 | The Sad Shepherd :or, A Tale of Robin-Hood |  |
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Act I.
THE ARGVMENT of the first Act.
Robin-hood , having invited all the Shep'erds and Shep'erdesses of the Vale of Be'voir, to a Feast in the Forrest of Sherwood, and trusting to his Mistris, Maid Marian, with her Wood-men, to kill him Venison against the day: Having left the like charge with Friar Tuck his Chaplaine, and Steward, to command the rest of his merry men, to see the Bowre made ready, and all things in order for the entertainment; meeting with his Guests at their entrance into the Wood, welcomes and conducts them to his Bowre. Where, by the way hee receives the relation of the sad Shep'ard Eglamour, who is falne into a deepe Melancholy, for the losse of his beloved Earine; reported to have beene drowned in passing over the Trent, some few dayes before. They endeavour in what they can to comfort him: but, his disease having taken so strong root, all is in vaine, and they are forced to leave him. In the meane time Marian is come from hunting with the Hunts-men, where the Lovers interchangeably expresse their loves. Robin-hood enquires if she hunted the Deere at force, and what sport he made, how long hee stood, and what head hee bore: All which is briefly answer'd with a relation of breaking him up, and the Raven, and her Bone. The suspect had of that Raven to be Maudlin, the Witch of Paple-wick, whom one of the Huntsmen met i' the morning, at the rowsing of the Deere, and is confirm'd by her being then in Robin-hoods Kitchin, i' the Chimney-corner, broyling the same bit, which was throwne to the Raven, at the Quarry or Fall of the Deere. Marian being gone in, to shew the Deere to some of the Shepherdesses, returnes instantly to the Scene discontented, sends away the Venison she had kill'd, to her they call the Witch, quarrels with her Love Robin-hood, abuseth him, and his Guests the Shep'erds; and so departs, leaving them all in wonder and perplexitie.
Scene I.
Aeglamour.Here! she was wont to goe! and here! and here!
Just where those Daisies, Pincks, and Violets grow:
The world may find the Spring by following her;
For other print her aerie steps neere left:
Her treading would not bend a blade of grasse!
Or shake the downie Blow-ball from his stalke!
But like the soft West-wind, she shot along,
And where she went, the Flowers tooke thickest root,
As she had sow'd 'hem with her odorous foot.
Scene II.
Marian. Tuck. Iohn. Wood-men, &c.Mar.
Know you, or can you guesse, my merry men,
What 'tis that keepes your Master Robin-hood
So long both from his Marian, and the Wood?
Tuc.
Forsooth, Madam, hee will be here by noone,
And prayes it of your bounty as a boone,
That you by then have kild him Venison some,
To feast his jolly friends, who hether come
In threaves to frolick with him, and make cheare;
Here's Little Iohn hath harbord you a Deere,
I see by his tackling.
Io.
And a Hart of ten,
I trow hee be, Madam, or blame your men:
For by his Slot, his Entries, and his Port,
His Frayings, Fewmets, he doth promise sport,
And standing 'fore the Dogs; hee beares a head,
Large, and well beam'd: with all rights somm'd, and spred.
Mar.
Let's rowse him quickly, and lay on the Hounds.
Io.
Scathlock is ready with them on the grounds;
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His Layre, they have him sure within the pound.
Mor.
Away then, when my Robin bids a Feast,
'Twere sinne in Marian to defraud a Guest.
Scene III.
Tuck. George a Greene. Much. Aeglamour.Tuc.
And I, the Chaplaine, here am left to be
Steward to day, and charge you all in fee,
To d'on your Liveries; see the Bower drest;
And fit the fine devises for the Feast:
You George must care to make the Baldrick trim,
And Garland that must crowne, or her, or him;
Whose Flock this yeare, hath brought the earliest Lambe!
Geo.
Good Father Tuck, at your Commands I am
To cut the Table out O the greene sword,
Or any other service for my Lord;
To carve the Guests large feats; and these laid in
With turfe (as soft and smooth as the Moles skin:)
And hang the bulled Nose-gaies 'bove their heads,
The Pipers banck, whereon to sit and play;
And a faire Dyall to meete out the day.
