University of Virginia Library

Actus III.

Scæna I.

Enter Florellus.
The Sun five times hath gone his yearly progresse,
Since last I saw my Sister, and returning
Bigge with desire to view my native Sicilie,
I found my aged parents sadly mourning
The funerall (for to them it seemes no lesse)
Of their departed Daughter; what a welcome
This was to me, all in whose hearts a veine
Of marble growes not, easily may conceive
Without the dumbe perswasions of my teares.
Yet as if that were nothing, and it were
A kind of happinesse in misery
If't come without an army to attend it,
As I pass'd through these woods I saw a woman
Whom her attyre call'd Shepheardesse, but face
Some disguis'd Angell, or a Silvan Goddesse;
It struck such adoration (for I durst not
Harbour the love of so divine a beauty)
That ever since I could not teach my thoughts
Another object; (In this happy place
Happy her presence made it) she appear'd,
And breath'd fresh honours on the smiling trees,
Which owe more of their gallantry to her
Then to the musky kisses of the West wind.
Ha! sure 'tis she; Thus doth the Sunne breake forth
From the blacke curtaine of an envious cloud.

Enter Alupis, Bellula, Hylace.
Al.
For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Hyl.
Wee did not send for you; pray leave us.

Alu.
No, by this light, not till I see you cry;
When you have shed some penitentiall teares
For wronging of Palæmon, there may be
A truce concluded betwixt you and me.

Bell.
This is uncivill
To thrust into our company; doe you thinke
That we admire your wit? pray goe to them
That doe, we would be private.

Al.
To what purpose?
You'd aske how many shepheards she hath strooken,
Which is the properest man? which kisses sweetest?
Which brings her the best presents? And then tell
What a fine man wooes you, how redde his lips are?
How bright his eyes are? and what dainty sonnets
He hath composed in honor of your beauty?
And then at last, with what rare tricks you foole him?
These are your learn'd discourses; but were all
Men of my temperance, and wisdome too,
You should wooe us, I, and wooe hardly too
Before you got us.

Flo.
Oh prophanenesse!
Can hee so rudely speake to that blest virgin,
And not be strucken dumbe?

Al.
Nay, you have both a mind to me; I know it,
But I will marry neither; I come hither
Not to gaze on you, or extoll your beauty;
I come to vex you.

Flo.
Ruder yet? I cannot,
I will not suffer this; madde fellow, is there
No other Nymph in all these spacious woods,
To fling thy wilde, and saucie laughter at,
But her, whom thy great Deity even Pan
Himselfe would honor, doe not dare to utter
The smallest accent if not cloath'd with reverence,
Nay, doe not looke upon her but with eyes
As humble and submissive as thou wouldst
Vpon the brow of Majesty, when it frownes,
I speake but that which duty binds us all to,
Thou shalt not thinke upon her, no not thinke,
Without as much respect and honor to her
As holy men in superstitious zeale
Give to the Images they worship.

Bell.
Oh! this is the Gentleman courted me th'other day.

Al.
Why? have you got a Pattent to restraine me?
Or doe you thinke your glorious sute can fright me?
'Twould doe you much more credit at the Theater,
To rise betwixt the Acts, and looke about
The boxes, and then cry, God save you Madame,
Or heare you out in quarreling at an Ordinary,
And make your oathes become you; have you showne
Your gay apparell every where in towne,
That you can afford us the sight oft, or
Hath that Grand Divell whose eclipped sergeant,
Frighted you out of the City?

Flo.
Your loose jests
When they are shot at me, I scorne to take
Any revenge upon them, but neglect,
For then 'tis rashnesse only, but as soone
As you begin to violate her name,
Nature and conscience too bids me be angry,
For then 'tis wickednesse.

Al.
Well, if it be so,
I hope you can forgive the sinne that's past
Without the dolefull sight of trickling teares,
For I have eyes of pumice; I'me content
To let her rest in quiet, but you have given me
Free leave t'abuse you, on the condition
You will revenge it only with neglect,
For then 'tis rashnesse only.

