University of Virginia Library

Actus IIII.

Scæna I.

Enter Callidorus, Bellula, Florellus.
Cal.
Pray follow me no more, me thinks that modesty
Which is so lively painted in your face
Should prompt your maiden heart with feares and blushes
To trust your selfe in so much privatnesse
With one you know not.

Bel.
I should love those feares
And call them hopes, could I perswade my selfe,
There were so much heate in you as to cause them;
Prithee leave me; if thou dost hope successe
To thine owne love, why interrupt'st thou mine?

Flo.
If love cause you
To follow him, how can you angry bee?
Because love forces me without resistance
To doe the same to you?

Bell.
Love should not grow
So subtill as to play with arguments.

Flo.
Love should not be an enemy to reason.

Cal.
To love is of it selfe a kind of Folly,
But to love one who cannot render back
Equall desire, is nothing else but madnesse:

Bell.
Tell him so; 'tis a lesson he should learne.

Flo.
Not to love is of't selfe a kind of hardnesse,
But not to love him who hath alwayes woo'd you
With chast desires, is nothing lesse then tyranny.

Bell.
Tell him so; 'tis a lesson he should learne.

Call.
Why doe you follow him that flyes from you?

Flo.
Why doe you fly from him that followes you?

Bell.
Why doe you follow? Why doe you fly from me?

Call.
The Fates command me that I must not love you.

Flo.
The Fates command me that I needs must love you.

Bell.
The Fates impose the like command on me,
That you I must, that you I cannot love.

Flo.
Vnhappy man! when I begin to cloath
My love with words, and court her with perswasions,
She stands unmov'd, and doth not cleare her brow
Of the least wrinkle which sate there before;
So when the waters with an amorous noyse
Leape up and downe, and in a wanton dance
Kisse the dull rocke, that scornes their fond embraces,
And darts them back; till they with terror scattered,
Drop downe againe in teares.

Bell.
Vnhappy woman!
When I begin to shew him all my passion,
He flyes from me, and will not cleare his brow
Of any cloud which covered it before;
So when the ravishing Nightingale hath tun'd
Her mournfull notes, and silenc'd all the birds,
Yet the deafe wind flirts by, and in disdaine
With a rude whistle leaues her.

Cal.
We are all three
Vnhappy; borne to be the proud example
Of Loves great God-head, not his God-like goodnesse.
Let us not call upon our selves those miseries
Which love hath not, and those it hath beare bravely,
Our desires yet are like some hidden text,
Where one word seemes to contradict another,
They are Loves nonsence, wrapt up in thicke clouds
Till Fate be pleas'd to write a Commentary,
Which doubtlesse 'twill; till then let let us endure,
And sound a parlee to our passions,

Bell.
We may joyne hands though, may we not?

Flo.
We may, and lips too, may we not?

Bell.
We may; come let's sit downe and talke.

Cal.
And looke upon each other.

Flo.
Then kisse againe.

Bell.
Then looke.

Call.
Then talke againe,
What are we like? the hand of Mother Nature
Would be quite pos'd to make our simile.

Flo.
We are the Trigon in Loves Hemisphere.

Bel.
We are three strings on Venus dainty'st Lute,
Where all three hinder one anothers musick,
Yet all three joyne and make one harmony.

Call.
We are three flowers of Venus dainty garden,
Where all three hinder one anothers odor,
Yet all three joyne, and make one nosegay up.

Flo.
Come let us kisse againe.

Bell.
And looke.

Call.
And talke.

Flo.
Nay rather sing, your lips are Natures organs,
And made for nought lesse sweet then harmony.

Call.
Pray doe.

Bell.
Song.

Call.
Thanke you.

Flo.
For ever be the tales of Orpheus' silent,
Had the same age seene thee, that very Poet,
Who drew all to him by his harmony,
Thou would'st have drawne to thee.

Cal.
Come shall we rise?

Bell.
If it please you, I will.

Call.
I cannot chuse
But pitty these two Lovers, and am taken
Much with the serious trifles of their passion.
Let's goe and see, if we can breake this net
In which we all are caught; if any man
Aske who we are, we'le say we are Loves riddle.

Exeunt.
Enter Ægon, Palæmon, Alupis.
Pa.
Thou art my better Genius, honest Ægon,

Al.
And what am I?

Pa.
My selfe, my soule, my friend,
Let me hugge thee Alupis, and thee Ægon,
Thee for inventing it, thee for putting it
In act; But doe you thinke the plot will hold?

Alu.
Hold? why I'le warrant thee it shall hold,
Till we have ty'd you both in wedlock fast,
Then let the bonds of Matrimonie hold you
If 'twill, if that will not neither, I can tell you
What will I'me sure; A Halter.
Then sing, &c.—

Ægon.
Come, shall we knock?