Our Masters Feast shall want no just delights:
His entertainments must have all the rites.
Muc.
I, and all choise that plenty can send in;
Bread, Wine, Acates, Fowle, Feather, Fish, or Fin,
Aeglamour fals in with them.
For which my Fathers Nets have swept the Trent.
Aeg.
And ha' you found her?
Mu.
Whom?
Aeg.
My drowned Love.
Earine! the sweet Earine!
The bright, and beautifull Earine!
Have you not heard of my Earine?
Just by your Fathers Mills (I thinke I am right)
Are not you Much the Millers sonne?
Mu.
I am.
Aeg.
And Baily to brave Robin-hood?
Mu.
The same.
Aeg.
Close by your Fathers Mills, Earine!
Earine was drown'd! O my Earine!
(Old Maudlin tells me so, and Douce her Daughter)
Ha' you swept the River say you? and not found her?
Muc.
For Fowle, and Fish wee have.
Aeg.
O not for her?
You'are goodly friends! right charitable men!
Nay, keepe your way, and leave me: make your toyes,
Your tales, your poesies, that you talk'd of; all
Your entertainments: you not injure me:
Onely if I may enjoy my Cipresse wreath!
And you will let me weepe! ('tis all I aske;)
Till I be turn'd to water, as was she!
And troth what lesse suit can you grant a man?
Tuck.
His Phantasie is hurt, let us now leave him:
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Aeg.
Searching? where should I search? or on what track?
Can my slow drop of teares, or this darke shade
About my browes, enough describe her losse!
Earine, O my Earine's losse!
No, no, no, no; this heart will breake first.
Geo.
How will this sad disaster strike the eares
Of bounteous Robin-hood, our gentle Master?
Mu.
How will it marre his mirth, abate his feast;
And strike a horror into every guest!
Aeg.
If I could knit whole clouds about my browes,
And weepe like Swithen, or those watry signes,
The Kids that rise then, and drowne all the Flocks
Of those rich Shepherds, dwelling in this Vale;
Those carelesse Shepherds, that did let her drowne!
Then I did something or could make old Trent
Drunke with my sorrow, to start out in breaches
To drowne their Herds, their cattle, and their corne,
Breake downe their Mils, their Dams, ore-turne their weeres,
And see their houses, and whole lively-hood
Wrought into water, with her, all were good:
I'ld kisse the torrent, and those whirles of Trent,
That suck'd her in, my sweet Earine!
When they have cast their body on the shore,
And it comes up, as tainted as themselves,
All pale and bloodlesse, I will love it still,
For all that they can doe, and make 'hem mad,
To see how I will hugge it in mine armes!
And hang upon the lookes, dwell on her eyes:
Feed round about her lips, and eate her kisses!
Suck of her drowned flesh! and where's their malice?
Not all their envious sousing can change that:
But I will study some revenge past this!
I pray you give me leave, for I will study.
Though all the Bels, Pipes, Tabors, Timburines ring
That you can plant about me: I will study.
Scene IIII.
To him.Robin-hood. Clarion. Mellifleur. Lionel. Amie. Alken. Tuck. Servants, with musick of all sorts.
Rob.
Welcome bright Clarion, and sweet Mellifleur,
The courteous Lionel, faire Amie; all
My friends and neighbours, to the Jolly Bower
Of Robin-hood, and to the greene-wood Walkes:
Now that the shearing of your sheepe is done,
And the wash'd Flocks are lighted of their wooll,
The smoother Ewes are ready to receive.
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As either promist to increase your breed
At eaning time; and bring you lusty twins.
Why should, or you, or wee so much forget
The season in our selves: as not to make
Vse of our youth, and spirits, to awake
The nimble Horne-pipe, and the Timburine,
And mixe our Songs, and Dances in the Wood,
And each of us cut downe a Triumph-bough.
