University of Virginia Library

Enter the riuer Peneus the father of Daphne, Daphne, Amphrisus and Apidanus two Riuers that were Suiters unto her; two Nymphs Attendants on Daphne.
Peneus.
Why lovely Daphne, will you lose your Youth,
And let your best houres passe you? Well you know,
Beautie's a Floure, which not being cropt in time,
Soone withers on the stalke, and then (alas)
Will neither serve for vse nor ornament.
You owe me sweet grand-children, pretty babes,
Even for your birth you do: it is a debt
That I would see discharg'd: I to my parents
Paid it in thee; it is a Bond stands firme,
'till canceld in thy sweet posteritie.
See, I have brought thee Suitors, choise ones too,
Two noble Rivers, both residing neere,
Amphrisus, and still-flowing Appidane,
Yong, and of means, both active and of strength
To wrestle against barrennesse, and give
The hugge the foile. Being dead, I live in thee:
Live thou too in thine issue; so successively
Our Line and memory shall never perish,
But last as long as Time.

Amph.
Your father (Daphne)
Counsels with iudgement, and this argument
I could by many reasons amplifie.
As, That without succession (one age past)
Mankinde should cease to be. O what a punishment
Deserve they from the gods, that would destroy
So glorious a creation, and to leave
So wonderfull a fabricke as the world is,
To no admirers?

Appid.
Save the Plants and Beasts;
And what can they distinguish?

Pen.
Therefore, Daughter
Make vse of time: a season being past,
Can never be recall'd, no, not a moneth.
A moneth? no day, no houre, no minute can:
Therefore make use of opportunitie
Which throwes it selfe vpon thee: but being streightned,
Will after prove a stranger; the least instant
By long repentance cannot be redeem'd.

Daphne.
To you I bow in duty, as to a father;
And these affront in noble courtesie,
Not wronging him, to shew my breeding base,
Scoffing your profer'd love with womanish scorne.
His counsels, your persuasions, I commend,
Knowing both fitting, were they seasonable.
That Maids should love men I am not ignorant,
Or that the breeding world should still encrease;
That Progenie should reach from age to age,
And that the gods make't a necessitie,
To have all their miraculous works admir'd:
All this I know; but

Amph.
I'le proceed: But what
Can you produce against this?

Daph.
Heare me out:
But when I in my best considerat thoughts
Ponder my youth, and what it is to loue;
That vowes are tyes not easie to be loos'd,
And that the smallest finger can pluck on
What not the hand and arme can well put off:
That Mariage is a Maze, which enter'd in,
The line is snatcht thence which should guide us out.
Ere hazard then that vnknowne labyrinth,
Much blame me not to pause.

Pen.
What needst thou feare?
Fond timerous Girle, did not thy mother this
Long time before thee?

Appid.
Nay, hereafter too
May not your daughter do so?

Daph.
I'le resolve you
That, when I have a daughter of my yeares,
And tutor'd by her mother.

Amph.
Excellent Nymph,
These are evasions meere vnnecessarie;
We know you to be ripe, and our selves grown,
Betwixt us is equalitie in state,
And paritie in yeares: nor is our course
Irregular or indirect, we come
Admitted by your father, as a way
Plain, and not interdicted: nor is our suit
So far with cradle it may childish seem;
Nor so old, to appeare decrepit: we are two
Rivals, yet friends; so you chuse one of either,
Even he that is despis'd rests satisfied,
Nor is our love divided.

Daph.
I commend you:
There is of you lesse danger, and least feare
That you should die of love; when both of you
Come with like premeditation to disgest
A rigorous answer.

Appid.
Pray what should we do?
Our service we have offer'd equally:
The world is wide, and if we speed not here,
We must provide us elsewhere.

