University of Virginia Library

The Third Act.

Enter Arcon, Polynices, Provost, Heraclia, Cleone, Theocles (in disguise with a Garland.)
Arcon.
Who e're you are, that Wreath becomes you well.
The beauty of the Garland does receive
Advantage from the blossom of your youth,
You Run and Wrestle well, I have not seen
A man of more activity and strength,
What Country owns your breeding?

Theo.
Part of this, Sir,
But much unhappy in the distance from
Your Royal Court.

Arcon.
Are you a Gentleman?

Theo.
Sir, I have alwayes thought so, and have had
An education as refin'd as I
Presum'd my blood to be.

Arcon.
May I demand wherein?

Theo.
In somewhat of all Noble qualities;
I could have kept a Hawk and hollow'd well
To a deep Cry of doggs. I dare not praise
My Horse-man-ship, yet those who know me well
Gave me a Character I blush to own.
But I am most ambitious to be thought a Souldier.

Polyn.
A most accomplish'd Gentleman.

Prov.
What place has wrong'd us by concealing him
In time of warr?—but in a Cloudy day
We onely View those things which nearer are,
And distant glories when the Weather's fair.

Polyn.
What is your Judgment of him, Madam?

Hera.
His being young makes him appear more noble,
His Worth encreases by his want of years;
Because new risen he more bright appears.
Unless in him the Wonder's rarely seen,
That Fuel clearer burns for being green.

Prov.
Mark how his vertue, like a hidden Sun,
Breaks through his baser Garments.

Arcon.
What made you seek this place?

Theo.
Royal Sir;
Hopes to advance my education here,
And perfect quickly what was well begun:
Fruits ripen soonest that are neer the Sun.

Arcon.
Sir, we are much indebted to your Travel;
Nor shall you lose your hopes: Polynices,
Dispose of this brave Gentleman.

Polyn.
Your Highness
Obliges me by that Command. Who e're
You are, you are mine; and I'l preferr you
To the Princess Service. This is her Birth-day,
Which you have honor'd, and onely one day
Does intervene betwixt her's and the Prince's.
Now you are hers: Your vertues have deserv'd it.
Kiss her fair hand, Sir.

Theo.
You are a Noble Giver.
Thus, Madam, let your Servant seal his faith,
Whose studies shall be to deserve your favour;
And if he shall offend you, frown him dead.

Hera.
Frowns are too weak, Artillery to kill
So stout a man: if you shall merit well
I quickly shall discern it: you are mine,
And somewhat better than your rank I'l use you.

Arcon.
My Birth-day now draws near: we'l spend the time
Till then, in some diversion. Neece, to morrow
You must be ready with the rest, to hunt
In Dian's Wood. Your Servant will attend you.
I'm confident he will deserve your Estimation.

Hera.
His faithful Service shall not want my favour.

Theo.
And when my Service shall unfaithful be,
Let fame recant what she has sed of me,
And may my false-hood be as much reveal'd
To all the World as now my Love's conceal'd.

[Ex. omnes.
Enter Leucippe and Nurse, Cunopes dogging e'm.
Cunop.
I'm sent for by the Provost, yet I'l stay
To over-hear my Mistress and the Nurse;
For methinks they are in Counsel: and perhaps
'Tis about Love and I may be concern'd.

Leuc.
You have left the keys in Cunopes Chamber?

Nurse.
Yes, Mistress!

Leuc.
Philander is releas'd, my Lady fled;
And I according to appointment, going
To meet e'm at the Beach in Dian's-Wood.

Cunop.
Ha! I shall pay as dear for Love as those,
Who marry all to whom they promise Marriage.

Leuc.
Farewell good Cunopes; if thou art hang'd
Thou'lt meet this comfort at the fatal place,
Hanging can never spoil so bad a face.
Nurse, farewell.

Nurse.
Farewell, be sure you make hast.

[Ex. Leuc. and Nurse severally.
Cunop.
Though she saw me not, she took her leave of me
After the old phrase; farewell, and be hang'd,
Besides her commendations sent to my face.
Those have good stomacks who can love the meat,
Having been beaten with the Spit: And yet
I cannot hate her. There's some Witch-craft in't.
But let me think. Philander free'd! perhaps
The Provost sent for me to give accompt
Of him: Celania fled? Leucippe gone!
The Beach in Dian's-wood? I shall be hang'd;
But the hangman being no man of quality,
Cannot expect that I should be so civil
To stay here for him, till he find me.

