 | Loves Mistresse : or The Queenes Masque |  |
ACT. II.
SCENE I.
Enter Psiche, Astioche, and Petrea.Psi.
Welcome dear sisters; with the breath of Love,
Poor Psiche gives kind welcome to you both:
Oh tell me then by what auspicious guide,
You came conducted to this sacred place?
Sister you shall: when many a weary step
Had brought us to the top of yonder Rocke,
Mild Zephirus embrac'd us in his armes,
And in a cloud of rich and strong perfumes,
Brought's unto the skirts of this green mead,
Psi.
And happily ariv'd: Nature and Art
Have strove to make this dale their treasury;
Windes fly on Psiches errands; shapes unseen
Are my attendants, and to make me sport,
Will dance like nimble Ecchoes in the ayre,
And mocke me.
Eccho,
Mock me.
2.
Mock me.
3.
Mock me.
Psi.
Sisters, how like you this?
Ec.
This, ha ha ha.
2.
This, ha ha ha.
3.
This, ha ha ha.
Petre.
They mock us, will they do no harme to us?
Psi.
Oh no.
Eccho.
No.
2.
No.
3.
No.
Psi.
Bablers, be silent.
Eccho.
Silent.
2.
Silent.
3.
Silent.
Psi.
Or else I'le punish you;
And let me heare some Musicke—Loud—And still.
Loud Musicke, and still Musicke.
Tell me, how like you this?
Asti.
It flies the reach of Admiration.
Petr.
But let us see the shapes of them that play,
What are they, speake? or what's your husbands name?
Let's know our brother, that we may relate
To th'King our father your high honour'd state.
Psi.
My husband, sister, is now rid from home.
Asti.
Why, say he be, I hope you know his name;
We'll ransacke all the Pallace but we'll finde him:
Is your sweet-heart so proud, he'll not be seen?
Petr.
Where is he Psiche?
Psi.
Trust me, he's from home.
Asti.
Let's see his Picture then?
Psi.
Lasse I have none.
Petr.
Describe his person.
I must shift them hence,
My tongue will else breed my confusion.
Asti.
Nay sister, when?
Petr.
When sister will it be?
Psi.
How should I give him shape I never saw?
He's a faire lovely youth, upon each cheek,
Smiles lie in cheerfull dimples; on his brow
Sits Love and Majesty in glorious pride;
His eyes such beauty in their circles hold,
That walking in the night, I have thought them Stars;
Long flaxen curled tresses crowne his head.
Come, come, you shall not be enamored
On my faire husband; this for all suffice,
He's yong and rich.
Asti.
Oh how my blood doth rise,
In envy of her high felicity; speake, what's his name?
Psi.
Home, home; more musicke there, I must to rest:
Recorders. Enter Zephirus with bags.
Ho Zephirus, come forth, and bring me brim-full baggs of gold:
Hold up your laps, tho' them you cannot see
That bring this gold, this larges take from me;
Adieu, adieu: my duty to the King,
I needs must stop mine eares when Syrens sing.
Petr.
Astioche.
Asti.
Petrea, oh, I am mad to note her pride;
Her husband is no serpent as 'twas said,
And false Apollo sung; he is some god,
And this his Temple, for no mortall hand
Hath laid these Christiall pavements, cloath'd these meades
In never-fading liveries of green;
Flora you see cloathes all the ground with flowers,
Flora is Psiches hand-maid; Zephirus
Is but her foot-boy, lackeys at her beck.
Petr.
Yet she's our sister, and it doth me good
To see rich worth in any of our blood.
Asti.
Thou art a fool Petrea, for I hate
That any's fortune should transcend my state;
And never cease, till by some treachery,
Her pride we make a slave to misery.
Exeunt.
Enter Admetus, Menetius, and Zelotis.
Mene.
Patience great sir, you have not lost them all,
Doubtlesse the two last live.
Zelo.
Sir though they be your daughters, th'are our wives,
And we are in no such despaire of them.
Ad.
Admit you were one for Astioche,
And that another for Petrea wept,
You two, but for two wives shed husbands teares;
For you and them, I sorrow all: your feares
Divided betwixt you; on me alone,
Lies like a mountaine, and thus casteth down
Admetus wretched body, with his crowne;
They followed Psiche and her destiny,
Hath given them death, us living misery.
Enter Evemore.
Eve.
Rise Royall sir, your Daughters are return'd.
Ad.
Oh where, which way; are my two daughters come?
Eve.
Yes sir, and both their laps are fill'd with gold.
Enter Astioche and Petrea.
Ad.
Wellcome to both in one; oh can you tell
What fate your sister hath?
Both.
Psiche is well.
Ad.
So among mortalls it is often sed,
Children and friends are well, when they are dead:
Astio.
