University of Virginia Library

ACT. III.

SCENA. I.

Colin
thenamored sheepeherd singeth his passion of loue.
The songe.
O gentle loue, vngentle for thy deede,
Thou makest my harte
A bloodie marke
VVith pearcyng shot to bleede.
Shoote softe sweete loue, for feare thou shoote amysse,
For feare too keene.
Thy arrowes beene,
And hit the harte, where my beloued is.
To faire that fortune were, nor neuer I
Shalbe so blest
Among the rest
That loue shall ceaze on her by simpathye.
Then since with loue my prayers beare no boot,
This doth remayne
To cease my payne,
I take the wounde, and dye at Venus foote.
Exit Colin.

SCENA. II.

Hobinol, Digon, Thenot.
Hob.
Poore Colin wofull man, thy life forespoke by loue,
What vncouth fit, what maladie is this, that thou dost proue.

Dig.
Or loue is voide of phisicke cleane, or loues our common wracke,
That giues vs bane to bring vs lowe, and let vs medicine lacke.

Hob.
That euer loue had reuerence 'mong sillie sheepeheed swaines,
Belike that humor hurtes thē most that most might be their paines.

The.
Hobin, it is some other god that cheerishethher sheepe,
For sure this loue doth nothing else but make our herdmen weepe.

Dig.
And what a hap is this I praye, when all our woods reioyce,
For Colin thus to be denyed his yong and louely choice.

The.
She hight in deede so fresh and faire that well it is for thee,
Colin and kinde hath bene thy friende, that Cupid coulde not see.

Hob.
And whether wendes yon thriueles swaine, like to the striken deere,
Seekes he Dictamum for his wounde within our forrest here.

Dig.
He wendes to greete the Queene of loue, that in these woods doth wonne,
With mirthles layes to make complaint to Venus of her sonne.

The.
A Colin thou art all deceiued, shee dallyes with the boy,
And winckes at all his wanton prankes, and thinkes thy loue a toy.

Hob.
Then leaue him to his luckles loue, let him abide his fate,
The sore is ranckled all to farre, our comforte coms to late.

Dig.
Though Thestilis the Scorpion be that breakes his sweete assault,
Yet will Rhamnusia vengeance take, on her disdainefull fault.

The.
Lo yonder comes the louely Nymphe, that in these Ida vales,
Playes with Amintas lustie boie, and coyes him in the dales.

Hob.
Thenot, me thinks her cheere is chāged, her mirthfull lookes are layd,
She frolicks not: pray god the lad haue not be guide the mayde.

SCENA. III.

Oenone entreth with a wreath of popular on her heade. Manent Pastores.
Oen.
Beguilde, disdayned, and out of loue: liue longe thou Poplar-tree,
And let thy letters growe in length, to witnes this with mee.
A Venus, but for reuerence, vnto thy sacred name,
To steale a sylly maydens loue, I might account it blame.
And if the tales be true I heare, and blushe for to receite,
Thou dost me wrong to leaue the playnes, and dally out of sight.
False Paris, this was not thy vow, when thou and I were one,
To raung & chaung old loue for new: but now those dayes be gone.
But I will finde the goddesse out, that shee thy vow may reade,
And fill these woods with my lamentes, for thy vnhappy deede.

Hob.
So faire a face, so foule a thought to harbour in his breast,
Thy hope consum'd, poore Nymphe, thy hap is worse then all the rest.

Oen.
A sheepeherdes, you bin full of wiles, & whet your wits on bookes,
And wrap poore maydes with pypes and songes, and sweete alluring lookes.

Dig.
Mispeake not al, for his amisse, there bin that keepen flocks,
That neuer chose but once, nor yet beguiled loue with mockes.

Oen.
False Paris he is none of those, his trothles doble deede,
Will hurte a many sheepeherds else that might go nigh to speede.

The.
Poore Colin, that is ill for thee, that art as true in trust
To thy sweete smerte, as to his Nymphe Paris hath bin vniust.

