

Paris.
What's this you speake? wil you your pains imploy
To give me, whom another doth enioy?

Venus.
Is that a thing which difficult appeares?
Thou art as yong in knowledge as in yeares.
I promise what I can performe with ease.

Paris.
Shew me the means how, and it well shall please.

Venus.
Then thus; Thou shalt a voyage vndertake
To travell through all populous Greece, and make
That thy designe. Now when thou shalt arrive
At Lacedemon, Helena will strive
To give thee welcome. What shall then succeed
Leave to my care, for thine it shall not need.

Paris.
But this appeares incredible to me,
Impossible and meerly absurd, that she
Should leave a husband, kingdome, and a Crowne,
Subjects and servants, and all these her owne,
Forsaking land, to hazard the seas danger,
To follow me, a rude guest and a stranger.

Venus.
Be thou of courage; for the same intent
I have two lovely children shall be sent
Thy Guides and Captaines, who with all facilitie
Shall worke my ends: (Cupid and Amabilitie)
Cupid shall altogether undermine her,
And to thy selfe impulsively combine her.
With thee shall Amabilitie persever,
At all occasions be about thee ever;
By whose infusion thou shalt be inspir'd
To'appeare to her much lovely, most desir'd.
I will be present there, the more to friend thee,
And will entreat the Graces to attend thee,
Who shall be thy companions; all together,
What cannot we compell her to? and whether?

Paris.
And yet, faire Venus, I am still in doubt,
By what safe means this may be brought about.
I love that Hellen, though as yet unknowne,
And (by what means I know not) I am growne
Inamor'd of her; for beholding thee,
(O Venus) now me-thinks I Hellen see.
Me-thinks for Greece I now am vnder saile,
In Sparta am safe landed, and prevaile;
That I behold her in her beauties pride,
And bring from thence a bright and glorious Bride.
Why, e're begin, do I applaud the end?
I grieve I act not what I apprehend.

Venus.
Be not too forward in thy love, I prethee,
But (ô thou fair'st of Neat-heards) take me with thee;
Doat not too soone, nor be thou over-speedy,
Till I my selfe thy Bride-bed have made ready,
Having first reconcil'd you: with condition
That I of this great prise may have fruition.
'Twill grace your mariage, when as Victresse I
Shall present be at that Solemnitie,
And after all such busie pain and toile,
Vnto my triumph adde thy glorious spoile.
Do but thou make this golden Apple mine,
Shee with her love and bride-bed are all thine.

Paris.
And yet perhaps when you have gain'd this prise,
You may neglect, and me (a Swaine) despise.

Venus.
Shall I sweare to thee?

Paris.
No, it shall suffice,
That you have past your promise.

Venus.
Heare me then,
(O thou most faire and beautifull of men)
I vow, all lets and cavils set aside,
This hand shall give thee Hellen for thy Bride;
That from all future dangers I'le defend thee,
And in thy journey carefully attend thee,
That she shall follow thee, and prostitute
Both will and body to thine amorous smile:
That I'le be there to see how all things stand,
And have in all these an assistant hand.

Paris.
But will you bring along rankt in their places
Cupid and Amabilitie, with the Graces?

Venus.
Doubt not I will, and to make quick dispatch,
Desire and Hymen, to conclude the match.

Paris.
For these, and these alone, as fair'st of all,
Uenus, to thee I give the golden Ball.

Ivpiter and Io.

The Argument.

Io, of whom we next discusse,
Daughter toth' River Inachus,
(The fairest Nymph that liv'd that time,
As being in her youth and prime)
Was seen by Iove, lov'd, and comprest.
Queen Iuno, Her, as of the rest,
Growne Iealous o're, doth project lay,
How in their sports them to betray.
Whom to prevent (I know not how)
But Iove transhapes her to a Cow.
The Goddesse knowing how indeard
She was to him, comes to the Heard,
And begs this Heifer. He not dar'd
(However the request seem'd hard)
Her to deny. Shee's now her charge,
And nought her freedome can inlarge.
The passages that hence may grow,
The sequell will hereafter show.
Enter Iô, Daphne, with other Nymphs called Naiades, the Daughters of the Rivers neere adjacent.
Io.
Here, Daphne, by your father Peneus streams
(which falling from the top of Pindus mount,
Waters Hemonian Tempe) let us sit,
All daughters to the Rivers flowing neere:
There old Apidanus steales (murmuring) by;
Next, Poplar-shadowed Enipeus glides:
Not far, Amphrisus, Æas, and 'mongst these,
(Not least) my father, good old Inachus
Lifts up his reverend head, with fresh floures crown'd,
Prescribing lawes and limits to his streams,
To bound them in their channels, curb their torrent,
Lest in their pride they should o'reswell their banks;
Commanding them, through thousand strange indents
To pay his plenteous tribute to the seas.

Daphne.
And how much are we bound vnto the gods,
(Faire Io) to be Nymphs, not generated
From marish Meares, nor yet from standing Lakes,
From sedgy brooks, thick pooles, or shallow foords,
Nor yet from violent and robustuous seas.
Their waters keep a smooth and gentle course,
Not mov'd to fury by the warring windes;
Nor when loud fluxes fall to swell their bounds,
And make deep inundations on the meads:
Nor can the parching drought so dry their springs,
But that their channels keep a temperature:
Their modest shallowes serve us for coole baths
In summer time to play and wanton in:
Their depths, to bate our hookes with wormes and flies,
Fastned to lines made of small twisted silke,
And so betray the creatures of the floud.
Their chrystall waves are Myrrhors, in the which
We dresse our heads, and put these curles in forme,
Sometimes so cunningly, as if that Art
Had power to exceed Nature: and againe,
With carelesse, but so curious a neglect,
As if meere Chance did antecede them both.
This makes us of the Satyrs so admir'd,
And of the Faunes and Swaines so much belov'd.

Io.
Why, have you Sutors, Daphne?

Daphne.
Besides such,
(For these my father, by whose will I am swayd)
Accounts as mean) of Gallants I have change;
Both City and the Court.

Io.
But I may claim
Prioritie above all water Nymphs,
Nor can the Naiades compare with me;
No, Daphne, not your selfe. The rurall Swaines,
They gather from these banks mellifluous floures,
And make you chaplets to adorn your browes,
And shadow your choice beauty from the Sun,
Nay thinke them costly Presents: but I'am one
To whom the gods themselves have offred gifts.
Then before all the daughters of these flouds
I claim a just precedence.

Daph.
By what dream,
Or rather by what brain-sicke fantasie
Hath Io been deluded?

Io.
My apprehensions
Are no weake fantoms to beguile the sence,
But reall, and in action; with their form
They beare a being substance.

Daph.
Hath your Beauty
Had amongst men such long and strange neglect,
That Io would to colour such disgrace,
Accuse the gods of weaknesse?

Io.
Let earths Beauties
Censure of Earth, meere terren as yours be,
And aime no further: the while this of myne
Shall be new question'd by the Powers Divine.

Daph.
Now by what gods, for Heav'ns sake?

Io.
Not the meanest,
Or such as we call under-deities,
As melancholy Saturn, (by his son
Exil'd and banisht from the supreme rule)
As Phœbus, a meere Vassal to the earth,
And forc'd each naturall day to measure heaven;
As Neptune, Soveraign o're the Seas, to whom
Our tributary rivers hourely pay:
As Mercury, though son to Iove himselfe,
No better than his Foot-boy or his Page,
Compeld at every summons to his speed:
But of the potent Thunderer.

Daph.
He of whom
You have learn'd to thunder these impossible braves.
Io, I am asham'd.

Io.
Yes, that your beauty's
Composed of the grosser elements,
Want that attraction to call Iove himselfe
Downe from his heavenly Fabrick, to behold
Vs in our eminence.

Daph.
Strange wonder sure,
To looke vpon that face in which we Mortals,
And value it at best, can nothing spy,
Breed admiration in a Deity!

A noise of thunder. Enter Iupiter in his glory, his Trisull in his hand burning; at sight of whom they stand afrighted.
Io.
Appeare, Iove, in thy glory, let them know
Ei, sham'd confesse their fond surmises vain,
And what it is, thy god-head to prophane.

Daph.
Fly, fly, lest we be thunder-strooke, away;
Let's seeke our safety, danger's in our stay.

Exit.
Iup.
Thou Daphne, who Ioves presence now dost shun,
Swifter ere long shalt from Apollo run.
But there lie that which makes us terrible,
Affrighting gods and men. Io to thee
In calmes I come, and Faire one make me proud,
To seale the love which I so long have vow'd.

Io.
What steale? what vow?

Iup.
Both thou shalt finde imprest
On thy smooth cheeke, soft lip, and Ivory brest.

Io.
Forbeare to handle; yet I never knew
A man so bold and rude: Can gods dispence,
To teach us Women unknowne impudence?

Iup.
Nay rather we solicit you to prove
What yet you have not try'de, the sweets of love.

Io.
Things that I would not learn.

Iup.
A Truant still?
If you want art, Io, I can teach you skill:
Give me your hand, your lip: why these but are
The Prologue to a pastime much more rare.
Women by nature are ambitious, and
Long to know what they do not understand.
I'le practise you in that which you before
Ne're knew.

Io.
In all this lip-sport? or what more
Is in these kisses meant? I am so dull,—

Iup.
All these my Comment shall explain at full.
In vain you strive.

Io.
Should I do ought save well,
I were vndone, my fathers flouds would tell;
These are his banks, they'l blab: What mean you? fie;
They swell above their bounds, only to spie
And see what we are doing. Pish, away,
Such deeds of darknesse can you do by day?
Besides, shall I consent to what you mean,
Not all these silver drops can wash me clean.

Iup.
Where I doe stain I can again make pure:
And that Day shall not hinder us, be sure:
Arise you fogs and damps, your vapors gather,
To shroud us both from Iuno and thy father.