But Psiche lives, and on her breath attends
Delights that farre surmount all earthly joy;
Musicke, sweet voyces, and Ambrosian fare,
Windes, and the light-wing'd creatures of the ayre;
Cleere channell'd Rivers, springs, and flowry meads,
Are proud when Psiche wantons on their streams,
When Psiche on their rich Imbroidery treads,
When Psiche guilds their Christall with her beams;
She sends us with our laps full brimm'd with gold.
Adm.
Oh, you amaze me Daughters.
Pet.
Let joy banish amazement from your kingly thoughts,
Psiche is wedded to some Deity,
And prayes withall, our quicke returne againe,
Ad.
We grant it; we with you and these, will go
To Psiches bowre; desire inflames my minde,
To sit on the bright wings of that blest winde.
Asti.
Oh but the god that governes Psiches thoughts;
For sure he is Immortall, charg'd my sister
To talke with none but us.
Petr.
Yet by the magicke of our tongues we'l try
If we can win you so much liberty.
Ad.
Go my Astioche, but come againe
To comfort him that must thy want complaine;
Go with my love Petrea, but returne
With winged speed, whilst we your absence mourne;
Go with my blessing; blest those sisters be,
That live like you in bonds of unity:
Give Psiche this; give her this thou Petrea,
Kisseth them.
Tell her she is my selfe, my souls Idea.
And say, whilst she is spotlesse, lovely white,
She shall be my sole comfort, my delight:
So part with my best wishes.
Exeunt.
Enter Clowne, with three or foure Swaines.
Clo.
And what might you call that yong gentleman, that
rules and raignes, revells and roares in these walkes of
Arcadia, that makes you borrow sheepes eyes from your
flockes, and leaves you no more braines in your heads than in
your sheep-hooks? What might you call that gallant?
1 Swa.
Whom do you meane, him whom god Pan so honours,
the Fawnes feare, and the Satyres shake to see?
Clo.
Ille ipse, the same; I desire no more than this sheep-hook
in my hand to encounter with that swash-buckler.
2 Swa.
It is the god of Love, they call him Cupid.
Cupid Coxcombe; your Satyrs are all sots, your
Fawnes fooles, and your Pan a pitifull poore fellow; had I
their horns (as I know not what I may have in time) I would
so gore him; and what weapons doth he use?
3 Swa.
They say Bow and Arrowes.
Clo.
Bow and Bird-bolts doth he not; and how lies hee?
where's his guard? what's his play? Can any of you all give
me his true title?
1 Swa.
Not I, 'tis far beyond me.
Clo.
Then hearken oh you hoyds, and listen oh you Illiterates,
whil'st I give you his stile in Folio: He is King of cares,
cogitations, and coxcombes; Vice-roy of vows and vanities,
Prince of passions, prate-apaces, and pickled lovers; Duke of
disasters, dissemblers, and drown'd eyes; Marquesse of melancholly,
and mad folkes, grand Signior of griefs, and
groans; Lord of lamentations, Heroe of hie-hoes, Admirall
of aymees, and Monsieur of mutton-lac'd.
2 Swaine.
Heere's a stile I shall never bee able to get
over.
Clo.
And who do you thinke maintaines this princox in
his Pontificalibus?
3 Swa.
Nay, it exceeds my capacity.
Clo.
A company of pitifull fellows call'd Poets; did you
never heare of one Homer, and of the Tale of Troy, and of a
ten yeers siege, and many such trifles.
2 Swa.
Yes, and many things concerning them.
Clow.
But heare me, oh you misse of mis-understanding;
This Troy was a Village of some Twenty houses; and Priam,
as silly a fellow as I am, only loving to play the good fellow,
hee had a great many bowsing lads, whom he called
sonnes.
3 Swa.
As we have here in Arcadia.
Clo.
Just the same; by this Troy ranne a small Brook, that
one might stride over; on the other side dwelt Menelaus, a
Farmer, who had a light wench to his wife call'd Hellen,
that kept his sheep, whom Paris, one of Priams mad lads, seeing
and liking, tieeth over the brooke, and lies with her in
for one Agamemnon his brother, that was then high Constable
of the hundred, and complaines to him: hee sends to one
Ulisses, a faire spoken fellow, and Towne-clarke, and to divers
others, amongst whom was one stout fellow called Ajax,
a Butcher, who upon a Holy-day brings a payre of
cudgells, and layes them downe in the midst, where the
Two Hundreds were then met, which Hector a Baker,
another bold lad of the other side seeing, steps forth,
and takes them up; these two had a bowt or two for a
broken pate; And here was all the circumstance of the Trojan
Warres.
1 Swa.
To see what these Poets can do.
Clowne.
But listen to them and they will fill your heads
with a thousand fooleries; observe one thing, there's none
of you all sooner in love, but he is troubled with their itch,
for hee will bee in his Amorets, and his Canzonets, his
Pastoralls, and his Madrigalls, to his Phillis, and his Amorillis.