Such were the Rites, the youthfull Iune allow.
Cla.
They were, gay Robin, but the sowrer sort
Of Shepherds now disclaime in all such sport:
And say, our Flocks the while, are poorely fed,
When with such vanities the Swaines are led.
Tuc.
Would they, wise Clarion, were not hurried more
With Covetise and Rage, when to their store
They adde the poore mans Eaneling, and dare sell
Both Fleece, and Carkasse, not gi'ing him the Fell.
When to one Goat, they reach that prickly weed,
Which maketh all the rest forbeare to feed;
Or strew Tods haires, or with their tailes doe sweepe
The dewy grasse, to d'off the simpler sheepe;
Or digge deepe pits, their Neighbours Neat to vexe,
To drowne the Calves, and crack the Heifers necks.
Or with pretence of chasing thence the Brock,
Send in a curre to worrie the whole Flock.
Lio.
O Friar, those are faults that are not seene,
Ours open, and of worst example beene.
They call ours, Pagan pastimes, that infect
Our blood with ease, our youth with all neglect;
Our tongues with wantonnesse, our thoughts with lust,
And what they censure ill, all others must.
Rob.
I doe not know, what their sharpe sight may see
Of late, but I should thinke it still might be
(As 'twas) a happy age, when on the Plaines,
The Wood-men met the Damsells, and the Swaines
The Neat'ards, Plow-men, and the Pipers loud,
And each did dance, some to the Kit, or Crowd,
Some to the Bag-pipe, some the Tabret-mov'd,
And all did either love, or were belov'd.
Lio.
The dextrous Shepherd then would try his sling,
Then dart his Hooke at Daysies, then would sing.
Sometimes would wrastle.
Cla.
I, and with a Lasse:
And give her a new garment on the grasse;
After a course at Barley-breake, or Base.
Lio.
And all these deeds were seene without offence,
Or the least hazard o' their innocence.
Rob.
Those charitable times had no mistrust.
Shepherds knew how to love, and not to lust.
Cla.
Each minute that wee lose thus, I confesse,
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But that a sadder chance hath given allay,
Both to the Mirth, and Musicke of this day.
Our fairest Shepherdesse wee had of late,
Here upon Trent, is drown'd; for whom her mate
Young Aeglamour, a Swaine, who best could tread
Our countrey dances, and our games did lead,
Lives like the melancholy Turtle, drown'd
Deeper in woe, then she in water: crown'd
With Yewgh and Cypressa, and will scarce admit
The Physick of our presence to his fit.
Lio.
Sometimes he sits, and thinkes all day, then walkes,
Then thinkes againe; and sighes, weeps, laughs, and talkes,
And, 'twixt his pleasing frenzie, and sad griefe,
Is so distracted; as no sought reliefe,
By all our studies can procure his peace.
Cla.
The passion finds in him that large increase,
As wee doubt hourely wee shall lose him too.
Rob.
You should not crosse him then what ere you doe:
For Phant'sie stop'd, will soone take fire, and burne
Into an anger, or to a Phrensie turne.
Cla.
Nay, so wee are advis'd by Alhen here,
A good sage Shepherd, who all-tho' he weare
An old worne hat and cloake, can tell us more
Then all the forward Fry, that boast their Lore.
Lio.
See, yonder comes the brother of the Maid,
Young Karolin! how curious, and afraid
Hee is at once! willing to find him out,
And loath to'offend him.
Alken.
Sure hee's here about.
Scene V.
Robin-hood. Clarion. Mellifleur. Lionel. Amie. Alken. Karolin. Aeglamour, sitting upon a banke by.Cla.
See where hee sits.
Aeg.
It will be rare, rare, rare!
An exquisite revenge: but peace, no words!
Not for the fairest fleece of all the Flock:
If it be knowne afore, 'tis all worth nothing!
Ile carve it on the trees, and in the turfe,
On every greene sworth, and in every path,
Just to the Margin of the cruell Trent;
There will I knock the story in the ground,
In smooth great peble, and mosse fill it round,
Till the whole Countrey read how she was drown'd,
And with the plenty of salt teares there shed,
Quite alter the complexion of the Spring.