Io.
You make me blush.

A great damp ariseth.
Iup.
These blushes none shall see;
Behold these mists, to curtain us and thee.

Io.
Well, when what most you sue for, you have won,
My comfort is, I see not what is done.

Iup.
And Io now I'le teach thee sports untry'de,
In darknesse best a Virgins blush to hide.

Exeunt
Enter Iuno.
Iuno.
Not in the heav'ns? where then? In vain it were
To search the seas; the blew-vein'd Nereæ,
And green hair'd Dorides with all their brats,
Styl'd by the names of water goddesses,
(Though Prostitutes to Neptune) 'mongst them all
Yeeld not a face to please his curious eye.
Where then? The earth? I that, if any place,
Yeelds choice of tempting Beauties: Argos bred
A golden Danaë, Thebes afforded an
Alcmena and wanton Semele;
Pelagia, a Calisto; Sparta nurst
A swan-like Læda, (Strumpets) of all which
I sought a sure, but found a vain revenge.
Why may not then Thessalian Tempe yeeld
Like fascination, since their impudence
Is more and more encourag'd by my wrongs:
Here then I make inquiry. The day's cleare;
Whence come these foggy mysts that choke the aire,
In so serene and bright an hemisphere?
Aut ego faller, aut ego ledar.
If from the earth, this sudden overcast
Would smell of thicke and suffocating damps:
If from the aire, or any sulph'rous fire,
It would be found by their caliditie.
If from the Rivers, or these moorish fennes,
Humiditie would tell vs whence they were.
No, these are forc'd, and by some god-like power,
Created for a more peculiaruse:
And now my jealousie most truly prompts me,
'Tis some illusion, made to blinde myne eies
From a new injury; which if I finde,
On this one Strumpet I will study more,
Than all that have my vengeance scap'd before.

Exit.
Enter Iupiter, and Io transformed into a Cow.
Iup.
The clamorous Queen's descended from the Spheres,
To finde the cause of this illusive Fog:
But Io I have so transhap'd thee now,
That she by no means can discover thee;
And in that confidence I'le front her boldly.

Iun.
Iove heare? my jelousies are then not vain,
Howe're I'le give him gentle entertaine,
Concealing what's within.

Iup.
My lovely Iuno?

Iun.
My Brother and my Husband Iupiter?

Iup.
What make you here on earth?

Iun.
What other reason,
But that I mist my soveraign Lord in heaven;
And then I yoakt my Peacocks, to their bills
Ty'd silken bridles, and in my light chariot
Made of fine gold, and deckt with Estrich plumes,
Descended as you see. But what affaire
(Might Iuno be so bold to aske her Lord)
Detaines you now in Tempe?

Iup.
Though it fits not
Your Sex to aske a thing that ill beseemes,
Or pry into the counsels of the gods;
Yet thus much I'le resolve you? I came downe
To censure here some causes amongst men,
And set things crooked upright.

Iun.
Now I spy
That which hath drawne him headlong from the sky,
And I will make th' Adulterer himselfe
Author of my iust vengeance.

Iup.
Thou once gon, Spoken aside.

She were again transhap'd, and we both one.
Sweet Iuno will you once more mount your Chariot,
And keep your state above. My designes ended,
I will not long be from you.

Iun.
My craft now
Shall match his cunning; if there be in me
A godhead, I have cast her destiny.
Deare loving Lord, since 'twas my kindenesse drew me
To see vnto your safety (though I know
The Deities in every place secure)
Give me some gift on earth, that I in heaven
May applaud your royall bounty.

Iup.
Be it bred
Beneath the Moon, 'tis my Saturnia's.

Iun.
I have not seen so sweet and lovely a Beast
White without spot or stain; Is she of the herd
Belonging to these Medowes?

Iup.
She is, no doubt.
Why doth my Iuno aske?

Iun.
To make her myne.

Iup.
A gift too small for Iuno to entreat,
Or Iove to grant; Demand some greater boon.

Iun.
This Cow or nothing.

Iup.
Shee's not for thy use;
What would my Love do with her?

Iun.
Only this,
(Being above the rest most beautifull)
To sacrifice her to your Deity.

(Iupiter starts.)
Iup.
Not for the triple world: What was it, Sweet,
That you of me demanded?

Iuno.
Now to know (Aside)

What put you in this feare? Nay I have beg'd,
And must not be deny'd. And have I found you?

Iup.
In what a streight am I? her to betray,
And give her up into her enemies hand,
In man would prove a savage cruelty,
Much more in us: and to deny a gift
Appearing of so small a consequence,
Would but augment her too much jelousie,
And open that which is as yet conceal'd.

Iuno.
What hope have I to enioy greater things,
That am deny'd a trifle?

Iup.
Say I will not, (Aside)

And give no reason; it may then appeare,
This Heifer to be no such as she seems.
Well, she is yours; but how will you dispose her?

Iun.
So carefully, because she is your gift,
My seruant Argus with a hundred eyes
Shall guard her from all dangers.

Iup.
'Tis enough,
In that, to us you shall expresse your love.
But prove he to her churlish or vnkinde, (Aside.

There's one, at once his hundred eies shall blind.
So, she is now your charge.

Exit.
Iun.
And being myne,
I'le teach base Earth to injure what's divine.
Where is my seruant Argus?

Enter Argus with a hundred eyes.
Argus.
Who's that calls?
The sacred goddesse Iuno? What new service
Will you command your vassal?

Iun.
Tak't in briefe;
Beholdst thou This? This? This no matter what,
Not worth a name; only a thing I loath;
Out on thee: But I'le spare my railing words,
To expresse my hate in action.

Arg.
What's the cause
The poore beast trembles thus?

Iun.
A Beast indeed:
Like such she shall be us'd; behold her, Argus;
Are these lips fitting for a god to kisse?
These hoofes apt palms to gripe? these teats fit pillowes?
On which a Deity should brest himselfe?
These, eyes to tempt? or this an hide to touch?
These hornes? (ô me) in myne owne heraldry
She mocks me without blushing.

Argus.
In all this
How will you use my service?

Iuno.
As a Spy:
An hundred eyes thou hast, of all which number
I will allow thee two to sleep by turnes;
The rest to watch this Strumpet; and of all,
But two to winke, the rest to gaze at full:
Behinde thee thou hast eyes, both sides, before;
Which way soe're thou turnst shee's in thy view.
“A thousand he had need, all piercing bright,
“To watch a Lover from his choice delight.

Arg.
And is this all?

Iuno.
Something I had forgot:
Thou art an Herdsman, Argus, and thou know'st
To tame vnruly cattell; she is such:
In some unworthy halter binde her neck,
For such a Beauty the first Carkanet.
Her browsing be the Brakes and bitter couche,
For dainties feed her with the sourest herbs;
Lead her through briers & brambles, which may scratch
Her itching skin even till her soft sides bleed,
Raise vp the mud in cleare springs when she drinks,
Keep her from shadow, in the parching Sun,
Till she be stung with horse flies, and the brees:
Let her not rest but where the ground's still bare;
Feather her bed with thistles and sharp thornes;
And for her footing chuse the barren paths
Strow'd with loose pointed flints to gall her hoofes.
Argus farewell, I leave her to thy trust,
A sweet reuenge for her insatiate lust.

Exit.
Argus.
Drawing this piece of Beasts flesh thus along,
Me-thinks I looke like Lybian Hercules
Leading the Dog of hell: nay I shall fit her
According to my charge, and I will keep thee
(Calfe with the white face) safe enough from bulling,
The longest day that I haue eye to see.
What do you hang an arse? Ptrow, come along,
I'le leade you to bare feeding, and finde sallets
To take downe your full flanks and these plump cheeks.
Along, I'le watch thee well en ough from shrinking
Necke out of collar. Nay, on; thou shalt finde,
Though my face from thee, I have eyes behinde.

Exit.
Enter Inachus the father of Io, Peneus, Appidanus, Amphrisus, (all Riuers) Daphne, and the other Nymphs, &c.
Inachus.
Speake not to me of comfort, Io's lost!
Had she miscarried on the earth, her body
Would have given instance of her timelesse fate:
Or had she been by savage beasts devour'd,
Her garments stain'd with bloud would tell her death.
Had she in myne or these my neighbour floods
Perisht, they would have borne her gently vp,
And cast her on some banke for buriall.

Peneus.
Deare Inachus do not torment your selfe,
Nothing so lost, but may be found at length:
For hauing seen no token of her death,
There's of her life some hope.

Amphr.
Behold, Amphrisus
With this your antient neighbour Appidan,
Peneus and others, as we moane your losse,
So in our pitty come to comfort you.

Appid.
O, brackish not your waters with your teares,
That yet run pure and fresh; but be of comfort.

Inach.
In vain you speake of what you cannot give,
As I in vaine lament myne Io's losse.

Enter Argus leading in Io.
Arg.
How now, curst Cow? What, start you at that name?
I'le make your long hornes shorter.

Inac.
Io, where?
If under earth, I'le send my springs in search
As low as to the Centre. Io, where?
If snatcht vp in the aire, like dew exhal'd,
With eyes fixt vpward I will still thus gaze,
Till from the bosome of some gentle cloud,
Thou drop into myne armes. Faire Io, where?

Arg.
I thinke the beast hath breezes in her taile,
She cannot keepe her still.

Inach.
But stay, what's hee
That leads the fairest Heifer tether'd fast,
That e're drunke of my streames; for Io's sake
I loue all creatures that are beautifull.

Arg.
How now you Harlatry?

Inach.
Thou churlish heardsman,
I know thee, Argus, jealous Iuno's Spy,
Why canst thou be so fierce to one so faire?

Arg.
What's that to thee, or any of you all.

Pen.
Amongst all creatures Nature ever made,
Some to have native beauty 'bove the rest,
Commanding soft affection, this is such.