1 Swa.
Oh beautious Amorillis.
Clo.
And what's Amorillis think'st thou?
1 Swa.
I faire and lovely creature.
Clo.
I'le shew thee the contrary by her owne name, Amor is
love, illis is ill, is ill, cannot be good; Ergo Amorillis is
starke naught; let one or two examples serve for more,
there's one of our fairest Nimphes called Susanna; what is
Susanna, but Sus and anna, which is in plaine Arcadia, Nan
is a Sow.
2 Swa.
Well, you have taught us more than ever I understood
before, concerning Poetry.
Clowne.
Come to me but one houre in a morning, and I'le
reade deeper Philosophy to you; good-morrow Neighbors;
Poets, quoth a; What's Titule tu patule but Titles and
Pages; What's Propria que maribus, but a proper man
loves Mary-bons, Feminuo generi-tribiunter, but the Feminine
Gender is troublesome; what's Ovid, but quasi, avoid;
now should I be in love, with whom? with Doll, what's
to a black-pot, or what's Pegg, good for nothing but to
drive into poste: no Cupid, I defie thee and all thy genealogy.
Enter Cupid.
Cup.
What's he that so prophanes our Deity?
And scornes that power which all the gods adore;
To whom Iove some-times bends, and Neptune kneels,
Mars homageth, and Phebus will submit,
Slie Mercury obey, and Vulcan bow too;
And all the rurall gods and goddesses,
Saytirs and Nimphss allow their soveraigne:
He shall not scape unpunished.
Clo.
If I could but finde one of these fantasticall Poets or
light upon that little god their Patron, I would so tickle
them.
Cup.
This hobinall, this rusticke, this base clowne;
I finde him of a dull and brain-lesse eye,
Such as I know a golden-headed shaft
Will never enter; of a skin so thicke,
As pointed silver hath no power to pierce:
For such grosse fools, I have a bolt in store,
Which though it cannot wound, shall give a blow,
To startle all within him.
Shoots.
Clo.
Oh me, hey-hoe.
Cup.
Lie there base Midas bastard, that refuses
All-honour'd love, and rail'st against the Muses.
Exit.
Clo.
Oh coward, whatsoere thou art, to come behind a man
and strike him before, for I saw no body—to shoot, and
never give a man warning, oh coward; I am paid, I am pepper'd;
the case is alter'd, for any one may ghesse by the hugenesse
of the blow, that I am mightily in love; ay-me that any
wench were here, whose name is Ayme; now could I be in
love with any madge, though she were an Howlet, or with
any maid, though she look't like a Malkin; Oh Poetry, I find
that I am poyson'd with thee too; for me-thinks I could say
rime for a neede;
Cupid I yeeld since so I know thy will is,
And Ile goe seeke me out some Amarillis.
Exit.
Enter Psiche alone.
Psiche.
There's at this time a combat in my soule,
Whether to trust my well-knowne sisters better,
Or my unseene husband; I have asked,
Demanded, and enquired of all my traine,
This fairy-traine that hourely waites on mee,
Yet none of them will tell mee what hee is;
Enter Cupid.
Besides, this solitude to be alone,
Begins to grow most tedious, and my feares
Doe every way distract mee.
Cup.
Why how now Psiche?
Psi.
Oh let Mercies eyes
Shine on my fault.
Cup.
Are these thy heaven-bound vowes?
Are all thy protestations guilded ayre?
Hast thou no more regard to my command,
Or thine owne safety?
Psi.
Deare love pardon mee.
Cup.
Once more I doe; and still must pardon thee,
And thou must still offend, still torture mee;
Yet once againe Ile try thy constancy:
Thy sisters are at hand.
Psi.
But gentle Love,
Shall I not speake to them?
Cup.
Yes, but I woe thee
To send them quickly hence, or they'le undoe thee;
They now are at the Rock, bid the coole winde
To please thee, bring them to the place assign'd.
Exit.
Enter Zephirus with the two Sisters.
Psi.
Ho Zephirus,
Asti.
Psiche we come in danger of our lives.
To save our sister from ensuing harme.
Psi.
What harme? what danger?
Asti.
Danger eminent,
Once you refused our counsell, and deny'd
To let us know your husband, or his name.
Petr.
Come let's see him.
Psi.
Oh, what shall I doe?
Petr.
Escape the danger you are falne into.
Psi.
You cannot see him.
Asti.
Give us then his shape?
Psi.
His shape, why he's a man whose snowy head
Bowes on his bosome, through the weight of age.
Asti.
That cannot be; you said he was a youth
Of comely stature, with long flaxen haire.
Psi.
I am entrap'd.
Asti.
Speak, did you ever see your husband?
Psi.