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
The Provost wonders you make no more haste,
His bus'ness is—

Cunop.
Yes, yes, I know his bus'ness—

Mess.
Why don't you bring him word then, how Philander
Carries himself since Theocles is gone;
That he may know how to inform the Prince?

Cunop.
Bring word how Philander carry's himself?
I know his meaning well enough; go tell him,
I'l onely step to see, and bring him word.
[Ex. Mess.
I must gone—If I can find Philander,
I may bring off my self by bringing him
Back hither; but if not, I am out of rope-reach.

[Exit.
Horns in several places. Noise and Hollaing as of people Hunting.
Enter Theocles in the Wood.
Theo.
I have lost the Prince and all the Company:
They are all divided. O Heraclia!
Sweeter than Spring and all the golden buttons
On her fresh boughs;
How fortunate am I in such a Mistress?
Alas, poor pris'ner! poor Philander!
Thou little dream'st of my success: thou think'st
Thy self more bless'd to be near Heraclia.
Me thou presum'st most wretched, though I'm free;
Because thou think'st me in my Country, but
Wer't thou acquainted with my happiness,
How I enjoy the lustre of her Eyes,
What passion, Cosin, wou'd possess thee?

Enter Philander out of a bush.
Phila.
Traitor Kinsman! thou shoud'st perceive my
Passion, were this hand but owner of a Sword;
And were my strength a little re-inforc'd with one
Meals-meat, Thy wounds shou'd shew the justice of my Love.
I'd soon let out the blood which makes us kin,
And prove thee a perfidious Lord, not worth
The name of Villain: Dar'st thou call her thine?

Theo.
Cosin Philander?

Phila.
Treacherous Theocles?

Theo.
I am not conscious of a Crime that may
Deserve those attributes with which you now
Defile my fame; and therefore I avoid
Replies in language of so course a VVeb.
Passion transports you, Cosin? Pray be pleas'd
To show in noble terms your grief. I am
Ready to Vindicate my love by reason,
Or by the Sword of a true Gentleman.

Phila.
O that thou durst!

Theo.
Cosin, you know I dare:
I'm confident you wou'd not tamely hear
Another blast my valour.

Phil.
I confess,
I've seen your Sword do wonders:
But treachery makes men impotent, and then
They shun decisions by the Sword. Their courage
Droops into fear and Cowardize. Supply me
But with Charity of one poor meal,
And with a Sword, though rusty; And if then
Thou dar'st pretend to Love Heraclia,
I will forgive the trespass thou hast done me;
And if thou kill me, I'l acquaint those souls
In shades (which have dy'd manly) that thou art
A Souldier brave and noble.

Theo.
Be content: agen betake you to your hawthorn-house.
I'l gratifie your wishes: you shall have both Sword and meat.

Phil.
O you Heavens! Dare any venture so nobly in a cause so guilty?
Sure none but Theocles cou'd be so daring.
Sir, I imbrace your offer, and shall thank
Your person with my Sword.

[Wind horns and Cornets.
Theo.
You hear the horns: Enter your Muise. Take
Comfort and be strong. I'l keep my word: give me your hand.

Phila.
Pray hold your promise, Cosin Theocles,
And do the deed with a bent brow; I know
You love me not: Be rough with me, and pour
This oyl out of your language.

Theo.
My anger and content have but one face.
[Horns wind.
I'm call'd: I have an office there.

Phil.
Your office is unjust, and your attendance cannot please Heaven.

Theo.
Talk of that no more: leave it to the decision of the Sword.

Phil.
But this one word. You are going now to gaze
Upon my Mistress; for Sir, mine she is.

Theo.
Nay, then—

Phila.
You talk of feeding me into my strength;
But you are going to inforce your self
By feeding on her Eyes. There, Theocles,
You have advantage over me. Adieu,
My Cause gives me advantage over you.