Arg.
With all myne eyes I spy no difference,
But love all beasts as beasts.

Inach.
The more beast thou.

Pen.
But why should this, the fairest of all heards,
Cast such a pitteous moving eye on you,
As wooing your acquaintance?

Inach.
And 'tis true,
Where ere I go, her sad eye followes me,
So she too, did not Argus keepe her backe:
See, see, how gently she endures my touch,
And makes an offer (had shee power) to speake.
Heare, take these floures, and now she kist myne hand,
Whilest pitteous teares drop down her tender cheeks.
What should I say? poore beast I pitty thee,
And all the good I can do is to grieve,
Th' hast such a churlish Keeper.

Pen.
Inachus, I feare
There's something greater in't.

Inach.
What greater can be,
Vnlesse there live some vnderstanding spirit
In this irrationall and savage shape:
What wouldst thou have, that in this bestiall figure
Beg'st humane pitty? what intends she, thinke you,
By pawing on the ground? Observe her, brethren,
It seemes she hath writ somthing in the dust,
And see, two letters are imprinted faire,
As if it were my Io's Character, And here I reade Io.

Pen.
Io: and see, in every step she hath trod,
That word imprest.

Inach.
This she? whom I so long in vain have sought,
Through forrests, groves, and mountains, fields & floods?
This she, whom I in finding shall most lose?
O miserable wretched Inachus,
More miserable Io, thus transform'd:
I terme thee lovely, till I knew thee such;
But when thy former beauty I record,
Thou ougly art, mishap'd, and terrible.
Can the gods suffer this?

Arg.
Leave this your howling.
Forbeare, or in this cord I leade her forth,
Ile strangle her. Dare not to follow me,
There's danger in me both waies; she shall perish,
And you must bleed. Come, Minion we will clime
Yon craggy mountain top, a prospect fit
For Argus only, who (not moving) can
Behold at once from whence the foure winds blow,
And there with her I'le like a Beacon stand,
To watch and to give warning. Will you drive?
I say pursue me not, for if you do,
Ile make her sure, and you repent it too.
Why ptrow there.

(Exeunt Argus and Io.
Amph.
With what a pitteous action, wailing tongue,
She gave a loving, but a loath farewell.

Apid.
But that the high Powers are not limitable,
Who would beleeve this wonder possible.

Pen.
We must not question what the gods can do,
Yet in th' extremitie of all extremes,
And worst of bads, despaire not, Inachus.

Inach.
How easie 'tis for those that tast not griefe,
Bid others be of comfort.

Amph.
Reverend Sir,—

Inach.
There is no reverence due: not to the gods,
If this be seen and suffer'd: O my Io.
With acclamations I will fill the Meades:
In stead of prayers, Ile execrate and curse,
And to the burthen of myne untun'd shreeks
The rocks and caves shall echo to thy name.

Pen.
But Inachus.—

Inach.
But when your Chanels swell,
You can have dammes and sluces to discharge
Superfluous waters, lest your torrents rage;
And will you bar the conduits of myne eies
To ease the flux of my surcharged heart?
My care was, Io, to provide a man
To be thine husband; but I now must finde
One of the bellowing heard to cal me sonne:
To have some pretty infant draw thy brest,
But now must some py'de urchin sucke thy teats.
But that I am immortall, and the dores
And gate to death against me are debar'd,
I'de weepe my selfe to nothing, and this Beeing
Scatter amongst my flouds, that mixt with them,
They might (in lesse than drops) amongst their waves,
Convey me to the all-devouring seas,
To mix my brine with his, and be so lost;
And lost, forgotten: But I am still the same,
And Io, I'le still call vpon thy name.

Exeunt.
Enter Iupiter and Mercury.
Iupit.
How am I mov'd with Inachus exclaimes?
Why are the eares of gods kept open still,
But first to heare, then pitty? hast thou not, Mercury,
Seene Io's teares? Perceiv'd her scalding sighs,
And even thus far heard her suspires and grones,
Tortur'd beneath that Neatherd churlish groome,
More savage than the beasts he feeds?

Merc.
I have.

Iup.
How oft hath she, thinking to heave her hands
For divine pitty; when she spy'de her hoofes
Cast them to th' earth, with them her head with shame,
And bellowing when she would complain her griefe,
Started at her owne sound?
How oft, when grazing on her fathers banks,
(These fruitfull banks on which she vs'd to sport)
Offring to drinke, when in his Crystall streams,
In which so often she with pride hath lookt,
On her white brow, red cheeke, and golden curles:
Now when she spies those lips a god hath kist,
Stretcht to so vast a widenesse, penthous'd o're
With inlarg'd nosthrils; looking on those eyes,
(In which 'twas once my sole delight to looke)
To see them broad and glaring; her cleare brow
Late deckt with shining jewels, prest with hornes.
How oft hath she (more frighted than asham'd)
Thought, from her selfe, in vaine, to hide her selfe?

Merc.
This can you see? not study how to helpe?

Iup.
I do, and will, by thyne aid, Mercury;
Hye therefore to the top of Pindus mount,
(There Argus keepes his watch) in some disguise;
Thy Caduceus and thy wings layd by,
Finde with the slave some conference, till by cunning
Thou charm'st his waking eies, and being fast,
Cut off his head, and with one blow extinguish
So many lights at once.

Merc.
Great Iove I will:
But thus condition'd, you will interpose
Your awfull power 'twixt me and Iuno's hate.

Iupit.
Presume th' art safe in vs.

Merc.
Then Argus dies;
One fatal stroke shall shut an hundred eies.

Exit.
Enter Argus leading Io in an halter.
Argus.
How dost thou like thyne usage, madam Cow?
Your lodging and your dyet? How dost thinke
This hempen chaine becomes thee? Will you see
Your sweet face in the riuer once againe?
Or how doth your faire beastship feele your selfe?
Wouldst thou not haue some Bulchin from the herd
To physicke thee of this venereall itch?
If not, I'le see what Nettles muddy streams,
Couch-grasse and weeds, thornes, briers, & flints can do.
These failing, here's a goad to prick your sides.
If all these medicines will not tame your lust,
I'le muster new inventions. Nay, I know
You looke for pitty, but it lives not here.
In this high watch-tower stand I sentinel,
To spy who comes and goes. I am made thy gardian,
Ile gard thee both from danger and from rest;
'Twas in thy hearing, Iuno's late behest.

Enter Mercury like a yong formal Shepheard.
Merc.
This shape may prove suspectlesse, and the fittest
To cloud a godhead in; my plumed hat
And fether'd sandals, by the which I am knowne,
I have left at foot of this descending hill:
My snaky Rod I have to this sheephooke turn'd.
Accommodated thus, to Argus now,
Aristors sonne: behooves him keepe good watch,
Whom Mercury (Ioves son) intends to catch.
But Many-eyes have spy'de me.

Arg.
How now shepheard,
There's none who in that simpl shape or name
Needs treason feare. Should any come prepar'd
For mischiefe, I have lights about me shine
Sufficient to prevent it: but thou seem'st
None of such ranke. Come sit by me and talke.

Merc.
The servant to the great Saturnia
Doth me no common grace.

Arg.
Thou know'st me then?

Merc.
What shepheard but not only knowes your name,
But feares your strength?

Arg.
Nay sit (by me th'art safe)
And tell some pretty tales to make me laugh:
I have not long been merry.

Merc.
First resolve me;
Is that faire heifer of some neighbour herd,
You drag thus in an halter?

Arg.
Shee's my charge,
A witty Brute, a most ingenious beast,
A very apprehensiue Animal,
That can do tricks: she hath been taught, I tell thee,
To write and reade.

Merc.
Argus, not possible.

Argus.
'Tis as I said before: but having her,
Some pretty tale, I prethee.

Merc.
But what if
Some goddesse should live in this shape disguis'd,
To whom you are so churlish. I could tell you
A story to that end.

Arg.
Such toyes I love.

Merc.
Thus the Pierides report: The Gyants
Assembled and made war against the gods,
Heapt Ossa upon Pelion, Caucasus
Vpon Pernassus, Pindus above them;
Hill upon mountain, mountain vpon hill,
Till they had made a scale that reacht to heaven.
The conflict then began: the monstrous Typhon
Was Captain of the Gyants: Of the gods
Great Iove, Archduke. The Generals met and fought.
In briefe (to cut off circumstance) the earth
Prevaild 'gainst heauen. The gods are forc't to fly:
Iove, chac'd by Typhon into Egypt, chang'd
Himselfe into a Ram: Apollo, frighted,
Turnes to a Crow, Bacchus into a Goat,
Iuno a Cow, Diana to a Cat;
Venus into a Fish, and tooke the sea;
Mars to a Pigmy, lest he should be knowne:
And Mercury, syrnam'd the crafty god,
Into a Fox.

Arg.
A Fox? But I would meet
That craft which could beguile Argus bright eyes.
Proceed, proceed, good shepheard.

Merc.
Why may not then
Some goddesse be included in this shape?

Arg.
A goddesse, saist thou? thinke me equall then
With one of these huge Gyants, if not greater,
That have the power and potencie to leade
A god-head in a string. But ha, what musick
(Musicke.
Was that strooke vp? 'Twas sweet and delicat,
Nor have I heard the like.

Merc.
My fellow shepheards
Behinde that rocke (from whence an echo growes)
For the more grace have chus'd that place as fittest,
Prest to bestow their cunning vpon you,
Whom they have heard, much tyr'd with watching long.

Arg.
And shall we have some merry Madrigall
To passe away the time with?

Merc.
What you please.

Arg.
I faine would know how first these Pipes came up,
That make this dainty musicke?

Merc.

Arg.
Hey ho; very fine musicke I promise you.

Merc.

Arg.
'Tis pleasing, but it makes me melancholy,
And drowsie too withall.

Merc.
(Aside.