Al.
I doe; For 'tis, &c.—

Ægon.
Ho Truga; who's within there?

Al.
You, Winter, Ho, you that the grave expected
Some hundred yeares agoe, you that intend
To live till you turne Skeleton, and make
All men aweary of you but Physitians,
Pox on you, will you come.

Enter Truga.
Tru.
I come, I come, who's there? who's there?

Al.
Oh, in good time,
Are you crawl'd here at last? what are you ready
To give your Daughter up? the time makes hast
Looke here, doe you know this ring?

Tru.
Harke aside I pray,
You have not told these, have you?

Al.
No good Duck,
Only I told them that your mind was altered,
And that you lik'd Palæmon, so we three
Came here to plot the meanes.

Tru.
So, so, you're welcome
Will you goe in and talke about it?

Exeunt.
Enter Hylace.
Hyl.
I wonder why my mother should invite,
Alupis and Palæmon into th'house:
Shee is not of my mind, nay, not the mind
Which she her selfe was of, but yesterday,
Besides as soone as they came in, she bid me
To get me gone, and leave them there in private,
By your good favour Mother, I must be
For this time disobedient; here Ile hearken.

Enter Truga, Palæmon, Ægon, Alupis.
Ægon.
Come Ile tell you,
You know your husband hath refused Palæmon
Because his meanes were not unequall only
To his desires, but to your Daughters portion,
To salve this grand exception of Melarnus
I'le promise that Palæmon shall be made
My heire.

Tru.
Alas he knowes you have a Daughter!

Æg.
It is reported she is falne in love
With the new shepheard, for which cause I'le seeme
To be incenst most sharply, and forsweare
E're to acknowledge her for child of mine.

Tru.
'Tis very well;
It grieves me truly that Palæmon should—

Al.
Perish in his owne flames; is't not so Truga?
I know you're gentle; and your peevish Daughter
Had not her cruelty from you, good soule.

Pa.
Why doe we stay? Each minute that we lose to you is only
A minute, but to me a day at least,
Why are we not now seeking of Melarnus?
Why is he not yet found? alas, that's nothing,
Me thinkes he should have given consent e're this
Why are not I and beauteous Hylace
Married together?

Hyl.
Soft good hasty Lover,
I shall quite breake the neck of your large hopes
Or I'me mistaken much.

Æg.
Come let's be gone
Truga, Farewell. Be silent and assistant.

Al.
Or else you know what I have; goe, no more.

Tru.
I'le warrant you: I am not to be taught
At this age, I thanke Pan, in such a businesse.
Farewell all.

Exeunt.
Al.
Come sing, &c.

Hy.
I know not whether griefe or else amazement
Seazeth me most, to see my aged Mother
Grow so unnaturall; I faine would weepe,
But when I thinke with what an unfear'd blow
I shall quite dash their cunning, I can hardly
Bridle in laughter, Fate helps the innocent,
Although my Mother's false, the Gods are true.

Exit.
Enter Clariana and her Maid.
Cla.
Did you command the servants to withdraw?

M.
I did forsooth.

Cla.
And have you shut the doores?

M.
Yes.

Cl.
Is there none can over-heare our talke?

M.
Your curious enquiry much amazeth me,
And I could wish you would excuse my boldnesse
If I should aske the reason.

Cl.
Thou knowest well
That thou hast found me alwayes liker to
Thy Kinswoman then Mistris, that thy brest
Has beene the Cabinet of all my secrets,
This I tell thee, not as an exprobration,
But because I must require thy faith
And counsell here. And therefore prithee sweare—

M.
Sweare? to doe what?

Cl.
To be more silent then the dead of night,
And to thy power to helpe me.

M.
Would my power
To assist you were as ready as my will,
And for my tongue that Mistris I'le condemne
Vnto perpetuall silence, ere it shall
Betray the smallest word that you commit to't.
By all—

Cl.
Nay doe not sweare, I will not wrong thy vertue
To bind it with an oath, Ile tell thee all;
Doth not my face seeme paler then 'twas wont?
Doth not my eye looke as it borrowed flame
From my fond heart; could not my frequent weepings,
My sudden sighes, and abrupt speeches tell thee
What J am growne?

M.
You are the same you were,
Or else my eyes are lyars.

Cl.
No, I'me a wretched Lover; could'st thou nor
Read that out of my blushes? fie upon thee;
Thou art a novice in Loves schoole I see;
Trust me I envy at thy ignorance,
That canst not find out Cupids characters
In a lost Mayd, sure thou didst never know him.