Why do you aske? pray trouble me no more;
Leave me, and I will fill your laps with gold.
Asti.
Once thy gold tempted us to leave this place,
And to betray thy life to misery,
It shall not now, did not Apollo doome
Thy fatall marriage to some hiddeous beast;
How just is Phebus in his auguries;
Last night, when we went hence laden with gold,
We spide a serpenr gliding on the mead,
Who at the sight of us, writhing his head
Proudly into the ayre, first hist at heaven,
Because it did not shade him from our eyes.
Psi.
How did that serpent vanish from your sight?
Asti.
In at these gates he rowld, Psiche be wise,
For tho' a while he dally with thy beauty,
Dalling thy taste with sweets, thy eyes with shews,
Thy eares with musicke, and sweet lullabies,
He will in time devour thee.
Psi.
Miserable wretch,
Whose helpe shall I invoke?
Petr.
Tell us the truth,
And wee'l devise some means to succour thee.
Psi.
You are my sisters, I confesse to you,
I never saw his face, know not his shape,
Yet have I touch'd his eyes, and felt his hands.
Oft have I kist his cheekes, more oft his lips;
Eyes, hands, lips, cheekes, and face so charm'd my touch,
That I have sworne, save his, there were none such;
Yet your strange story makes me to suspect
That he's some serpent, for he tels me still,
To see his glorious shape, will ruine me;
Besides he bids me shun your company,
Else you will breed my sorrow; this is that
Which troubles me.
Asti.
Hear thee my counsell; Instantly provide
A keen-edg'd Raysor, and a burning Lampe;
At night, when sleep fits on his monstrous eyes,
Steale from his speckled side, step to your light,
And without seare behold his horrid shape,
And with the Raysor cut his skaly throat;
And so by death gaine life, and he being dead,
Psiche shall to some King be married.
Petr.
How doth our sister relish this devise?
Psi.
I doe embrace your councell, and this night
I'le put the same in execution;
Come, you have made me resolute and bould,
And now receive your laps o're-swell'd with gold.
Exit.
Asti.
Swell in thy pride, untill thou break'st thy heart
Yet come, we'll take her larges e're we part.
Exit.
Enter Midas and Apuleius.
Mi.
Poet no more, I have enough of Psiche;
Her sisters and the sepent, all of them
Most villanous lies, I'le prove it; and unlesse
To please my selfe, and keep mine eyes from sleepe,
Such as we use here in Arcadia,
I will endure no longer.
Ap.
Well, I am pleas'd
Mi.
I'le shew thee in a Dance.
Ap.
Art some-times must give way to ignorance.
A Dance.
Enter Pan, Clowne, Swaines, and Countrey-wenches; They dance, and Exit.
Mi.
Was not this sport indeed?
Ap.
My modesty gives thee no reprehension,
For I am well pleased with your Pastorall mirth;
But as thou had'st a power over mine eyes,
To sit it out wirh Patience; so lend me
Thy attentive eares
Mi.
First cleere thy obsurdities.
Nay, grose ones too; here Psiche lyes abominably,
And sayes she has two husbands, the one yong,
the other old: How canst thou answer this?
Ap.
Though thy vaine doubts be most familiar
To these Judicious hearers, well experenc'd,
As well in matters Morrall as Divine;
To thee I'le make it plaine.
Mi.
I prethee doe.
Ap.
Did Psiche lye to say she had two loves?
How like art thou to Psiche, she to thee.
Mi.
To me, I scorne her likenesse.
Ap.
In this point thou art,
For rather than thy sisters shall grow angry,
To make earths drossie pleasures stay for thee,
Thou wilt exclaime with Psiche, Cupids young;
The joyes of heaven are all too young, too little
To be believ'd, or look'd at; if that faile,
Thou with the soule wilt say, my love is old,
Divine delights are crooked like old age,
To have their vaine delights serv'd like a king.
Mi.
'Tis pretty, but your Ecchoes pleas'd me best;
Oh if a man had seen them.
Ap.
With a mortall eye none can; in them is hid this mistery,
Cælestiall raptures, that to allure the sight,
Are seen no more then voices being on high,
Subject unto no weake, and fleshly eye.
Mi.
But why did Cupid hide himselfe from Psiche?
Ap.
Oh who dares prye into those mysteries,
That heaven would have conceal'd; for this she's charg'd
Not to see Cupids face, to shun her sisters.
Mi.
Those gadding girles, what didst thou mean by them?
Ap.
The restlesse sins that travell night and day,
Envying her blisse, the sweet scule to betray.
Mi.
Well, by this little I conceive the rest,
I care not greatly if I stay it out,
But if not lik't, I'le either sleep or flout.
Ap.
So will not these I hope, before they view
What horrid dangers Cupids bride pursue.
Exeunt.
| Loves Mistresse : or The Queenes Masque | |