 | Sicelides A Piscatory |  |
Act. 4.
Scen. 1.
Enter Perindus and Thalander.Per.
Be patient.
Aty.
Yes, I am patient,
And suffer all, while all heauens ills are spent.
Per.
You giue your selfe to griefe.
Aty.
Sencelesse and mad.
Who in much griefe, is not extremely sad?
Per.
Alas sir, she was mortall, and must die.
Aty.
True, true, and could the fates no time espie
But this? to me she neuer liu'd till now,
And now Perindus? now! oh—
Per.
She was my sister!
Aty.
Alas, thy sister!
She was my life, my soule, she was my loue,
She was—words know not what she was to me:
She was—thou most accursed word of was.
Be comforted.
Tha.
Perindus, the very name of comfort, is most comfortlesse
Comfort, ioy, hope, liu'd in her cheerfull smiling,
And now must die, or liue in far exiling.
Comfort, ioy, hope, for euer I deny you,
And would not name you now but to defie you.
Per.
Sir, with more patience you haue often borne
Far greater euils.
Tha.
Perindus, doe not say so,
If thou yet loue me, prethee doe not say so:
Was euer ill as this? hels breuiary,
All torment in this narrow space is layd,
The worst of all, in these two words are sayd:
Olinda dead? dead! whither doest thou lead mee?
Why, I can goe alone, alone can finde
The way I seeke, I see it best when blinde.
I prethee leaue me.
Per.
Thalander, I'le not leaue thee,
Should heauen with thunder strike these arms that claspe thee,
My dying hands should but more firmely graspe thee.
Tha.
Thou violat'st thy loue in thy mistaking,
And cleane forsak'st thy friend, in not forsaking
Olinda: I cannot come, they heere enchaine me.
But neyther can, nor shall they here detaine me.
I'th' meane time, all the honour I can giue thee,
Is but a graue, that sacred rocke, the place
Of my conception, and my buriall:
Since Hymen will not, death shall make thee mine,
If not my marriage, my death-bed shall be thine.
Exeunt.
Scen. 2.
Enter Rimbombo.Farewell yee mountaines, and thou burning Ætna,
If yet I doe not beare thee in my brest,
And am my selfe, a liuing walking Ætna,
The Nymphs that on you dwell, are too coy,
Too coy and proud, more fierce then robbed tygre
More deafe then seas, and more inflexible
Then a growne Orke, false, flattering, cruell, craftie,
And which most grieues me, when I would embrace them,
Swifter then chased Deere, or dogs that chase them,
You heauens, what haue we poore men deserued,
That you should frame a woman, I and make her
So comely and so needefull? why should you cloath them
With so fine a shape? why should you place
Gold in their haire, allurement in their face?
And that which most may vex vs, you impart
Fire into their burning eyes, yce to their heart.
Why sweeten you their tongues with sugred charmes
And force men loue, and need their greatest harmes?
And most of all, why doe you make them fleete?
Minds as the windes, and wings vpon their feete?
Of hundred women that I know,
But one deserues to be a woman:
Whom better heauens haue not made more faire,
Then courteous, louing, kinde, and debonaire:
She, when she vsd our Mountaines, oft would stay,
And heare me speake, and vow, and sweare, and pray.
Here I haue learnt, she haunts along these shores:
Within these rockie clifts i'le hide my selfe,
Till fit occasion, if shee haue chang'd her minde,
Then safely may I curse all women kinde.
Exit.
Scen. 3.
Enter Armillus.Loue, without thee, all life is tedious,
Without thee, there's no sweete, no ioy, no life;
Thou first gau'st life, and still with new succession,
Continuest what thou gau'st, with sweet inticements,
Taming the strongst rebellion, thy weapons women,
Whom thou so fram'st, that proudest men are glad,
Beaten with them, gently to kisse the rod.
Eyther my weighty passions pull too fast
The wheele of time, or else the houre is past:
But this is she, or I mistake it.
Enter Cosma.
Cos.
Women that to one man their passions bind,
As this man alters, so alters still their mind:
Thus euer change they, as those changing faires,
And with their louers still their loue impaires:
But I, when once my louers change their graces,
Affect the same, though now in other faces:
Thus now my mind is firme, and constant prou'd,
Seeing I euer loue, what first I lou'd.
Who blames the speedy heauen, for euer ranging?
Loue's fiery, winged, light, and therfore changing.
Ar.