M.
Would you durst trust me with his name,
Sure he had charmes about him that might tempt
Chast Votaries, or move a Scythian rock
When he shot fire into your chaster breast.

Cl.
I am asham'd to tell thee, prithee ghesse him,

M.
Why 'tis impossible.

Cl.
Thou saw'st the gentleman whom I this morning
Brought in to be my guest.

M.
Yes, but am ignorant, who, or from whence he is;

Cl.
Thou shalt know all;
The freshnesse of the morning did invite me
To walke abroad, there I began to thinke
How I had lost my Brother, that one thought
Like circles in the water beg at many,
Those and the pleasant verdure of the fields
Made me forget the way, and did entice me
Farther then either feare or modesty
Else would have suffred me, beneath an oake
Which spread a flourishing Canopy round about,
And was it selfe alone almost a wood,
I found a Gentleman distracted strangely,
Crying alowd for either food, or sleepe,
And knocking his white hands against the ground,
Making that groane like me, when I beheld it,
Pitty, and feare, both proper to us women,
Drave my feet backe farre swifter then they went,
When I came home, I tooke two servants with me
And fetch'd the gentleman, hither I brought him,
And with such cheare as then the house afforded,
Replenished him, he was much mended suddenly,
Is now asleepe, and when he wakes I hope
Will find his senses perfect.

M.
You did shew
In this, what never was a stranger to you,
Much piety; but wander from your subject;
You have not yet discovered, who it is
Deserves your love.

Cl.
Fy, Fy, how dull thou art,
Thou dost not use in other things to be so;
Why I love him; His name I cannot tell thee;
For 'tis my great unhappinesse to bee
Still ignorant of that my selfe. He comes,
Looke, this is hee, but doe not grow my rivall If thou canst thuse.

M.
You need not, fear't forsooth.

Enter Aphron.
Cl.
Leave me alone with him; withdraw.

M.
I doe.
Exit Maid.

Aph.
Where am I now? under the Northerne Pole
Where a perpetuall winter binds the ground
And glazeth up the flouds? or where the Sun
With neighbouring rayes bakes the divided earth,
And drinkes the rivers up? or doe I sleepe?
Is't not some foolish dreame deludes my fancy?
Who am J? I begin to question that.
Was not my countrey Sicily? my name
Call'd Aphron, wretched Aphron?

Cla.
Yee good Gods
Forbid; is this that man who was the cause
Of all the griefe for Callidora's losse?
Is this the man that I so oft have curst?
Now I could almost hate him, and me thinkes
He is not quite so handsome as he was;
And yet alas he is, though by his meanes
My Brother is gone from me, and heaven knowes
If I shall see him more, Foole as I am,
I cannot chuse but love him.

Ap.
Cheate me not good eyes,
What woman, or what Angel doe I see?
Oh stay, and let me worship e're thou goest,
Whether thou beest a Goddesse which thy beauty
Commands me to beleeve, or else some mortall
Which I the rather am induc'd to thinke,
Because I know the Gods all hate me so,
They would not looke upon me.

Cl.
Spare these titles
I am a wretched woman, who for pitty
(Alas that I should pitty! t'had bin better
(Aside)
That I had beene remorslesse) brought you hither,
Where with some food and rest, thanks to the Gods
Your senses are recovered.

Ap.
My good Angell!
I doe remember now that I was madde
For want of meat and sleepe, thrice did the Sun
Cheere all the world but me, thrice did the night
With silent and bewitching darknesse give
A resting time to every thing but Aphron.
The fish, the beasts, the birds, the smallest creatures
And the most despicable snor'd securely.
The aguish head of every tree by Æolus
Was rockt asleepe, and shooke as if it nodded.
The crooked mountaines seem'd to bow and slumber,
The very rivers ceas'd their daily murmur,
Nothing did watch, but the pale Moone, and I
Paler then shee; Griefe wedded to this toyle
What else could it beget but franticknesse?
But now me thinkes, I am my owne, my braine
Swimmes not as it was wont; O brightest Virgin
Shew me some way by which I may be gratefull,
And if I do't not, let an eternall Phrenzie
Jmmediatly seize on me.

Cl.
Alas! 'twas only
My love, and if you will reward me for't,
Pay that J lent you, I'le require no interest;
The Principall's enough.

Ap.
You speake in mists.

Cl.
You're loth perhaps to understand.

Aph.
If you intend that I should love and honour you,
I doe by all the Gods.

Cl.
But I am covetous in my demands,
I am not satisfied with wind-like promises
Which only touch the lips; I aske your heart
Your whole heart for me, in exchange of mine,
Which so I gave to you.