Daph.
Worthy friends.
To be most plain, to me most pleasing is:
Then take as plain an answer; I confesse me
(Weake as I am) vnworthy of your love.
And yet not so low pris'd, but have bin courted
Both by as great and good. Nor can you blame me,
If I in adding to your worths, shall spare
From mine, in the least kinde to derogate.
To you then, as my equals, I entreat;
Or if you shall deny me, Daphne then
Proclaimes it as her will. I must retyre me
For some few moneths, in them to meditate
What mariage is, and truly study man,
(A booke in which I yet have truanted.)
Now, if I in my more maturitie,
And after some cessation of your suits,
Can ground this Maxime, Man is worthy us,
And we of him; wee'l breviat your long motions
Within a few short termes.

Amph.
You speake but reason:
And so long wee'l attend you.

Appid.
Most fit, that such as bargain for their lives,
Should reade us o're and o're, before they set
Their hands to that Indenture. We are pleas'd.

Daph.
And I that you are so. Nor can my father
At this be discontented.

Inach.
Not I, Childe;
I would not hurry on my ioyes too fast,
Having such hope of them. And yet, sweet Daphne,
The more thou hasts their harvest, the ripe crop
Shall be to them more welcome. For this time
'Tis best to leave her to her privacie:
More leisure that she hath to meditate,
Lesse time you have in which to be resolv'd,
'Twill shorten expectation.

Amph.
May these houres
That adde vnto your yeares, still as you grow,
Increase toward us your love.

Appid.
Friend you pray well,
And in that hope I take a loving leave,
By kissing your faire hand.

Exit.
Daph.
You understand a curtesie as well,
Once being done, as she that knowes to do't.
Farewell. Where be my maids?

1 Nymph.
My Lady, at hand.

Daph.
Doth either of you know what this love is,
That men so much affect it?

2 Nymph.

Trust me, not I: I never lookt so far into man;
and most sure I am, man never yet entred so farre into
me, that I should know how to define it. But can you
tell the reason why this little god is still portraid like a
childe?

Daph.
I think, because that dotage which he breeds
Only belongs to children.

1 Nymph.
But why naked?

Daph.
Either t' affright the Modest; or to such
As vow to him, to expresse their impudence.

2 Nymph.
But why with bow and arrowes?

Daph.
That denotes
Inconstancie, because the shafts of love
Are ever shot at random.

1 Nymph.
Wherefore hoodwinkt?

Daph.
Howe're his shafts are aim'd, it shewes his kinde,
Because they strike the eies of Reason blinde.

2 Nymp.

Then am I with Love quite out of love, because
at these yeres I should be loath to have one to lead me.

Daph.
Yet do I love the beauty of the spring,
To listen to the birds, with various layes
To welcome in his comming. I affect
The pride and warmth of Summer, to behold
Aboundant Autumne poure his harvest forth
In plenteous sheafes; to see the presses bleed
A flowing vintage. But I most admire
The glory of the Sun who comforts these:
For without him, what were the earth? what heaven?
If all were darknesse, who should then discerne
The lustre of the one or of the other,
The fresh fertilitie proudly adorn'd
With choise and change of all discolour'd floures?
More than a cas'd up Iewell, what were Beauty,
Without the Sun to give a brightnesse to't?
What's ornament, without the Sun to iudge it?
What to be faire or foule, without the Sun,
To censure and distinguish which is best?
The Sun's the deity which I adore.
Here then upon this verdure cast your selves,
And rest a while; not long 'tis e're he will
In all his glory mount the Eastern hill.

They lay themselues downe, then enter Venus and Cupid.
Venus.
Here on the top of the mount Ericine
Ambush thy selfe, (a place sacred to me)
Where thou mayst boldly front the god of Light,
Who hath by this already chac'd hence night.
I'le leave thee now: strike, but strike home, my son,
I'le in these shades absent me whil'st 'tis done.

Cupid.
He mocks my bow, but Phœbus soon shall finde
Cupid hath power to strike the Sun-god blinde.

