University of Virginia Library

Act. 3.

Scæn. 1.

Romanio and Eurilochus, with Plusidippus.
Rom.
This present to the King of Thessaly
Will gain us both reward and pardon too
For all our former Pyracies upon
His seas and ships.

Eur.
Ay, he hath ne're a son,
For to inherit the Thessalian Crown:
Hereby this lad may gain a Kingdom, whilst
We seek but our liberties and lives,
For time to come, and pardon for what's past.
This is the place the King doth oft frequent,
When publick cares oppress his Royal head,
Here he unloads the burthen of his thoughts,
And changes cares for recreation.—
See where he comes! God save your Majestie.

Rom.
Long live Agenor, King of Thessaly.

Enter King.
Kin.
What meanes this bold intrusion? who are ye?
That dare presume into our private walks?

Eur.
Pardon, great Sir, we come not to offend
Your sacred Majestie, but to present
Shews Plusidippus to the King.
You with this living gift.

Kin.
This is a gift
Indeed; where had ye him, or what's his birth?

Rom.
Please you, dread Sir, grant us your pardon then,
We shall declare unto you what we know.

Kin.
Take it, we freely pardon ye. Now speak.

Eur.
Then be it known unto your Majestie,
VVe the two famous Pyrats are, you have
So long laid wait to take, but all in vain.
Roving upon the coasts of Arcady,
VVe found this beauteous youth upon the shore,
VVhom (we suppose) the seas had wrack't, but sav'd
His life, which we have nourish'd ever since,
And now bequeath unto your Majestie:
For which we beg no recompence, but this,
To seal our pardons for our former faults.

Kin.
Look that for time to come ye honest be,
And for what's past we freely pardon ye.

Rom.
Thanks, Royal Sir, the remnant of our lives
VVill we spend in your service, and so give
Again, our lives which you have given us,
VVhen they were forfeit to your laws and you.

Exeunt.
Kin.
This is a welcome gift. VVhat a divine
Beautie doth sparkle in his countenance!
Surely he cannot be of mortal race
Descended, but Jove himself hath sent him,
To be the happy heir of my Kingdom.
Immortal Jove! I thank thee for this gift.
Thou couldest not have sent a welcomer.
My pretty lad, where wer't thou born? canst tell?

Plu.
I know not, Sir,—my name is Plusidippus.

Kin.
Come, follow me, now have I found at once
An husband for my daughter, & an heir
For the Thessalian Crown. Thrones are supplied
By Jove, who, when the root is withered,
Can make more heav'nly branches to sprout forth,
Which may in time grow mighty trees to shade,
And shelter all their liege-subjects under.

Exeunt.

Scæn. 2.

Menaphon
solus.
Strike home, great Cupid, with thy flaming dart,
As yet thou dost but dally with my heart:
'Tis rather scratch'd than wounded; I do hate
A luke-warm love: give me a love flames high,
As it would reach the element of fire,
From whence it came; a low and creeping flame
Befits a chimney, not a lovers breast.
Give me a love dare undertake a task
VVould fright an Hercules into an ague.
A love dare tempt the boldest fate, and die
An honour'd captive, or bold conquerour.
Give me a daring, not a whining love,
A love grows great with opposition:
A love that scorns an easie task, things great
And noble always are most difficult
This is the love (blind Cupid) I would have,
A love that brings home trophies, or a grave.
I'll tempt his god-ship with a song, and see
If verse, not sighs, will gain the victorie.
Sure Cupid hath resign'd his place, and giv'n
His god-head unto Carmela, whose eyes
Wound more than ever did his darts.
But what is that, if she have power to hurt,
And wanteth mercie for to heal those hurts.
I fear whilst I make her my deitie,
I do but thereby make her proud,
And with my own hands place her out of reach.
Yet she is in distress, and that should make
Enter Doron. Listens and laughs.
Her humble: I relieve her, therefore she
Hath the more reason thus to relieve me;
And certain, she will rather love than want.

Dor.
Ha, ha, ha, &c. are you catch'd, Menaphon?
I'faith, I think y'are fetter'd now, you'r hang'd
Ith'brambles of love, as well as I. You laugh'd
At me before, but now I'll laugh at you.

Men.
Ah Doron! now I crave thy pitie, for
I never thought an earthly beautie could
So soon have fetter'd me; what did I say?
An earthly? No, Doron, she is heavenly,
Brighter than Phœbus in his glittring pride:
Venus her self was not so fair a Bride.

