PART II
, _by Thomas Dekker_ 425 THE MALCONTENT, _by John Marston and John Webster_ 456 A WOMAN KILLED WITH KINDNESS, _by Thomas Heywood_ 485 THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE, _by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher_ 509 PHILASTER; OR, LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING, _by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher_ 539 THE MAID’S TRAGEDY, _by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher_ 568 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS, _by John Fletcher_ 598 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE, _by John Fletcher_ 625 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI, _by John Webster_ 656 A TRICK TO CATCH THE OLD ONE, _by Thomas Middleton_ 690 THE CHANGELING, _by Thomas Middleton and William Rowley_ 715 A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS, _by Philip Massinger_ 741 THE BROKEN HEART, _by John Ford_ 770 THE LADY OF PLEASURE, _by James Shirley_ 800 THE CARDINAL, _by James Shirley_ 830
ADDITIONAL NOTES ON THE PLAYS 855 BIBLIOGRAPHIES 861 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES 869 INDEX OF CHARACTERS 875 INDEX OF SONGS 879 INDEX OF AUTHORS 880 INDEX OF PLAYS 880
ENDYMION, THE MAN IN THE MOON
BY JOHN LYLY
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
ENDYMION, in love with Cynthia. EUMENIDES, his friend, in love with Semele. CORSITES, a Captain, in love with Tellus. PANELION, } ZONTES, } Lords of Cynthia’s Court. PYTHAGORAS, the Greek Philosopher. GYPTES, an Egyptian Soothsayer. GERON, an old man, husband to Dipsas. SIR TOPHAS, a Braggart. DARES, Page to Eumenides. SAMIAS, Page to Endymion. EPITON, Page to Sir Tophas.
Master Constable. First Watchman. Second Watchman.
CYNTHIA, the Queen. TELLUS, in love with Endymion. FLOSCULA, her friend. SEMELE, loved by Eumenides. SCINTILLA, } FAVILLA, } Waiting-maids. DIPSAS, an old Enchantress. BAGOA, her servant.
Watchmen; Fairies; Three Ladies and an Old Man in the Dumb Show.]
THE PROLOGUE
Most high and happy Princess, we must tell you a tale of the Man in the Moon, which, if it seem ridiculous for the method, or superfluous for the matter, or for the means incredible, for three faults we can make but one excuse: it is a tale of the Man in the Moon.
It was forbidden in old time to dispute of Chimæra because it was a fiction: we hope in our times none will apply pastimes,[1] because they are fancies; for there liveth none under the sun that knows what to make of the Man in the Moon. We present neither comedy, nor tragedy, nor story, nor anything but that whosoever heareth may say this: Why, here is a tale of the Man in the Moon.
ACT I
SCENE I.[2]
[_Enter_] ENDYMION _and_ EUMENIDES.
_Endymion._ I find, Eumenides, in all things both variety to content, and satiety to glut, saving only in my affections, which are so staid, and withal so stately, that I can neither satisfy my heart with love, nor mine eyes with wonder. (5) My thoughts, Eumenides, are stitched to the stars, which being as high as I can see, thou mayest imagine how much higher they are than I can reach.
_Eum._ If you be enamoured of anything (10) above the moon, your thoughts are ridiculous, for that things immortal are not subject to affections; if allured or enchanted with these transitory things under the moon, you show yourself senseless to attribute such lofty 15 titles to such [low][3] trifles.
_End._ My love is placed neither under the moon nor above.
_Eum._ I hope you be not sotted[4] upon the Man in the Moon. 20
_End._ No; but settled either to die or possess the moon herself.
_Eum._ Is Endymion mad, or do I mistake? Do you love the moon, Endymion?
_End._ Eumenides, the moon. 25
_Eum._ There was never any so peevish[5] to imagine the moon either capable of affection or shape of a mistress; for as impossible it is to make love fit to her humour, which no man knoweth, as a coat to her form, which continueth (30) not in one bigness whilst she is measuring. Cease off, Endymion, to feed so much upon fancies. That melancholy blood must be purged which draweth you to a dotage no less miserable than monstrous. 35
_End._ My thoughts have no veins, and yet unless they be let blood, I shall perish.
_Eum._ But they have vanities, which being reformed, you may be restored.
_End._ O, fair Cynthia, why do others term (40) thee unconstant whom I have ever found unmovable? Injurious time, corrupt manners, unkind men, who, finding a constancy not to be matched in my sweet mistress, have christened her with the name of wavering, waxing, and 45 waning! Is she inconstant that keepeth a settled course; which, since her first creation, altereth not one minute in her moving? There is nothing thought more admirable or commendable in the sea than the ebbing and flowing; (50) and shall the moon, from whom the sea taketh this virtue, be accounted fickle for increasing and decreasing? Flowers in their buds are nothing worth till they be blown, nor are blossoms accounted till they be ripe fruit; and shall (55) we then say they be changeable for that they grow from seeds to leaves, from leaves to buds, from buds to their perfection? Then, why be not twigs that become trees, children that become men, and mornings that grow to evenings, (60) termed wavering, for that they continue not at one stay? Ay, but Cynthia, being in her fulness, decayeth, as not delighting in her greatest beauty, or withering when she should be most honoured. When malice cannot object (65) anything, folly will, making that a vice which is the greatest virtue. What thing (my mistress excepted), being in the pride of her beauty and latter minute of her age, that waxeth young again? Tell me, Eumenides, what is he that (70) having a mistress of ripe years and infinite virtues, great honours and unspeakable beauty, but would wish that she might grow tender again, getting youth by years, and never-decaying beauty by time; whose fair face neither the (75) summer’s blaze can scorch, nor winter’s blast chap, nor the numbering of years breed altering of colours? Such is my sweet Cynthia, whom time cannot touch because she is divine, nor will offend because she is delicate. O Cynthia, 80 if thou shouldst always continue at thy fulness, both gods and men would conspire to ravish thee. But thou, to abate the pride of our affections, dost detract from thy perfections, thinking it sufficient if once in a month (85) we enjoy a glimpse of thy majesty; and then, to increase our griefs, thou dost decrease thy gleams, coming out of thy royal robes, wherewith thou dazzlest our eyes, down into thy swathe clouts,[6] beguiling our eyes; and then— 90
_Eum._ Stay there, Endymion; thou that committest idolatry, wilt straight blaspheme, if thou be suffered. Sleep would do thee more good than speech: the moon heareth thee not, or if she do, regardeth thee not. 95
_End._ Vain Eumenides, whose thoughts never grow higher than the crown of thy head! Why troublest thou me, having neither head to conceive the cause of my love or a heart to receive the impressions? Follow thou thine own fortunes, (100) which creep on the earth, and suffer me to fly to mine, whose fall, though it be desperate, yet shall it come by daring. Farewell. [_Exit._]
_Eum._ Without doubt Endymion is bewitched; otherwise in a man of such rare virtues there (105) could not harbour a mind of such extreme madness. I will follow him, lest in this fancy of the moon he deprive himself of the sight of the sun. _Exit._
SCENE II.[7]
[_Enter_] TELLUS _and_ FLOSCULA.