Flo.
What are you biting?
Where did you pick these fragments up of wit.

Al.
Where I pay'd deare enough a conscience for them,
They should be more then fragments by their price,
I bought them sir, even from the very Merchants,
I scorn'd to deale with your poore City pedlers, that sell
By retayle: But let that passe; For 'tis but a folly:

Flo.
Then you have seene the City.

Al.
I and felt it too, I thanke the Divell; I'me sure
It suckt up in three yeares the whole estate
My father left, though he were counted rich,
A pox of forlorne Captaines, pittifull things,
Whom you mistake for souldiers, only by
Their sounding oathes, and a buffe jerkin, and
Some Histories which they have learn'd by roate,
Of battailes fought in Persia, or Polonia,
Where they themselves were of the conquering side,
Although God knowes one of the City Captaines,
Arm'd with broad scarfe, feather, and scarlet breeches,
When he instructs the youth on Holy-dayes,
And is made sicke with fearfull noyse of Guns,
Would pose them in the art Military; these
Were my first Leeches.

Flo.
So, no wonder then you spent so fast.

Al.
Pish, these were nothing:
I grew to keepe your Poets company
Those are the soakers, they refin'd me first
Of those grosse humors that are bred by money
And made me streight a wit, as now you see,
For 'tis but a folly.

Flo.
But hast thou none to fling thy salt upon
But these bright virgins?

Al.
Yes now you are here;
You are as good a theame as I could wish.

Hy.
'Tis best for me to goe, whilst they are talking
For if I steale not from Alupis sight,
He'le follow me all day to vex me.

Exit.
Al.
What are you vanishing coy Mistris Hylace?
Nay, I'le be with you streight, but first I'le fetch
Palæmon, now if he can play his part
And leave off whining, wee'le have princely sport,
Well, I may live in time to have the women
Scratch out my eyes, or else scould me to death,
I shall deserve it richly: Farewell Sir:
I have employment with the Damsell gone
And cannot now intend you.

Exit.
Flo.
They're both gone,
Direct me now good love, and teach my tongue
Th'inchantments that thou woo'dst thy Psyche with.

Bell.
Farewell Sir.

Flo.
Oh! be not so cruell,
Let me enjoy my selfe a little while,
Which without you I cannot.

Bell.
Pray let me goe,
To tend my sheepe, there's none that lookes to them,
And if my father misse me, he'le so chide.

Flo.
Alas! thou needest not feare, for th'Wolfe himselfe
Though hunger whet the fury of its nature,
Would learne to spare thy pretty flocks, and be
As carefull as the shepheards dog to guard them,
Nay if he should not, Pan would present be,
And keepe thy tender lambes in safety for thee,
For though he be a God he would not blush
To be thy servant.

Bell.
Oh! you're courtly Sir.
But your fine words will not defend my sheepe,
Or stop them if they wander; Let me goe.

Flo.
Are you so fearefull of your cattels losse?
Yet so neglectfull of my perishing,
(For without you how can I choose but perish?)
Though I my selfe were most contemptible,
Yet for this reason only, that I love
And honour you, I deserve more then they doe.

Bell.
What would you doe, that thus you urge my stay?

Flo.
Nothing I sweare that should offend a Saint,
Nothing which can call up thy maiden bloud
To lend thy face a blush, nothing which chaste
And vertuous sisters can deny their Brothers,
I doe confesse I love you, but the fire
In which Jove courted his ambitious Mistris,
Or that by holy men on Altars kindled,
Is not so pure as mine is; I would only
Gaze thus upon thee; feed my hungry eyes
Sometimes with those bright tresses, which the wind
Farre happier then I, playes up and downe in,
And sometimes with thy cheekes, those rosy twins;
Then gently touch thy hand, and often kist it,
Till thou thy selfe shouldst checke my modesty
And yeeld thy lips, but further, though thou should'st
Like other maids with weake resistance aske it,
(Which I am sure thou wilt not) I'de not offer
Till lawfull Hymen joyne us both, and give
A licence unto my desires.

