 | Loves Mistresse : or The Queenes Masque |  |
ACT. I.
SCÆ. I.
Enter Apuleius, with a paire of asse eares in his hand.How art thou Apuleius retransform'd?
Or else how cam'st thou metamorphis'd first
Into an Asse? Why to so dull a beast,
Of slow, and so obtuse a memory?
I had a braine aym'd at inscrutable things,
Beyond the Moon; what was sublunary,
Me thought was for my study all too meane;
Therefore, I therefore was I thus transhap'd:
That knowing man who keeps not in his bounds,
But pryes into heavens hidden Mysteries
Further than leave, his dulnesse is increast,
Ceaseth to be a man, and so turnes beast:
And thus I fell, yet by the selfe same power,
That calls all humane wisedome foolishnesse,
Am once more to my pristine shape restor'd;
Only to show how vaine my ambitions were,
This follies crest I still about me beare:
I faine would know the way to Helicon,
Can none here tell me? Will none silence breake?
It seems these sit to heare then, not to speak.
Enter Midas.
Here's one I hope can tell me: Reverend Father,
How lies my journey to the Muses hill?
Mi.
Follow thy nose.
Ap.
Thou most unreverend groome,
(I hope my Asses shape is quite shook off)
Why in this churlish manner speak'st thou then?
The Muses? hang the Muses.
Ap.
Can'st thou conduct
My wandring steps to Aganippes spring?
To the Muses Temple I am travelling
And must to them performe a sacrifice.
Mi.
An Asse head of thy own, thou must performe.
Ap.
If men be growne thus savage; oh you powers,
Remetamorphise mee into an asse;
'Tis lesse inglorious, and lesse griefe to live
A beast amongst wilde beasts, then to see man
Bruite-like to blemish his creation.
Mi.
I tell thee once againe, I know no Muses;
No Muses hill, no Aganippes spring;
And which is more, I care for no such toyes.
Ap.
And which is worst, none wise will care for thee;
Oh griefe, that silver haires should crowne his head;
By whom the Muses are dishonoured:
Say Idoll, what's thy name?
Mi.
What's that to thee?
Yet was I sometime King of Phrigia,
To whom god Bacchus was beholding once:
And therefore bad me aske what I would have,
I should be granted; Instantly I begg'd
That whatsoere I touch'd might turne to Gold;
At first it pleas'd mee: When I sate to eate,
I touch'd the Table, and it straight was gold,
The trenchers gold; I call'd for earthen vessells,
Which by my touch were alcumis'd to gold,
All which I hugg'd; but when I came to carve,
Even as the dishes, so the meat was gold;
The liquid wine, but touch'd, was straight congeal'd;
And had not Bacchus freed me from my wish,
Amid'st my gold I had beene starv'd ere this.
Ap.
Dull covetous foole.
Mi.
The shame of this made mee resigne my state;
And where before I was a King of men,
To flie the harshnes of fooles bitter jeasts,
And my name's Midas.
Ap.
Then oh King of beasts,
Be this thy curse; when thy base life's out-worne,
No sacred Poet name thee but in scorne:
But wilt thou sit with silence?
Mi.
Thou prat'st and bablest, what would'st thou have me doe?
Ap.
Seest thou this spheare spangled with all these starres,
All these Love-arts; nor shall they part from hence
With unfeasted cares: my purpose was
To expose them to the shapes of all those asses,
With whom my lost soul wandred in a mist,
Knowing, of them thou art not counted least;
But first I'll shew a story of mine owne,
Of Cupids love to Psiche, sit and see't;
I'll make thee then ingeniously confesse
Thy treason 'gainst the Muses Majesty;
Withall, not only whatsoever's mine,
But all true Poets raptures are divine.
Mi.
Thou hast prevail'd with me, by Pan I'll stay;
But take heed Poet that your rimes be sound,
Else with thine owne asse eares thou shalt be crown'd.
Ap.
We two contend; Art here, there Ignorance:
Be you the Judges, we invite you all
Vnto this banquet Accademicall.