_Tellus._ Treacherous and most perjured Endymion, is Cynthia the sweetness of thy life and the bitterness of my death? What revenge may be devised so full of shame as my thoughts are replenished with malice? Tell me, Floscula, (5) if falseness in love can possibly be punished with extremity of hate? As long as sword, fire, or poison may be hired, no traitor to my love shall live unrevenged. Were thy oaths without number, thy kisses without measure, thy sighs (10) without end, forged to deceive a poor credulous virgin, whose simplicity had been worth thy favour and better fortune? If the gods sit unequal beholders of injuries, or laughers at lovers’ deceits, then let mischief be as well forgiven (15) in women as perjury winked at in men.
_Flosc._ Madam, if you would compare the state of Cynthia with your own, and the height of Endymion his thoughts with the meanness of your fortune, you would rather yield than (20) contend, being between you and her no comparison; and rather wonder than rage at the greatness of his mind, being affected with a thing more than mortal.
_Tellus._ No comparison, Floscula? And (25) why so? Is not my beauty divine, whose body is decked with fair flowers, and veins are vines, yielding sweet liquor to the dullest spirits; whose ears are corn, to bring strength; and whose hairs are grass, to bring abundance? (30) Doth not frankincense and myrrh breathe out of my nostrils, and all the sacrifice of the gods breed in my bowels? Infinite are my creatures, without which neither thou, nor Endymion, nor any, could love or live. 35
_Flosc._ But know you not, fair lady, that Cynthia governeth all things? Your grapes would be but dry husks, your corn but chaff, and all your virtues vain, were it not Cynthia that preserveth the one in the bud and nourisheth the (40) other in the blade, and by her influence both comforteth all things, and by her authority commandeth all creatures. Suffer, then, Endymion to follow his affections, though to obtain her be impossible, and let him flatter himself in his (45) own imaginations, because they are immortal.
_Tellus._ Loath I am, Endymion, thou shouldest die, because I love thee well; and that thou shouldest live, it grieveth me, because thou lovest Cynthia too well. In these extremities, (50) what shall I do? Floscula, no more words; I am resolved. He shall neither live nor die.
_Flosc._ A strange practice,[8] if it be possible.
_Tellus._ Yes, I will entangle him in such a sweet net that he shall neither find the means (55) to come out, nor desire it. All allurements of pleasure will I cast before his eyes, insomuch that he shall slake that love which he now voweth to Cynthia, and burn in mine, of which he seemeth careless. In this languishing, between (60) my amorous devices and his own loose desires, there shall such dissolute thoughts take root in his head, and over his heart grow so thick a skin, that neither hope of preferment, nor fear of punishment, nor counsel of the wisest, nor (65) company of the worthiest, shall alter his humour, nor make him once to think of his honour.
_Flosc._ A revenge incredible, and, if it may be, unnatural.
_Tellus._ He shall know the malice of a woman (70) to have neither mean nor end; and of a woman deluded in love to have neither rule nor reason. I can do it; I must; I will! All his virtues will I shadow with vices; his person (ah, sweet person!) shall he deck with such rich (75) robes as he shall forget it is his own person; his sharp wit (ah, wit too sharp that hath cut off all my joys!) shall he use in flattering of my face and devising sonnets in my favour. The prime of his youth and pride of his time shall be spent 80 in melancholy passions, careless behaviour, untamed thoughts, and unbridled affections.
_Flosc._ When this is done, what then? Shall it continue till his death, or shall he dote forever in this delight? 85
_Tellus._ Ah, Floscula, thou rendest my heart in sunder in putting me in remembrance of the end.
_Flosc._ Why, if this be not the end, all the rest is to no end. 90
_Tellus._ Yet suffer me to imitate Juno, who would turn Jupiter’s lovers to beasts on the earth, though she knew afterwards they should be stars in heaven.
_Flosc._ Affection that is bred by enchantment (95) is like a flower that is wrought in silk,—in colour and form most like, but nothing at all in substance or savour.
_Tellus._ It shall suffice me if the world talk that I am favoured of Endymion. 100
_Flosc._ Well, use your own will; but you shall find that love gotten with witchcraft is as unpleasant as fish taken with medicines[9] unwholesome.
_Tellus._ Floscula, they that be so poor that (105) they have neither net nor hook will rather poison dough than pine with hunger; and she that is so oppress’d with love that she is neither able with beauty nor wit to obtain her friend, will rather use unlawful means than try intolerable (110) pains. I will do it. _Exit._
_Flosc._ Then about it. Poor Endymion, what traps are laid for thee because thou honourest one that all the world wondereth at! And what plots are cast to make thee unfortunate that (115) studiest of all men to be the faithfulest! _Exit._
SCENE III.[10]
[_Enter_] DARES _and_ SAMIAS.
_Dares._ Now our masters are in love up to the ears, what have we to do but to be in knavery up to the crowns?
_Samias._ Oh, that we had Sir Tophas, that brave squire, in the midst of our mirth,—_et_ (5) _ecce autem_, “Will you see the Devil”,—
_Enter_ SIR TOPHAS [_and_ EPITON].
_Top._ Epi!
_Epi._ Here, sir.
_Top._ I brook not this idle humour of love; it tickleth not my liver, from whence the lovemongers (10) in former ages seemed to infer they should proceed.
_Epi._ Love, sir, may lie in your lungs,—and I think it doth, and that is the cause you blow and are so pursy. 15
_Top._ Tush, boy, I think it but some device of the poet to get money.
_Epi._ A poet? What’s that?
_Top._ Dust thou not know what a poet is?
_Epi._ No. 20
_Top._ Why, fool, a poet is as much as one should say—a poet. [_Noticing_ DARES _and_ SAMIAS.] But soft, yonder be two wrens; shall I shoot at them?
_Epi._ They are two lads. 25
_Top._ Larks or wrens, I will kill them.
_Epi._ Larks! Are you blind? They are two little boys.
_Top._ Birds or boys, they are both but a pittance for my breakfast; therefore have at (30) them, for their brains must as it were embroider my bolts.[11]
_Sam._ Stay your courage, valiant knight, for your wisdom is so weary that it stayeth itself.
_Dar._ Why, Sir Tophas, have you forgotten (35) your old friends?
_Top._ Friends? _Nego argumentum_.
_Sam._ And why not friends?
_Top._ Because _amicitia_ (as in old annals we find) is _inter pares_. Now, my pretty companions (40) you shall see how unequal you be to me; but I will not cut you quite off, you shall be my half-friends for reaching to my middle; so far as from the ground to the waist I will be your friend. 45
_Dar._ Learnedly. But what shall become of the rest of your body, from the waist to the crown?