Bell.
Which I
Need not bestow much language to oppose,
Fortune and nature have forbidden it,
When they made me a rude and homely wench
You (if your clothes and cariage be not lyers,)
By state and birth a Gentleman.

Flo.
I hope
I may without suspition of a boaster
Say that I am so, else my love were impudence
For doe you thinke wise Nature did intend
You for a Shepheardesse, when she bestow'd
Such paines in your creation? would she fetch
The perfumes of Arabia for your breath?
Or ransack Pestum of her choycest roses
T'adorne your cheekes? would she bereave the rock
Of corall for your lips? and catch two starres
As they were falling, which she form'd your eyes of?
Would she her selfe turne work-woman and spinne
Threeds of the finest gold to be your tresses?
Or rob the Great to make one Microcosme?
And having finisht quite the beauteous wonder,
Hide it from publique view and admiration!
No; she would set it on some Pyramide,
To be the spectacle of many eyes:
And it doth grieve me that my niggard fortune
Rays'd me not up to higher eminency,
Not that I am ambitious of such honors
But that through them I might be made more worthy
To enjoy you.

Bell.
You are for ought I see
Too great already; I will either live
An undefiled virgin as I am
Or if I marry, not belye my birth,
But joyne my selfe to some plaine vertuous shepheard
(For Callidorus is so, and I will be either his or no bodyes.)

Aside.
Flo.
Pray heare me.

Bell.
Alas! I have Sir, and doe therefore now
Prepare to answer, if this passion
Bee love, my fortune bids me to deny you;
If lust, my honesty commands to scorne you,
Farewell.

Flo.
O stay a little! but two words: she's gone,
Gone like the glorious Sun, which being sette
Night creepes behind and covers all; some way
I must seeke out to win her, or what's easier
(And the blind man himselfe without a guide
May find) some way to dye; would I had beene
Borne a poore shepheard in these shady woods.
Nature is cruell in her benefits
And when she gives us honey, mingles gall.
She said that if she married, the woods
Should find a husband for her. I will wooe her
In Sylvan habit, then perhaps she'le love me—
But yet I will not, that's in vaine; I will too,
It cannot hurt to try.

Exit.
Enter Alupis, Palæmon, after them Hylace.
Al.
Nay come, she's just behind us, are you ready?
When she scoulds, bee you low dest, if she cry
Then laugh abundantly, thus we will vex her
Into a good conceit of you.

Pal.
I'le warrant you; you have instructed me enough,
Shee comes.

Hyl.
Is't possible that Bellula—

Pal.
Fayre creature—

Hyl.
Sure thou wert borne to trouble me, who sent for thee?

Pa.
Whom all the Nymphs (though women use to be
As you know, envious of anothers beauty)
Confesse the pride and glory of these woods.

Hyl.
When did you make this speech? 'tis a most neat one
Goe, get you gone, looke to your rotting cattell,
You'le never keepe a wife, who are not able
To keepe your sheepe.

Al.
Good! she abuses him
Now 'tis a miracle he doth not cry.

Pal.
Thou whom the starres might envy 'cause they are
Outshone by thee on earth.

Hyl.
Pray get you gon,
Or hold your prating tongue, for whatsoever
Thou sayest, I will not heare a syllable,
Much lesse answer thee.

Pa.
No; I'le try that streight
I have a present here—
Which if you'le give me leave, I shall presume
To dedicate to your service.

Hy.
You're so cunning,
And have such pretty wayes to entice me with,
Come let me see it.

Pa.
Oh! have you found a tongue?
I thought I had not beene worth an answer?

Hy.
How now; what tricks are these?
Give it me quickly, or—

Pa.
Pray get you gon, or hold your prating tongue;
For whatsoever thou sayest I will not heare
A syllable, much lesse answer thee.

Al.
Good boy 'faith: now let me come.

Hy.
This is some plot I see, would I were gone,
I had as lief see the wolfe as this Alupis.

