University of Virginia Library

Act. 2.

Scæn. 1.

Enter Menaphon, and Doron.
Men:
How mad a thing is Love? It makes us lose
Our senses; whilest we wander in a maze
Of endless torments: sometime with his smiles
The cunning thief doth flatter us with hopes
And tantalize our expectations, when
Strait our winged joyes are gone, and we
Do wrack our selves with future coming fears:
A mistris frowns doth cloud our clearer skie.

Enter Doron.
Dor.
Ah Menaphon, my Sister Pesana, a pies
On her, I had almost forgot her name, with
Thinking on her business.

Men.
VVhy what's thy business, Doron? tell me, come.

Dor.
My business, 'tis none of my businesse, I tell you,
'Tis my sister Pesana's business.

Men.
VVell, what's her business then? I prethee tell.

Dor.
Ah Sir! she's sick.

Men.
VVhat is she sick of Doron? let me know.

Dor.
VVhy, truly Sir, she's sick of you.

Men.
She sick of me? why, am I a disease?

Dor.
I mean—I mean—she is sick for you.

Men.
That's kindly done of her, Doron, that she
Will be sick for me: I'll make her amends.

Dor.
Will you make her amend, said you? I am
Afraid you'l make her end first; but truly
Menaphon I have a suit for you.

Men.
Hast thou a suit for me? Is it a new one?

Dor.
I say I have a suit to you.

Men.
To me? well, and what is your suit made of?

Dor.
In good sooth, Sir, I must intreat you will
Love my sister as well as you have done.

Men.
No, Doron, love and I are faln out, and he
Will not let me love thy sister or thee either.

Dor.
Nor my sister, nor me neither. Out thou
Caterpiller, thou weasel, thou he dg-hog,
I will make you love me, and my sister too.

Men,
You are out of your suit now Doron, and
I fear you will catch cold, now you are hot.

Exeunt.

Scæn. 2.

Enter Maximus shipwrack't.
Max.
Where am I now? Sure 'tis Arcadia.
A land happy in giving birth to my
Sephestia: Ah my Sephestia!—
But now not my Sephestia, since the waves
Have ravish'd her from me, and all my hopes
Are prov'd abortive; why do I now live!
Since she is gone, whose life & mine were both
Twisted on one thred! Ye fatal Sister!
Why did not your cruel knife cut my life
In twain, when hers was broken oft by the
Rude waves & blustring wind, who strove which should
Gain her from each? But both from me have robd
Here now may the sea well boast, and out-vie
The begger'd earth; since it hath her who was
The earth's whole sum of riches. O ye gods!
Why did ye once make me so happy
To enjoy her, and now snatch'd her again
To make me thereby the more miserable?
Yet is she not quite drowned; for her heart
Is here: 'tis mine the sea doth prey upon.
Well, my Sephestia, oh that name doth ravish
Me: This body shall a monument be,
And my whole life a continued Elegie,
Both consecrated to thy memorie.
I'll drown thee once more in my tears,
Which I will daily pay, as tribute to thee.
Cyprus adieu, greatness also farewel.
I see, those who are lifted highest on
The hill of honour, are nearest to the
Blasts of envious fortune, whilst the low
And valley fortunes are far more secure.
Humble valleys thrive with their bosoms full
Of flowers, when hills melt with lightning, and rough
Anger of the clouds. I will retire from
The front of honour, to the rear of a
Shepherds life: where whilst I do daily tend
The harmless sheep, will I sing forth sad notes
Of their blest happiness, and my misfortune,
I will no longer keep this miserable name
Of Maximus, but clad in sorrows weeds,
Will I wear the name of Melecertus.
No more Maximus Prince of Cyprus, but
A poor shepherd will I be: when you see
Those weeds, and hear Melecertus name,
I am that wretched he, who, like the snake,
Have cast my former coat by creeping through
The hole of miserie, and got a new.

Exit.

Scæn. 3.

Enter Doron.
Dor.
My Carmela is comming, and I'm provided to cast
A sheeps eye at her.

He flings at her.
Enter Carmela.
Car.
Now I see how Love came blind, he flung
His eyes at me in stead of a love-dart.

Dor.
Ha, my Carmela, let me kiss thy hony-suckle lips:

Car.
You kiss so hard, you'l leave your beard behind.