Exeunt.
Recorders. Enter Admetus, Menetius, Zelotis, Astioche, Petrea, Psiche.
Ad.
You Peers and Daughters to th'Arcadian King,
We have past the great'st part of our Pilgrimage;
Listen, oh listen, for these sounds that guild
The ayres light wings, fanning through all our eares
Immortall tunes; tell us we are ariv'd
At sacred Delphos; see the burnish'd Spires
Advance themselves to welcome our approach;
The Temple gates stand ope, and that great Deitie,
Whose tongue speaks nothing lesse than Oracle,
Enter Apollo.
Mene.
Oh teach our knees with a most reverent touch,
To kisse this hallowed earth.
Zelo.
Ladies kneel downe.
Astio.
And sir relate to faire Latonaes Son,
Why this religious voyage was attempted.
Ad.
Daughters I shall:
Sacred Apollo, god of Archery,
Of Arts, of Physicke, and of Poetry:
Ioves bright hair'd Son, whose yellow tresses shine
Like curled flames, hurling a most divine,
And dazling splendor on these lesser fires,
Which from thy guilt beams, when thy Carre retires,
Kindle those tapers that lend eyes to night:
Oh thou that art the Landlord of all light;
Bridegroom to morning, dayes eternall King,
To whom Nine Muses in a sacred ring,
In dances sphericall, trip hand in hand,
Whilst thy well-stringed Harpe their feet command,
Great Delphian Priest, we to adore thy name
Have burnt fat thighs of Bulls in hallowed flame,
Whose savor wrapt in clouds of smoak and fire,
To thy Star-spangled pallace durst aspire;
Tell us who shall untie the Virgin Zone
Of the white-handed Psiche; she alone
Of three most faire, is most unfortunate;
All love, but none her love will celebrate
With nuptiall rights; what must of her betide,
Dread Phebus tell, to whom shall she be bride.
Apol.
Cloath Psiche in a mourning weed,
Then lead and leave her on a hill,
Where Venus Doves their yong ones feed,
Her husband not of humane race;
But one, whose flaming sight doth kill,
And yet wants eyes; his serpents face
If she behold, she must see hell,
And yet by some notorious deed,
Never to die: Psiche farewell,
Much joy'd, much griev'd; unclaspe that spell.
Ex, Apollo.
Ad.
Much griev'd, and yet much joy'd, poore girle. I fear
The scale of griefe will weigh downe that of cheer.
Mene.
She must see hell, and yet she nere shall die;
True, for hels torments live eternally.
Asti.
But father, no tongue shall her joyes expresse.
Petre.
Phebus, thy words leave us all comfortlesse.
Psi.
I must espouse a serpent, that's my hell.
Zelo.
But since you never shall behold his face,
Your torments cannot be too horrible.
Mene.
Is't possible, by deeds impossible
To attaine the Crowne of immortality:
It cannot be: Thus mocking Phebus leaves us,
Alwayes in clouds of darkenesse to deceive us,
Ad.
Stay thy prophane tongue, lest deserved wrath,
Strike thee with death from his revengefull spheare:
Thou must be cloath'd in mourning, so thou art,
A mourning habite, and a thought-sicke heart:
Thou must be left alone on Venus hill:
The destinies decree, we must fulfill:
Thy husband must want sight, and yet have eyes
That flame, and kill; oh leave these mysteries
Vntill the gods reveale them; come, let's hence:
Change your Arcadian tunes to Lidian sounds,
Sad notes are sweetest, where deep woe confounds.
Exeunt omnes.
Recorders. Enter Venus.
Ven.
Cupid my Son, where's he?
Within.
Cup.
Anon: forsooth.
Ven.
I'le gather rods of Roses, if you mock me
With your anon-forsooth.
Within.
Cup.
Anon-forsooth.
Ven.
Shall I be thus still vext? still when my blood
Boyles in the fire of anger, then this ape
With purpose frets me.—Boy.
Cup.
Anon-forsooth.
Ven.