Al.
Here's a fine Ring, I faith, a very pretty one,
Doe your teeth water at it Damsell? ha?
Why we will sell our sheepe, and oxen, girle,
Hang them scurvy beasts, to buy you pretty knacks,
That you might laugh at us, and call us fooles
And jeere us too, as farre as your wit reaches,
Bid us be gone, and when we have talkt two houres,
Deny to answer us; Nay you must stay
She offers to be gone.
And heare a little more.

Hy.
Must I? are you
The master of my businesse? I will not.

Al.
Faith but you shall; heare therefore and be patient.
I'le have thee made a Lady, yes a Lady,
For when thou'st got a chaine about thy necke
And comely bobes to dandle in thine eares;
When thou'st perfum'd thy haire, that if thy breath
Should be corrupted, it might scape unknowne,
And then bestow'd two houres in curling it,
Vncovering thy breast hither, thine armes hither,
And had thy Fucus curiously lay'd on;
Thou'dst be the finest proud thing, Ile warrant thee
Thou would'st outdoe them all. So, now goe thee to her
And let me breathe a little; For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Hy.
Oh! is't your turne to speake againe? no doubt
But we shall have a good oration then,
For they call you the learned shepheard; well
This is your love I see.

Pa.
Ha, ha, ha,
What should I love a stone? or wooe a picture?
Alas! I must be gone, for whatsoe're
I say, you will not heare a syllable
Much lesse answer; goe, you thinke you are,
So singularly handsome, when alas,
Galla, Menalca's daughter, Bellula,
Or Amaryllis overcome you quite.

Hy.
This is a scurvy fellow; Ile fit him for't,
No doubt they are; I wonder that your wisdome
Will trouble me so long with your vaine suite,
Why doe you not wooe them?

Pa.
Perhaps I doe;
I'le not tell you, because you'le envy them,
And alwayes be dispraising of their beauties.

Hy.
It shall appeare I will not, for I'le sooner
Embrace a Scorpion, then thee, base man.

Pa.
Ha, ha, ha.
Alupis do'st thou heare her? she'le cry presently,
Doe not despaire yet girle, by your good carriage
You may recall me still; some few entreatyes
Mingled with teares may get a kisse perhaps.

Hy.
J would not kisse thee for the wealth of Sicily
Thou wicked perjur'd Fellow.

Pal.
Alupis, ôh!
We have incenst her too much! how she lookes?
Prithee Alupis helpe me to intreate,
You know we did but jest, deare Hylace,
Alupis, prithee speake, best, beauteous Hylace,
I did but doe't to try you, pray forgive me,
Vpon my knees I begge it.

Al.
Here's a pretious foole.

Hyl.
Do'st thou still mock me? hast thou found more wayes?
Thou need'st not vex thy wit to move my hate,
Sooner the Sunne and starres shall shine together,
Sooner the Wolfe make peace with tender lambes
Then I with thee; thou'rt a disease to me
And wound'st my eyes.

Exit.
Pal.
Eternall night involve me! if there be
A punishment, (but sure there is not any)
Greater then what her anger hath inflicted,
May that fall on me too? how have I fool'd
Away my hopes? how have I beene my selfe
To my owne selfe a theefe?

Al.
I told you this,
That if she should but frowne, you must needs fall
To your old tricks againe.

Pa.
Is this your art?
A lovers curse upon it; Oh! Alupis
Thou hast done worse then murthered me: for which
May all thy flocks pine and decay like me,
May thy curst wit hurt all; but most its Master,
May'st thou (for I can wish no greater ill)
Love one like me, and be, like me, contemn'd.
Thou'ast all the darts my tongue can fling at thee,
But I will be reveng'd some other way
Before I dye, which cannot now be long.

Alu.
Poore Shepheard, I begin to pitty him.
I'le see if J can comfort him; Palæmon,—

Pal.
Nay, doe not follow me, griefe, passion
And troubled thoughts are my companions,
Those I had rather entertaine then thee,
If you choose this way let me goe the other,
And in both parts distracted error, thee
May revenge quickly meet, may death meet me.