Arg.
Were it not for my charge I'de take a nap.

Merc.
This addes wings vnto his pace,
The goale for which he is in chace.
She addes feathers to her speed;
Now it was no more than need.
Almost caught, Alas she cries,
Some chaste god my shape disguise.

Arg.
The rest may sleepe secure, so I can keepe
But two eyes waking.

Merc.

(cuts off his head.
Exit.
Enter Iuno.
Iuno.
The dying groans of Argus call'd me down,
To know what of his lustre is become.
What, all extinct? and is no memorie
Extant of their knowne brightnesse? hath one night
(Whose nature should be to be proud of stars)
Shut at one time an hundred? nay at once?
Should euery piece of time deprive so many,
How shortly would these lights innumerable
Be vanisht into nothing? But deare Argus,
That all may know thou hadst a louing mistresse,
Grieuing thou shouldst thus perish for her sake;
And that these eies (now blinde) in after-times
May giue a light to perpetuitie,
And memorize thy name, thy faith and fall,
Thy hundred eyes (who wast for Iuno slain)
I will transport into my Peacocks traine;
Whilst such a bird hath breeding, and can bee,
Her painted feathers shall remember thee.

Enter Iupiter and Mercury.
Iup.
And whilest an heifer graseth on the plaine,
Io, her hoofe shall still imprint thy name.
My Iuno are we friends? Let her long divorce,
My faire intreats, with Inachus exclaimes
Invoke thy love and pitty, by my life.

Iuno.
You vse me like a sister, not a wife,
My bed is still so empty.

Iup.
Now by Styx,
An oath no god was ever knowne to breake,
Signe her release, she shall hereafter be
To Iove as a meere stranger.

Iuno.
Since by that you sweare,
What's past is lost, it cuts off future feare,
Saving my quarrell, Mercury, to you.

Merc.
Madam, I did your seruant no great wrong,
Save teaching him to relish a new song.

Iuno.
Where jars are mediated, vain it were
Call injuries in question. As with Iupiter,
With you we are atton'd.

Iup.
Now Mercury,
Since Iuno is appeas'd, fetch Io hither,
In her owne native beauty, whom we will
Restore vnto her father.

Merc.
Sir I shall.

Enter Inachus with the other Riuers, &c.
Inach.
O Iupiter! ô Iuno!

Iup.
Inachus,
Surcease exclaimes, thy prayers have had accesse,
Thy teares been pittied, and thy losse bemoan'd;
Argus is slain, and faire Saturnia pleas'd,
And Io to her pristine shape restor'd.

Enter Mercury with Io.
Inach.
Thanks you immortall gods.

Merc.
No sooner was this mighty Queene appeas'd,
But the rough haire dropt from her tender skin,
Her hornes fell off, her eies appeard to shine
In a lesse orbe, her mouth and lips contracted
Both into compasse, and their native sweetnesse,
Her shoulders are restor'd, fingers and hands;
Her parted hoofe diuided into five,
Now with two feet contented, for on them
She straightway stood erect, and of a Cow,
Save whitenesse, nought retaining, and even yet
She feares to speake, lest she in stead of words
Should bellow forth her minde.

Io.
Yet will I dare
To give my father greeting.

Inach.
O my childe.

Iuno.
I am still jealous of that face: What's he
That makes but a mean sport of wedlocks breach,
But thinkes to violate an oath no sin,
Though calling testates all the Stygian gods?
Great King and Lord, Brother and Husband too,
If I be worthy of those attributes
Your self have daignd, and all the gods approve,
Grant me a second boon.

Iup.
For thy remisnesse
In Io's late affliction, speake, 'tis granted.

Iuno.
Then from these fields of Tempe banish her,
As far as into Egypt.

Inach.
From her father?

Iup.
Be you pleas'd,
And Iuno shall, I hope, be satisfied.
Io, you shall to Egypt be confin'd,
Be that your punishment for Iuno's hate:
Which executed you shall taste our love.
In Egypt held a goddesse thou shalt be,
Ador'd and worshipt in thine heifers shape;
Oblations shall be daily offer'd thee,
And Incense burnt to thy divinitie,
And this for ever. Iuno, in vain you sorrow,
Ioves word is past, and cannot be revok'd.
And now with this one Maxim we conclude;
Where lust is punisht, though the bloud be tainted,
It (after such long Penance) may be sainted.

Exeunt.

Apollo and Daphne.

The Argument.

Enter the riuer Peneus the father of Daphne, Daphne, Amphrisus and Apidanus two Riuers that were Suiters unto her; two Nymphs Attendants on Daphne.
Peneus.
Why lovely Daphne, will you lose your Youth,
And let your best houres passe you? Well you know,
Beautie's a Floure, which not being cropt in time,
Soone withers on the stalke, and then (alas)
Will neither serve for vse nor ornament.
You owe me sweet grand-children, pretty babes,
Even for your birth you do: it is a debt
That I would see discharg'd: I to my parents
Paid it in thee; it is a Bond stands firme,
'till canceld in thy sweet posteritie.
See, I have brought thee Suitors, choise ones too,
Two noble Rivers, both residing neere,
Amphrisus, and still-flowing Appidane,
Yong, and of means, both active and of strength
To wrestle against barrennesse, and give
The hugge the foile. Being dead, I live in thee:
Live thou too in thine issue; so successively
Our Line and memory shall never perish,
But last as long as Time.

Amph.
Your father (Daphne)
Counsels with iudgement, and this argument
I could by many reasons amplifie.
As, That without succession (one age past)
Mankinde should cease to be. O what a punishment
Deserve they from the gods, that would destroy
So glorious a creation, and to leave
So wonderfull a fabricke as the world is,
To no admirers?

Appid.
Save the Plants and Beasts;
And what can they distinguish?

Pen.
Therefore, Daughter
Make vse of time: a season being past,
Can never be recall'd, no, not a moneth.
A moneth? no day, no houre, no minute can:
Therefore make use of opportunitie
Which throwes it selfe vpon thee: but being streightned,
Will after prove a stranger; the least instant
By long repentance cannot be redeem'd.

Daphne.
To you I bow in duty, as to a father;
And these affront in noble courtesie,
Not wronging him, to shew my breeding base,
Scoffing your profer'd love with womanish scorne.
His counsels, your persuasions, I commend,
Knowing both fitting, were they seasonable.
That Maids should love men I am not ignorant,
Or that the breeding world should still encrease;
That Progenie should reach from age to age,
And that the gods make't a necessitie,
To have all their miraculous works admir'd:
All this I know; but

Amph.
I'le proceed: But what
Can you produce against this?

Daph.
Heare me out:
But when I in my best considerat thoughts
Ponder my youth, and what it is to loue;
That vowes are tyes not easie to be loos'd,
And that the smallest finger can pluck on
What not the hand and arme can well put off:
That Mariage is a Maze, which enter'd in,
The line is snatcht thence which should guide us out.
Ere hazard then that vnknowne labyrinth,
Much blame me not to pause.

Pen.
What needst thou feare?
Fond timerous Girle, did not thy mother this
Long time before thee?

Appid.
Nay, hereafter too
May not your daughter do so?

Daph.
I'le resolve you
That, when I have a daughter of my yeares,
And tutor'd by her mother.

Amph.
Excellent Nymph,
These are evasions meere vnnecessarie;
We know you to be ripe, and our selves grown,
Betwixt us is equalitie in state,
And paritie in yeares: nor is our course
Irregular or indirect, we come
Admitted by your father, as a way
Plain, and not interdicted: nor is our suit
So far with cradle it may childish seem;
Nor so old, to appeare decrepit: we are two
Rivals, yet friends; so you chuse one of either,
Even he that is despis'd rests satisfied,
Nor is our love divided.

Daph.
I commend you:
There is of you lesse danger, and least feare
That you should die of love; when both of you
Come with like premeditation to disgest
A rigorous answer.

Appid.
Pray what should we do?
Our service we have offer'd equally:
The world is wide, and if we speed not here,
We must provide us elsewhere.

Daph.
Worthy friends.
To be most plain, to me most pleasing is:
Then take as plain an answer; I confesse me
(Weake as I am) vnworthy of your love.
And yet not so low pris'd, but have bin courted
Both by as great and good. Nor can you blame me,
If I in adding to your worths, shall spare
From mine, in the least kinde to derogate.
To you then, as my equals, I entreat;
Or if you shall deny me, Daphne then
Proclaimes it as her will. I must retyre me
For some few moneths, in them to meditate
What mariage is, and truly study man,
(A booke in which I yet have truanted.)
Now, if I in my more maturitie,
And after some cessation of your suits,
Can ground this Maxime, Man is worthy us,
And we of him; wee'l breviat your long motions
Within a few short termes.

Amph.
You speake but reason:
And so long wee'l attend you.

Appid.
Most fit, that such as bargain for their lives,
Should reade us o're and o're, before they set
Their hands to that Indenture. We are pleas'd.

Daph.
And I that you are so. Nor can my father
At this be discontented.

Inach.
Not I, Childe;
I would not hurry on my ioyes too fast,
Having such hope of them. And yet, sweet Daphne,
The more thou hasts their harvest, the ripe crop
Shall be to them more welcome. For this time
'Tis best to leave her to her privacie:
More leisure that she hath to meditate,
Lesse time you have in which to be resolv'd,
'Twill shorten expectation.

Amph.
May these houres
That adde vnto your yeares, still as you grow,
Increase toward us your love.

Appid.
Friend you pray well,
And in that hope I take a loving leave,
By kissing your faire hand.

Exit.
Daph.
You understand a curtesie as well,
Once being done, as she that knowes to do't.
Farewell. Where be my maids?

1 Nymph.
My Lady, at hand.

Daph.
Doth either of you know what this love is,
That men so much affect it?