Will Juno come, or Ceres?
Cup.
Iuno lay lolling in my Vncles lap.
Ven.
Which Vncle?
Cup.
Vncle Iove: I laught out-right
To see how (wanton-like) with both her armes,
She clung about his necke; gave him ten kisses,
Toy'd with his lockes, look'd babies in his eyes,
And swore she would not watch him when he went
Amongst his wenches, if he'd turne away
His sawcy page, the smooth-fac'd Ganimed;
The boy by chance upon her fan had spilt
A cup of Nectar; oh how Iuno swore:
I told my Aunt I'de give her a new fan,
To let Ioves page be Cupids serving-man.
Ven.
What's this to Venus message, what said Iuno?
Cup.
I ask'd her when she'd come, and in good sooth,
She answered nothing but anon-forsooth.
Ven.
And where was Ceres, what did she reply?
Cup.
Ceres was binding garlands for god Pan,
Of Blew-bottles, and yellow Pissabeds
That grew amongst the Wheat, with which she crown'd
His forked browes, and woed him with his horne
To rouze the skipping Satyrs, to go hunt
A herd of swine that rooted up her corne:
I ask'd her when she'd come, and in good sooth,
She sent me packing with anon-forsooth.
Ven.
I sent for Pan, and for Apollo too
What news from them?
Cup.
They said they would be here immediatly.
Enter Pan and Apollo.
Apo.
Why in such haste hath Venus sent for us?
Ven.
I sent for Iuno, and for Ceres too,
But they'll not come.
Pan.
Well, what's the news with you:
Ven.
Have you not heard how Venus is contemn'd?
Her stately hangings, and her pillowes torne;
Those rosie garlands that her statues crown'd,
Are wither'd, or else trampled on the ground;
Those troops that flock'd to Paphos to adore me,
Shun Paphos now, and scornefully abhor me.
Pan.
That's strange, for all are up to th'eares in love;
Boyes without beards get boyes, and girles beare girles,
Fine little rattle-babies, scarce thus high,
Are now call'd wives; If long this hot world stand,
We shall have all the earth turne Pigmy-land.
Ven.
All honour Love, but none adore Loves Queen:
Apol.
The injury is great, but from whence springs it?
Ven.
From Psiche daughter to the Arcadian King;
They call her Queen of Love, will know no other,
And swear my Son shall kneel and call her mother.
Cup.
But Cupid swears to make the jacks forsworne.
Apol.
Will Citharea swallow this disgrace?
Pan.
What shall Pan doe in this?
Ven.
Lend me your ayds.
If you meet Psiche, charge yong Mercury
To send me to her, or Imprison her
Till you have sent me word.
Apol.
If this be all, Venus shall have her wish.
Pan.
Pan by his upright hornes and beard doth swear
To hunt out Psiche; but if I doe this,
What will sweet Venus give me?
Ven.
A sweet kisse;
And Phebus shall have one, Cupid another,
Vpon condition they will right those wrongs
Which Psiche in her great pride throws on me:
Draw from thy quiver a dull leaden shaft,
And sticke it through her bosome to the heart;
Make her in love, but let her proud eyes doat
On some ill-shapen drudge, some ugly fool,
Do this, Ile weave for thee a Coronet
Of Roses, mixt with Berenices haire;
To hunt with on the earth, or in the ayre;
Wilt thou do this my boy?
Cup.
I will for-sooth.
Ven.
Nay do not mock me, wilt thou?
Cup.
Yes indeed, indeed I will for-sooth,
Ven.
Sweet lad adieu then:
Apollo, Pan, revenge poor Venus wrongs,
Whilst I unyoke my silver coloured team,
To wanton on the bosome of yon stream.
Exit.
Apol.
Now she hath call'd me downe unto the earth,
I'le try what pastimes dwell amongst the swaines.
Exit.
Pan.
And with my Satires I will have some sport
Here in the Arcadian valleys.
Exit.
Cup.
Shall Psiches beautious eyes gaze on base love?
