 | Aurelian Townshend's Poem and Masks |  |
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TEMPE RESTORD
A Masque
[_]
Presented by the Qveene, and foureteene Ladies, to the Kings Maiestie at Whitehall on Shrove-Tuesday. 1631.
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The fugitive Favourite.
Was I a Lyon! that am now afraid!
I feare no danger; nor I feare no Death;
But to be Retransform'd, into a Beast:
Which while I was, although I must confesse,
I was the Brauest: What could shee doe lesse,
That saw me Subiect, to no base desire:
Yet was there in me, a Promethean fire,
That made me covet to be man againe,
Govern'd by Reason, and not rul'd by Sense.
I feare no danger; nor I feare no Death;
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Which while I was, although I must confesse,
I was the Brauest: What could shee doe lesse,
That saw me Subiect, to no base desire:
Yet was there in me, a Promethean fire,
That made me covet to be man againe,
Govern'd by Reason, and not rul'd by Sense.
Therefore I shunne this place of Residence,
And flye to Vertue: in whose awfull sight,
She dares not come, but in a Maske, and crouch,
As low as I did, for my liberty.
And flye to Vertue: in whose awfull sight,
She dares not come, but in a Maske, and crouch,
As low as I did, for my liberty.
Her Bowre is pleasant, and her Palace Rich;
Her Fare Delicious, and her Language fine;
But shall the Soule, the Minion of the Gods,
Stoope to her Vassalls? Or stand by and sterue,
While they sit swelling, in her Chayre of State?
Her Fare Delicious, and her Language fine;
But shall the Soule, the Minion of the Gods,
Stoope to her Vassalls? Or stand by and sterue,
While they sit swelling, in her Chayre of State?
Tis not her Rod, her Philters, nor her Herbes,
(Though strong in Magicke) that can bound mens minds;
And make them Prisoners, where there is no wall.
It is consent that makes a perfect Slaue:
And Sloth that binds us to Lusts easie Trades,
Wherein we serue out our youths Prentiship,
Thinking at last, Loue should enfranchize vs,
Whome we haue neuer, either seru'd or knowne:
(Though strong in Magicke) that can bound mens minds;
And make them Prisoners, where there is no wall.
It is consent that makes a perfect Slaue:
And Sloth that binds us to Lusts easie Trades,
Wherein we serue out our youths Prentiship,
Thinking at last, Loue should enfranchize vs,
Whome we haue neuer, either seru'd or knowne:
“He finds no helpe, that vses not his owne.
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The Song of Circe, represented by Madam Coniacke.
Cir:Dissembling Traytor, now I see the cause,
Of all thy fawning, was but to be free:
Twas not fornothing, thou hadst teeth and clawes,
For thou hast made a cruell prey of me.
Her 4 Nymphes.
Ingratitude is apt, to slinke away,
And shunne that bounty, which it cannot pay.
Circe:
And he is gone (aye me) is stolne from hence,
And this poore Casket of my breast, hath left
Without a Hart: that should for recompence,
Haue lockt in two: O most inhumane theft!
Her foure Nymphes.
Send not your sighes, after a fickle mind,
That Sayles the faster for such Gales of wind.
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Then take my keyes! and shew me al my wealth.
Leade me abroad! Let me my subiects view!
Bring me some Physick! though that bring no health!
And feyne me pleasures, since I finde none true.
Chorus.
Yee willing Servants! And ye Soules confin'd
To severall shapes, by powerfull Herbes and Art,
Appeare, transform'd each in your seuerall kind,
And striue to temper the distemper'd Heart,
Of sullen Circe, stung with Cupids dart.
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Harmony presented by Mris Shep.
Not as my selfe, but as the brightest Starre,
That shines in Heaven, come to Reigne this day
And these the Beames and Influences are
Of Constellations, whose Planeticke sway,
Though some foresee, all must alike obey.
Chorus.