True, fairest Nymph, Loue is a fire still burning,
And if not slak't, the heart to ashes turning.
Cos.
If I could scold, sir you might be chidden,
For comming to my thoughts before y'are bidden.
Ar.
Blame me not (Sweet) thy words do fanne thy fires,
And coole the flames which thy faire eye inspires.
Cos.
The fire so lately applied, so lately fram'd?
Me thinks, greene wood should not be yet inflam'd.
Ar.
Loues flame is not like earths, but heauens fire,
Like lightning, with a flash it lights desire.
I loue not lightning: lightning loue that flashes
Before't be all on fire, will be all ashes.
Ar.
Gather the fruite then while 'tis yet vnblasted.
Cos.
Ist worth the gathering? is it pleasing tasted?
Ar.
Take say of this.
kisses her.
Monster?
Enter Pas offering to kisse on the other side, disguised like a fury.
Cos.
Helpe ho.
Exeunt Armil. Cos. seuerall waies.
Scen. 4.
Pas. Fredocaldo.Pas.
The Doe was almost strooke, 'twas time I came,
For once I'le be a keeper of the game.
I see 'tis Owle-light, Mineruaes waggoner,
Enter Fred.
My old riuall, who this twenty yeeres
Saw nothing but what shin'd through glasse windowes;
What comes he for? I'le stay a while and watch him.
Fred.
Most happy age that shall be crownd with loue
Of thy loue, Cosma: I am not as I seeme,
Farewell old age, I now am young againe
And feele not ages, but a louers paine,
In loue I dare aduenture with the best,
Old beaten souldiers are the worthiest:
If all my riualls heard I could dare them,
If furies should out-front me, I'de out-stare them.
Pas runs vpon him, hee falls and lyes. Exit Pas.
Enter Conchylio in his Mistresses apparell.
Con.
How well my Mistris Cosmaes clothes do fit me?
What pitty 'twas, I was not made a woman?
I thinke I should haue made a pretty Nymph: ha?
I could haue beene a pittifull creature,
Cosma by this hath met with her Armillus,
And sports her selfe: could I meete Fredocaldo,
I should haue sport enough:
She stumbles at Fred.
What Fredocaldo dead? courage, man.
Fred.
I had a fearefull dreame and scarce am waken.
Con.
Come shake off dreames, sleepe is not fit for louers,
Wee'l to the rocky caue.
Fred.
My sunne? my fire?
Con.
But Fredocaldo, can you thinke that fire
Can loue cold water, the sunne can frost desire?
Fred.
I tell thee fairest Cosma, those faire eyes
Bring backe my spring:
Wrong not thy selfe, deare loue, so faire a day
Cannot but make mid-winter turne to May.
Cold rhewms I feele not, no frost's lockt in this chest,
Thy loue begets a summer in my brest.
Con.
Fie Fredocaldo:
Not in the open aire.
Exeunt.
Scen. 5.
Armillus. CosmaAr.
What furies haunt this groue? is not this Cosma?
Yes: here again she comes most blessed heauens,
Enter Cosma
I see that yee are more gracious then Hell's spightfull.
Cosma?
Cos.
Armillus.
Ar.
My loue.
Cos.
Sure thou hast done some cruell murder,
And the vnexpiate ghost thus haunts thee.
Ar.
I neuer thought it, Cosma: rather some power of these woods,
Too enuious of my good hap, and iealous of thy fauor,
Thus crosses our desires: but if againe
He chance to interpose his horrid face,
Enter Pas disguised.
All hell and furies haunt vs.
Exit Ar.
Pas.
Well ouertaken, Nimph, start not, you are sure,
See I am your familiar.
Cos.
Beshrew your heart for thus affrighting me.
Pas.
Doe you not blush to cast your loue vpon a man,
Whose loue is as himselfe an alien? to thine owne
Thou mak'st thee strange, familiar to vnknowne.
Cos.
Pish, thou art foolish, did I euer binde thee to me
Only? why shouldst thou then confine me
To thy sole passion? so oft before
You men haue chang'd, that you can change no more:
From bad to worse, from worse, to worst of all:
There lie you now, and can no lower fall:
And as you wisht that we should neuer roue,
We pray as fast, that you at length could moue.
Cease then for shame to raile at womens ranging:
When men begin, women will leaue their changing.
Farewell.
Pas.