[Exeunt.
Enter Celania.
Celan.
He has mistook the beach, and is pursuing
The way his fancy leads. 'Tis now near morning,
No matter, wou'd it were perpetual night.
Heark! 'tis a Wolf! but grief destroys my fear,
I care not though the Wolves shou'd me devour,
If he had but this meat, and this disguise.
What if I holla'd for him? I cannot holla!
He has no Sword, and Wolves 'tis said have sense
To know a man unarm'd. Who knows but he
Is torn in pieces. Many howl'd together,
And then they fed on him. So much for that:
There is an end of all, now he is gone.
No, no, I lye; my Fathers life must answer
For his escape. Alas, I grow mad, I've eaten
No meat these two dayes, nor have clos'd my Eyes;
I find my sense unsettl'd. Which way now?
The best way is the next way to the Grave,
Each erring step besides is Torment. Loe!
The Moon is down! the Crickets chirp: The Scritch-Owl
Has bid the night farewell: but my misfortunes
Ner'e will find the break of day.
[Ex. Cela.

Enter Theocles with Wine and meat.
Theo.
Sure, this is near the place. Hoe! Cosin Philander!

[Enter Philan.
Phil.
Theocles!

Theo.
The same; I've perform'd my promise, Sir.
Here is your meat, you shall not want a Sword
When y'have recover'd strength: Come forth and fear not,
Here is no Provost.

Phila.
Nor any one so honest.

Theo.
That shall be
Decided another time. Take courage,
I know you'r faint; here, Cosin drink!

Phila.
Thou might'st poyson me now.

Theo.
But I must fear you first.
Well, Coz, no more of this. Here, to your health,
I'l drink you into blood, and then I'l drain you.

Phila.
Do Coz.

Theo.
Sit down, Sir, and let me request you that
You mention not this Lady. 'Twill disturb us,
We shall have time enough.

Thila.
Well Sir, I'l pledg you.

Theo.
Drink a good hearty draught, it breeds good blood.
Do not you feel it thaw you?

Phila.
By and by, I'l tell you of what operation 'tis.

Theo.
Is't not mad lodging in the wild Woods, Cosin?

Phila.
For them who have wild Consciences, 'tis.

Theo.
How tast's your meat? Your hunger needs no sauce?

Phila.
Not much! but if it did, your's is too tart,
Give me more Wine; here Theocles, a health
To all the Ladies of our old acquaintance,
Your memory retains the Martial's daughter?
She knew Sir, how to chuse a handsom man
To make the object of her Love.

Theo.
Alas! that's no news, Cosin, amongst Ladie

Phila.
And I have heard some call him Theocles.

Theo.
What then Sir?

Phila.
Nothing, but 'twas conceiv'd.
You were so charitable to her sighs,
You turn'd e'm into groans for nine Moneths after.
Because she was enamour'd on your face
You did supply her with your Picture; drawn
Exceeding lively, Cosin.

Theo.
I presume you yet remember the young Counts sister.
You'l pledge her, Cosin.

Phila.
Yes, Sir, yes.

Theo.
She lov'd you well! a pretty Wench! but brown,
As if by often gazing on your eyes
(Which she call'd bright) she had been Sun-burn't.
You have not yet forgot the Song too, Coz;
No, nor the Willows.

Phila.
Well, let's have the Song.

Theocles sings.
Theo.

Phil.
You are merry, Cosin?

Theo.
I hope we may reflect upon our loves,
And never cry—heigh—ho.

Phil.
'Twas for Heraclia upon my life, away
With thy strain'd mirth; I say that sigh
Was for Heraclia breath'd, ignoble Cosin.

Theo.
Fy, you are mistaken.

Phil.
By all that's good there's no goodness in thee.

Theo.
Nay, then I'l leave you: now you are a Child.

Phil.
As thou hast made me, Traitor.

Theo.
I'l leave you meat, Sir, to recruit you: I'l return
With that shall quiet all, and speak my passion
Much better than my Tongue.

Phil.
You mean a Sword.

Theo.
Cosin, distrust me not, feed heartily,
I wish you all fair weather in your bush.
May no storm fall out, but what our Swords shall raise.
Farewel, you shall not want for any thing.

Phil.
Ha? Sir!

Theo.
I'l hear no more.