Ap.
Ha! you amaze me.
Oh! you have spoken something worse then lightning,
That blasts the inward parts, leaves, the outward whole,
My gratitude commands me to obey you,
But I am borne a man, and have those passions
Fighting within me, which I must obey.
Whilst Callidora lives, although she bee
As cruell, as thy breast is soft and gentle;
'TIs sinne for me to thinke of any other.

Cl.
You cannot love me then?

Ap.
I doe I sweare,
Above my selfe I doe: my selfe? what said I?
Alas! that's nothing; above any thing
But heaven and Callidora.

Cl.
Fare you well then,
I would not doe that wrong to one I love,
To urge him farther then his power and will;
Farewell, remember me when you are gone,
And happy in the love of Callidora.

Exit.
Ap.
When J doe not, may I forget my selfe,
Would I were madde againe; then I might rave
With priviledge, I should not know the griefes
That hurried me about, 'twere better farre
To lose the senses, then be tortured by them.
Where is she gone? I did not aske her name,
Foole that I was, alas poore Gentlewoman!
Can any one love me? yee cruell Gods,
Is't not enough that I my selfe am miserable,
Must I make others so too? Ile goe in
And comfort her; alas! how can I though?
Ile grieve with her, that is in ills a comfort.

Exit.
Enter Alupis, Melarnus, Truga, Palæmon, Ægon.
Pa.
Before when you denyed your Daughter to me
'Twas Fortunes fault, not mine, but since good Fate
Or rather Ægon, better farre then Fate
Hath raysd me up to what you aym'd at, riches,
I see not with what countenance you can
Coyne any second argument against me.

Mel.
Come, no matter for that:
Yes, I could wish you were lesse eloquent,
You have a vice call'd Poesie which much
Displeaseth me, but no matter for that neither.

Al.
Alas! hee'le leave that straight
When he has got but money; he that swims
In Tagus, never will goe back to Helicon.
besides, when he hath maried Hylace
Whom should he wooe, to praise her comely feature,
Her skin like falling snow, her eyes like starres,
Her cheekes like roses (which are common places
Of all your lovers praises) ôh! those vanities,
Things quite as light, and foolish as a Mistris,
Are by a Mistris first begot, and left
When they leave her.

Ra.
Why doe you thinke that Poesie
An art which even the Gods—

Al.
Pox on your arts,
Let him thinke what he will; what's that to us?

Ægon.
Well, I would gladly have an answer of you,
Since I have made Palæmon here my sonne,
If you conceive your Daughter is so good,
Wee will not presse you, but seeke out some other
Who may perhaps please me and him aswell.

Pa.
Which is impossi'—

Al.
Rot on your possibles—
Thy mouth like a crackt fiddle never sounds
But out of tune; Come, put on Truga
You'le never speake unlesse I shew the ring.

Tru.
Yes, yes, I doe, I doe; Doe yee heare sweetheart?
Are you madde to fling away a fortune
That's thrust upon you, you know Ægon's rich.

Mel.
Come, no matter for that,
That's thrust upon me? I would faine see any man
Thrust ought upon me; but's no matter for that,
I will doe that which I intend to doe,
And 'tis no matter for that neither, that's thrust upon me?

Pa.
Come, what say you Melarnus?

Mel.
What say I? 'tis no matter what I say,
I'le speake to Ægon, if I speake to any,
And not to you; but no matter for that;
Harke you, will you leave all the meanes you have
To this Palæmon?

Tru.
I Duck, he sayes he will.

Mel.
Pish, 'tis no matter for that, Ile heare him say so,

Æg.
I will, and here doe openly protest,
That since my Bellula (mine that was once)
Thinkes her selfe wiser then her father is,
And will be govern'd rather by her passions,
Then by the square that I prescribe to her,
That I will never count her as my Daughter.

Al.
Well acted by God Pan, see but what 'tis
To have me for a tutor in these rogueries.

Mel.
But tell me now, good neighbour, what estate
Doe you intend to give him?

Æg.
That estate
Which Fortune and my care hath given to me,
The money which I have, and that's not much,
The sheepe, and Goats.

Mel.
And not the oxen too?

Æg.
Yes; every thing.

Mel.
The Horses too?

Æg.
I tell you, every thing.

Al.
By Pan hee'le make him promise him particularly
Each thing above the valew of a Beanes-straw.
You'le leave him the pailes too, to milke the Kine in,
And harnesse for the horses, will you not?

Mel.
I, I, what else; but 'tis no matter for that,
I know Palæmon's an ingenious man,
And love him therefore; But's no matter for that neither.

Æg.
Well, since we are both agreed, why do we stay here?
I know Palæmon longs t'imbrace his Hylace.