_Top._ My children, _quod supra vos nihil ad vos_; you must think the rest immortal, because (50) you cannot reach it.
_Epi._ Nay, I tell ye my master is more than a man.
_Dar._ And thou less than a mouse.
_Top._ But what be you two? 55
_Sam._ I am Samias, page to [Eumenides].
_Dar._ And I Dares, page to [Endymion].
_Top._ Of what occupation are your masters?
_Dar._ Occupation, you clown! Why, they are honourable and warriors. 60
_Top._ Then are they my prentices.
_Dar._ Thine! And why so?
_Top._ I was the first that ever devised war, and therefore by Mars himself given me for my arms a whole armory; and thus I go, as you (65) see, clothed with artillery. It is not silks, milksops, nor tissues, nor the fine wool of Seres,[12] but iron, steel, swords, flame, shot, terror, clamour, blood, and ruin, that rocks asleep my thoughts, which never had any other cradle (70) but cruelty. Let me see, do you not bleed?
_Dar._ Why so?
_Top._ Commonly my words wound.
_Sam._ What then do your blows?
_Top._ Not only [wound],[13] but also confound. 75
_Sam._ How darest thou come so near thy master, Epi? Sir Tophas, spare us.
_Top._ You shall live:—you, Samias, because you are little; you, Dares, because you are no bigger; and both of you, because you are but (80) two; for commonly I kill by the dozen, and have for every particular adversary a peculiar weapon.
_Sam._ May we know the use, for our better skill in war?
_Top._ You shall. Here is a bird-bolt for the (85) ugly beast the blackbird.
_Dar._ A cruel sight.
_Top._ Here is the musket for the untamed or, as the vulgar sort term it, the wild mallard.[14]
_Sam._ O desperate attempt! 90
_Epi._ Nay, my master will match them.
_Dar._ Ay, if he catch them.
_Top._ Here is a spear and shield, and both necessary, the one to conquer, the other to subdue or overcome the terrible trout, which although (95) he be under the water, yet tying a string to the top of my spear and an engine of iron to the end of my line, I overthrow him, and then herein I put him.
_Sam._ O wonderful war! [_Aside._] Dares, (100) didst thou ever hear such a dolt?
_Dar._ [_Aside._] All the better; we shall have good sport hereafter, if we can get leisure.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] Leisure! I will rather lose my master’s service than his company! Look (105) how he struts. [_To_ Sir TOPHAS.] But what is this? Call you it your sword?
_Top._ No, it is my simitar; which I, by construction often studying to be compendious, call my smiter. 110
_Dar._ What, are you also learned, sir?
_Top._ Learned? I am all Mars and Ars.
_Sam._ Nay, you are all mass and ass.
_Top._ Mock you me? You shall both suffer, yet with such weapons as you shall make choice (115) of the weapon wherewith you shall perish. Am I all a mass or lump; is there no proportion in me? Am I all ass; is there no wit in me? Epi, prepare them to the slaughter.
_Sam._ I pray, sir, hear us speak! We call (120) you mass, which your learning doth well understand is all man, for _mas_, _maris_ is a man. Then _as_ (as you know) is a weight, and we for your virtues account you a weight.
_Top._ The Latin hath saved your lives, the (125) which a world of silver could not have ransom’d. I understand you, and pardon you.
_Dar._ Well, Sir Tophas, we bid you farewell, and at our next meeting we will be ready to do you service. 130
_Top._ Samias, I thank you: Dares, I thank you: but especially I thank you both.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] Wisely. Come, next time we ’ll have some pretty gentlewomen with us to walk, for without doubt with them he will (135) be very dainty.
_Dar._ Come, let us see what our masters do; it is high time. _Exeunt_ [SAMIAS _and_ DARES.]
_Top._ Now will I march into the field, where, if I cannot encounter with my foul (140) enemies, I will withdraw myself to the river, and there fortify for fish, for there resteth no minute free from fight. _Exeunt_ [Sir TOPHAS _and_ EPITON.] 145
SCENE IV.[15]
[_Enter at one side_] FLOSCULA _and_ TELLUS, [_at the other_] DIPSAS.
_Tellus._ Behold, Floscula, we have met with the woman by chance that we sought for by travel. I will break my mind to her without ceremony or circumstance, lest we lose that time in advice that should be spent in (5) execution.
_Flosc._ Use your discretion; I will in this case neither give counsel nor consent, for there cannot be a thing more monstrous than to force affection by sorcery, neither do I imagine (10) anything more impossible.
_Tellus._ Tush, Floscula, in obtaining of love, what impossibilities will I not try? And for the winning of Endymion, what impieties will I not practise? Dipsas, whom as many honour for (15) age as wonder at for cunning, listen in few words to my tale, and answer in one word to the purpose, for that neither my burning desire can afford long speech, nor the short time I have to stay many delays. Is it possible by herbs, (20) stones, spells, incantation, enchantment, exorcisms, fire, metals, planets, or any practice,[16] to plant affection where it is not, and to supplant it where it is?
_Dipsas._ Fair lady, you may imagine that (25) these hoary hairs are not void of experience, nor the great name that goeth of my cunning to be without cause. I can darken the sun by my skill and remove the moon out of her course; I can restore youth to the aged and make 30 hills without bottoms; there is nothing that I cannot do but that only which you would have me do: and therein I differ from the gods, that I am not able to rule hearts; for were it in my power to place affection by appointment, I (35) would make such evil appetites, such inordinate lusts, such corsed desires, as all the world should be filled both with superstitious heats and extreme love.
_Tellus._ Unhappy Tellus, whose desires are (40) so desperate that they are neither to be conceived of any creature, nor to be cured by any art!
_Dipsas._ This I can: breed slackness in love, though never root it out. What is he whom (45) you love, and what she that he honoureth?
_Tellus._ Endymion, sweet Endymion is he that hath my heart; and Cynthia, too, too fair Cynthia, the miracle of nature, of time, of fortune, is the lady that he delights in, and (50) dotes on every day, and dies for ten thousand times a day.
_Dipsas._ Would you have his love either by absence or sickness aslaked?[17] Would you that Cynthia should mistrust him, or be jealous (55) of him without colour?
_Tellus._ It is the only thing I crave, that, seeing my love to Endymion, unspotted, cannot be accepted, his truth to Cynthia, though it be unspeakable, may be suspected. 60
_Dipsas._ I will undertake it, and overtake[18] him, that all his love shall be doubted of, and therefore become desperate: but this will wear out with time that treadeth all things down but truth. 65
_Tellus._ Let us go.
_Dipsas._ I follow. _Exeunt._
ACT II
SCENE I.[19]
[_Enter_] ENDYMION.