No, let my Mother storme, and chafe and lower,
She shall be none but Cupids Paramour:
Enter Zephirus.
Ho Zephirus,—how now thou puffing slave,
Art thou growne proud, thou swell'st so? Gentle winde,
Clap on thy smoothest feathers, sleekest wings,
And mount thee to the top of yonder rocke,
There shalt thou finde anon a forlorne maid,
Convey her gently downe unto the vaile
That borders on my bower; see this perform'd,
And I will cloathe thee in a grasse-green Robe,
Spotted with Dasies Pincks, and Marigolds;
I'le play the thief in Flora's treasury,
To make all eyes in love with Zephirus;
Fly hence, do this, and henceforth be thou King
Of all the Windes, and father of the Spring.
Exeunt.
Enter Admetus, Menetius, Zelotis, Astioche, Petrea, Psiche.
Ad.
Behold the foot of that unhappy Rocke,
Vpon whose frozen top, by Phebus doome,
Thou must abide thy most sinister hap.
Deare sister Psiche.
Psi.
Peace Astioche.
Petrea, Father: you should all have mourn'd
When the mad spirits of the multitude
Kneel'd downe and, call'd me Venus; then have wept,
When Cithareas Altars were left bare,
And I was call'd a goddesse; when these teares,
whose reeking makes my funerall lights burne dimme,
Might have quench'd Venus wrath; but leave me now
To fight with death, or meet worse misery.
Mene.
But lurkes that serpent in this fatall rocke?
Pet.
So said Apollo.
Zelo.
Then Menetius,
We will conduct faire Psiche to the cave,
And rip the monsters intrails with our swords.
Psi.
Forbeare all force, I will ascend alone;
Phebus will be displeas'd; Alone said he,
Distressed Psiche shall climbe up yon hill.
Ad.
The way is dangerous, thou wilt loose thy selfe
Without a guide.
Psi.
Death must my conduct me,
See where the pale hagge stands; vaine world adieu,
I am his bride, he waits for none of you.
She climbes up the Rocke.
Ad.
What pains the poore girle takes, see how she strives
Against the swelling bosome of the hill.
Mene.
See the kinde brambles, as enamor'd of her,
Circle her beauty in her catching armes,
Woeing her to come backe; as who should say,
Thou run'st too fast to death, sweet Psiche stay.
Ad.
But all in vaine, she now hath climb'd the Rocke.
And wafts her hand, doe you the like to her,
Whose timelesse death prepares my Sepulchre.
Petre.
Sister with courage meet thy destiny,
To morrow, if thou liv'st, we'll visite thee.
Exeunt.
Enter Cupid and Zephirus.
Cup.
Fly Zephirus, on top of yonder mount
Let Psiche ride—you voyces that attend me,
Ex. Zep.
Dance in the ayre like wantons, to intice
My love to dwell in Cupids Paradise:
Musicke with ravishing tones inchant her eares;
A banquet there: She that doth Cupid wed,
Thus shall she live, and thus be honoured.
Exit.
Enter Zephirus, and takes Psiche from the Rock, and Exit with her in his armes. A Banquet brought in.
Enter Zephirus with Psiche and places her at the Banquet, and Exit.
Psi.
Where am I now? For through the cheerfull ayre
Hither I have been brought, on unseen wings;
What wonderous place is this? No serpent sure
Lurkes in this pleasant bowre: my eare drinks founds
Of heaven-tun'd Instruments; I see no creature,
And yet me thought soft fingers set me downe,
And I am forc'd by sweet compulsion,
A Banquet first plain, and presently set out with all Delicates.
To be the only guest of this faire board,
Which empty, is as soon new furnished;
I faine would touch these sweets, but feare to taste them.
Ecoho.
Taste them.
2.
Taste them.
3.
Taste them.
Psi.
What voice is that? I dare no longer sit.
Ecoho.
Sit.
2.
Sit.
3.
Sit.
Psi.
Who mockes me? Are you devils, or are you gods?
Ecc.
Gods.
2.
Gods.
3.