Do.
How now Menaphon! I'm afraid thou wilt
Be a beggar shortly, thou art a Poet already.
One of the thred-bare crew, that ragged regiment.

Enter Samela.
Men.
See Doron, see, see where she comes, who with
Her brighter lustre can create a day
At mid-night, when the Sun is gone to sleep;
Eclipse his noon-tide glory with her light:
Her absence would benight the world, & cloath't
In blackest darkness, for to mourn it's loss.

Sam.
Good-morrow Host, how thrive your well-fed flocks?

Men.
My flocks do thrive (Lady) and can't do less,
Blest with the auspicious sun-shine of your eyes;
And I were too ingrateful, if I should
Deny to give you back again, what I
Enjoy but by your beauteous influence.

Sam.
Y'are merry, Menaphon, if not prophane,
To rob the gods of what is due to them,
To give it to the object of their scorn.
Could I dispense good fortunes, I should not
Forget my self, & chuse the meanest lot.

Exeunt.
Dor.
This 'tis to be in love, how spruce is Menaphon
Become of late, as he were always going
To a feast? and talks as if he were some
Citie Orator. Why can I not do so? I'm
Sure I am in love as well as he. But
I'll go hire some journey-man Poet, or other,
And he shall make me some verses
For my Carmela: And that will do as
Well, as if I made them my self; I'll
Set my brand upon them, and then no
Body will question them to be mine, no
More than they do my sheep that are mark'd.

Scæn. 3.

Enter Melecertus.
Ay, ay, it shall be so. Oh Melecertus,
Yonder is the finest shepherdess that ever
The moon held the candle of her light to; the
Shepherd Menaphon has got her to him, as
If because he is the Kings shepherd, he
Must have the Queen of Shepherdesses.

Mel.
Hast seen her, Doron? and dost know her name?

Dor.
Seen her? ay, and sigh to see her too; her name, I
Think, is Stamela—no, no,—Samela, Samela,
Ay, ay, that's her name, I have it now, I would
I had her too.

Mel.
What kind of woman is she, canst thou tell?

Dor.
Ay, or else I were naught to keep sheep.

Mel.
Can thy tongue paint her forth to mine ear?

Dor.
Ay, ay, legible, I warrant you.
Her eyes are like two diamonds, I think, for
I never saw any before; and her locks are
All gold, like the golden fleece our shepherds
Tell of.

Mel.
It were good vent'ring for that golden fleece,
Doron, as Jason long since did for his.

Dor.
Her hands are all ivory, like the bone-haft
Of my best knife, her alablaster, and her
Eyes black as my blackest lamb, her cheeks
Like roses red and white that grow together.
What think you of her now? have I not made
A fair picture on her?

Mel.
Ay Doron, were this picture painted to
The life, as thou hast here described it,
It could not chuse but make an absolute,
Rare, and compleat piece of deformitie.

Dor.
Nay, nay, if you don't like it, I don't
Care, but I had it out of an old book of
My brother Moron's, they call 'm
Rogue-mances, I think: my brother
Ha's a whole tumbrel full on 'm, he's
Such a Bookish block-head—

Mel.
Nay, be not angry, Doron, I believe
Thou mean'st a beautie beyond expression:
And such an one I had, till envious fate
Rob'd me of her, and all my joyes at once,
Heavens envying at my happiness,
Sent death to fetch her from me, and she's dead,
Dead, Doron, dead,—she's dead to me, and to
The world, and all but to my memorie.

weeps.
Dor.
Fie, Melecertus, what dost mean to
Weep? what, wilt thou make dirt of
Her ashes with thy teares?

Mel.
Well, Doron, we forget our flocks, and we
Shall miss the shepherds merry meeting.

Dor.
That's true, and there will be the shepherdesses
Too, and Menaphon will bring his fine
Mistris thither; there shalt thou see her,
But first mask thine eyes, lest thou lose
Them, and become love-blind, as I am.
Good Melecertus take the pains to lead me.

Exeunt.

Scæn. 4.

Enter King Damocles melancholy, 2 Lords.
Kin.
How wretched am I grown, I hate my self,
And care not now for my own company:
I loath thee light, and fain would hide my self
From mine own eyes; I'm wearie of my life.—
Where shall I hide my self, that there I may
Deceive th'approaches of discov'ring day?
I'll seek some gloomy cave, where I may lie,
Entomb'd alive in shades of secrecie.