Or I will get some old, old Grandam, thither,
Whose rigid foot but dip'd into the water,
Shall strike that sharpe and suddaine cold, throughout,
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Those treacherous Nimphs pull'd in Earine;
Shall stand curl'd up, like Images of Ice;
And never thaw! marke, never! a sharpe Justice:
Or stay, a better! when the yeares at hottest,
And that the Dog-starre fomes, and the streames boiles;
And curles, and workes, and swells ready to sparkle:
To fling a fellow with a Fever in,
To set it all on fire, till it burne,
Blew as Scamander, 'fore the walls of Troy;
When Vulcan leap'd in to him, to consume him.
Rob.
A deepe hurt Phant'sie.
Aeg.
Doe you not approve it?
Rob.
Yes gentle Aeglamour wee all approve,
And come to gratulate your just revenge:
Which since it is so perfect, we now hope,
You'l leave all care thereof, and mixe with us,
In all the profer'd solace of the Spring.
Aeg.
A Spring, now she is dead: of what, of thornes?
Briars, and Brambles? Thistles? Burs, and Dorks?
Cold Hemlock? Yewgh? the Mandrake, or the Boxe?
These may grow still; but what can spring beside?
Did not the whole Earth sicken, when she died?
As if there since did fall one drop of dew,
But what was wept for her! or any stalke
Did beare a Flower! or any branch a bloome;
After her wreath was made: In faith, in faith
You doe not faire, to put these things upon me.
Which can in no sort be: Earine,
Who had her very being, and her name,
With the first knots, or buddings of the Spring,
Borne with the Prim rose, and the Violet,
Or earliest Roses blowne: when Cupid smil'd,
And Venus led the Graces out to dance,
And all the Flowers, and Sweets in Natures lap,
Leap'd out, and made their solemne Conjuration,
To last, but while shee liv'd: Doe not I know,
How the Vale wither'd the same Day? How Dove,
Deane, Eye, and Erwash, Idell, Snite, and Soare,
Each broke his Vrne, and twenty waters more,
That swell'd proud Trent, shrunke themselves dry; that since,
No Sun, or Moone, or other cheerfull Starre
Look'd out of heaven! but all the Cope was darke,
As it were hung so for her Exequies!
And not a voice or sound, to ring her knell:
But of that dismall paire, the scritching Owle;
And buzzing Hornet! harke, harke, harke the foule
Bird! how shee flutters with her wicker wings!
Peace you shall heare her scritch.
Cla.
Good Karolin sing.
Helpe to divert this Phant'sie.
Kar.
All I can.
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Though I am young, and cannot tell,
Either what Death, or Love is well,
Yet I have heard, they both beare darts,
And both doe ayme at humane hearts:
And then againe, I have beene told
Love wounds with heart, as Death with cold;
So that I feare, they doe but bring
Extreames to touch, and meane one thing.
Either what Death, or Love is well,
Yet I have heard, they both beare darts,
And both doe ayme at humane hearts:
And then againe, I have beene told
Love wounds with heart, as Death with cold;
So that I feare, they doe but bring
Extreames to touch, and meane one thing.
As in a ruine, we it call
One thing to be blowne up, or fall;
Or to our end, like way may have,
By a flash of lightning, or a wave:
So Loves inflamed shaft, or brand,
May kill as soone as Deaths cold hand;
Except Loves fires the vertue have
To fright the frost out of the grave.
One thing to be blowne up, or fall;
Or to our end, like way may have,
By a flash of lightning, or a wave:
So Loves inflamed shaft, or brand,
May kill as soone as Deaths cold hand;
Except Loves fires the vertue have
To fright the frost out of the grave.
Aeg.
Doe you thinke so? are you in that good heresie?
I meane opinion? If you be, say nothing:
I'll study it, as a new Philosophy,
But by my selfe alone: Now you shall leave me!