Oen.
A well is she hath Colin wonne, that nill no other loue:
And woo is me, my lucke is losse, my paynes no pytie mooue.

Hob.
Farewell faire Nymphe, sith he must heale alone that gaue the wound.
There growes no herbe of such effect vpon dame natures ground.

Exeunt Pastores.
Manet Oenone. Mercu. entr. with Vulcans Cyclops.
Mer.
Here is a Nymphe that sadlie sittes, and shee belike
Can tell some newes, Pyracmon, of the iolly swaine we seeke.
Dare wage my winges the lasse doth loue, she lookes so bleak & thin,
And tis for anger or for griefe: but I will talke beginne.

Oen.
Breake out poore harte, & make complaint the mountaine flocks to moue,
What proude repulse & thanckles scorne thou hast receiued of loue.

Mer.
She singeth, sires, be husht awhile.
Oenone singeth as shee suts.

OENONES
COMPLAINT.

The songe ended, Oenone sitting still. Mercurie speaketh.
Mer.
Good-day fayre mayde, werie belike with following of your game,
I wish thee cunning at thy will, to spare or strike the same.

Oen.
I thanke you sir, my game is quick and rids a length of grounde,
And yet I am deceaued or else a had a deadlie wounde.

Mer.
Your hand perhaps did swarue awarte.

Oeu.
Or else it was my harte.

Mer.
Then sure a plyed his fotemanship.

Oen.
a played a raunging parte.

Mer.
You should haue giuen a deeper woūd.

Oen.
I could not that for pity.

Mer.
You should haue eyd him better thē.

Oen.
blind loue was not so witty.

Mer.
why tell me, sweete, are you in loue.

Oen.
or would I were not so.

Mer.
Yee meane because a does ye wrong.

Oen.
perdie the more my woe.

Mer.
Why meane ye loue, or him ye loued?

Oen.
wel may I meane thē both.

Mer.
Is loue to blame?

Oen.
the queene of loue hath made him false his troth.

Mer.
Meane ye indeede the queene of loue.

Oen.
euē wanton Cupids dame.

Mer.
Why was thy loue so louely then?

Oen.
his beautie hight his shame,
The fairest sheepeherde one our greene.

Mer.
is he a sheepeherd thā.

Oen.
And sometime kept a bleating flock.

Mer.
enough, this is the man.

Mer.
Where woons he thā?

Oen.
about these woods: far from the Poplar tree.

Mer.
What Poplar meane ye?

Oen.
witnes of the vowes betwixt him & me.
And come and wend a little way and you shall see his skill.

Mer.
Sirs tarrie you.

Oen.
nay let them goe.

Mer.
nay not vnles you will.
Stay Nymphe, and harke what I say of him thou blamest so,
And credit me, I haue a sad discourse to tell thee ere I go.
Know then, my pretie mops, that I hight Mercurie,
The messenger of heauen, and hether flie
To cease vpon the man whon thou dost loue,
To summon him before my father Ioue,
To answere matter of great consequence,
And Ioue himselfe will not be longe from hence.

Oen.
Sweete Mercurie, and haue poore Oenons cryes,
For Paris fault, ypeircest th'unpertiall skyes.

Mer.
The same is he, that iolly sheepeherdes swaine.

Oen.
His flocke do grase vpon Auroras plaine,
The colour of his coate is lustie greene,
That would these eyes of mine had neuer seene,
His tycing curled hayre, his front of yvorie,
Then had not I poore I bin vnhappie.

Mer.
No maruell wench, although we cannot finde him,
When all to late the queene of heauen doth minde him.
But if thou wilt haue physicke for thy sore,
Minde him who list, remember thou him no more:
And find some other game, and get thee gon,
For here will lustie suters come anon,
To hoat and lustie for thy dyeing vaine,
Such as were monte to make their sutes in vaine.