That shines in Heaven, come to Reigne this day
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Of Constellations, whose Planeticke sway,
Though some foresee, all must alike obey.
Such a Coniunction, of auspicious lights,
Meete but in Honor, of some Regall rights.
Harmony and her Quire.
Ladies! lend vs your eares.
And let no Louers sigh be heard!
Or Suite, (though iust) be now prefer'd
A consort of the Spheres,
Admits no whisper, nor no sound,
But what is descant, to their ground:
Nor can we hold ye long,
For there are Stars to rise,
That farre aboue, our song
Are Musicke to all eyes.
A Saraband.
If any Beauty here,In her owne glasse appeare
Or Louers eye, most cleere?
Looking but vp, she may with small adoe
Perceiue that flatters, and her seruant too.
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The Highest Sphere represented by Mr. Laneere.
When Divine Beautie, will vouchsafe to stoope,
And moue to Earth: 'tis fit the Heauenly Spheres,
Should be her Musicke: And the Starrie Troope,
Shine round about her, like the Crowne she weares.
Chorus.
And moue to Earth: 'tis fit the Heauenly Spheres,
Should be her Musicke: And the Starrie Troope,
Shine round about her, like the Crowne she weares.
No mortall Brest,
Can entertaine:
So great a Guest,
And such a Trayne.
Highest Sphere.
I cannot blame ye if ye gaze,
And giue small eare to what I say:
For such a presence will amaze,
And send the Senses all one way.
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The Musick that yee heare, is dull,
But that ye see, is sweete indeed:
In euery Part exact, and full,
From whence there doth an Ayre proceed,
On which th'Intelligences feed,
Where faire and good, inseparably conioynd,
Create a Cupid, that is neuer blind.
The Song.
[How rich is earth? and poore the skies?]
Harmony.How rich is earth? and poore the skies?
Depriu'd of heauenly Beauties eyes?
Whose Image men adore.
The eighth Sphere.
Heroicke Vertue, is that kind
Of Beautie, that attracts the mind,
And men should most implore.
The rest of the Spheres.
Ianus was happy that could see,
Two wayes at once: And happier he
That round about him kept
Watches, that neuer slept.
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But we most happy, that behold,
Two that haue turn'd this age to Gold,
Making old Saturns Reigne,
In theirs, come backe againe.
And since more, th'obiect, then the sight,
Makes' eche spectator Blest;
How are we rauisht with delight,
That see the best.
[It is but Iustice, to torment a heart]
Cupid:It is but Iustice, to torment a heart,
That tortured thousands: And my gentle reigne,
So wrongd with acting of a Tyrants part,
I must Restreyne,
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Iupiter.
Thou claim'st her Subiects: And I claime the Soyle,
As Soueraigne Lord: The Hecatomes shee brings,
Though great Oblations, yet deduc'd from Spoyle,
Are sordid Things:
And sent of Earth: Vertue pure Incense brings.
Circe:
The Gods, more freedome did allow,
when Ioue turn'd Io to a Cow.
Pallas:
Are mortall Creatures, growne so proud
To taxe the Skye, for euery Cloud:
Circe:
Man-Maide, bee gone!
Pallas:
Though I could turne thee, to a Stone
Ile begge thy peace:
Iupiter:
Deare Daughter cease!
Circe:
Cease Dreadfull Ioue! Finding thy Drift,
My Bounty, shall prevent thy Guift:
This Machles Payre,
I make, my Heire:
All I possesse, I heere, Resigne,
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Iupiter:
Shee giues but what shee can not keepe.
Cupid:
Then was the wound I gaue her deepe.
Both:
T'was I whose power none can withstand,
That open'd both her heart, and hand.
The Valediction.
How would they mourne, to loose yee quite!That are so loath, to say, Goodnight.
Yet wee may pleade, in our Excuse,
Should you, these Loanes of Loue forsake
The Gods themselues, such Sommes would take
And pay vs, vse.
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