_Endymion._ O fair Cynthia! O unfortunate Endymion! Why was not thy birth as high as thy thoughts, or her beauty less than heavenly; or why are not thine honours as rare as her beauty, or thy fortunes as great as thy deserts? (5) Sweet Cynthia, how wouldst thou be pleased, how possessed? Will labours, patient of all extremities, obtain thy love? There is no mountain so steep that I will not climb, no monster so cruel that I will not tame, no action (10) so desperate that I will not attempt. Desirest thou the passions of love, the sad and melancholy moods of perplexed minds, the not-to-be-expressed torments of racked thoughts? Behold my sad tears, my deep sighs, my hollow (15) eyes, my broken sleeps, my heavy countenance. Wouldst thou have me vow’d only to thy beauty and consume every minute of time in thy service? Remember my solitary life almost these seven years. Whom have I entertained (20) but mine own thoughts and thy virtues? What company have I used but contemplation? Whom have I wond’red at but thee? Nay, whom have I not contemned for thee? Have I not crept to those on whom I might have trodden, (25) only because thou didst shine upon them? Have not injuries been sweet to me, if thou vouchsafest I should bear them? Have I not spent my golden years in hopes, waxing old with wishing, yet wishing nothing but thy love? (30) With Tellus, fair Tellus, have I dissembled, using her but as a cloak for mine affections, that others, seeing my mangled and disordered mind, might think it were for one that loveth me, not for Cynthia, whose perfection alloweth (35) no companion nor comparison. In the midst of these distemp’red thoughts of mine thou art not only jealous of my truth, but careless, suspicious, and secure; which strange humour maketh my mind as desperate as thy conceits are 40 doubtful. I am none of those wolves that bark most when thou shinest brightest, but that fish (thy fish,[20] Cynthia, in the flood Araris) which at thy waxing is as white as the driven snow, and at thy waning as black as deepest darkness. (45) I am that Endymion, sweet Cynthia, that have carried my thoughts in equal balance with my actions, being always as free from imagining ill as enterprising; that Endymion whose eyes never esteemed anything fair but thy (50) face, whose tongue termed nothing rare but thy virtues, and whose heart imagined nothing miraculous but thy government; yea, that Endymion, who, divorcing himself from the amiableness of all ladies, the bravery of all courts, (55) the company of all men, hath chosen in a solitary cell to live, only by feeding on thy favour, accounting in the world—but thyself—nothing excellent, nothing immortal: thus mayest thou see every vein, sinew, muscle, and artery of (60) my love, in which there is no flattery, nor deceit, error, nor art. But soft, here cometh Tellus. I must turn my other face to her, like Janus, lest she be as suspicious as Juno.
_Enter_ TELLUS, [FLOSCULA, _and_ DIPSAS].
_Tellus._ Yonder I espy Endymion. I will (65) seem to suspect nothing, but soothe him, that seeing I cannot obtain the depth of his love, I may learn the height of his dissembling. Floscula and Dipsas, withdraw yourselves out of our sight, yet be within the hearing of our (70) saluting. [FLOSCULA _and_ DIPSAS _withdraw._] How now, Endymion, always solitary? No company but your own thoughts, no friend but melancholy fancies?
_End._ You know, fair Tellus, that the (75) sweet remembrance of your love is the only companion of my life, and thy presence, my paradise; so that I am not alone when nobody is with me, and in heaven itself when thou art with me. 80
_Tellus._ Then you love me, Endymion?
_End._ Or else I live not, Tellus.
_Tellus._ Is it not possible for you, Endymion, to dissemble?
_End._ Not, Tellus, unless I could make me (85) a woman.
_Tellus._ Why, is dissembling joined to their sex inseparable, as heat to fire, heaviness to earth, moisture to water, thinness to air?
_End._ No, but found in their sex as common (90) as spots upon doves, moles upon faces, caterpillars upon sweet apples, cobwebs upon fair windows.
_Tellus._ Do they all dissemble?
_End._ All but one. 95
_Tellus._ Who is that?
_End._ I dare not tell; for if I should say you, then would you imagine my flattery to be extreme; if another, then would you think my love to be but indifferent. 100
_Tellus._ You will be sure I shall take no vantage of your words. But, in sooth, Endymion, without more ceremonies, is it not Cynthia?
_End._ You know, Tellus, that of the gods we are forbidden to dispute, because their deities (105) come not within the compass of our reasons; and of Cynthia we are allowed not to talk but to wonder, because her virtues are not within the reach of our capacities.
_Tellus._ Why, she is but a woman. 110
_End._ No more was Venus.
_Tellus._ She is but a virgin.
_End._ No more was Vesta.
_Tellus._ She shall have an end.
_End._ So shall the world. 115
_Tellus._ Is not her beauty subject to time?
_End._ No more than time is to standing still.
_Tellus._ Wilt thou make her immortal?
_End._ No, but incomparable.
_Tellus._ Take heed, Endymion, lest like (120) the wrestler in Olympia, that striving to lift an impossible weight catch’d an incurable strain, thou, by fixing thy thoughts above thy reach, fall into a disease without all recure. But I see thou art now in love with Cynthia. 125
_End._ No, Tellus, thou knowest that the stately cedar, whose top reacheth unto the clouds, never boweth his head to the shrubs that grow in the valley; nor ivy, that climbeth up by the elm, can ever get hold of the (130) beams of the sun. Cynthia I honour in all humility, whom none ought or dare adventure to love, whose affections are immortal, and virtues infinite. Suffer me, therefore, to gaze on the moon, at whom, were it not for thyself, I would (135) die with wondering. _Exeunt._
SCENE II.[21]
[_Enter_] DARES, SAMIAS, SCINTILLA, _and_ FAVILLA.
_Dar._ Come, Samias, didst thou ever hear such a sighing, the one for Cynthia, the other for Semele, and both for moonshine in the water?
_Sam._ Let them sigh, and let us sing. How (5) say you, gentlewomen, are not our masters too far in love?
_Scint._ Their tongues, haply, are dipp’d to the root in amorous words and sweet discourses, but I think their hearts are scarce tipp’d on (10) the side with constant desires.
_Dar._ How say you, Favilla, is not love a lurcher,[22] that taketh men’s stomachs away that they cannot eat, their spleen that they cannot laugh, their hearts that they cannot fight, (15) their eyes that they cannot sleep, and leaveth nothing but livers to make nothing but lovers!
_Favil._ Away, peevish boy; a rod were better under thy girdle than love in thy mouth! It will be a forward cock that croweth in the 20 shell.
_Dar._ Alas, good old gentlewoman, how it becometh you to be grave!
_Scint._ Favilla, though she be but a spark, yet is she fire. 25
_Favil._ And you, Scintilla, be not much more than a spark, though you would be esteemed a flame.
_Sam._ [_Aside to Dares._] It were good sport to see the fight between two sparks. 30
_Dar._ [_Aside to Samias._] Let them to it, and we will warm us by their words.
_Scint._ You are not angry, Favilla?
_Favil._ That is, Scintilla, as you list to take it. 35
_Sam._ That, that!