Dor.
By my troth, Carmela, swains cannot swear,
But—I do love thee—by our great god Pan
I love thee.

Car.
You said you could not swear, and yet you
Swear you love me.

Dor.
Love, I have stared so long at thee, that I
Am now grown blind.

Car.
Then shall you be led, like blind beggars
With a dog and a bell, or else be beholding
To the glasier for a new pair of eyes.

Dor.
I know not what you mean eyes, but I am
Sure that I am off the hooks. You tell me of
Eyes, eyes, but 'tis your no's that torments me.
This blind god, that the Poets call Cupid, has seen
To hit me with his dart, I know not how,
But as the blind man kil'd the crow.

Car.
Then you are one of the wanderers in Loves
Labyrinth, I prethee let me lead thee.

Dor.
Ay, so we may both fall; but no matter,
For if you fall first, I'll fall on thee.

Car.
Fie, Doron, fie, are you not asham'd?

Dor.
Asham'd? of what? marry better falling in, than
Falling out.

Car.
You'r very merry Doron, where's your musick?

Dor.
Let me play on thee, my pretty bag-pipe,
And I know thou wilt sing, loth to depart.—

Car.
And I'll try that, now follow me.

Exit.
Dor.
Nay, when you came to the snuff once, I thought
You would quickly go out.

Scæn. 4.

Enter Menaphon.
Oh Menaphon, hark, I am undone, as a man
Should undo an oyster.

Men.
Why Doron, what's to do with thee now?

Dor.
Why man, thy sister Carmela is grown proud,
And is just such another as thy self, she slights
And scorns poor Doron; and yet because I love her,
As my sister doth thee, she laughs at me. Well,
I will be even with her; for if she won't love
Me with a good will, I'll love her against her
Will; and I think I shall be even with her there.

Men.
Come, Doron, come, count love a toy,
As I do, who take far more joy to view
My flocks; here's my content; when heavens frown,
I think upon my faults; and a clear skie
Puts me in mind of the gods gracious love:
Envie o're-looketh me, nor do I gaze
So high as tall ambition; and for love,
I feed my self with fancies, such as these.
Venus (the Poets say) sprang from the sea,
Which notes to me th'inconstancie of love,
Changing each day with various ebbs & tides,
Sometimes o're-flowing the banks of fortune
With a gracious look from a lovers eyes,
Ebbing at other times to th'dangerous shelf
Of cold despair, from a Mistris frowns.
Your Cupid must be young, to shew
He is a boy, his wings inconstance tell:
He's blind, to note his aym is without rule,
Or reasons guide; such is the god ye serve.

Dor.
Treason, treason against the god of love: well
Menaphon, though you be my friend, I will
Have you articl'd against at the next meeting
Of the Shepherds.

Men.
Lovers sorrows be like to the restless
Labours of Sisyphus.

Dor.
Like thy tongue then.

Men.
Your Mistris favour's honey mixt with gall
A bitter sweet, a folly worst of all,
That forceth reason to be fancies thrall.
Then love who list for me, if beauty be
So sowr, then give me labour still.

Exit.
Dor.
How I would laugh to see Menaphon once
Manacl'd with loves fetters, that he might repent
His blasphemy against the shepherds deitie.

Exit.

Scæn. 3.

Enter Sephestia shipwrack't, with her Uncle Lamedon.
Seph.
Ah cruel fortune, but more cruel father,
Most wretched I, who thus am rob'd of all
My pregnant hopes, my springing joyes blasted
With winter frowns. Jove send a flaming dart
Into my breast, to melt my frozen heart
Into a flood of tears, that I may drown
My self in them since that the waves have prov'd
Unkindly courteous to preserve my life,
But to prolong my miserie, and he
Is drownd who was my lifes preserver.
Ah ye enraged deities! could ye
Be so unkind to draw my life's thred out
Thus long, to survive him who was my life?
Why did ye not, or save his life with mine,
Or destroy mine with his, that so I might
Enjoy his companie in life or death?

Lam.
Ay, in the gods time, Neece, but not before.