Enter Apollo with his glittering beames.
Apollo.
The stars are frighted from the firmament,
And at the sight of our illustrious beams
Darknesse vnto the blacke Cymmerians fled.
Now to our daily progresse through the Signes.
But stay, what's he that with our honors, arm'd,
(The Bow and quiver, proper sole to us)
Braves us upon high Erix Promontorie?
I know him now, 'tis Paphian Venus son,
To whom some fooles have vow'd a deity.
I'le know the reason why the bastard brat
Dares thus assume my trophies. 'Morrow Cupid.

Cupid.
As much to Phœbus.

Phœb.
Weake brat resolue me,
By whose inticement thou hast bin so bold
To take to thee the emblems of my power?
Is't not sufficient, thou with brain-sicke toyes
Canst fill the heads of mad men and of fooles,
Who'ascribe to thee a god-head, meerly usurpt?
But thou must weare my due Impresa insculpt,
And ('bout thy shoulders) those known ornaments,
Apollinis insignia?

(Apollo's Ensignes)

Cupid.
And why thine?

Apoll.
Because I am styl'd the god of Archerie;
And where I aime I hit, my prey or enemy,
Kill neere or far. The monstrous serpent Python
(Whose bulke being slaine, an hundred acres spred)
Had from this bow his wounds, and I my honors:
And shall a childe boast eminence with me?

Cup.
Phœbus, thy bow hath monsters strooke to ground,
But myne hath power the gods themselves to wound,
Of which thou art not least. Mother he's sped,
He shoots.
I have pierc'd him home with my shafts golden head.

Ven.
Thou art myne own sweet boy, thy darts ne're fail;
And now Apollo languish and looke pale,
More wan than did thy sister Moon once prove,
When for Endymion she was sicke of love,
Whil'st I laugh and reioyce. Now make all sure,
And strike faire Daphne whil'st she sleepes secure,
But with contempt and hate.

Cup.
My arrow flies,
And as it hits, sicke of disdain she lies.
Now mother let's away.

Ven.
Phœbus, I divine,
Thou'lt say his shafts can wound as deep as thine.

Exit.
Apoll.
What alteration's this I feele? a heate
Beyond myne owne fire, kindled at myne eye.

Daphne starts up.
Daph.
All sleep is still in darknesse, yet our soules
See when our eies are shut. My brest's in uprore;
And yet a dream tels me, the morning gray
Sayes the Sun's up, I shame to looke on day.

Apoll.
What Beautie's this on earth, transpiercing more,
Than can the beams from my celestial Orbe?

Daph.
The Sun is up; Awake: What, shame you not
That he should finde you sleeping?

Apol.
Sweet Nymph stay.

Daph.
The shades best please me, I in them will play;
The Sun's too hot and sultry.

Apol.
I am hee
That measures out the yeare; and shun you me?
Fair'st of thy sex, behold the Suns bright eye,
That all things sees, by whom you all things spy.
Will you in everlasting darknesse dwell?
Light is heavens emblem, and becomes it well:
Where I appeare, I comfort and make glad;
Be comforted in me, why are you sad?
Would you in blindnesse live? these raies of myne
Give that reflect by which your Beauties shine,
For what are artificial lights? when I
Appeare in fulnesse they soon faint and die.
They only put on counterfeits: my rayes
False colours finde, and give the true the praise.
If yours be such, then prove them by my light,
The world will censure they are pure and right.

Daph.
His piercing beams I never shall endure,
They sicke me of a fatall Calenture.

Apol.
What are you better to be lovely born,
If not beheld? What's state, if not observ'd?
Or wherefore before Cottages do we
Prefer the stately Palace, and the sumptuous roofe?
What vertue were in jewels without me?
Else should they be with pibbles equall pris'd.
Wherefore did Nature make you with bright eies,
Which profit not in night without my beams?
Why should the Rose be red? the Lilly white?
The Violet purple? and the Holly greene?
All rhese my creatures. But when I decline,
And night usurps upon the Vniverse,
Their tincture's not discern'd: but white and red
Which in your peerlesse cheeks exceed all floures,
What lustre beare they? When my beams are gone,
The faire and foule in darknesse seem all one.