2 Nymph.

Trust me, not I: I never lookt so far into man; and most sure I am, man never yet entred so farre into me, that I should know how to define it. But can you tell the reason why this little god is still portraid like a childe?

Daph.
I think, because that dotage which he breeds
Only belongs to children.

1 Nymph.
But why naked?

Daph.
Either t' affright the Modest; or to such
As vow to him, to expresse their impudence.

2 Nymph.
But why with bow and arrowes?

Daph.
That denotes
Inconstancie, because the shafts of love
Are ever shot at random.

1 Nymph.
Wherefore hoodwinkt?

Daph.
Howe're his shafts are aim'd, it shewes his kinde,
Because they strike the eies of Reason blinde.

2 Nymp.

Then am I with Love quite out of love, because at these yeres I should be loath to have one to lead me.

Daph.
Yet do I love the beauty of the spring,
To listen to the birds, with various layes
To welcome in his comming. I affect
The pride and warmth of Summer, to behold
Aboundant Autumne poure his harvest forth
In plenteous sheafes; to see the presses bleed
A flowing vintage. But I most admire
The glory of the Sun who comforts these:
For without him, what were the earth? what heaven?
If all were darknesse, who should then discerne
The lustre of the one or of the other,
The fresh fertilitie proudly adorn'd
With choise and change of all discolour'd floures?
More than a cas'd up Iewell, what were Beauty,
Without the Sun to give a brightnesse to't?
What's ornament, without the Sun to iudge it?
What to be faire or foule, without the Sun,
To censure and distinguish which is best?
The Sun's the deity which I adore.
Here then upon this verdure cast your selves,
And rest a while; not long 'tis e're he will
In all his glory mount the Eastern hill.

They lay themselues downe, then enter Venus and Cupid.
Venus.
Here on the top of the mount Ericine
Ambush thy selfe, (a place sacred to me)
Where thou mayst boldly front the god of Light,
Who hath by this already chac'd hence night.
I'le leave thee now: strike, but strike home, my son,
I'le in these shades absent me whil'st 'tis done.

Cupid.
He mocks my bow, but Phœbus soon shall finde
Cupid hath power to strike the Sun-god blinde.

Enter Apollo with his glittering beames.
Apollo.
The stars are frighted from the firmament,
And at the sight of our illustrious beams
Darknesse vnto the blacke Cymmerians fled.
Now to our daily progresse through the Signes.
But stay, what's he that with our honors, arm'd,
(The Bow and quiver, proper sole to us)
Braves us upon high Erix Promontorie?
I know him now, 'tis Paphian Venus son,
To whom some fooles have vow'd a deity.
I'le know the reason why the bastard brat
Dares thus assume my trophies. 'Morrow Cupid.

Cupid.
As much to Phœbus.

Phœb.
Weake brat resolue me,
By whose inticement thou hast bin so bold
To take to thee the emblems of my power?
Is't not sufficient, thou with brain-sicke toyes
Canst fill the heads of mad men and of fooles,
Who'ascribe to thee a god-head, meerly usurpt?
But thou must weare my due Impresa insculpt,
And ('bout thy shoulders) those known ornaments,
Apollinis insignia?

(Apollo's Ensignes)
Cupid.
And why thine?

Apoll.
Because I am styl'd the god of Archerie;
And where I aime I hit, my prey or enemy,
Kill neere or far. The monstrous serpent Python
(Whose bulke being slaine, an hundred acres spred)
Had from this bow his wounds, and I my honors:
And shall a childe boast eminence with me?

Cup.
Phœbus, thy bow hath monsters strooke to ground,
But myne hath power the gods themselves to wound,
Of which thou art not least. Mother he's sped,
He shoots.
I have pierc'd him home with my shafts golden head.

Ven.
Thou art myne own sweet boy, thy darts ne're fail;
And now Apollo languish and looke pale,
More wan than did thy sister Moon once prove,
When for Endymion she was sicke of love,
Whil'st I laugh and reioyce. Now make all sure,
And strike faire Daphne whil'st she sleepes secure,
But with contempt and hate.

Cup.
My arrow flies,
And as it hits, sicke of disdain she lies.
Now mother let's away.

Ven.
Phœbus, I divine,
Thou'lt say his shafts can wound as deep as thine.

Exit.
Apoll.
What alteration's this I feele? a heate
Beyond myne owne fire, kindled at myne eye.

Daphne starts up.
Daph.
All sleep is still in darknesse, yet our soules
See when our eies are shut. My brest's in uprore;
And yet a dream tels me, the morning gray
Sayes the Sun's up, I shame to looke on day.

Apoll.
What Beautie's this on earth, transpiercing more,
Than can the beams from my celestial Orbe?

Daph.
The Sun is up; Awake: What, shame you not
That he should finde you sleeping?

Apol.
Sweet Nymph stay.

Daph.
The shades best please me, I in them will play;
The Sun's too hot and sultry.

Apol.
I am hee
That measures out the yeare; and shun you me?
Fair'st of thy sex, behold the Suns bright eye,
That all things sees, by whom you all things spy.
Will you in everlasting darknesse dwell?
Light is heavens emblem, and becomes it well:
Where I appeare, I comfort and make glad;
Be comforted in me, why are you sad?
Would you in blindnesse live? these raies of myne
Give that reflect by which your Beauties shine,
For what are artificial lights? when I
Appeare in fulnesse they soon faint and die.
They only put on counterfeits: my rayes
False colours finde, and give the true the praise.
If yours be such, then prove them by my light,
The world will censure they are pure and right.

Daph.
His piercing beams I never shall endure,
They sicke me of a fatall Calenture.

Apol.
What are you better to be lovely born,
If not beheld? What's state, if not observ'd?
Or wherefore before Cottages do we
Prefer the stately Palace, and the sumptuous roofe?
What vertue were in jewels without me?
Else should they be with pibbles equall pris'd.
Wherefore did Nature make you with bright eies,
Which profit not in night without my beams?
Why should the Rose be red? the Lilly white?
The Violet purple? and the Holly greene?
All rhese my creatures. But when I decline,
And night usurps upon the Vniverse,
Their tincture's not discern'd: but white and red
Which in your peerlesse cheeks exceed all floures,
What lustre beare they? When my beams are gone,
The faire and foule in darknesse seem all one.

Daph.
That darknesse doth best please me: let's away,
My beauty will be sun burnt if I stay,
Hee'l blast me like an Ethiope.

Exit running.
Apol.
Dost thou fly me?
Love bids me follow, and I must pursue:
No vault, no cave or cavern so obscure,
Through which I will not pierce, to finde thee out.
Th' Antipodes for ever want my rayes:
To gaze on her, I'le this Meridian keepe,
And till attain the saint that I adore,
Here ever shine, where night shall be no more.

Exit.
Enter Venus and Cupid.
Venus.
Laugh Cupid, laugh, for I am halfe reveng'd,
And shall e're long be fully, when this Blab
Shall in his course, or too much lag or speed
Post somtimes, and again run retrograde.
Where by his too long presence th' earth is scortcht,
Or by his absence th'other world shall freeze:
And all that lies beneath the Moon complaine:
And that the gods at mans request shall call
Disorder into question. What can then
Both heaven and earth conclude when this is done,
But this thou didst to avenge me of the Sun.

Cup.
Will not Mars thanke me for't?

Uen.
And kisse thee too.
O still by his example punish those
That shal our sweet adulterate sports disclose.

Exeunt.
Enter Daphne flying, and Apollo pursuing her.
Apollo.
Why flies my Daphne, knowing 'tis in vaine:
Love makes me swifter than thy feare can thee.

Daph.
O me, I am so tortur'd with the Sun,
I hate my very shadow.

Apol.
I pursue not
As Eagles, Doves do; or the Lions, Harts;
Or Wolves, the Lambe. Love is my cause of hast:
Run not so fast, lest thou shouldst trip perhaps,
And do thy selfe some dammage: the ground's rough,
Shouldst thou but slide, and I the Author on't,
How much would it offend me? To preuent which,
Stay but thy hast, and I will slack my speed.

Daph.
I am almost breathlesse.

Apoll.
See, I am no Satyre,
Shepheard, or such as live by grazing herds,
Delphos is myne, Pharos, and Tenedos:
Thou know'st not who thou fly'st, I am Apollo,
The only god that speakes by Oracle:
Iove is my father, and the Muses nine
Are all my daughters: I am Patron held
Of Numbers, Raptures, and sweet Poesie.
My shafts are ever certain where they aime,
(Yet one more certain, which hath pierc't me deep)
Physicke is myne, I first devis'd that Art,
And could it help me, I were then assur'd:
But Love is by no Simples to be cur'd.

Daph.
O now I am quite spent; help, goddesse Iuno,
(Queene of chaste marriage) bright Diana, help
One of thy true vow'd Virgins: change my shape,
That I this hot adulterous Sun may scape.
Sudden Musicke, and she is turned into a Lawrel tree.
Thanks, ô ye Powers divine: the Spheres assent
To my chaste prayer: your heavenly dooms are iust.
Here grow I fixt against all powers of lust.

Apoll.
Strange prodigie! Lesse hope is in her stay,
Than in her speed: her bodie's round incompast
With a rough rinde, in which her warm heart beats.
Her haire is all grown vpward into boughes,
Here milke white fingers and her armes advanc'd
To great and lesser branches: her faire feet
But late so swift, fast rooted in the earth:
And I, whom Love late blinded, now may see
My Daphne turn'd into a Laurel tree.
Her life still struggles in the churlish barke,
And from her lips I feele her breath still flow.
One blessed kisse at parting, but in vain,
The very tree shrinks from me in disdain.
And yet in lasting memory of thee
And of my love, thou shalt be ever myne:
In all ovatious triumphs and rich shewes
The Laurel shall ingirt the Conquerors browes.
All eminence shall thinke it grac'd in thee.
Poets, the Muses darlings, shall from thee
Receive their honor, and the best esteem'd
Be crowned Laureat, and no excellence
But have it's noble estimate from hence.
Emperors shall prise thy leaves above pure gold:
For thou shalt ever wait on victorie;
And as my youthfull and still unshorne haires
(Vnchanging) of this golden hew are seen,
So shall thy boughes and branches still be greene,
And arme against Ioves lightning. And all these
Shall be for our sake by the gods approv'd,
In memory that Daphne we once lov'd.