Some of these Nimphs, here will reward you; this
This pretty Maid, although but with a kisse,
Hee forces Amie to kisse him.
Liv'd my Earine, you should have twenty:
For every line here, one I would allow 'hem
From mine owne store, the treasure I had in her:
Now I am poore as you.
Kar.
And I a wretch!
Cla.
Yet keepe an eye upon him, Karoline.
Mel.
Alas that ever such a generous spirit,
Aeglamour goes out, and Karolin followes him.
As Aeglamours, should sinke by such a losse.
Cla.
The truest Lovers are least fortunate,
Lookes all their Lives, and Legends; what they call
The Lovers Scriptures: Heliodores, or Tatij!
Longi! Eustathij! Prodomi! you'l find it!
What thinke you Father?
Alk.
I have knowne some few,
And read of more; wh'have had their dose, and deepe,
Of these sharpe bitter-sweets.
Lio.
But what is this
To jolly Robin? who the Story is,
Of all beatitude in Love?
Cla.
And told
Here every day, with wonder on the world.
Lio.
And with fames voice.
Alk.
Save that some folke delight
To blend all good of others, with some spight.
Cla.
Hee, and his Marian, are the Summe and Talke
Of all, that breath here in the Greene-wood Walke.
Mel.
Or Be'voir Vale?
Kar.
The Turtles of the Wood.
Cla.
The billing Paire.
Alk.
And so are understood
For simple loves, and sampled lives beside.
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Faith, so much vertue should not be envi'd.
Alk.
Better be so, then pittied Mellifleur!
For 'gainst all envy, vertue is a cure;
But wretched pitty ever cals on scornes.
The Deeres brought home: I heare it by their hornes.
Scene VI.
To Robin, &c. Marian. Iohn. Scarlet. Scathlock.Rob.
My Marian, and my Mistris!
Mar.
My lov'd Robin!
Mel.
The Moones at full, the happy paire are met!
Mar.
How hath this morning paid me, for my rising!
First, with my sports; but most with meeting you!
I did not halfe so so well reward my hounds,
As she hath me to day: although I gave them
All the sweet morsels, call'd Tongue, Eares, and Dowcets!
Rob.
What? and the inch-pin?
Mar.
Yes.
Rob.
Your sports then
pleas'd you?
Mar.
You are a wanton.
Rob.
One I doe confesse
I wanted till you came, but now I have you,
Ile grow to your embraces, till two soules
Distilled into kisses, through our lips
Doe make one spirit of love.
Mar.
O Robin! Robin!
Rob.
Breathe, breathe a while, what sayes my gentle Marian?
Mar.
Could you so long be absent?
Rob.
What a weeke?
Was that so long?
Mar.
How long are Lovers weekes!
Doe you think Robin, when they are asunder?
Are they not Pris'ners yeares?
Rob.
To some they seem so;
But being met againe, they'are Schoole-boyes houres.
Mar.
That have got leave to play, and so wee use them.
Rob.
Had you good sport i'your chase to day?
Io.
O prime!
Mar.
A lusty Stagge?
Rob.
And hunted yee at force?
Mar.
In a full cry.
Io.
And never hunted change!
Rob.
You had stanch Hounds then?
Mar.
Old and sure, I love
No young rash dogs, no more then changing friends.
Rob.
What relayes set you?
Io.
None at all; we laid not
In one fresh dog.
Rob.
Hee stood not long then?
Sca.
Yes,
Five houres and more. A great, large Deere!
Rob.
What head?
Ioh.
Forked! A Hart of ten.
Mar.
Hee is good Venison,
According to the season i' the blood,
I'll promise all your friends, for whom he fell.
Ioh.
But at his fall there hap't a chance.
Mar.
Worth marke?
Rob.
I! what was that sweet Marian He kisses her.
Mar.
You'll not heare?
Rob.
I love these interruptions in a Story; He kisses her againe.
They make it sweeter.
Mar.
You doe know, as soone
As the Assay is taken. He kisses her againe.