Nay soft, I am dog well bitten,
And will not part so easily with my prey,
I haue not tasted venison many a day.
Cos.
I cannot well deny thee, 'tis thy right:
Thou well hast purchast it, this be thy right.
Exeunt.
Scen. 6.
Conchilio.Con.
Ha, ha, he: this old dry stubble, how it crackes i'th' burning!
alas poore saplesse oake: 'tis time 'twere down, I stayd
till he was ready, all vnready, but when he 'gan to put on his
spectacles, away slipt I: hee'l doe my mistris little hurt.
Spectacles! hah, ha, he! now for my louing Lobster, this is
his time; and if the Cyclops too doe keepe his promise, O what
rare compound of mirth I'le make, while the one with sha'me,
the other with feare I'le take!
Enter Cancrone, going backeward vpon her. He lookes ouer his shoulders.
Can.
To all I speake, but I tell no man,
Whether I loue Nymph or woman.
Con.
Tell not mee, but tell the rocks,
Not words must disciple you but knocks.
I am out of your debt for a rime.
Can.
I thinke shee knew my cue,
The charme begins to worke already.
Con.
I know not how this fishers hooke hath caught mee,
I euer for his rudenesse loue him: 'tis the badge of innocencie.
Can.
Somewhat rude if you will, but innocent in your face.
Con.
O those glearing eyes that dart the beames,
The beames that drownd my heart with fierie streames.
Can.
Now to Cupids arrowe tree, and she sinks downe-right
condoling; Cosma, I haue pitty on thee, but it beseemes a man
of my confession, to haue a negligent care of his good reparation
abroad in the world and else-where; I would be loth to
be seene in my loue-worke, i'le mount the tree and scry the
coast.
He goes vp the tree.
Con.
Stay not, but come againe thy selfe, sweete heart, to receiue
me.
Can.
O ho, here's bundance of people, bundance a lookers
on, I dare not loue thee before them all, wee'l into the myrtle
groue present.
Con.
Quickly returne, my loue, returne Cancrone my dearest.
Can.
Stand forth Cosma, and say on till thou come to that, I
cry, I dye, I lye.
Con.
I spie him now approaching,
Enter Rimbombo.
What though he be all ragges in his limbs? what though his
gesture taste of violence? we Nymphes, they say, like not such
wooers worst.
Rim.
Thou speakest of thy Rimbombo, that myrtle groues
which loue the winding shores, deserue to bee to Uenus consecrate,
as faster friends to louers, then the woods and caues of
all the Mounts of Sicily, whose Nymphs do coyly shunne and
mocke our troopes,
you come somewhat before your time, Rimbombo,
And Yet in loue preuention is no crime:
Louers may come before, not out of time.
And truly I wish, y'had come a little sooner.
Euen now a mongrell crabbed fisher swaine
Laid siege to this vnconquered fort.
Rim.
What wight of brauest blood by sea and land dares share
with mee in Cosmaes loue? by Polypheme my sea-bred fire I
vow, the sand on which he treads, is not so small, as shall this
pestell make his pounded bones.
Con,
Nay now he treadeth not vpon these sands, but is fled, vp
to the hills, and shortly thence will of himselfe come tumbling
downe to mee.
Rim.
I would he durst: I neuer yet but once did tast of fishers
blood, tis iollie sweete: come fisher, this way or that way I am
for you at both weapons, club or teeth: let's to the groue, see,
euery mirtle tree bids warre to fishers peace, and ioy to mee.
Why weepes my Cosma? Sweete, feare not that which thou
desirest.
Con.
Sweete Cyclops, meanst thou to rauish mee?
Rim.
O heauens thine owne appointed time and place, thine,
owne sweete Cyclops, and can rauishment?—
Con.
Why this know; wee Nymphs that long liue chast, and
weare our girdle of virginity—but lo, Diana stops my
tongue, shee bends her deadly bow, I dare not.
Rim.
Speake on, here's none but trees, and thy trustie true
Rimbombo.
Con.
By that bright flame which like one only sunne giues day
to'th spheare of thy maiesticke face, I thee adiure, that thou
disclose to none this sacred mysterie.
Rim.
Not: to my mother: no not in my dreame: say on
Con.
Wee neither yeeld, nor take in loue delight,
Vntill our girdle first be once vnplight
By louers hands, and then about his wast,
By our owne hands the same be tied fast.
Now all is out.