Exit.
Enter Aurora attended by the Houres.
1 Houre.
How comes it, faire Aurora, we the Houres
Are thus disturb'd?

2 Houre.
One halts, whilest th' other runs;
Somtimes made longer by a many minutes,
Somtimes not full three quarters?

Aurora.
Am not I
As much distemper'd, being forc'd to rise
So oft before my time? which makes my husband
Old Tython jealous (for he bed-rid lies)
I have light on some new Love.

1 Houre.
All's out of order.

Enter the foure Seasons, Spring, Summer, Autumne, Winter.
Spring.
How comes this strange confusion rise of late?
My spring to grow so forward by the Sun?
Summer complaines that I usurpe on her.

Sum.
As much as I on thee, Autumne on me,
And saith, that in my ripening I include
His harvest, and so rob him of his due.

Aut.
Have I not cause? when thou not only claimst
The honor of my crop: But frozen Winter,
Hee keeps a coile too, swearing, I intrude
Into his bounded limits.

Wint.
This I am sure
I am curtaild of my right; my snow is melted,
And hath not time to cloath the mountain tops:
September is like May, Ianuary as Iune:
And all my bright and pretious Isicles
Melting to nothing: What's the reason trow we?

2 Houre.
'Tis the Suns slacknesse, or his too much speed,
That breeds all this distraction.

1 Houre.
The Sun, say you?
Breake he, or not directly keepe his day,
Seasons and Houres all out of order stray.

Enter Day.
Som.
Behold her whom you speak of, Day, whence come ye?

Day.
I parted now with Night, who had bin here,
But that both must not in one place appeare.

Auror.
And what saith she?

Day.
Like you, railes on the Sun,
And saith he doth her wrong: nor blame her, when
Being full twelve houres, he scarce affords her ten.

Autumne.
Day, you are the Suns mistresse, hath he not
Reveald the cause to you?

Day.
No, his known brightnesse
Hath unto me been only darke in that.
Nor am I of his counsell.

Winter.
Fine world grown,
When every drunken Sexton hath the skill
To make his giddy clocke go truer far
Than can the best Sun dyall.

Enter Apollo.
Apollo.
What are you
That murmure thus against our Deitie?
Are you not all our creatures? though we give you
Full sailes on earth, do not we steere the helme?
Disposing you both where and how we please;
And dare you thus rebell?

Omnes.
The god of Light
Is our great Lord and Soveraigne.

Apoll.

[A Pastorall Drama called Amphrisa, or the Forsaken Shepheardesse.]

The Argument of Amphrisa the forsaken Shepheardesse.

Enter two Shepheardesses, Pelopœa and Alope.
Pel.
Good morrow.

Alop.
So to you, faire Shepheardesse.

Pel.
What newes in our Arcadia?

Alop.
I know none:
For well you wot it is no newes with us,
That men should prove inconstant.

Pel.
Thinke you so?

Alop.
Thought's free.

Pel.
I pray can you define me Thought?

Alop.
Let me bethinke my selfe, I thinke I can:
For I have thought of many things e're now.

Pel.
But can you guesse what I thinke?

Alop.
I (perhaps)
May jumpe with your conceit, come neere't at least.
Of colours there are none so opposite
As white and blacke: and of the Elements
Than fire and water none more contrary:
Nor is there ought so antipathy'de in men,
As what they thinke and speake.

Pelop.
Now let me helpe you:
Mens thoughts like Courtiers clokes are often shifted,
And change as oft as they are truly sifted.

Alop.
This then hath been the cause of womens sorrow;
Men thinke to day ill, to do worse to morrow:
Witnesse Amphrisa's servant.

Pel.
Pitty 'tis,
So faire a body, and so sweet a soule
Should be so foulely dealt with. Her false Lover
Vnkindely hath forsooke her.

Alop.
That's the reason
Shee's growne into so deepe a melancholy.
I wonder any woman dare trust man,
Since, like as the Chamelions change themselves
Into all perfect colours saving white;
So they can to all humors frame their speech,
Save only to prove honest.

Pel.
You say well.
But as no wormes breed where they feele no warmth,
No Vultures watch where they can finde no prey;
No Pirat roves but where he hopes for spoile:
So none of these false servants wait, but where
They finde a yeelding Mistresse.

Alop.
Indeed light minds are catcht with little things,
And Phancie smels to Fennell.

Pel.
But Amphrisa
Is held to be the wisest shepheardesse
That lives in our Arcadia.

Alop.
But I have heard,
Late wit and cheated wisedome to be counted
Next neighbours unto folly. Shepheards now,
The holier that they seeme in outward shew,
The hollower are their hearts. By subtill sophistry
(As I have heard) the best Philosophy
May be perverted. And mens flatteries
Are iust like Circes riches, which can turne
Vain-glorious fooles to Asses, credulous Fooles
To Woodcocks, pretty wanton Fooles to Apes,
And proud Fooles into Peacocks.

Pel.
But amongst these,
Amphrisa had no place.

Enter Amphrisa seeming discontented.
Alop.
See, here she comes
That for her selfe can answer.

Pelop.
But 'twere sinne
In us, not to be answer'd, thus to suffer her
To pale the cheerefull bloud in her faire cheeks,
Through wilfull passion. Which I'le not endure.

Alop.
Then rowse her from these dumps.

Pel.
You'r sad, Amphrisa:
Sweet may we know the cause?

Amphrisa.
You have prevented
A strange conceit which somewhat troubled me;
But by your interruption almost lost.

Pel.
Nay recollect your selfe, pray let us hear't.

Amph.
I was thinking, why Parrasius, drawing Youth,
Made Love to tickle one side with a feather,
To move a smile; and with the other hand
To sting it with a Scorpion.

Pel.
You'r stung then.
But I was thinking on Praxiteles,
Who drew his mistresse thus: Looke on her one way,
She laught upon him: Strait before, she wept:
But change the side, and cast your eye adverse,
And then she appear'd sleeping. And so you,
Fit but your phansies unto such a face,
You'l ne're complain of servant.

Amph.
Then it seems,
My storie 's told aforehand.

Alop.
Yes, and rumor'd
Through all Arcadia.

Amph.
And none pitty me?

Pel.
There's none so marble brested, but doth melt
To heare of your disaster.

Amph.
Is there one,
To whom the cause of my disease is knowne,
That can prescribe me cure for't?

Pelop.
Without feeling
Your pulse, I know the nature of your griefe:
You have an heate, on which a coldnesse waits,
A paine that is endur'd with pleasantnesse,
And makes those sweets you eat have bitter taste:
It puts eies in your thoughts, eares in your heart:
'Twas by desire first bred, by delight nurst,
And hath of late been wean'd by jelousie.

Amp.
But how can these disgusts be remedy'd,
Which Reason never yet could comprehend?

Pel.
By patience.

Amp.
That's a physicke all prescribe,
But few or none doth follow. Pray what is't?

Pel.
It is the best receit that can be tooke
Both against love and fortune (Crost in both.)

Alop.
To wish the best, to thinke vpon the worst,
And all contingents brooke with patience.
Is a most soveraigne medicine.

Pelop.
And moreover;
What cannot be redrest with peevishnesse,
Ought to bee borne with patience.

Alop.
Patience?
She is so like to Fortitude her selfe,
That by her sweet aspect she appeares to be
Her sister or her daughter.

Pel.
The onely remedy for injuries, is
By patience to forget them. And more noble
It is to yeeld your selfe in triumph to't
Then to be drawne by force.

Amp.
You have prevaild,
For I am now your Patient; and intreat you,
Like skild Phisitians, study for my health.

Alop
From their Doctors
The sick expect more art then eloquence:
And therefore what defect you find in words,
Expect in our Prescriptions.

Enter their Queene and two Nymphs.
Queen
I never was with pastime better pleas'd;
So cleare a morning, and such temperate ayre;
The Sun so bright, yet sparing of his heat,
Made all the toyle we tooke (to chace the Stag)
To seeme no labour, but an exercise.
The wily beast to shun our swift pursute,
Forsooke the Plaines, to take the mountaine tops.
Yet maugre the opposure of the Rocks
And clifts depending to molest our speed
Our well-tride Nymphs, like wild Kids clim'd those hils,
And thrild their arrowie Iavelins after him:
Nor left the chace, till all those golden heads
Were new stain'd in his blood.

1. Nymph.
It prov'd, great Queene
Your active Nymphs were better breath'd than he,
For whom we could not overtake, we tyr'd:
That done, we toucht our Beagles, and so made
Both hills and vallies eccho to his death.

2. Nymph.
He stood so long, and made us stray so far,
Amongst the Swaines and lovely Shepheardesses,
That use to graze their Flocks upon these downes;
The Sun must needs passe the Meridian,
E're we can reach the Lodge.

Qu.
The Arcadian Girles
Are of no common beauty; as their habits
Much grace the fields; so many of those features
Mine eye by chance hath glanc't on in the Chace,
In mine opinion would become the Court.
They say, these virgins are acute in wit,
And fluent in conceit, to speake or sing;
As having oft drunke from the Muses spring.

1. Nym.
See, Royall Queene, where three (not of the meanest
Or least to be respected) are retyr'd.

Qu.
Be not too lowd, These bowes will shelter us;
Let's listen how they fashion their discourse,
And how far short the Folds and Cottages
Come of the Court or City.