Exit Merc. cum Cyclop.
Oen.
I will goe sit and pyne vnder the Poplar tree,
And write my answere to his vow, that euerie eie may see.

Exit.

SCENA V.

Venus, Paris, and a companie of sheepeherdes.
Ven.
Sheepeherdes, I am contente, for this sweete sheepeherdes sake,
A straunge reuenge vpon the maide and her disdaine to take.
Let Colins corps be brought in place, and burned in the plaine,
And let this be the verse. The loue whom Thestilis hath slaine.
And trust me I will chide my sone for parciallitie,
That gaue the swaine so deepe a wound, and let her scape him by.

Pasto.
Alas that euer loue was blinde, to shoote so farre amisse.

Ven.
Cupid my sonne was more to blame, the fault not mine, but his.

Pastores exeunt, Manent. Uen. cum Par.
Par.
O madam, if your selfe would daine the handling of the bowe,
Albeit it be a taske, your selfe more skill, more iustice knowe.

Ven.
Sweete sheepeherde, didst thou euer loue.

Par.
Lady, a little once.

Ven.
And art thou changed.

Par.
faire queene of loue I loued not al attōce.

Ven.
Well wanton, were thou wounded so deepe as some haue ben,
It were a cunning cure to heale and rufull to be seene.

Par.
But tell me, gracious goddesse, for a starte and false offence,
Hath Venus or her sonne the power, at pleasure to dispence.

Ven.
My boy, I will instruct thee in a peece of poetrie,
That happly erst thou hast not heard: in hel there is a tree,
Where once a day doe sleepe the soules of false foresworen louers,
With open hartes, and there aboute in swarmes the number louers
Of poore forsaken ghostes, whose winges from of this tree do beate
Round drops of firie Phlegiton to scorch false hartes with heate.
This payne did Venus and her sonne, entreate the prince of hell,
T'impose to such as faithles were, to such as loued them well.
And therefore this, my louely boy, faire Venus doth aduise thee,
Be true and stedfast in thy loue, beware thou doe disguise thee.
For he that makes but loue a iest, when pleaseth him to starte,
Shall feele those firye vvater drops consume his faithles harte.

Par.
Is Venus and her sonne so full of iustice and seuerytye.

Ven.
Pittie it vveare that loue shoulde not be lincked with indifferencie.
Hovve euer louers can exclaime for harde successe in loue,
Trust me, some more then cōmon cause that painfull hap dothe moue.
And cupids bovve is not alone his triumphe, but his rod,
Nor is he only but a boy: he hight a mighty god.
And they that do him reuerence, haue reason for the same,
His shafts keepe heauē and earth in avve, and shape revvardes for shāe.

Par.
And hathe he reason to mantayne vvhy Colin died for loue.

Ven.
Yea reason good I vvarrant thee, in right it might beehoue.

Par.
Then be the name of loue adored, his bowe is full of mighte,
His vvoundes are all but for desert, his lavves are all but right:
vvell for this once me lyst apply my speeches to thy sense,
And The stilis shall feele the paine for loues supposed offence.

The shepherds bring in Collins Hearde singing.
VVelladay VVelladay: Poore Colin thow arte going to the grounde:
The loue whome Thestis hathe slaine,
Harde harte, faire face fraughte with disdaine:
Disdaine in loue a deadlie wounde.
VVounde her swete loue so deepe againe,
That shee may feele the dyeng paine
Of this vnhappie shepherds swaine,
And dye for loue as Colin died. as Colin died finis Camœnæ.

Ven.
Shepherdes abyde, let Colins corps bee vvittnes of the paine
That Thestilis endures in loue, a plague for her dysdaine.
Beholde the organ of our vvrathe, this rusty churle is hee,
She dotes on his yllfauored face, so muche accurst is shee.

She singeth an old songe called the woing of Colman.
A foule croked Churle enters, & Thestilis a faire losse wooeth him. he crabedly refuzeth her, and goethe out of place. She tarieth behinde.
Par.
A poore vnhappy Thestlis, vnpitied is thy paine.