Mel.
I, I, 'tis no matter for that, within this houre
Wee will be ready, Ægon, pray be you so,
Farewell my son in Law that shall be,
But's no matter for that: Farewell all:
Come Truga.

Exeunt Melarnus and Truga.
Æg.
Come on then, let's not stay too long in trifling,
Palæmon goe, and prepare your selfe against the time.
I'le goe acquaint my Bellula with your plot,
Lest this unwelcome newes should too much grieve her,
Before she know my meaning.

A.

Enter Florellus.
Whilst Callidorus lives, I cannot love thee.
These were her parting words; Ile kill him then;
Why doe I doubt it Foole? such wounds as these
Require no gentler med'cine; me thinkes Love
Frownes at me now and sayes I am too dull,
Too slow in his command: and yet I will not,
These hands are virgins yet, unstain'd with villany,
Shall I begin to teach them?—me thinkes Piety
Frownes at me now, and sayes, I am too weake
Against my passions. Pietie!—
'Twas feare begot that Bugbeare; for thee Bellula
I durst be wicked, though I saw Joves hand
Arm'd with a naked thunderbolt: Farewell,
(If thou beest any thing, and not a shadow
To fright boyes and old women) Farewell conscience,
Goe and be strong in other petty things
To Lovers come, when Lovers may make use of thee,
Not else: and yet,—what shall I doe or say?
I see the better way, and know 'tis beteer,
Yet still this devious error drawes me backward.
So when contrary winds rush out and meet,
And wrastle on the Sea with equall fury
The waves swell into mountaines, and are driven
Now back, now forward, doubtfull of the two
Which Captaine to obey.

Enter Alupis.
Al.
Ha, ha, Ile have such excellent sport
For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Flo.
Why here's a fellow now makes sport of everything,
See one mans fate how it excels another,
Hee can sit, and passe away the day in jollity,
My musick is my sighes, whilst teares keepe time.

Al.
Who's here? a most rare posture!
How the good soule folds in his armes! he dreames
Sure that he hugges his Mistris now, for that
Is his disease without all doubt, so, good,
With that judicious garbe hee plucks his hat
Over his eyes; so, so, good! better yet;
He cryes; by this good light, he cryes; the man
Is carefull, and intends to water his sheepe
With his owne teares; ha, ha, ha, ha.

Flo.
Dost thou see any thing that deserves thy laughter,
Fond swaine?

Al.
I see nothing in good troth but you,

Flo.
To jeere those who are Fates May-game
Is a redoubled fault; for 'tis both sinne,
And folly too; our life is so uncertaine
Thou canst not promise that thy mirth shall last
Tomorrow, and not meet with any rubbe,
Then thou mayst act that part, to day thou laugh'st as

Al.
I act a part? it must be in a Comedy then,
I abhorre Tragedyes: besides, I never
Practiz'd this posture; Hey ho! woe, alas!
Why doe I live? my musick is my sighes
Whilst teares keepe time.

Flo.
You take too great a licence to your wit;
Wit, did I say? I meane, that which you thinke so.
And it deserves my pitty, more then anger.
Else you should find, that blowes are heavier farre
Then the most studied jests you can throw at me.

Al.
Faith it will be but labour lost to beat mee,
All will not teach me how to act this part;
Woe's me! alas! I'me a dull rogue, and so
Shall never learne it.

Flo.
You're unmannerly
To talke thus sawcily with one you know not,
Nay, hardly ever saw before, be gone
And leave me as you found me, my worst thoughts
Are better company then thou.

Al.
Enjoy them then,
Here's no body desires to rob you of them.
I would have left your company without bidding,
'Tis not so pleasant, I remember well,
When I had spent all my money, I stood thus
And therefore hate the posture ever since.
D'yee heare? I'me going to a wedding now;
If you'ave a mind to dance, come along with me,
Bring your hard-hearted Mistris with you too,
Perhaps I may perswade her, and tell her
Your Musick's sighes, and that your teares keepe time.
Will you not goe? Farewell then, good Tragicall actor.
Now have at thee Melarnus; For 'tis but a folly, &c.

Exit
Flo.
Thou art a Prophet, Shepheard; She is hard
As rocks which suffer the continuall siege
Of Sea and wind against them; but I will
Win her or lose (which I should gladly doe)
My selfe: my selfe? why so I have already:
Ho! who hath found Florellus? he is lost,
Lost to himselfe, and to his parents likewise,
(who having miss'd me, doe by this time search
Each corner for to find me) ôh! Florellus,
Thou must be wicked, or for ever wretched,
Hard is the Physick, harder the disease.