_Scint._ This it is to be matched with girls, who coming but yesterday from making of babies,[23] would before to-morrow be accounted matrons.
_Favil._ I cry your matronship mercy. Because (40) your pantables[24] be higher with cork, therefore your feet must needs be higher in the insteps. You will be mine elder because you stand upon a stool and I on the floor.
_Sam._ Good, good! 45
_Dar._ [_To Samias._] Let them alone, and see with what countenance they will become friends.
_Scint._ Nay, you think to be the wiser, because you mean to have the last word. 50
_Sam._ [_To Dares._] Step between them lest they scratch.—In faith, gentlewomen, seeing we came out to be merry, let not your jarring mar our jests; be friends. How say you?
_Scint._ I am not angry, but it spited me to (55) see how short she was.
_Favil._ I meant nothing till she would needs cross me.
_Dar._ Then, so let it rest.
_Scint._ I am agreed. 60
_Favil._ And I. Yet I never took anything so unkindly in my life. [_Weeps._]
_Scint._ ’Tis I have the cause, that never offered the occasion. [_Weeps._]
_Dar._ Excellent, and right like a woman. 65
_Sam._ A strange sight to see water come out of fire.
_Dar._ It is their property to carry in their eyes fire and water, tears and torches, and in their mouths honey and gall. 70
_Enter_ [_at the opposite side_] SIR TOPHAS [_and_ EPITON].
_Scint._ You will be a good one if you live. But what is yonder formal fellow?
_Dar._ Sir Tophas, Sir Tophas, of whom we told you. If you be good wenches, make as though you love him, and wonder at him. 75
_Favil._ We will do our parts.
_Dar._ But first let us stand aside, and let him use his garb,[25] for all consisteth in his gracing. [_The four retire._]
_Top._ Epi!
_Epi._ At hand, sir. 80
_Top._ How likest thou this martial life, where nothing but blood besprinkleth our bosoms? Let me see, be our enemies[26] fat?
_Epi._ Passing fat: and I would not change this life to be a lord; and yourself passeth all (85) comparison, for other captains kill and beat, and there is nothing you kill, but you also eat.
_Top._ I will draw out their guts out of their bellies, and tear the flesh with my teeth, so mortal is my hate, and so eager my 90 unstaunched stomach.
_Epi._ [_Aside._] My master thinks himself the valiantest man in the world if he kill a wren; so warlike a thing he accounteth to take away life, though it be from a lark. 95
_Top._ Epi, I find my thoughts to swell and my spirit to take wings, insomuch that I cannot continue within the compass of so slender combats.
_Favil._ This passeth! } 100 _Scint._ Why, is he not mad? } [_Aside._] _Sam._ No, but a little vainglorious.}
_Top._ Epi!
_Epi._ Sir.
_Top._ I will encounter that black and cruel (105) enemy that beareth rough and untewed[27] locks upon his body, whose sire throweth down the strongest walls, whose legs are as many as both ours, on whose head are placed most horrible horns by nature as a defence from all harms. 110
_Epi._ What mean you, master, to be so desperate?
_Top._ Honour inciteth me, and very hunger compelleth me.
_Epi._ What is that monster? 115
_Top._ The monster _Ovis_. I have said,—let thy wits work.
_Epi._ I cannot imagine it. Yet let me see,—a “black enemy” with “rough locks.” It may be a sheep, and _Ovis_ is a sheep. His sire so (120) strong: a ram is a sheep’s sire, that being also an engine of war. Horns he hath, and four legs,—so hath a sheep. Without doubt, this monster is a black sheep. Is it not a sheep that you mean? 125
_Top._ Thou hast hit it: that monster will I kill and sup with.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] Come let us take him off. [SAMIAS, DARES, FAVILLA, _and_ SCINTILLA _come forward_.] Sir Tophas, all hail! 130
_Top._ Welcome, children; I seldom cast mine eyes so low as to the crowns of your heads, and therefore pardon me that I spake not all this while.
_Dar._ No harm done. Here be fair ladies (135) come to wonder at your person, your valour, your wit, the report whereof hath made them careless of their own honours, to glut their eyes and hearts upon yours.
_Top._ Report cannot but injure me, for that (140) not knowing fully what I am, I fear she hath been a niggard in her praises.
_Scint._ No, gentle knight, report hath been prodigal, for she hath left you no equal, nor herself credit, so much hath she told, yet no (145) more than we now see.
_Dar._ A good wench.
_Favil._ If there remain as much pity toward women as there is in you courage against your enemies, then shall we be happy, who, 150 hearing of your person, came to see it, and seeing it, are now in love with it.
_Top._ Love me, ladies? I easily believe it, but my tough heart receiveth no impression with sweet words. Mars may pierce it, 155 Venus shall not paint on it.
_Favil._ A cruel saying.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] There’s a girl.
_Dar._ Will you cast these ladies away, and all for a little love? Do but speak kindly. 160
_Top._ There cometh no soft syllable within my lips; custom hath made my words bloody and my heart barbarous. That pelting[28] word love, how waterish it is in my mouth; it carrieth no sound. Hate, horror, death, are (165) speeches that nourish my spirits. I like honey, but I care not for the bees; I delight in music, but I love not to play on the bagpipes; I can vouchsafe to hear the voice of women, but to touch their bodies, I disdain it as a (170) thing childish and fit for such men as can digest nothing but milk.
_Scint._ A hard heart! Shall we die for your love and find no remedy?
_Top._ I have already taken a surfeit. 175
_Epi._ Good master, pity them.
_Top._ Pity them, Epi? No, I do not think that this breast shall be pest’red with such a foolish passion. What is that the gentlewoman carrieth in a chain? 180
_Epi._ Why, it is a squirrel.
_Top._ A squirrel? O gods, what things are made for money!
_Dar._ Is not this gentleman over-wise?
_Favil._ I could stay all day with him, if (185) I feared not to be shent.[29]
_Scint._ Is it not possible to meet again?
_Dar._ Yes, at any time.
_Favil._ Then let us hasten home.
_Scint._ Sir Tophas, the god of war deal (190) better with you than you do with the god of love.
_Favil._ Our love we may dissemble, digest we cannot; but I doubt not but time will hamper you and help us. 195
_Top._ I defy time, who hath no interest in my heart. Come, Epi, let me to the battle with that hideous beast. Love is pap, and hath no relish in my taste because it is not terrible.
[_Exeunt_ SIR TOPHAS _and_ EPITON.]
_Dar._ Indeed a black sheep is a perilous (200) beast; but let us in till another time.
_Favil._ I shall long for that time. _Exeunt._
SCENE III.[30]
[_Enter_] ENDYMION.