Ven.
Her fortune not vnlyke to his vvhome cruell thow hast slaine.

Thestilis
singeth, & the Shepherds replie.
The Songe.
The straunge effects of my tormented harte,
VVhome cruell loue hathe wofull prisoner caughte,
VVhome cruel hate hathe into bondage broughte,
VVhome wit no way of safe escape hath taughte,
Enforce me say in wittnes of my smarte,
There is no paine to foule disdaine in hardy sutes of loue.

Shep.
There is no paine &c.

Thest.
Cruell, farewell.

Shep
Cruell, farewell.

Thest.
Moste cruell thow, of all that nature framed.

Shep.
Moste cruell &c.

Thest.
To kill thy loue with thy disdaine.

Shep.
To kill thy loue with thy disdaine.

Thest.
Cruell disdaine soe liue thow named.

Shep.
Cruell disdaine &c.

Thest.
And let me dye of Iphispaine.

Shep.
A life to good for thy disdaine.

Thest.
Sithe this my stars to me allot,
And thow thy loue hast all forgot. Exit Thest.


Shep.
And thou &c.

The shepherds carie out Colin. The grace of this song is in the Shepherds Ecco to her verse.
Ven.
Now shepherds, bury Colins corps, perfume his herce with flowers,
And write what iustice Venus did amid these woods of yours.
How now, how cheeres my Louely boy, after this dump of loue.

Par.
Such dumpes, sweete Lady, as bin these are deadly dumpes to proue.

Ven.
Cease shepherde, these are other nues, after this melancholye.
My minde presumes some tempest toward vpon the speache of Mercurie

SCENA. VI.

Mercurye with Vulcans Cyclops enter. Manentibus Ven. cum Par.
Mer.
Faire lady Venus, let me pardoned bee
That haue of longe bin wellbeloued of thee,
Yfas my office bid my selfe first brings
To my sweete Madame these vnwellcome tydings.

Ven.
What nues, what tydings, gentle Mercurie,
In midest of my delites to troble me.

Mer.
At Iunoes sute, Pallas assisting her,
Sythe bothe did ioyne in sute to Iupiter,
Action is entred in the court of heauen,
And me, the swyftest of the Planets seauen,
With warant they haue thence despatcht away,
To apprehende and finde the man, they say,
That gaue from them that selfesame ball of golde,
Which I presume I do in place beeholde,
Which man, vnles my markes bee taken wyde,
Is hee that sytts so neere thy gracious syde.
This beinge so, it rests he go from hence,
Before the gods to answere his offence.

Ven.
What tale is this, dothe Iuno and her mate
Pursue this shepherde with such deadly hate.
As what was then our generall agrement,
To stande vnto they nil be nowe content.
Let Iuno iet, and Pallas play her parte,
What heere I haue, I woonne it by deserte:
And heauen and earthe shall bothe confounded bee,
Ere wronge in this be donne to him or me.

Mer.
This litle fruite, yf Mercury can spell,
Will sende I feare a world of soules to hell.

Ven.
What meane these Ciclops, Mercurie, is vulcan waxt so fine,
To sende his Chimnysweepers forth, to fetter any freinde of mine.
Abashe not shepherd at the thinge, my selfe thy baile wilbe,
He shalbe present at the courte of Ioue I warrant thee.

Mer.
Venus, gyue me your pledge. Venus my Cestone, or my fan, or bothe.

Mer.
taketh her fa.
Nay this shall serue: your worde to mee as sure as is your othe,
At Dianas bowre and Lady, yf my witt or pollycie
May profit him for Venus sake, let him make bolde with Mercury.

Ven.
Sweete Paris, whereon doest thow muse?

(Exit
Par.
The angrye heauens for this fatall iar,
Name me the instrument of dire and deadly war.

Explicit. Actus Tertius. Exeunt Venus & Paris.