Gods.
Psi.
The gods will do no harme.
Ecc.
No harme.
2.
No harme.
3.
No harme,
Psi.
Psiche be bold, and taste this heavenly food.
Ecc.
Ha ha ha.
2.
Ha ha ha.
3.
Ha ha ha.
Psi.
These are no Ecchoes, for they shift their place,
Nor catch they my last words, as Ecchoes doe:
For when I would have fed, they mock'd my pride,
They laught aloud at my presumption:
Enter Zephirus with drinke.
If thus I talke to them,—Who fils this wine,
And tempts my eye with it? as who should say,
Drinke Psiche.
Ecc.
Drinke Psiche.
2.
Drinke Psiche.
3.
Drinke Psiche.
Psi.
I'le taste no drop of this inchanted wine:
Faine from this Magick circle would I rise,
Yet dare not; oh let Psiche see your eyes,
Or rid me hence, and set my feares in peace.
Ecc.
Peace.
2.
Peace.
3.
Peace.
Enter Cupid.
Cup.
How lovely is my Psiche; earth's too base
To be possest of her Celestiall forme:
My mother hates her; for the gods I feare
Would banish her from earth, my Love being there;
And therefore shall she live in Cupids Bower,
For she deserves to be loves Paramour:
Oh how my faire eyes wound me; by this kisse,
And this white hand.
Psi.
Oh me! what voice is this
I feel? besides, soft fingers, and a Ring.
Cup.
Long white fingers, soft white hand,
Ring and all at thy command.
Psi.
Is this my husband then?
Cup.
Ho Zephirus,
Remove hence those Ambrosian dishes straight.
Zephirus takes off the Banquet.
Psi.
My father much mistook the Oracle;
To this sweet voice, could I enjoy the sight,
I should my selfe then stile Queen of delight.
Cup.
Pleasure shall be thy lacky; wilt thou hunt,
Then in an ayery Charriot, drawne by birds,
On the windes downie back my love shall ride;
Mild Zephirus shall be thy Waggoner;
Who if the heat offend, his silver wings
Shall fan coole ayre upon thee, yet my love,
Psi.
Name it, and I'le avoid it for your sake.
Cu.
Thy mourning sisters shortly will returne,
And seek thee on the rocke from whence thou cam'st,
But shun their sight and speech; Psiche do this,
Thou rob'st me else of love, thy selfe of blisse.
Psi.
Not speak nor see my sisters; oh what pleasure
Can Psiche take, lock't in a golden Jayle?
Cup.
Run not unto thy ruine gentle love;
Yet if thou needs wilt see and speak with them,
Command thy servant Zephirus to bring them
From top of yonder Rocke into this vaile;
But if they make inquiry who I am,
Fill both their laps with gold, and send them gon,
Besides I woe thee by this nuptiall kisse,
Do not perswade me to disclose my shape,
Attempting that, thou loosest this high state;
I then must leave thee, thou live desolate.
Psi.
In all these things, I will obey my love.
Cup.
Then Psiche, in thine unseen husbands hand,
Claspe thy white singers; I'le now crowne thy bed
With the sweet spoiles of thy lost Maiden-head.
Exeunt.
Enter Apuleius and Midas.
Mi.
Hand off, let go my sheep-hook, I'le not stay,
I'le hang my selfe, e're I'le see out thy Play:
Call you this Poetry?
Ap.
If this displease thee Midas, then I'le shew thee
E're I proceed with Cupid and his love,
What kinde of people I commerst withall
In my transhape.
Mi.
That's when thou wert an Asse.
Ap.
The very same.
Mi.
Yes, that I faine would see.
Ap.
Sit then and view thine owne infirmity.
A dance. Enter a proud asse with cares.
Mi.
What fellow's that?
A selfe-will'd insolent foole,
Who spights at those above him, and those beneath
Despiseth, and his equals jets upon;
Rich in his owne conceit, in judgement poor,
Still carping, tho' a coxcombe, and may passe,
As these dayes go, for a proud arogant Asse.