_End._ No rest, Endymion! Still uncertain how to settle thy steps by day or thy thoughts by night! Thy truth is measured by thy fortune, and thou art judged unfaithful because thou art unhappy. I will see if I can beguile (5) myself with sleep, and if no slumber will take hold in my eyes, yet will I embrace the golden thoughts in my head, and wish to melt by musing; that as ebony, which no fire can scorch, is yet consumed with sweet savours, so my heart, 10 which cannot be bent by the hardness of fortune, may be bruised by amorous desires. On yonder bank never grew anything but lunary,[31] and hereafter I will never have any bed but that bank. O Endymion, Tellus was fair. But (15) what availeth beauty without wisdom? Nay, Endymion, she was wise. But what availeth wisdom without honour? She was honourable, Endymion; belie her not. Ay, but how obscure is honour without fortune. Was she not fortunate (20) whom so many followed? Yes, yes, but base is fortune without majesty: thy majesty, Cynthia, all the world knoweth and wondereth at, but not one in the world that can imitate it or comprehend it. No more, Endymion. Sleep (25) or die. Nay, die, for to sleep, it is impossible;—and yet I know not how it cometh to pass, I feel such a heaviness both in mine eyes and heart that I am suddenly benumbed, yea, in every joint. It may be weariness, for when (30) did I rest? It may be deep melancholy, for when did I not sigh? Cynthia! Ay, so;—I say, Cynthia! _He falls asleep._
[_Enter_ DIPSAS _and_ BAGOA.]
_Dipsas._ Little dost thou know, Endymion, when thou shalt wake, for hadst thou placed (35) thy heart as low in love as thy head lieth now in sleep, thou mightest have commanded Tellus, whom now, instead of a mistress, thou shalt find a tomb. These eyes must I seal up by art, not nature, which are to be opened neither by (40) art nor nature. Thou that layest down with golden locks shalt not awake until they be turned to silver hairs; and that chin on which scarcely appeareth soft down shall be filled with bristles as hard as broom. Thou shalt sleep (45) out thy youth and flowering time, and become dry hay before thou knewest thyself green grass; and ready by age to step into the grave when thou wakest, that was youthful in the court when thou laidest thee down to sleep. (50) The malice of Tellus hath brought this to pass, which if she could not have intreated of me by fair means, she would have commanded by menacing, for from her gather we all our simples to maintain our sorceries. [_To_ BAGOA.] (55) Fan with this hemlock over his face, and sing the enchantment for sleep, whilst I go in and finish those ceremonies that are required in our art. Take heed ye touch not his face, for the fan is so seasoned that whoso it toucheth with (60) a leaf shall presently die, and over whom the wind of it breatheth, he shall sleep forever.
_Bagoa._ Let me alone; I will be careful. [_Exit_ DIPSAS.] What hap hadst thou, Endymion, to come under the hands of Dipsas? O fair Endymion, (65) how it grieveth me that that fair face must be turned to a withered skin and taste the pains of death before it feel the reward of love! I fear Tellus will repent that which the heavens themselves seemed to rue. But I hear Dipsas (70) coming! I dare not repine, lest she make me pine, and rock me into such a deep sleep that I shall not awake to my marriage.
_Re-enter_ DIPSAS.
_Dipsas._ How now, have you finished?
_Bagoa._ Yea. 75
_Dipsas._ Well then, let us in; and see that you do not so much as whisper that I did this, for if you do, I will turn thy hairs to adders and all thy teeth in thy head to tongues. Come away, come away. _Exeunt_ [DIPSAS _and_ BAGOA]. 80
A DUMB SHOW[32] [_representing the dream of Endymion_].
_Music sounds. Three ladies enter: one with a knife and a looking-glass, who, by the procurement of one of the other two, offers to stab Endymion as he sleeps; but the third wrings her hands, lamenteth, offering still to prevent it, but dares (85) not. At last, the first lady looking in the glass, casts down the knife. Exeunt._
_Enters an ancient man with books with three leaves; offers the same twice. Endymion refuseth. He rendeth[33] two, and offers the third, 90 where he stands awhile; and then Endymion offers to take it. Exit [the Old Man]._
ACT III
SCENE I.[34]
[_Enter_] CYNTHIA, TELLUS, [SEMELE, EUMENIDES, CORSITES, PANELION, _and_ ZONTES.]
_Cynthia._ Is the report true, that Endymion is stricken into such a dead sleep that nothing can either wake him or move him?
_Eum._ Too true, madam, and as much to be pitied as wondered at. 5
_Tellus._ As good sleep and do no harm as wake and do no good.
_Cynth._ What maketh you, Tellus, to be so short? The time was Endymion only was.
_Eum._ It is an old saying, madam, that a (10) waking dog doth afar off bark at a sleeping lion.
_Sem._ It were good, Eumenides, that you took a nap with your friend, for your speech beginneth to be heavy. (15)
_Eum._ Contrary to your nature, Semele, which hath been always accounted light.
_Cynth._ What, have we here before my face these unseemly and malapert overthwarts![35] I will tame your tongues and your thoughts, (20) and make your speeches answerable to your duties, and your conceits fit for my dignity, else will I banish you both my person and the world.
_Eum._ Pardon, I humbly ask; but such is my unspotted faith to Endymion that whatsoever (25) seemeth a needle to prick his finger is a dagger to wound my heart.
_Cynth._ If you be so dear to him, how happeneth it you neither go to see him, nor search for remedy for him? 30
_Eum._ I have seen him to my grief, and sought recure with despair, for that I cannot imagine who should restore him that is the wonder to all men. Your Highness, on whose hands the compass of the earth is at command, though (35) not in possession, may show yourself both worthy your sex, your nature, and your favour, if you redeem that honourable Endymion, whose ripe years foretell rare virtues, and whose unmellowed conceits promise ripe counsel. 40
_Cynth._ I have had trial of Endymion, and conceive greater assurance of his age than I could hope of his youth.
_Tellus._ But timely, madam, crooks that tree that will be a cammock,[36] and young it pricks (45) that will be a thorn; and therefore he that began without care to settle his life, it is a sign without amendment he will end it.
_Cynth._ Presumptuous girl, I will make thy tongue an example of unrecoverable displeasure. (50) Corsites, carry her to the castle in the desert, there to remain and weave.
_Cors._ Shall she work stories or poetries?
_Cynth._ It skilleth[37] not which. Go to, in both; for she shall find examples infinite in either (55) what punishment long tongues have. Eumenides, if either the soothsayers in Egypt, or the enchanters in Thessaly, or the philosophers in Greece, or all the sages of the world can find remedy, I will procure it; therefore, dispatch (60) with all speed: you, Eumenides, into Thessaly; you, Zontes, into Greece, because you are acquainted in Athens; you, Panelion, to Egypt; saying that Cynthia sendeth, and if you will, commandeth. (65)
_Eum._ On bowed knee I give thanks, and with wings on my legs, I fly for remedy.
_Zon._ We are ready at your highness’ command, and hope to return to your full content.
_Cynth._ It shall never be said that Cynthia, (70) whose mercy and goodness filleth the heavens with joys and the world with marvels, will suffer either Endymion or any to perish, if he may be protected.