Daph.
That darknesse doth best please me: let's away,
My beauty will be sun burnt if I stay,
Hee'l blast me like an Ethiope.

Exit running.
Apol.
Dost thou fly me?
Love bids me follow, and I must pursue:
No vault, no cave or cavern so obscure,
Through which I will not pierce, to finde thee out.
Th' Antipodes for ever want my rayes:
To gaze on her, I'le this Meridian keepe,
And till attain the saint that I adore,
Here ever shine, where night shall be no more.

Exit.
Enter Venus and Cupid.
Venus.
Laugh Cupid, laugh, for I am halfe reveng'd,
And shall e're long be fully, when this Blab
Shall in his course, or too much lag or speed
Post somtimes, and again run retrograde.
Where by his too long presence th' earth is scortcht,
Or by his absence th'other world shall freeze:
And all that lies beneath the Moon complaine:
And that the gods at mans request shall call
Disorder into question. What can then
Both heaven and earth conclude when this is done,
But this thou didst to avenge me of the Sun.

Cup.
Will not Mars thanke me for't?

Uen.
And kisse thee too.
O still by his example punish those
That shal our sweet adulterate sports disclose.

Exeunt.
Enter Daphne flying, and Apollo pursuing her.
Apollo.
Why flies my Daphne, knowing 'tis in vaine:
Love makes me swifter than thy feare can thee.

Daph.
O me, I am so tortur'd with the Sun,
I hate my very shadow.

Apol.
I pursue not
As Eagles, Doves do; or the Lions, Harts;
Or Wolves, the Lambe. Love is my cause of hast:
Run not so fast, lest thou shouldst trip perhaps,
And do thy selfe some dammage: the ground's rough,
Shouldst thou but slide, and I the Author on't,
How much would it offend me? To preuent which,
Stay but thy hast, and I will slack my speed.

Daph.
I am almost breathlesse.

Apoll.
See, I am no Satyre,
Shepheard, or such as live by grazing herds,
Delphos is myne, Pharos, and Tenedos:
Thou know'st not who thou fly'st, I am Apollo,
The only god that speakes by Oracle:
Iove is my father, and the Muses nine
Are all my daughters: I am Patron held
Of Numbers, Raptures, and sweet Poesie.
My shafts are ever certain where they aime,
(Yet one more certain, which hath pierc't me deep)
Physicke is myne, I first devis'd that Art,
And could it help me, I were then assur'd:
But Love is by no Simples to be cur'd.

Daph.
O now I am quite spent; help, goddesse Iuno,
(Queene of chaste marriage) bright Diana, help
One of thy true vow'd Virgins: change my shape,
That I this hot adulterous Sun may scape.
Sudden Musicke, and she is turned into a Lawrel tree.
Thanks, ô ye Powers divine: the Spheres assent
To my chaste prayer: your heavenly dooms are iust.
Here grow I fixt against all powers of lust.

Apoll.
Strange prodigie! Lesse hope is in her stay,
Than in her speed: her bodie's round incompast
With a rough rinde, in which her warm heart beats.
Her haire is all grown vpward into boughes,
Here milke white fingers and her armes advanc'd
To great and lesser branches: her faire feet
But late so swift, fast rooted in the earth:
And I, whom Love late blinded, now may see
My Daphne turn'd into a Laurel tree.
Her life still struggles in the churlish barke,
And from her lips I feele her breath still flow.
One blessed kisse at parting, but in vain,
The very tree shrinks from me in disdain.
And yet in lasting memory of thee
And of my love, thou shalt be ever myne:
In all ovatious triumphs and rich shewes
The Laurel shall ingirt the Conquerors browes.
All eminence shall thinke it grac'd in thee.
Poets, the Muses darlings, shall from thee
Receive their honor, and the best esteem'd
Be crowned Laureat, and no excellence
But have it's noble estimate from hence.
Emperors shall prise thy leaves above pure gold:
For thou shalt ever wait on victorie;
And as my youthfull and still unshorne haires
(Vnchanging) of this golden hew are seen,
So shall thy boughes and branches still be greene,
And arme against Ioves lightning. And all these
Shall be for our sake by the gods approv'd,
In memory that Daphne we once lov'd.