[Ex.
Phil.
But thou shal't much more feel,
If thou perform thy promise. I will search
Each angle of thy heart to find thy Love,
And mak't a Victime to Heraclia,
That heart is fittest for her Sacrifice
Which is already kindl'd at her Eyes.

[Ex.
Enter Celania (distracted) Leucippe.
Leuc.
Alas; she's distracted, I have found her,
[Enter Cunopes.
But she has lost her self; ha, Cunopes!

Cunop.
Yes, Mistress!

Leuc.
I am betray'd.

Cunop.
I have made bold to try how you could like
This face, here in the Wood. I will remember
You gave it a good Character at home.

Leuc.
I would have rather seen a Satyr,
But rough Words may as soon
Blow down these Trees
As do us any Courtesie, he must be sooth'd!
Ah Cunopes reflect no more on these things;
You are opportunely come to give attendance
Upon my Lady: she's distracted.

Cunop.
Ha! Is she mad?

Leuc.
Alas, her Senses are all gone.

Cunop.
And mine too (out of Complement)
Are gone to beare e'm Company. 'Tis grown
The fashion to be mad and wear plain Heads,
Without the least trimming of Wit. The Prince
By this time's mad with Anger for the loss
Of's Pris'ner; And the Provost's mad with fear,
Lest he should take his turn: I'me almost mad
To think I was a fool in lending you
The Keyes: And, Mistresse, if you have any reason
You'l run mad too. 'Tis fit your Wits should
Wait upon your Ladie's.

Celan.
I'm very cold: and all the Stars are out too;
Ev'n all the little Stars which look like spangles:
The Sun has seen my folly; Ah Philander!
Ay me! He's in Heav'n, Where am I now?

Leuc.
How wildly she discourses.

She Sings.
Celan.
—For straight my green Gown into Breeches I'le make,
And my long yellow Locks much shorter I'le take:
Sing Down a down, down a, down a,
Then Ile cut me a Switch, and on that Ride about,
And wander and wander till I find him out,
With a Heigh down, down a, down, down a.

O for a Hawthorn; like a Nightingal
To leaue my Breast against, or else I shall sleep like a Topp.

Leuc.
Let's follow her and see she injure not her self.

Cunop.
I hope she is not so mad yet.

[Exeunt.
Enter Countrey-men and Women, preparing for the Solemnizing of the Kings Birth-day.
1. Countreyman.
Draw up the Company! Where's the Taberer?

Tab.
Here, Boyes, here.

[Ent. Taberer
1. Coun.
You all know how to make your honours.

All.
Yes, Yes.

[all make honours.
1. Coun.
Sr. Reverence! You make an honour, you sh---
Cast your selves decently into a Body
By a Trace, and turn Boyes thus.

[turns.
2. Coun.
And sweetly we will do't, Neighbours.

1. Coun.
Where are your Ribbands Maids? Swim with your Bodies.

3. Coun.
That they may do, they are light enough.

1. Coun.
Couple then, and see what's wanting.
Friend, pray carry your Tail without offence
Or scandal to the Ladies; and be sure
You dance with confidence, without being mov'd:
And when you stand still, do it with Judgment.

3. Coun.
I'le warrant you Is'e not stand a step amiss.

1. Coun.
You Mr. Mason, you betray your trade too much.
You dance as if you wear treading of Mortar,
Taberer strike up.

[He strikes up and 1. Countreyman dances a Jigg.
1. Coun.
Thou a Taberer, thou a Tinker, we as
Well may dance after the tunes of Grashoppers.

Enter Celan. Cunopes, Leucippe.
Celan.
Sings.
He deserv'd much better then so
in the Thick-Wood to be lost,
Where the Nut-trees grew so low
as if they had bin nip'd with the Frost,
O Whither, whither, my Love, dost thou go?

1. Coun.
Woman avoid: if it be your vocation to be mad
Pray be mad in some more fitting place,
This is no place for Mad-folks.

Cunop.
But 'tis for Fools.

1. Coun.
For though we have Bells here; yet we have no Whips,
Tho' we are about a Morrice, 'tis no mad Morrice.

Cuno.
Who sayes she shan't be mad.