Dance. Enter a Prodigall Asse.
Mid.
I, this I like; What fellowes that?
Ad.
A fellow he,
Who riots that, which most penuriously
His father hoorded, in drabs, drinke and play,
Wearing fantastick habits, and gay clothes,
Till he hath quite exhausted all his gold,
And for a prodigall Asse may be inroul'd.
Dance. Enter a Drunken Asse.
Mi.
This gives me good content—What's he?
Ap.
A pot-companion, brother to the glasse,
That roars in's cups, indeed a drunken Asse.
Dance. Enter an Usurer.
Mi.
He looks like a good fellow—Now that gray-beard?
Ap.
One that doth pinch his belly in his life,
And starve his own guts to make others feed;
Patcheth his own clothes to make others proud,
And for a covetous Asse may be allow'd.
Dance. A young Gentlewoman.
Mi.
But so did never Midas—Now, that Minks.
Ap.
Her mothers darling she, borne to good means;
In love with all she sees, yet truly, none;
Who then great Heires are proffered, trifles them;
And in the end, when with none else she can,
She marries with her fathers serving-man:
And that is a right she-Asse.
Mi.
What Reverend person's that of all the other?
I like him best.
Ap.
That Midas, is thy brother,
A piece of mooving earth, illiterate, dull;
Who having in himselfe naught commendable,
Envies What's good in others; and yet dare
In his owne impudence, with Arts compare:
A blocke, a stone, yet learning he'll revile,
And a dull ignorant Asse we will him stile.
Mi.
But where's your Poet Asse among all these?
Dance and Exit.
Ap.
There's no such creature.
Mi.
Then what call'st thou those
That let not men lie quiet in their graves,
But haunt their ghosts with ballats and bal'd rimes?
Do they not teach the very feinds in hell
Speek in blanke verse; do we not daily see
Every dull-witted Asse spit Poetry:
And for thy Scene, thou bring'st here on the Stage
A young green-sicknesse baggage to run after
A little ape-fac'd boy thou tearm'st a god;
Is not this most absurd?
Ap.
Mis-understanding fool, thus much conceive,
Psiche is Anima, Psiche is the Soule,
The Soule a Virgin, longs to be a bride,
The soul's Immortall, whom then can she wooe
But Heaven? whom wed, but Immortality:
Oh blame not Psiche then, if mad with rage,
She long for this so divine marriage.
Mid.
But tell me then, why should Apollo say,
All love her, and yet none will marry her.
Ap.
All love faire Psiche, all cast amorous eyes
On the soules beauty, but who is't will wed her?
None with the soul will lead so strict a life,
As heaven enjoynes with such a blessed wife.
Mi.
Thou promp'st my understanding pretty well;
Wish her Son Cupid to enamour her
On some base groom mis-shapen, and deform'd?
Ap.
By Venus here, is meant untemperate lust;
Lust woes here Son Desire, to inflame the soul
With some base groom, that's to some ugly sinne;
Desire is good and ill; the evill sweares
To obey his mother Venus, and vexe Psiche:
But Cupid representing true desire,
Doats on the souls sweet beauty, sends his servant
Zephirus; In whom, Celestiall pleasure's meant,
To entice his Love, the Soule, to his chaste bed,
Giving her heaven for her lost maiden-head.
Mi.
Only one Riddle more, and I have done;
Why did the poor girle Psiche take such paines?
What scrambling shift she made to climbe the mountaine,
And crawle through brakes and briers to get a husband.
Ap.
This shewes how many strong adversities,
Crosses, pricks, thornes, and stings of conscience,
Would throw the ambitious soule affecting heaven,
Into despaire and fainting diffidence,
Which Psiche must passe through; the soule must fly
Through thousand letts, to seek eternity.
Mi.
Thou hast made this somewhat plaine.
Ap.
Kinde Gentlemen,
Winke at our strife, you may in pardoning this,
Count this our talke a meer Parentesis.
Exeunt.
| Loves Mistresse : or The Queenes Masque | |