Exit.
1 Lo.
His thoughts are much perplex't, & black despair,
May push him on unto some desp'rate act,
If not prevented by our vigilance.

2 Lo.
This is th'effect of rash resolves, when hast
And passion hurry men to do those things
Reason would wish undone, at least delay'd.
Our wills spur'd on by rage, ne're stop, till we
(Blinded with anger) headlong throw our selves
From dangers præcipice, into a gulf
Of black despairing thoughts; and then too late
Repentance lends us so much light as may
Shew us our madness, and our miserie.

1 Lo.
Ill actions never go unpunished;
They are their own tormentors, and do prove
At last, furies to lash the guilty soul.

2 Lo.
When reason is depos'd, & passion reigns,
Nothing but lawless actions do appear:
When passion hath usurp't the helm,
And steers a wild uncertain course, not by
The card and compass of advice, the ship
Will never make good voyage, but be tost
Upon the waves, and all her lading lost.
He by his wilful rage hath cast away
Himself, and floats upon the waves of ruine:
Let's try if we can waft him safe to shore,
Lend him our helping hands, lest he do sink
Into that deep and black gulf of despair.

1 Lo.
Let's after him, and try what we can do,
In saving him, we save our Kingdom too.

Exeunt.

Scæn. 5.

Enter Menaphon, with Samela, and Pesana after them, Melecertus leading Doron.
Pes.
Hey day, what's here, my brother Doron?

Mel.
Doron conceits himself that he is blind.

Dor.
Ay, Doron's as blind as any door: what
Creep I here upon? Carmila, oh Carmila,
The very sight of thee hath recovered mine
Eyes again.

He stumbles on Samela in Carmila's cloaths.
Men.
Nay, now I see, Doron, th'art blind indeed,
That dost not know Carmila from her cloaths.
No, no, 'tis Samela, not Carmila.

Dor.
Which is my Carmila? good Melecertus.
Shew me where she is.

Mel.
It seems, Doron, Carmila is not here.

Dor.
Why, what do I do here then? I thought
It was something I miss'd, onely I
Mistook; for I had thought it had
Been my eyes were lost, but now I
See it is my Carmila is missing, whom
I had rather see than my own eyes.

Pes.
This is my corrival in Menaphon's love.

Mel.
She is a beautie indeed; and since my
Sephestia is drown'd, without compare.
I cannot blame Menaphon, but envie
Him rather, for his so happy choise.
O happy! yet to me unhappy beautie!
That doth (as in a glass) present unto
My frighted senses the remembrance of
My loss, which, unless by this fair piece,
Cannot be recompenced by the world.—
Mistris, y'are welcome to our company.

Dor.
By my troth, Mistris, you are very welcome,
As I may say, unto our meeting.

Sam.
Thanks shepherds: I am a bold intruder
Into your company; but that I am
Brought by your friend, and my host Menaphon.

Mel.
Mistris, your presence is Apologie
Sufficient; yet do we owe him thanks,
That by his means we have the happiness
T'enjoy your sweet societie in this
Our rural meeting, when shepherds use
To cheer themselves with mirth & pleasant tales.

Sam.
I hope my company shall not forbid
The Banes between your meeting & your mirth.

Mel.
Then by your leave, fair shepherdess, I will
Begin with you. If the gods should decree
To change your form, what shape would you desire?

Sam.
I would be careful how to sail between
The two rocks, of immodest boldness, or
Of peevish coyness; therefore to answer
Unto your question, I would be a sheep.

Men.
A sheep? Mistris, why would you be a sheep?

Sam.
Because that then my life should harmless be,
My food the pleasant Plains of Arcadie,
My drink the curious streams, my walks
Spacious, and my thoughts as free as innocent.

Dor.
I would I were your Keeper.

Mel.
But many times the fairest sheep are drawn
Soonest unto the shambles to be kill'd.

Sam.
And sure a sheep would not repine at that,
To feed them then, who fed her long before.

Pes.
Then there's more love in beasts, than constancie
In men, for they will die for love, but when?
When they can live no longer, not before.

Men.
If they'r so wise, it is their mother-wit,
For men have their inconstancies but from
You women, as the sea it's ebbs and tides
Hath from the moon.—Your embleme to an hair.