Exit.
Alu.
Well, I say Pan defend me from a lover
Of all tame mad-men certainly they're the worst,
I would not meet with two such creatures more
For any good, they without doubt would put me,
If it be possible into a fit of sadnesse,
Though it Be but a folly, &c.
Well; I must find some plot yet to salve this
Because I have engaged my wit in the businesse,
And 'twould be a great scaudall to the Citie
If I who have spent my meanes there, should not be
Able to cheate these shepheards. How now, how now,
Have we more distressed lovers here?

Enter Aphron.
Aph.
No, I'me a madde man.

Al.
I gave a shrewd ghesse at it at first sight
I thought thee little better.

Aph.
Better? why?
Can there be any better then a mad-man?
I tell thee, I came here to be a mad-man,
Nay, doe not disswade me from't, I would bee
A very Madman.

Al.
A good resolution!
'Tis as gentile a course as you can take,
I have knowne great ones have not beene asham'd of't,
But what cause pray drove you into this humour?

Aph.
Why a Mistris,
And such a beauteous one—do'st thou see no body?
She sits upon a throne amongst the starres
And outshines them, looke up and bee amazed
Such was her beauty here,—sure there doe lye
A thousand vapours in thy sleepy eyes,
Do'st thou not see her yet? nor yet, nor yet?

Alu.
No in good troth.

Aph.
Thou'rt dull and ignorant,
Not skill'd at all in deepe Astrology.
Let me instruct thee?

Alu.
Prithee doe, for thou
Art in an admirable case to teach now,

Ap.
I'le shew thee first all the cœlestiall signes,
And to begin, looke on that horned head.

Al.
Whose is't? Jupiters?

Ap.
No, 'tis the Ramme!
Next that, the spacious Bull fils up the place.

Al.
The Bull? 'tis well, the fellowes of the Guard
Intend not to come thither; if they did
The Gods might chance to lose their beefe.

Ap.
And then,
Yonder's the signe of Gemini, do'st see it?

Alu.
Yes, yes, I see one of the zealous sisters
Mingled in friendship with a holy Brother,
To beget Reformations.

Ap.
And there sits Capricorne.

Al.
A Welchman is't not?

Ap.
There Cancer creepes along with gouty 'pace,
As if his feet were sleepy; there, Doe you marke it?

Al.
I, I, Alderman-like a walking after dinner,
His paunch orechargd with capon and with white broth.

Ap.
But now, now, now, now, gaze eternally
Hadst thou as many eyes as the blacke night
They would be all too little; seest thou Virgo?

Al.
No by my troth, there are so few on earth,
I should be loth to sweare there's more in heaven,
Then onely one.

Ap.
That was my Mistris once, but is of late
Translated to the height of deserv'd glory,
And addes new ornaments to the wondring heavens.
Why doe I stay behind then, a meere nothing
Without her presence to give life and being?
If there be any hill whose lofty top
Nature hath made contiguous with heaven,
Though it be steepe, rugged as Neptunes brow,
Though arm'd with cold, with hunger, and diseases,
And all the other souldiers of misery,
Yet I would climbe it up, that I might come
Next place to thee, and there be made a starre.

Al.
I prithee doe, for amongst all the beasts
That helpe to make up the cœlestiall signes
There's a Calfe wanting yet.

Ap.
But stay—

Al.
Nay, I have learn'd enough Astrology.

Ap.
Hunger and faintnesse have already seaz'd me,
'Tis a long journey thither, I shall want
Provision; canst thou helpe me, gentle shepheard?
And when I am come thither I will snatch
The Crowne of Ariadne, and fling't downe
To thee for a reward.

Al.
No doubt you will;
But you shall need no victuals, when you have ended
Your toylesome journey, kill the Ram you talke of,
And feed your selfe with most celestiall mutton.