_Eum._ Your Majesty’s words have been always (75) deeds, and your deeds virtues. _Exeunt._
SCENE II.[38]
[_Enter_] CORSITES _and_ TELLUS.
_Cors._ Here is the castle, fair Tellus, in which you must weave, till either time end your days, or Cynthia her displeasure. I am sorry so fair a face should be subject to so hard a fortune, and that the flower of beauty, which is honoured (5) in courts, should here wither in prison.
_Tellus._ Corsites, Cynthia may restrain the liberty of my body, of my thoughts she cannot; and therefore do I esteem myself most free, though I am in greatest bondage. 10
_Cors._ Can you then feed on fancy, and subdue the malice of envy by the sweetness of imagination?
_Tellus._ Corsites, there is no sweeter music to the miserable than despair; and therefore (15) the more bitterness I feel, the more sweetness I find; for so vain were liberty, and so unwelcome the following of higher fortune, that I choose rather to pine in this castle than to be a prince in any other court. 20
_Cors._ A humour contrary to your years and nothing agreeable to your sex; the one commonly allured with delights, the other always with sovereignty.
_Tellus._ I marvel, Corsites, that you being (25) a captain, who should sound nothing but terror and suck nothing but blood, can find in your heart to talk such smooth words, for that it agreeth not with your calling to use words so soft as that of love. 30
_Cors._ Lady, it were unfit of wars to discourse with women, into whose minds nothing can sink but smoothness; besides, you must not think that soldiers be so rough-hewn, or of such knotty mettle, that beauty cannot allure, (35) and you, being beyond perfection, enchant.
_Tellus._ Good Corsites, talk not of love, but let me to my labour. The little beauty I have shall be bestowed on my loom, which I now mean to make my lover. 40
_Cors._ Let us in, and what favor Corsites can show, Tellus shall command.
_Tellus._ The only favour I desire is now and then to walk. _Exeunt._
SCENE III.[39]
[_Enter_] Sir TOPHAS _and_ EPITON.
_Tophas._ Epi!
_Epi._ Here, sir.
_Tophas._ Unrig me. Heigho!
_Epi._ What’s that?
_Tophas._ An interjection, whereof some are (5) of mourning: as _eho, vah_.[40]
_Epi._ I understand you not.
_Tophas._ Thou seest me.
_Epi._ Ay.
_Tophas._ Thou hearest me. 10
_Epi._ Ay.
_Tophas._ Thou feelest me.
_Epi._ Ay.
_Tophas._ And not understand’st me?
_Epi._ No. 15
_Tophas._ Then am I but three-quarters of a noun substantive. But alas, Epi, to tell thee the troth. I am a noun adjective.
_Epi._ Why?
_Tophas._ Because I cannot stand without (20) another.
_Epi._ Who is that?
_Tophas._ Dipsas.
_Epi._ Are you in love?
_Tophas._ No; but love hath, as it were, (25) milk’d my thoughts and drained from my heart the very substance of my accustomed courage; it worketh in my head like new wine, so as I must hoop my sconce with iron, lest my head break, and so I bewray[41] my brains. But, I (30) pray thee, first discover me in all parts, that I may be like a lover, and then will I sigh and die. Take my gun and give me a gown: _Cedant arma togæ_.[42]
_Epi._ Here. 35
_Tophas._ Take my sword and shield and give me beard-brush and scissors: _Bella gerant alii, tu Pari semper ama._[43]
_Epi._ Will you be trimm’d, sir?
_Tophas._ Not yet; for I feel a contention (40) within me whether I shall frame the bodkin beard or the bush. But take my pike and give me pen: _Dicere quæ puduit, scribere jussit amor_.[44]
_Epi._ I will furnish you, sir.
_Tophas._ Now, for my bow and bolts give (45) me ink and paper, for my smiter a pen-knife; for
_Scalpellum, calami, atramentum, charta, libelli, Sint semper studiis arma parata meis._[45]
_Epi._ Sir, will you give over wars and play (50) with that bauble called love?
_Tophas._ Give over wars? No, Epi, _Militat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido_.[46]
_Epi._ Love hate made you very eloquent, but your face is nothing fair. 55
_Tophas. Non formosus erat, sed erat facundus Ulysses._[47]
_Epi._ Nay, I must seek a new master if you can speak nothing but verses.
_Tophas. Quicquid conabar dicere, versus (60) erat._[48] Epi, I feel all Ovid _De Arte Amandi_ lie as heavy at my heart as a load of logs. Oh, what a fine, thin hair hath Dipsas! What a pretty low forehead! What a tall and stately nose! What little hollow eyes! What great 65 and goodly lips! How harmless she is, being toothless,—her fingers fat and short, adorned with long nails like a bittern! In how sweet a proportion her cheeks hang down to her breasts like dugs and her paps to her waist like bags! (70) What a low stature she is, and yet what a great foot she carrieth! How thrifty must she be in whom there is no waist! How virtuous is she like to be, over whom no man can be jealous!
_Epi._ Stay, master, you forget yourself. 75
_Tophas._ O Epi, even as a dish melteth by the fire, so doth my wit increase by love.
_Epi._ Pithily, and to the purpose! But what, begin you to nod?
_Tophas._ Good Epi, let me take a nap; for (80) as some man may better steal a horse than another look over the hedge, so divers shall be sleepy when they would fainest take rest. _He sleeps._
_Epi._ Who ever saw such a woodcock![49] Love Dipsas! Without doubt all the world will (85) account him valiant, that ventureth on her whom none durst undertake. But here cometh two wags.
_Enter_ DARES _and_ SAMIAS.
_Sam._ Thy master hath slept his share.
_Dar._ I think he doth it because he would (90) not pay me my board-wages.
_Sam._ It is a thing most strange: and I think mine will never return, so that we must both seek new masters, for we shall never live by our manners. 95
_Epi._ If you want masters, join with me and serve Sir Tophas; who must needs keep more men, because he is toward marriage.
_Sam._ What, Epi, where’s thy master?
_Epi._ Yonder, sleeping in love. 100
_Dar._ Is it possible?
_Epi._ He hath taken his thoughts a hole lower, and saith, seeing it is the fashion of the world, he will vail[50] bonnet to beauty.
_Sam._ How is he attired? 105
_Epi._ Lovely.
_Dar._ Whom loveth this amorous knight?
_Epi._ Dipsas.
_Sam._ That ugly creature? Why, she is a fool, a scold, fat, without fashion, and quite (110) without favour.
_Epi._ Tush, you be simple; my master hath a good marriage.
_Dar._ Good! As how?
_Epi._ Why, in marrying Dipsas he shall (115) have every day twelve dishes of meat to his dinner, though there be none but Dipsas with him: four of flesh, four of fish, four of fruit.
_Sam._ As how, Epi?
_Epi._ For flesh these: woodcock, goose, (120) bittern, and rail.