A pretty piece of work, my hands do their office nimbly,
I haue vnfettered thee, come put this sweete yoke on mee.
Con.
Nay turne about, it must be tied contrarie to other
girdles, iust behind, Stand neerer to mee, yet neere.
Rim.
As close as thou wilt, Cosma; I would your filthy fisher
saw vs now, 't would make his teeth water.
Con.
Hang him stinking Lobster, he daires not look vpon any
of thy kinne: his haddocke eyes would start out of his head, if he
should see but one haire of Rimbomboes head.
Rim.
How long wilt thou be tying mee?
Con.
The more knots I tie, the faster will my loue be to you:
but you'l be prating of this secret, when you come home
among your mounting Nymphs.
Rim.
If I doe, then geld mee: hast thou done?
Con.
I haue but three knots to tie: they are all true knots.
Rim.
When thou hast done, preethee come kisse me, Cosma,
Conchylio
steales away,
leauing him
bound to the
tree where
Cancrone is.
I see thou art a pure virgin, thou neuer didst this office before,
thou art no quicker at it. What Cosma? what? no Cosma! what
a woodden wench? here's a true loue knot with a witnes. O
faithlesse Cosma! O witlesse Rimbombo! O Nymph! O fishers!
O shepheards! O Satyrs! O Cyclops!
Enter Conchylio againe.
Con.
Ha, ha ha: O loue! O wit! O tree! O girdle! O platter face!
O oyster eyes!
Rim.
Thou bitch, thou witch, thou spawne of a mermaid.
Con.
Thou Ætna, thou Chaos, thou Hell: nay tugge and tugge,
my virginitie is tough and strong enough: O for some Nymphs
fishers or shepheards to baite this Orke. I'le out and call in some
bandog: so ho, so ho, ho, ho.
Exit.
Rim.
The knots are so many, the girdle so strong, and the tree
stands so fast. O anger! O shame! here shee'll bring in all the
country to laugh mee to death, hide yet thy face with some of
these lower boughs.
Enter Conchylio.
Con.
So ho, so ho: O dogged fortune! not one Nymph to be
found not one feate fisher! not one: but that feating fisher that
Rim.
Away thou monstrous woman, oh, oh.
Con.
Away thou monstrous mans ah ha hey.
Rim.
How now! what's that? what, haue I another witnes
of my folly? what gobbet of mans flesh grows, vpon this tree?
Con.
Ile haue a graft of this mirtle tree, it beares fine loue
wormes, on the stocke, a maggot wou'd vp in a Cobweb,
on the bough a barnacle, which ere long will fall and turne to
a goose: now Cupids gosling, now on your bare-head knee,
goe begge at Cupids doore.
Can.
Ah cursed Cupid, i'le no more of thy seruice, I had rather
fight with nine Orkes, ha, hei, au.
Rim.
Come downe thou fished bit, my mouth shall catch
thee Gentle Cosma, i'le forgiue thee all, & loue thee yet, if thou
wilt helpe to reach my walking sticke; i'le make my young
Orke-ketcher beleeue he shall bee his grandsires heire.
Con.
Your staffe? marry and shalt, it's a pretty pole to bang
those boughes withall, and when thou doest it, doe but gape,
and that rotten plumme will fall into thy mouth.
Can.
Nay, I know of old I should be deuoured.
Con.
Thy staffe, Rimbombo, is not for a weak Nymph to lift.
Rim.
Yet a little more to this hand: Oh oh, my shoulder's
While Rimbombo
reaches
for his
staffe, Cancrone
leapes
on's backe,
and lies on
the ground.
thunder strook! O coward Ioue, to strike me on the backe, but
wast our fisher lubber? is he escap't our hands?
Con.
VVhy Cancrone, rise, i'le helpe thee.
Can.
Good Charon carry me ouer gently, my bones are sore,
and your boate side so hard.
Con.
Giue me thy hand, i'le waft thee.
Can.
I tell thee Charon, I haue nothing to giue thee for ferriage,
i'le helpe to row, I haue beene a poore fisher while I liu'd.
Rim.
I would I were there too, but that I should sinke
Charons boate with a tree at my backe.
Con.
VVhy valorous Cancrone, view thy selfe and mee thy
captiue Cosma, we are conquerours, behold our enemies in
fetters fast bound.
Can.
Am I aliue indeede? me thought this legge hung out
Cancrone rises vp.
Come captain, let's goe triumphing to the temple.
Con.