Ap.
Thou'rt in the right, if they deny me that
I'le pluck the Beare downe from the Artique Pole,
And drowne it in those waters it avoids,
And dares not touch; I'le tugge the Hyades
And make them to sinke downe in spight of Nature;
I'le meet with Charles his Wayne, and overturne it
And breake the wheeles of't, till Böotes start
For feare, and grow more slow then e're he was.

Al.
By this good light he'le snuffe the Moone anon,
Here's words indeed would fright a Conjurer
'Tis pitty that these huge Giganticke speeches
Are not upon the stage, they would doe rarely
For none would understand them, I could wish
Some Poet here now, with his table-booke.

Ap.
I'le cuffe with Pollux, and out-ride thee, Castor,
When the fierce Lyon roares I'le plucke his heart out
And be call'd Cordelion; I'le grapple with the Scorpion,
Take his sting out and fling him to the earth.

Al.
To me good Sir,
It may perhaps rayse me a great estate
With shewing it up and downe for pence a piece

Ap.
Alcides freed the earth from savadge monsters;
And I will free the heavens and bee call'd
Don Hercules Alcido de secundo.

Al.
A brave Castilian name.

Ap.
'Tis a hard taske,
But if that fellow did so much by strength,
I may well do't arm'd both with love and fury.

Alup.
Of which thou hast enough.

Aph,
Farewell thou ratte.
The Cedar bids the shrub adiew.

Al.
Farewell
Don Hercules Alcido de secundo.
If thou scar'st any, 'twill be by that name.
This is a wonderfull rare fellow, and
I like his humor mightily—who's here?
Enter Truga.
The Chronicle of a hundred yeares agoe!
How many crowes hath she outliv'd? sure death
Hath quite forgot her; by this Memento mori
I must invent some trick to helpe Palæmon.

Tru.
I am going againe to Callidorus,
But I have got a better present now,
My owne ring made of good Ebony,
Which a yong handsome shepheard bestow'd on me
Some fourescore years agoe, then they all lov'd me,
I was a handsome Lasse, J wosse in those dayes.

Al.
I so thou wert I'le warrant; here's good signe of't
Now Ile begin the worke, Reverend Truga,
Whose very Autumne shewes how glorious
The spring-time of your youth was—

Tru.
Are you come
To put your mocks upon me?

Al.
I doe confesse indeed my former speeches
Have beene too rude and saucy; I have flung
Madde jests too wildly at you; but considering
The reverence which is due to age, and vertue,
I have repented, will you see my teares?
And beleeve them? Oh for an onyon now!
Or J shall laugh alowd; ha, ha, ha!)

Aside.
Tru.
Alas good soule I doe forgive you truly;
I would not have you weepe for me, indeed
I ever thought you would repent at last,

Al.
You might well,
But the right valewing of your worth and vertue
Hath turn'd the folly of my former scorne
Into a wiser reverence, pardon me
If I say love.

Tru.
I, I, withall my heart,
But doe you speake sincerely?

Al.
Oh! it grieves me
That you should doubt it, what I spoke before
Were lyes, the off-spring of a foolish rashnesse,
I see some sparks still of your former beauty,
Which spight of time still flourish.

Tru.
Why, I am not
So old as you imagined, I am yet
But fourescore yeares. Am I a January now?
How doe you thinke? I alwayes did beleeve
You'd be of another opinion one day;
I know you did but jest.

Al.
Oh no, oh no, (I see it takes)
Aside.
How you bely your age—for—let me see—
A man would take you—let me see—for—
Some forty yeares or thereabouts (I meane foure hundred)
Not a jot more J sweare.

Aside.
Tru.
Oh no! you flatter me,
But I looke something fresh indeed this morning.
I should please Callidorus mightily,
But I'le not goe perhaps; this fellow is
As handsome quite as he, and I perceive
He loves me hugely, I protest I will not
Aside
Have him grow madde, which he may chance to doe
If I should scorne him.

Al.
I have something here
Which I would faine reveale to you, but dare not
Without your licence.

Tru.
Doe in Pans name, doe; now, now.