1. Coun.
That do I Sir, we have business here that does concern
The Prince, matters of state and will not be disturb—Sir
I cannot bear with her affronts.

Cuno.
Can you bear with that, Sir.

[Cunop. strikes him.
1. Co.
Sir, I wou'd have you know I con ta' any thing at a mans
Hands, but my Spirit is too bigg to put up the least
Affront offer'd me by a Woman.

Celania
Sings.
There were three Fools at Mid-summer run mad
About an Howlet, a quarrel they had,
The one said 'twas an Owle, the other he said nay,
The third said it was a Hawk but the Bells wear cutt away.

1. Coun.
VVoman, I say leave thy singing, or I'le give thee a good
Douze i'th Chop.

Cuno.
Say you so, Sir.

[strikes him.
1. Coun.
Good Sir, command your hands to be more civil; What
Are you mad?

Celan.
Give me your Hand.

2. Coun.
Why?

Cela.
I can tell your Fortune: You are a Fool, tell ten—I have
Pos'd him—Fa, la, la, la.

1. Coun.

Come let's go and practice in some other place, the Prince
will else be here e're we are perfect.

Ex. Countrey Men and Women.
Celan.

Leuc.
Let us keep close to her, good Cunopes.

Exeunt
Enter Arcon, Polynices, Provost, Heraclia and Attendants.
Arcon.
They have found a pretty place within the Wood
For the Solemnity: Methinks, Heraclia, y'are melancholy.

Hera.
Sir, I cannot chuse,
But bear a part in the good Provost's cares;
And mingle Tears with him: he mourns you see
For his dear daughter's loss, poor Lady!
Good Sir, cheer the Provost up.

Arcon.
Provost, take comfort;
Your daughter's not irreparably lost,
Nor yet the pris'ner: wee'l send out to find 'em.

Prov.
My grief, Sir, will but discompose your joys;
Pray let your Highness now permit my absence.

Arcon.
You will receive some ease by staying here.

Prov.
I shall not see for Tears: Let me Retire
Into some solitary place alone,
To bless your Birth-day, and to curse my own.

Arcon.
You have leave, Provost. But I hope er'e long,
Your daughter's presence will dry up those Tears.

Polyn.
Good man! how has her loss dejected him?
Methinks his face too much resembles Death.
Each Character of Age does seem a Grave.

Hera.
Now I lament that er'e I try'd Celania,
By telling her, Philander was to dye.

Polyn.
Madam, you should suspend your grief a while,
Custom sometimes must Nature over-rule.
Think now not on Celania: but reflect
On this Solemnity, and entertain
The Birth-day of the Prince, with thoughts that are
Of a serene Complexion—See, they are comming

Enter first Country-man as Master of the Revels.
Arcon.
This seems to be the Country Poet. What
Represent you first?

1 Coun.
We represent a Morrice for the first thing,
Whose Coutrements hang heavy on my purse-string,
Tho' lightly on the hobby-horse and dancers,
He learns to Wighy, and the rest to prance-Sirs.
They are all so Skittish, that when you behold e'm,
You may ee'n swear the hobby-horse has fold e'm.

Arcon.
Are they ready?

1. Coun.
Th'are entering and (to shew I do not bob ye)
The Horse comes first here which is call'd the Hobby.
enter Hobby-Horse
Some with long Spoons (quoth Proverb stale and addle)
Eate with the Devil; this Sir has a Ladle.
[Enter Tab.
Next comes the man with Taber, which by some
Among the Pygmies is yclep'd a Drum.
[Enter all.
Then with the rest comes in that ugly Carrion
Which Countrey Batchelours do call Maid-Marrion.
[They dance the Morrice here.

Arcon.
You have your thanks for this, What is your next?

1. Coun.
The next Sir, if your Grace will be contented,
A Hunt in Musick will be represented.
If that your Highness Worship think it good
To saunter but a little in the Wood.
Good Sir, be pleas'd to raise your self and go forth
To hear the Horns, then see the Hunt, and so forth.

Arcon.
Since you are Master of the Hunt, we'l take
Our stand, where you appoint us: lead the way.
We'le change the Scene a while to see your Sports:
Princes for pleasure may remove their Courts.

[Ex. Omnes.