Seph.
And oh! my dearest Plusidippus! could
The waves be so hard-hearted, as to crop
Thy blooming youth, to send thee to thy grave
Before thou wert a man? Had they but left
Me thee, it would have eas'd thy fathers loss,
If I had had his transcript to have view'd
In thee, who wert his perfect Image. Now
In stead of heir to the Cyprus crown,
The cypress grove shall be Joynter, where
I'll sadly spend the remnant of my life,
To weep my losses, and my own sad fate,
Which thus I will revenge; my Maximus
Shall live still fresh within my memorie,
There fixt too sure for all the briny waves
To wash away. Nor shall I e're forget
My son, my Plusidippus. I could feed,
My self unto eternitie with these
Sweet names, which do as far out-vie
The Nectar and Ambrosia of the gods,
As pearls do pebbles. I can hold no more,
My heart's so full, 'twill break, or over-run
The sluces of mine eyes.—I'll weep the rest.

Lam.
Why dost thou thus torment thy self in vain?
Thy tears wil not recover them again.
Fates dart is shot, and cannot be recall'd,
Nor is there any salve for fortunes wounds,
But patience; therefore seeing me
Partaker of thy sorrows, now lean all
Thy cares on me, it is some relief,
In sorrow to have fellows of our grief.

Soph.
My husband and my son are gone, and I
Survive alone unto their miserie.

Lam.
Chance is like Janus, double-fac'd; sometimes
With smiles she comforts us, sometimes
With frowns she casts us down again: A calm
Succeeds a storm, and a sharp winter doth
Precede a pleasant spring.

Seph.
Oft turnings tire
The weary traveller; and love doth lose
His followers, in a wild Labyrinth
Of woes. How am I faln from all my hopes!
(An exile in my native Country:) and
The crown hope seem'd to place upon my head:
Banished from the pleasures of the Court,
Parted for love from him I could not chuse
But love, from Maximus, who hath for me
Suffer'd as many mischiefs as malice
Could invent, and now all sum'd up in death.

Lam.
What of all this? after the storm that rent
Our ship, we found a calm that brought us safe
To th'shore, whilst Neptunes mercie was beyond
The envious blasts of Æolus; and thus
The gods do recompense us with their favour,
For the dis-courtesies of your father.

Seph.
Sweet Lamedon, once partner of my joyes,
Though now partaker of my wants; I see
You are as constant in my sad distress,
As you were faithful in my richer fortunes:
Though friends seldom prove friends in poverty
Misfortune hath not chang'd your mind, but your
Temper my exile with your banishment:
Your aged years shall be my sole directors,
Your will the ruler of my actions.
If you perswade me to content, Portia
Shall not exceed Sephestia's patience:
If you will have me strike my sails, I will,
And steer my course by th'compass of your care.

Lam.
Since hope is all the portion we have left,
Let's thank the gods that sav'd our lives, and rest
Our cares on them, they can return us more
Than we have lost, or fit our minds to bear
Our present state. Contentment gives a crown,
Where fortune hath denied it: patience
Makes all things easie to an humble mind.
Cares are companions of the Crown, the Court
Is full of busie thoughts, and envious strife,
Whilst peaceful sleeps attend a Countrey life.

Seph.
Then Lamedon will I disguise my self,
And with my cloaths will change my former thoughts,
Measure my actions by my present state,
Not by my former fortunes, Sephestia
No more: Alas! I know not where, or how
VVe shall bestow our selves: Surely this is
Some un-frequented place, no harmless sheep
Do feed, nor shepherds tend their thriving flocks.

Enter to them Menaphon

Scæn. 6.

Sephestia, Lamedon, Menaphon.
Men.
Heavens! what a sight is here! Such stars appear
But rarely in our Country Hemisphere,
I am so Planet-struck with one short glance,
I neither can retire nor yet advance.
VVhat resolution is of proof against
Such charms as these! Some goddess hath assum'd
An humane shape to tempt us weaker mortals.
Cupid, I cry thee mercie now, although
I were an Atheist unto thee before,
Thou art the Deitie I will adore.—
Sure they are in distress, those pearly tears
Furrow her cheeks with cruel strife
Which shall run fastest, are no sooner dried,
New sighs, like the warm southern wind proclame
A fresh approaching showre. I fear they are
Some passengers late shipwrack't, for I saw,
(When walking by the shore) some floting parts
Of a torn ship, contending with the waves.