Exit.
Enter Aurora attended by the Houres.
1 Houre.
How comes it, faire Aurora, we the Houres
Are thus disturb'd?

2 Houre.
One halts, whilest th' other runs;
Somtimes made longer by a many minutes,
Somtimes not full three quarters?

Aurora.
Am not I
As much distemper'd, being forc'd to rise
So oft before my time? which makes my husband
Old Tython jealous (for he bed-rid lies)
I have light on some new Love.

1 Houre.
All's out of order.

Enter the foure Seasons, Spring, Summer, Autumne, Winter.
Spring.
How comes this strange confusion rise of late?
My spring to grow so forward by the Sun?
Summer complaines that I usurpe on her.

Sum.
As much as I on thee, Autumne on me,
And saith, that in my ripening I include
His harvest, and so rob him of his due.

Aut.
Have I not cause? when thou not only claimst
The honor of my crop: But frozen Winter,
Hee keeps a coile too, swearing, I intrude
Into his bounded limits.

Wint.
This I am sure
I am curtaild of my right; my snow is melted,
And hath not time to cloath the mountain tops:
September is like May, Ianuary as Iune:
And all my bright and pretious Isicles
Melting to nothing: What's the reason trow we?

2 Houre.
'Tis the Suns slacknesse, or his too much speed,
That breeds all this distraction.

1 Houre.
The Sun, say you?
Breake he, or not directly keepe his day,
Seasons and Houres all out of order stray.

Enter Day.
Som.
Behold her whom you speak of, Day, whence come ye?

Day.
I parted now with Night, who had bin here,
But that both must not in one place appeare.

Auror.
And what saith she?

Day.
Like you, railes on the Sun,
And saith he doth her wrong: nor blame her, when
Being full twelve houres, he scarce affords her ten.

Autumne.
Day, you are the Suns mistresse, hath he not
Reveald the cause to you?

Day.
No, his known brightnesse
Hath unto me been only darke in that.
Nor am I of his counsell.

Winter.
Fine world grown,
When every drunken Sexton hath the skill
To make his giddy clocke go truer far
Than can the best Sun dyall.

Enter Apollo.
Apollo.
What are you
That murmure thus against our Deitie?
Are you not all our creatures? though we give you
Full sailes on earth, do not we steere the helme?
Disposing you both where and how we please;
And dare you thus rebell?

Omnes.
The god of Light
Is our great Lord and Soveraigne.

Apoll.
This submission
Hath somewhat calm'd us: had you still stood out,
Disorder, we had to Confusion turn'd,
And so you all been ruin'd. But henceforth
Morning shall keep her houre, Houres measure day,
In a true scope the Day proportion Weekes,
Weekes, Moneths; Moneths, seasons; to sum up the yeare.
And wee our course in that, perfecting time:
That nothing in this concordance appeare
Either preposterous or vnseasonable.
For which our grace, where-ever you shall finde
This new sprung Laurel, you Aurora I charge,
With your moist teares bathe her green tender boughes:
From whence I will exhale them with my beams.
Houres, do you wait vpon her gentle growth.
Day comfort her: Ver cheere her with thy spring.
Thou Summer give her warmth: and Autumne, thou
Dare not to spoile her of her plenteous leaves:
Nor Winter thou with thy robustuous gusts,
To blast her lasting verdure. These observ'd,
Still flourish under us. And that this unitie
May last amongst you many fortunate yeres,
End in a Hymne tun'd to the chiming Spheres.