Al.
The comely gravity which adornes your age,
And makes you still seeme lovely, hath so strucken me—

Tru.
Alas good soule! I must seeme coy at first,
But not too long, for feare I should quite lose him.

Al.
That I shall perish utterly, unlesse
Your gentle nature helpe me.

Tru.
Alas good Shepheard!
And in troth I faine would helpe you
But I am past those vanities of love.

Al.
Oh no!
Wise nature which preserv'd your life till now
Doth it because you should enjoy these pleasures
Which doe belong to life, if you deny me,
I am undone.

Tru.
Well you should not win me
But that I am loath to be held the cause
Of any young mans ruine, doe not thinke it
My want of chastity, but my good nature
Which would see no one hurt.

Al.
Ah pretty soule!
Aside.
How supple 'tis like wax before the Sun!
Now cannot I chuse but kisse her, there's the plague of't,
Let's then joyne our hearts, and seale them with a kisse

Tru.
Well, let us then:
'Twere incivility to be your debtor,
I'le give you back againe your kisse, sweetheart,
And come in th'afternoone, I'le see you;
My husband will be gone to sell some kine,
And Hylace tending the sheepe, till then
Farewell good Duck
(Offers to goe.)
But doe you heare, because you shall remember
(Turnes back.)
To come I'le give thee here this Ebon ring
But doe not weare it, lest my husband chance
To see't: Farewell Duck.

Al.
Lest her husband chance
To see't; she cannot deny this, here's enough;
My Scœne of love is done then; is she gone?
I'le call her back; ho Truga; Truga hô:

Tru.
Why doe you call me Duck?

Al.
Only to aske one foolish question of thee:
Ha'n't you a husband?

Tru.
Yes, you know I have.

Al.
And doe you love him?

Tru.
Why doe you aske? I doe.

Al.
Yet you can be content to make him cuckold?

Tru.
Rather then to see you perish in your flames.

Al.
Why art thou now two hundred yeares of age,
Yet hast no more discretion but to thinke
That I could love thee? ha, ha, were't mine
I'de sell thee to some gardiner, thou wouldst serve
To scare away the theeves aswell as crowes.

Tru.
Oh, you're dispos'd to jest I see, Farewell.

Al.
Nay, I'me in very earnest; I love you?
Why thy face is a vizard.

Trug.
Leave off these tricks, I shall be angry else,
And take away the favours I bestow'd.

Al.
'Tis knowne that thou hast eyes by the holes only,
Which are crept farther in, then thy nose out,
And that's almost a yard; thy quarreling teeth
Of such a colour are, that they themselves
Scare one another, and doe stand at distance.
Thy skin hangs loose as if it fear'd the bones
(For flesh thou hast not) and is growne so black
That a wilde Centaure would not meddle with thee.
To conclude, Nature made thee when she was
Only dispos'd to jest, and length of time
Hath made thee more ridiculous.

Tru.
Base villaine, is this your love?
Give me my ring againe?

Al.
No, no; soft there:
I intend to bestow it on your husband;
He'le keepe it better farre then you have done.

Trug.
What shall I doe? Alupis, good Alupis,
Stay but a little while, pray doe but heare me.

Al.
No, I'le come to you in the afternoone
Your husband will be selling of some kine
And Hylace tending the sheepe.

Tru.
Pray heare me, command me anything
And be but silent of this, good Alupis;
Hugh, Hugh, Hugh.

Al.
Yes, yes, I will be silent,
I'le only blow a trumpet on yon hill,
Till all the countrey swaines are flockt about me.
Then show the ring, and tell the passages
'Twixt you and me.

Trug.
Alas! I am undone.

Al.
Well now 'tis ripe; I have had sport enough
Since I behold your penitentiall teares
I'le propose this to you, if you can get
Your Daughter to be married to Palæmon
This day, for I'le allow no longer time;
Tomorrow I'le restore your ring, and sweare
Never to mention what is past betwixt us,
If not—you know what followes—take your choyse.

Tru.
I'le done my best endevour.

Al.
Exit Truga.

Exit.