Rob.
On my Marian.
I did but take the Assay.
Mar.
You stop ones mouth,
And yet you bid 'hem speake—when the Arbors made.
Rob.
Puld downe, and paunch turn'd out.
Mar.
Hee that undoes him;
Doth cleave the brisket-bone, upon the spoone
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Rob.
the Ravens-bone.
Mar.
Now, ore head sate a Raven!
On a sere bough! a growne great Bird! and Hoarse!
Who, all the while the Deere was breaking up,
So crok'd and cry'd for't, as all the hunts-men,
(Especially old Scathlocke) thought it ominous!
Swore it was Mother Maudlin; whom he met,
At the Day-dawne; just as hee rows'd the Deere,
Out of his Laire: but wee made shift to run him
Off his foure leggs, and sunke him e're wee left.
Is the Deere come?
Scat.
Hee lies within ô the dresser!
Mar.
Will you goe see him Mellifleur?
Mel.
I attend you.
Mar.
Come Amie, you'll goe with us?
Am.
I am not well.
Lio.
Shee's sick o' the yong Shep'ard that bekist her.
Mar.
Friend, cheare your friends up, wee will eate him merrily.
Alk.
Saw you the Raven, Friend?
Scat.
I, qu'ha suld let me?
I suld be afraid ô you sir suld I?
Clar.
Hunts-man!
A Dram more of Civilitie would not hurt you?
Rob.
Nay, you must give them all their rudenesses;
They are not else themselves, without their language.
Alk.
And what do you thinke of her?
Scat.
As of a Witch.
They call her a Wise-woman, but I thinke her
An arrant Witch.
Cla.
And wherefore think you so?
Sca.
Because, I saw her since, broiling the bone
Was cast her at the Quarrie.
Alk.
Where saw you her?
Sca.
I' the Chimley nuik, within: shee's there, now.
Rob.
Marian.
Scene VII.
To themMarian.
Your Hunt holds in his tale, still; and tells more!
Mar.
My Hunt? what tale?
Rob.
How! cloudie, Marian!
What looke is this?
Mar.
A fit one, Sir, for you.
To Scathlock.
Hand off rude Ranger! Sirrah, get you in
And beare the Venison hence. It is too good
For these course rustick mouthes that cannot open,
Or spend a thanke for't. A starv'd Muttons carkasse
Would better fit their palates. See it carried
To Mother Maudlins, whom you call the Witch, Sir.
Tell her I sent it to make merrie with,
Shee'll turne us thanks at least! why stand'st thou, Groome?
Rob.
I wonder he can move! that hee's not fix'd!
If that his feeling be the same with mine!
I dare not trust the faith of mine owne senses.
I feare mine eyes, and eares! this is not Marian!
Nor am I Robin-hood! I pray you aske her!
Aske her good Shep'ards! aske her all for me;
Or rather aske your selves, if shee be shee;
Or I, be I.
Mar.
Yes, and you are the spie:
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To informe what Deere I kill, or give away!
Where! when! to whom! but spie your worst, good Spie!
I will dispose of this where least you like!
Fall to your cheese-cakes, curdes, and clawted creame,
Your fooles, your flaunes; and of ale a streame
To wash it from your livers: straine ewes milke
Into your Cider sillabubs, and be drunke
To him, whose Fleece hath brought the earliest Lambe
This yeare; and weares the Baudrick at your bord!
Where you may all goe whistle; and record
This i' your dance: and foot it lustily.
Shee leaves them.
Rob.
I pray you friends, doe you heare? and see, as I doe?
Did the same accents strike your eares? and objects?
Your eyes, as mine?
Alk.
Wee taste the same reproches!
Lio.
Have seen the changes!
Rob.
Are wee not all chang'd,
Transformed from our selves?
Lio.
I do not know!
The best is silence!
Alk.
And to await the issue.
Rob.
The dead, or lazie wait for't: I will find it.
| The Sad Shepherd :or, A Tale of Robin-Hood | |