Nay, the Ork's dead and buried, this is the second fatall
for the Cyclops.
Can.
Is he safe? i'le make side-slops on him. I lay studying
how to deale with him vpon equall tearmes: come if thou darest,
thou sea-bred brat of Polyphemes fire, you that would
licke your lips at sweete fishers blood! sweete fishers blood!
marke that Cosma: I hope you thinke so too.
Rim.
Sweete fisher, I will turne thy net maker if thou wilt
vndoe me.
Can.
No, it shall nere be said that I was the vndoing of any
man by net-making, and besides, I haue forsworne the muddie
trade.
Con.
Cancrone, wher's thy spirit? this is that pocketted vp
thy grandsire in his wide intrailes.
Can.
Me thought, when I was on the tree, his breath smelt of
fish, my stomacke euen foam'd at him. Now then, sir Bompelo,
as that Orke mouth of thine did crumme thy porridge with
my grandsires braines, and then gaue him his deaths wound
too, so will I first mince out thy scald-pate bones, and giue thy
flesh to a fishers boy for haddocks meate, & then, O then I will
geld thee, that thou neuer shalt run rutting after the Nymphs.
How lik'st thou this?
Rim.
Shame and scorne make me silent.
Con.
Nay, I will tell thee fitter vengeance, vse him, as sage
Vlysses did his father Polypheme.
Can.
That same Foolishes had a pole-cat head, I meane to
mitigate him: he was something, as it ware about branding a
huge stone in a caue, in a goate skinne with Polypheme, when
the fire-brand was asleepe.
Con.
I, I, in the caue he branded out Polyphemes eye, when he
was asleepe, and you must imitate him: here take his owne
staffe, and make it an extinguisher for that glazing lampe.
Rim.
This sport I like worst of all: helpe, gods of the woods.
Can.
I'le blow the coale while you take your aime, but will
your farginity hold him fast?
I warrant you it has been tried, come be thou my rest,
i'le tilt on thy shoulders.
Can.
Raunt tara, raunt taunt: &
Cancrone fals, and his dagger from him in the Cyclops reach.
I shall make you stumble, let me
Come hinder most.
Con.
O your Whineyeard, the enemy hath seazd on't.
Can.
'Tis no matter, hee'l hardly make it fly out of the Eele-skinne,
it hath seene no sunne this fiue quarters of a yeere I am
sure.
Con.
I hope the salt breath of the sea hath seald it vp.
Can.
O Cosma, 'tis out, let vs out too.
Con.
O Cancrone, loe thy Cosma, Cupid, and Conchilio.
Cyclops, blame not this my supposed sexe, no Nymph, but lad
hath caught thee in this snare.
Exit.
Rim.
The greater shame, and fouler scorne to me.
Vp to the hill, Rimbombo flye this shore,
And neuer deale with fisher-Nymph-lad more.
Exit.
CHORVS,
This his wiues quicke fate lamenting,
Orpehus sate his soule tormenting:
While the speedy wood came running,
And riuers stood to heare his cunning:
The hares ran with the dogs along,
Not from the dogs, but to his song:
But when all his verses turning,
Onely fram'd his poore hearts burning:
Of the higher powers complaining,
Downe he went to hell disdaining:
There his siluer Lute-strings hitting,
And his potent verses fitting:
All the sweets that ere he tooke
From his sacred mothers brooke:
What his double sorrow giues him,
There he spends to mooue deafe hell,
Charming Deuils with his spell:
And with sweetest asking leaue
Does the Lord of ghosts deceaue.
Caron amaz'd his boate foreslowes,
While the boate, the sculler rowes,
And of it selfe to'th' shoare doth floate,
Tripping on the dancing moate.
The threeheaded Porter preast to heare,
Prickt vp his thrice double eare,
The Furies, plagues for Guilt vp-heaping,
Now as guilty, fell a weeping:
Ixion, though his wheele stood still,
Still was wrapt with Musickes skill.
Tantale might haue eaten now,
The fruite as still as was the bough,
But he foole no longer fearing,
Staru'd his tast to feede his hearing.
Thus since loue hath wonne the field,
Heauen and Hell, to Earth must yeeld,
Blest soule that dyest in loues sweete sound,
That lost in loue in loue art found.
If but a true-loues ioy thou once doe proue,
Thou wilt not loue to liue, vnlesse thou liue to loue.
| Sicelides A Piscatory | |