Lam.
Courteous shepherd, if distressed persons
Fortune hath rob'd, and the sea favoured
(If it be a favour to live and want)
May crave your aid so far, as to direct
Us to some place may rest our wearied bones,
Our charges shall be paid, and you shall have
For recompence, such blessings as the gods
Use to bestow on hospitable men.

Men.
Strangers, your qualitie I know not, nor
Shall now dispute; but if a country cell
May not too disparage you, here is
Hard by my cottage, and your home.

Seph.
Kind Sir, your courtesie is much beyond
Our merit, and our present hopes below
A suitable return; please you accept
Our thanks, as earnest of that larger debt
Future abilitie may see discharg'd.

Men.
Lady, I have no curious hangings to
Adorn my walls, nor plate to shew my wealth:
Yet do I live content; and you shall find
Such welcome as a cottage can afford.

Lam.
Sir, blame not our wills, but present want, which now
Makes us thus plentiful only in thanks.

Exeunt.

Scæn. 7.

Enter Doron, Carmela.
Dor.
Carmela, by my great bel-weather, Carmela,
I'm over the tops of my high-shooes in love,
And there shall I stick and starve, if thou dost
Not pull me out.—Where hast thou been
This live-long hour?

Car.
What, does the mouth of your affections water?

Dor.
Water? No, it fires. I'm so all a-fire, that I dare
Not go amongst my flocks for fear; lest
I should burn up all their pasture, if thou
Dost not showre down some dew of
Comfort to cool me.

Car.
I shall soon cool your courage, Doron; for
I cannot, may not, will not love thee.

Dor.
Out you gossip, not love me? go, get
You spin on Ixions wheel.

Car.
No, Lovers spin on that, and so must you.

Exeunt.

Scæn. 8.

Enter Menaphon.
Men.
How fond was I, when I as vainly strove
To keep my heart against the god of Love!
I little thought his power; when I resolv'd
To live, and not to love: Nature I see
Cannot subsist without loves harmonie.
In vain I shut the door, and bolted it
With resolution; strait the thief,
Thorough the casements of mine eyes got in,
And stole away my heart; as once of old
He serv'd the merry Greek Anacreon;
Whose fancie fits my fortune: Here it is.
Alas! what heart's so fortify'd, to prove
The sev'ral batteries of the god of love!
What ear's not charm'd with th'rethorick of a voice,
Whose single note would silence all the Quire
Of the Aërial feather'd Choristers!
What eye would not be blinded to behold
Those eyes which cast a cloud upon the Sun,
And bring his light under disparagement.
Enter Sephestia.
Witness that face, whose Shrine hath made me blind.
How fares my fairest guest?

Seph.
The better for
Your courteous entertainment, may the gods
Be favourable to your flocks, as you
Have friendly been to us.

Men.
May I presume
To crave your name, and to enquire how
Hard-hearted fortune could be so unjust,
To injure innocence? Signe she is blind.

Seph.
My name is Samela, my parentage
But mean, the wife of a poor Gentleman
Of Cyprus, now deceas'd: How arriv'd here,
Pray do not now enquire; time may reveal,
What present sorrows force me to conceal.

Men.
I will not press your yet fresh bleeding wounds,
With a rude hand; 'tis time and patience
Must work the cure; the gods allow a salve
For ev'ry sore, but we must wait on them:
Their time is best; for when we strive to heal
Our wounds too fast, they do but fester more.
Rest here content; a Country life is safe,
Fortune o're-looks our humble cottages
We are not pain'd with wealth, nor pin'd with want,
Our sheep do yield us milk for food, and wooll
To make us cloaths; hunger & cold we slight:
Envie hath here no place, we'l friendship keep,
Free from all jars, and harmless as our sheep.

Sam.
O happy life! would I had never known
Other than this, which by comparison,
Renders mine odious to my memorie.

Exit weeping.
Men.
Sorrow sits heavy on her heart, but shews
More lovely in her face; those tears appear
Like chrystal dew upon the blushing rose.
Beauty thus veil'd, is more inviting, than
Shining out in it's unclouded splendor.
Fortune, I hate thee, for thy spight to her,
But thank thee for thy courtesie to me,
In sending her for shelter to my house.
Kind love assist me now, and I will be
Her constant servant, and thy votarie.

Exit.