Amp.
Nay pray prescribe. 'Tis said of all Physitians
What good comes by their Physick, the Sun sees:
But in their art, if they have bad successe,
That the earth covers. Howsoe're I suffer,
You blamelesse are.

Alop.
All those that are unskilfull
Will flatter griefe 'till it grow desperate.
But though you know the use of Physick sweet,
To taste it is unsavory.

Amp.
Howsoever I am prepar'd.

Pel.
Imagin first, You never had a servant.

Alop.
Not so: for who can know the sweet of ease,
That never was in paine?

Pel.
Or say she had,
Thinke that he ne're playd false.

Alop.
A meere relapse,
Before the first be cur'd, to thinke him faithfull,
Were but to enter her disease anew,
To make her griefe more violent.

Amp.
But one speake:
The medicine that's propos'd of contraries,
Can ne're breed peace of mind.
For I perceive, those that are sound themselves,
Have still more will to help, than skill to cure.

(Qu.
All, solid sence.)
For I perceive, those that are sound themselves,
Have still more will to help, than skill to cure.

Pel.
Well, Mistresse Doctor I'le give way to you.

Alop.
Thinke then you had a servant, and he false;
For whose sake never more trust perjur'd man.
And though some say Iove winks at Lovers Oathes,
'Tis (after) with broad eyes to punish them.
Words should not credit men, but men their words:
For he that breaks his promise lies to heaven;
And whom Heaven hates, who but would feare to love?
Most cursed 'tis to flatter and forsweare;
And dearth of oathes is blessed barrennesse.
You'r sicke at heart: the only help for that
Is, Let your heart abhorre his trecherie,
And him, for it. You'r pain'd too in the head, She presents a wreath of willow

For that here's balm made of a willow wreath.
Let this charm'd circle but impale your brows,
'Tis present help for both.

Amp.
Make this apparant.

Alop.
Thus: All th' Arcadian Swains & Nymphs that see
Your browes ingirt with this forsaken wreath
Will take note of his falshood, and your faith;
Your innocence, and his inconstancie:
And those that weare teares in their eies for you,
Of love and pitty, to be thus abus'd,
Will steep their tongues in wormwood and in gall,
To brand him for his open perjury;
Their pitty, with your patience join'd,
(With this to boot) will prove an absolute cure.

Amph.
Some ease I finde already, crowne me then.

She is crowned with Willow.
Alop.
May, wheresoe're your head you softly pillow,
Be ne're more troubled, whil'st thus wreath'd in willow.

Amph.
Nor shall it, Alope, for from this houre,
Hearts griefe nor heads paine shall of me have power.
I now have chac'd hence sorrow.

Queen.
This conceit
Hath tooke me highly; and great pitty 'tis,
That such choice wits should finde no other eares
Than those that Swains, and flocks, and fowls have. Wit
So spent, is only treasur'd in the aire.
The earth hath least part on't. Virgins, Good day.
Nay, do not fall too low.

Pel.
You are our Queen

Alop.
And Lady of our fortunes.

Qu.
By that title
I do command you then to spare your knees.
Nay rise.

Amp.
'Tis only by your Grace and goodnesse
We breathe and live.

Qu.
It is enough to me,
That you present us such acknowledgement.
And as for you, faire Virgin, I could wish
Your Willow were a Lawrel. Nay, so 'tis:
Because all such may be styl'd Conquerors,
That can subdue their passions.

Alop.
Our feare is,
That if our rude discourse have toucht your eare,
The coursenesse might offend you.

Qu.
Pleas'd us highly:
Which that you may perceive in mee's vnfeignd,
I charge you, as I am your Soveraignesse,
All coynesse and evasion set apart,
To be most free in language.

Pel.
Imposition
That comes from you is vnto us a Law,
Which ought to be kept sacred.

Qu.
I'le as freely
Command then, as you willing are t'obey,
For were I not a Queen, I'de wish to be
As one of you, a witty Shepheardesse.
Pray sing me somthing of your countrey life,
To make me more in love with't.

Amp.
Tis our feare; A life that is so meane, so ill exprest
As needs it must bee, (if impos'd on us)
May make you rather loath it.

Qu.
I had thought
Courts onely had beene fill'd with complement,
Of which I see, the cottage is not cleare.

Amp.
Give not our simple truth, and feare to offend,
A character we know not (gratious Queene)
But howsoever, if you make us faulty,
You have the power to pardon.

Qu.
And presume
That's granted, e're the offence be.

Amp.
She sings.

Qu.
Nay, faire ones, what you have begun in song,
Continue in discourse: Wee would heare more
Of your pleas'd life.

Amp.

Amp.
The Shepheard with his home-spun Lasse
As many merry houres doth passe,
As Courtiers with their costly Girles,
Though richly deckt in gold and pearles:
And though but plaine, to purpose woo,
Nay oft-times with lesse danger too.

Pel.
Those that delight in dainties store,
One stomack feed at once, no more.
And when with homely fare we feast,
With us it doth as well digest:
And many times wee better speed;
For our wild fruits no surfets breed,

Amp.
If we sometimes the Willow weare,
By subtill Swaines that dare forsweare.
We wonder whence it comes, and feare,
Th' have beene at Court, and learn'd it there.
If any Lady then shall please,
Whose cheeke lookes pale through my disease,
By any faithlesse servant, or false friend,
(Being cur'd my selfe) this I can give or lend.

She offers the willow.
Qu.
Beleeve't, a sweet conclusion: for oft-times
Such things fall out. But we have further heard
(Besides what now our eares are witnesse to)
That as your words keepe time, your voices tune;
So hath the curious motion of your feet
Beene taught to know true measure. You can dance?

Amp.
Yes royall Princesse, as we sing and speake,
After such rurall fashion.

Qu.
If no worse,
It may become a Theatre of eyes,
Yet wrest no blushes from you. Will you then,
Since that we parallell in number thus,
Helpe us to fill a measure?

Pelop.
So wee thought
There might no jarring discords grow from us,
To spoile your better musick.

Qu.
No such feare.
Come then, such musicke as the place will yeeld,
Wee'l instantly make vse of.

Musicke sounds, and they dance the measure.
Qu.
Compleat in all: You have made us now Eie-witnes
Of what, Relation sparingly hath spoke.
To encourage which, and that so great a merit
Passe not without some meed, receive these favors,
And weare them for our sake. Iewels given.

Time bids us part.
Greater than these we have for you in store,
And mean hereafter to employ you more.

An Emblematicall Dialogue,

interpreted from the Excellent and most learned D. Iac. Catzius; which sheweth how Virgins in their chaste loves ought to beare themselves.

1. The Argument.

Two modest Virgins, of unequall time,
Th'one past, the other growing to her prime,
(Anna and Phillis) interchange some chat
Of Love, of Mariage, and I know not what.

2. The Argument.

Phi.

An.

Diog Laert tells us that it was a saying of Socrates, that young batchelers desirous of marriage were like to fishes who play about the weele, and gladly would get in, when on the contrary they that are within strive how they should get out.

Phi.

Impose the burthen of virginity on none (saith Ignatius the ancient Theologist) being a yoake which even the V rgin Vestals (of old) in Rome were not able to beare, to whom onely five yeares were injoyned to abstaine from marriage, and to keepe the holy fire from going out.

An

Cicero tells us that it is fit, men should be brought within the compasse of reason and learning.

And Cipri, that the tutors or guardians, namely, the Father, Grand-father, or Brother, were woont of old to contract young Virgins, which ancient custome is upon great consideration observed in these dayes, And amongst other causes, especially in regard of the weaknesse, and bashfulnesse of the sex: and wee read in Euripides that when Orestes sollicited Hermione for marriage, Her answere was, My espousals remaine in my Fathers power, and not mine.

Phi.

That Father is much to bee blamed, who when his Daughter is in her full maturity provideth her not an Husband. Well therefore said Ignatius, A ripe Virgin to prevent the wrinckles of age, may speake to her Father in private, to dispose of her in marriage.

Phi.

That daughter who hath past the age of five and twenty, if she marry without her fathers consent, by the law of some Nations cannot be deprived of her dowry, because the father ought to consider in time convenient to provide his daughter of an husband, and himselfe of a Son-in-law: but when our Phillis professeth her selfe not to bee much above fifteene, it is ridiculous in the maide longing for marriage, to wrest the law, and apply it unto her owne purpose.

An.

If regard be to be had of dignity, comlines or honesty; then in the contracting of marriages, it is more decent and seemely, if the parents troth plight their daughters to their husbands, and tye them together with their owne tongues, than if they themselves immodestly in their owne language subject themselves to one anothers power. Cypr.

An.

Delayes oftentimes bring to passe that hee who should have dyed, hath killed him who might have lived. Clem. Alexand.

An.

To this purpose is that of Seneca the Philosopher, it shameth me to enter conflict with a man prepared to bee overcome. The sword-player holdeth it a great indignity to bee matched with his inferiour, as knowing it can bee no glory to him to subdue that man, who is vanquisht without danger.

Phi.

If in the very moment of occasion the opportunity whereof by thy delay or negligence thou hast o'reslipt, in vaine it is to complaine upon it being past. Liv.

Phi
While th'envious Rose, wrapt in new leaves we find,
She hides her beauty in a thorny rinde.
Forbeare your hands (boyes) for their pricks are found,
Nor can you crop the bud without a wound.
But stay the time, the flower it selfe will spred,
But if not gathered then, the leaves will shed.
Sweet are young maides to lovers in their prime,
And pleasant love rejoyceth in that time.
She that is long a maid, scarce such appeares,
Virginity still wasteth with her yeares.
Let Cupid have our vigor, and youths fire,
Maides young deny, what old, they most desire.

Standing streames gather mud, but running rivers are fresh and sweet.

Such as resist love, must either have no braine, or no eyes. Protogenes.

Ambition and love are impatient of delay: lingring growes loathsome where necessity craves haste. Quintilian.