Dor.
Menaphon, if you hate my sister, I'll—
Love yours for't in spight of your teeth.

Pes.
Your mother surely was a weather-cock,
That brought forth such a changeling; for your love
Is like the lightning, vanished as soon
As it appears; a minute is an age
In your affections. You once loved me.—

Dor.
Ay, I would you lov'd him no better.

Men.
If that I be so changing in my love,
It is because mine eye's so weak a Judge,
It cannot please my heart upon trial.

Pes.
If that your eye's so weak, then let your eares
Be open to your loves appeals and plaints,

Sam.
Come, for to end this strife, pray let us hear
Th'opinion of good Doron, who's so mute,
As if h'had lost his tongue too, with his eyes.

Dor.
By my fay, fair Mistris, I was thinking
All this while with my self, whether in being
A sheep, you would be a ram, or an ewe?

Sam.
An ewe, no doubt; if I should change my shape,
I would not change my Sex; and horns are held
The heaviest burthen that the head can bear.

Dor.
I think then I were best be an ewe too,
So I might be sure to have no horns:
But I would not greatly care to wear horns,
Were I a ram, were it but where you were
An ewe.—

Men.
VVell, shepherds, come, the day declines, and gives
Us timely warning for to fold our flocks.

Exeunt.

Scæn. 6.

Manet Melecertus.
VVere my Sephestia living, I should think
This sheperdess were she: Such was her shape,
Such was her countenance; her very voice
Doth speak her my Sephestia. But alas!
How fondly do I dream! I do embrace
A cloud in stead of Juno. Yet I love,
And like her, 'cause she is so like my Love.
VVe love the pictures of our absent friends:
And she's the living picture of my dear,
My dear Sephestia. Me thinks I feel
A kind of sympathy within my brest,
To like and love her of all women best.
Forgive me, my Sephestia, if thou livest,
If I do love another for thy sake:
Thy likeness is the loadstone which doth draw
My heart to her, that nothing else could move.

Exit.

Scæn. 7.

Enter Pesana.
Thou most impartial deitie of Love!
Can there be two Suns in Loves Hemisphere?
Or more loves in one heart than one that's true?
Or can the stream of true love run in more
Channels than one? Shall I be thus paid
For my love to false Menaphon? Hereafter,
Venus, never will I adore thee, nor
Will I offer up so many Evening
Prayers unto Cupid, as I have done.—
Was ever poor maid so rewarded with
An inconstant lover, as I daily am
With this same fickle-headed Menaphon!

Enter Doron.
How now Pesana! what's the newes with thee?

Pes.
News! marry 'tis the news I complain of;
Were Menaphon the old Menaphon, that
He was wont to be, I should not complain.

Dor.
Come—plain. Pesana must not grutch to give
Way unto fine Samela, that hath turn'd his
Heart, and if he do not turn again
Quickly, he'l be burnt on that side; well,
Be content a while, by that time he hath loved
Her, as long as he did thee, he'l be as
Weary of her, as he is now of thee.

Pes.
But in the mean time, Doron, I must be
A stale to her usurps my right in him.

Dor.
Ay, that's the reason he doth not care
For thee, because thou art stale.
Thus do poor lovers run through
The briars and the brambles of difficulties,
And sometimes fall into the ditch of undoing.

Pes.
Good Doron, be my friend to Menaphon.
And mind him of his former love to me,
Or I shall learn at last to slight him too.

Dor.
Ay, ay, he has a sister, just such another
As himself, I'm zure she has e'en broken
My poor heart in twain; and if it be
Piec'd again, it will never be handsom.

Exeunt.

Scæn. 8.

Enter Lamedon.
How happy are these shepherds! here they live
Content, and know no other cares, but how
To tend their flocks, and please their Mistris best.
They know no strife, but that of love, they spend
Their days in mirth; and when they end, sweet sleeps
Repay, and ease the labours of the day.
They need no Lawyers to decide their jars,
Good herbs, and wholsom diet, is to them
The onely Æsculapius; their skill
Is how to save, not how with art to kill.
Pride and ambition are such strangers here,
They are not known so much as by their names.
Their sheep and they contend in innocence,
Which shall excell, the Master or his flocks.
With honest mirth, and merry tales, they pass
Their time, and sweeten all their cares:
Whilst Courts are fill'd with waking thoughtful strife,
Peace and content do crown the shepherds life.