An

Many virgins at their contractings rather consent then speake, especially if their parents bee then in presence, lest they should appeare to desire a husband, which in maids is not seemely, and Baldus observes that

it is ingrafted in the nature of women to bee silent, especially at the time when there is a treaty of their marriage; moreover it is a great signe of virginall modesty, to blush when marriage is but named: according with that of the Poet.

An.

It much behoveth a virgin to be very circumspect in cases of matrimony, that for the honour of her sex, she neither seeme to offer her selfe, or to doe any thing against modesty: lest it happen unto her, as (wee read) it did to Icasin a noble and learned virgin, who when she became so gracious in the eyes of Theophilus Emperour of Constantinople, that he seemed to offer her a golden apple as a pledge of nuptiall faith and contract: She was taxed for her too ready answer and acception thereof, and for griefe of mind confinde her selfe into a Monastery. Cypri.

Phi.

Parents of old made proffer of their Daughters to Husbands before they sought after them, neither did they imagine in that to have done any thing uncomly or undecent. Wee read in the first of Kings, chapter eighteenth, Saul offred his Daughter unto David. Homer reports that Alcinous did the like to Vlysses. Virgil. that Latinus did the same to Æneas: Terence, that Chremes did it to Pamphilus. Herodotus, that it was done by Megacles to Pisistratus, and Zonoras and others, that Darius did as much to Alexander, &c.

An.

Whilst Darius to Alexander, Priamus to Achilles: Alcinous to Ulysses, without due circumspection made

offer of their daughters, they were altogether frustrate in their hopes and expectations, therefore the wiser are of opinion: that nothing ought to be profferd, which hath not before beene proved.

An.

A cleanlinesse is to bee used by women, neither despised, nor too exquisit, onely let it avoid clownish and sordid negligence. Cicero.

She that hath too much care over her attire, sheweth she hath little regard of her vertue. Cato Cens.

Husbandmen praise best those eares of corne which bow down, and make the stalk crooked, more then such as grow straight and upright, as being assured to find more grain in the one than in the other. Humblenes in heart & habit, is both pleasing to God, and acceptable with man.

An.

Let not thy habit be too rich nor too base, make it neither for admiration, nor contempt; their ornament is cald womanly neatnesse, by which is meant modest handsomnesse, free from curiosity or cost: and Vives in the same place proceeds thus: in thy garments it is injoyned thee that they be not over nise or precious, but without spot or staine. For I cannot imagine how much the purity of the mind rejoyceth at the matronlike neatnesse of the body.

An.

It may be called a disease rather than mirth, ever to smile on them who alwaies laugh at thee, or to frame thy countenance unto every mans humour. Seneca.

Ph.

When one churneth milke he bringeth forth butter: and hee that wringeth his nose causeth bloud to come out: so he that forceth wrath bringeth forth strife. Pro. 30.

An.

An.

This also is to bee admonished them, that virgins smile not on all such as laugh upon them: which indeed is not seene in any but such as are rather immodest or madde, shee ought not also to suffer her selfe to bee tugged or over wantonly toucht, but rather to shunne the place, or forbeare the company. If shee cannot otherwise avoide it. Vives.

An.

Hot love groweth soone cold; and faith plighted with feigned vowes as it is tyed without conscience, so for the most part it is broken without care.

An.

Posthumia the vestall, because shee was free in laughter, and more liberall in discourse with men, then became her order, was cald in question about incest: but being acquitted of that crime by Spurius Minutius, then High Priest or Flamin, he admonished her that thenceforward shee should conforme her language to her life. Plutarch.

As the North-wind driveth away the raine, so doth an angry countenance, the slandering tongue. Prov. 25. 23.

Phi.
To marry, in my thoughts much better were,
It strengthens bashfull shame, preventing feare.

An.

The way to marriage is doubtfull and double, the one

leadeth to misery, the other to happinesse: therefore before thou givest thy selfe into that way, it behoveth thee to be of that solicitous deliberation which is reported of Hercules travelling where two wayes met: for if once in marriage, it hath hapned unto thee ill, there is no art by which thou canst correct it; for thou art falne into the number of those, of whom the proverb speakes, Hee deserveth no pitty, that chuseth to doe twice amisse.

It is more honest after thou hast once determined, to love, rather than begin to determin when thou hast loved

An.

Wonder not that thou art deceived by him that speakes thee faire and flatters thee, but rather wonder how thou hast escaped from not being deceived by him. Demosthenes.

Phi.

An.

Nothing is more tender than the fame and reputation of women, or more subject to injury: in so much that it may be properly said to hang by the small thread of a Spider. Vives.

No Father can have too great a care of preserving his daughters chastity. Plaut. in Epidic.

An

It behoveth the chast one, not onely to abstaine from crime, but also to avoyd the sordid aspersion of blame. Dion.

An.

Let the woman give nothing to the man: for whosoever she bee that presents a gift, prostrateth her selfe. Vives.

And there may bee reason rendred, that whosoever gives may bee thought to insinuate himselfe into that mans favour to whom hee giveth; alluding to that of Martial.

An.

There is nothing so sacred which is not to bee violated and prophaned, nothing so defenced, which is not to be scaled, and entred by money. Cicero.

An.

An

Sporting hath beene the occasion of many evils, as we may read. Horace.

In pastime & sport, womens brests are easily discovered: according with that of the Poet.

An.

The ornament of women is to flourish in honesty and elegancy of manners: and for the most part to

keepe within at home: to prescribe limits to her lips, eyes, and cheekes, and not often to put her foot over her owne threshold. Greg. Nazian.

Phi.

That lesse pleaseth us to which wee are most perswaded: that rather wee desire from which wee are most disswaded.

Phi.

Dangerous is the custody of a virginity, and most difficultly is she to be restraind, to whom the yoke of virginity is imposed. Egn.

That which Tacitus spake of the plebe or multitude, may not unfitly be construed upon young virgins. vid. They are altogether impatient of meere servitude, or absolute liberty.

An.
I doe not prisons on young Maides conferre,
Onely would curbe their feet lest they should erre.

Phi.
You charg'd me to no sutor lend an eare,
What Husband shal I have then? let me heare.

An.

What profiteth it thee to grate one tooth against another. Martial.

Phi.

Let us remember that the sexe in its owne nature is weake, as not in body, so neither in minde being able to under-goe things serious and weighty, therefore we must allow them retirement, and relaxation from their cares, and give them some liberty of sporting, and telling tales amongst their friends and neighbours: provided, no curiosity be used, &c. Vives.

An.

It is hard to maintaine credit where truth is suspected: but howsoever suspition may enter a false action, yet truth will never bring in her plea, to suspect where there is cause is sufferable: but where there is no cause, it is intolerable. Octavius Cæsar Domum suam non solum crimine, sed suspitione criminis, vacare voluit. i. Augustus Cæsar, would have his house not onely free from fault, but even from the very suspition of crime.

An.

As Circe injoy'd not those whom she transform'd into Swine, Lions, &c. but affected Ulysses in his owne perfectnesse aboue all others: So those women who by amorous potions (too which I adde whorish blandishments) have got their husbands, for the most part leade with them an unquiet life, through madnesse. Plutarch.

An.

An

Matrimonium ita demum tranquillè exigi potest, si mulier Cœca, maritus surdus fiat. &c.

Then marriage may be said to be past in all quietnesse, when the wife is blind, and the husband deafe. The nature of women is subject to jealousie, from whence grows clamour and noise, and the wives garrulity and prating offends the husband, which he should bee farre from, if he wanted his hearing, &c.

An.

A small benefit may arise to a great profit, if it be seasonably confer'd, saith Curtius.

Time is the best counsellor, and the chiefe president of counsels, saith Antisthenes, and Cicero calleth it the most perfect Herald of truth.

Phi.

An.

Mild power doth compasse that which rough violence never can. Claud.

1.

An.
We are in harbour, thou shalt be a bride,
Heare something in that state thy selfe to guide.
The grafter, all the native sprigs doth strip,
That the whole sap may feed th' adopted slip.
All wandring fancies she must quite expell,
Who in a lawfull match would prosper well.
No sooner shall thy nuptiall Tead take fire,
But thou on him must fixe thy whole desire.
Not thy old play-fellow must thine house frequent,
Nor he with whom (before) thine houres thou spent.
Let mother and thy sister now goe by,
Lest former love the adopted sap should dry.

Let men obey the lawes, and women their husbands. Socrates. Silence and patience maketh concord betwixt married couples. A good husband ought to be wise in words, wary in conversation, carefull in provision, diligent in ordering: a discreet master, a carefull father. A good wife must bee grave abroad, well govern'd at home, patient to suffer, constant to love, to her neighbours

friendly, courteous to her servants, carefull of her children. Theophrastus.

2.

An.
Am I deceiv'd? or more else should be spoke,
To such as newly enter Hymens yoake.
The stock which late had branches of his owne,
Must now by a strange leafe and fruit be knowne.
The top cut off, it boasts not its owne seed,
But beareth what another branch did breed.
When married; thou thy selfe wilt then withdraw,
For now thy husband is to thee a law.
What he prescribes: to that thou must agree,
(If wise) so partner of his counsels be.
By his direction, all thine actions sway,
To yeeld's to conquer, and (to rule) to obey.

A chaste Matron by obeying her husbands will, getteth command over him, Bias. But give thy wife no power over thee, for if this day thou sufferest her to tread upon thy foot, she will be ready by to morrow to spurne at thy head, &c.

3.

An.

Marriage teacheth, that a woman should hold her

husband to be all things unto her, and that he alone shall succeed in all loving and deare nominations, which (as we read in Homer) the most vertuous Andromache confers upon her husband Hector.

The Epilogue.

Proceeding further we were strooke with feare,
Because of noise which Anna first did heare:
Enough if not too much, come now let's breake,
This having said, she blusht, and ceast to speake.