_Dar._ Indeed, he shall not miss, if Dipsas be there.
_Epi._ For fish these: crab, carp, lump, and pouting. 125
_Sam._ Excellent, for of my word she is both crabbish, lumpish, and carping.
_Epi._ For fruit these: fritters, medlars, hartichokes, and lady-longings. Thus you see he shall fare like a king, though he be but a (130) beggar.
_Dar._ Well, Epi, dine thou with him, for I had rather fast than see her face. But see, thy master is asleep; let us have a song to wake this amorous knight. 135
_Epi._ Agreed.
_Sam._ Content.
THE FIRST SONG.[51]
_Epi._ Here snores Tophas, That amorous ass, Who loves Dipsas, 140 With face so sweet, Nose and chin meet.
_All three._ { At sight of her each Fury skips { And flings into her lap their whips.
_Dar._ Holla, holla in his ear. 145
_Sam._ The witch, sure, thrust her fingers there.
_Epi._ Cramp him, or wring the fool by th’ nose;
_Dar._ Or clap some burning flax to his toes.
_Sam._ What music’s best to wake him?
_Epi._ Bow-wow, let bandogs shake him! 150
_Dar._ Let adders hiss in ’s ear;
_Sam._ Else earwigs wriggle there.
_Epi._ No, let him batten[52]; when his tongue Once goes, a cat is not worse strung.
_All three._ { But if he ope nor mouth nor eyes, 155 { He may in time sleep himself wise.
_Top._ Sleep is a binding of the senses, love a loosing.
_Epi._ [_Aside._] Let us hear him awhile.
_Top._ There appeared in my sleep a goodly (160) owl, who, sitting upon my shoulder, cried “Twit, twit”; and before mine eyes presented herself the express image of Dipsas. I marvelled what the owl said, till at the last I perceived “Twit, twit,” “To it, to it,” only 165 by contraction admonished by this vision to make account of my sweet Venus.
_Sam._ Sir Tophas, you have overslept yourself.
_Top._ No, youth, I have but slept over (170) my love.
_Dar._ Love? Why, it is impossible that into so noble and unconquered a courage love should creep, having first a head as hard to pierce as steel, then to pass to a heart (175) arm’d with a shirt of mail.
_Epi._ Ay, but my master yawning one day in the sun, Love crept into his mouth before he could close it, and there kept such a tumbling in his body that he was glad to untruss[53] (180) the points of his heart and entertain Love as a stranger.
_Top._ If there remain any pity in you, plead for me to Dipsas.
_Dar._ Plead! Nay, we will press her to it. (185) [_Aside to_ SAMIAS.] Let us go with him to Dipsas, and there shall we have good sport.—But, Sir Tophas, when shall we go? For I find my tongue voluble, and my heart venturous, and all myself like myself. 190
_Sam._ [_Aside to_ DARES.] Come, Dares, let us not lose him until we find our masters, for as long as he liveth, we shall lack neither mirth nor meat.
_Epi._ We will traverse.[54] Will you go, sir? 195
_Top. I præ, sequar._[55] _Exeunt._
SCENE IV.[56]
[_Enter_] EUMENIDES _and_ GERON.
_Eum._ Father, your sad music being tuned on the same key that my hard fortune is, hath so melted my mind that I wish to hang at your mouth’s end till my life end.
_Ger._ These tunes, gentleman, have I been (5) accustomed with these fifty winters, having no other house to shroud myself but the broad heavens; and so familiar with me hath use made misery that I esteem sorrow my chiefest solace, and welcomest is that guest to me (10) that can rehearse the saddest tale or the bloodiest tragedy.
_Eum._ A strange humour. Might I inquire the cause?
_Ger._ You must pardon me if I deny to tell (15) it, for knowing that the revealing of griefs is, as it were, a renewing of sorrow, I have vowed therefore to conceal them, that I might not only feel the depth of everlasting discontentment, but despair of remedy. But whence are you? (20) What fortune hath thrust you to this distress?
_Eum._ I am going to Thessaly, to seek remedy for Endymion, my dearest friend, who hath been cast into a dead sleep almost these twenty years, waxing old and ready for the grave, (25) being almost but newly come forth of the cradle.
_Ger._ You need not for recure travel far, for whoso can clearly see the bottom of this fountain shall have remedy for anything.
_Eum._ That methinketh is impossible. Why, (30) what virtue can there be in water?
_Ger._ Yes, whosoever can shed the tears of a faithful lover shall obtain anything he would. Read these words engraven about the brim.
_Eum._ Have you known this by experience, (35) or is it placed here of purpose to delude men?
_Ger._ I only would have experience of it, and then should there be an end of my misery; and then would I tell the strangest discourse that ever yet was heard. (40)
_Eum._ Ah, Eumenides!
_Ger._ What lack you, gentleman; are you not well?
_Eum._ Yes, father, but a qualm that often cometh over my heart doth now take hold of (45) me. But did never any lovers come hither?
_Ger._ Lusters, but not lovers; for often have I seen them weep, but never could I hear they saw the bottom.
_Eum._ Came there women also? 50
_Ger._ Some.
_Eum._ What did they see?
_Ger._ They all wept, that the fountain overflowed with tears, but so thick became the water with their tears that I could scarce 55 discern the brim, much less behold the bottom.
_Eum._ Be faithful lovers so scant?
_Ger._ It seemeth so, for yet heard I never of any.
_Eum._ Ah, Eumenides, how art thou perplexed! (60) Call to mind the beauty of thy sweet mistress and the depth of thy never-dying affections. How oft hast thou honoured her, not only without spot, but suspicion of falsehood! And how hardly hath she rewarded thee without (65) cause or colour of despite. How secret hast thou been these seven years, that hast not, nor once darest not to name her, for discontenting her. How faithful, that hast offered to die for her, to please her! Unhappy Eumenides! 70
_Ger._ Why, gentleman, did you once love?
_Eum._ Once? Ay, father, and ever shall.
_Ger._ Was she unkind and you faithful?
_Eum._ She of all women the most froward, and I of all creatures the most fond. 75
_Ger._ You doted then, not loved, for affection is grounded on virtue, and virtue is never peevish; or on beauty, and beauty loveth to be praised.
_Eum._ Ay, but if all virtuous ladies should (80) yield to all that be loving, or all amiable gentlewomen entertain all that be amorous, their virtues would be accounted vices, and their beauties deformities; for that love can be but between two, and that not proceeding of him (85) that is most faithful but most fortunate.
_Ger._ I would you were so faithful that your tears might make you fortunate.
_Eum._ Yea, father, if that my tears clear not this fountain, then may you swear it is but a (90) mere mockery.
_Ger._ So saith every one yet that wept.
_Eum._ Ah, I faint, I die! Ah, sweet Semele, let me alone, and dissolve, by weeping, into water. [_He gazes into the fountain._] 95
_Ger._ This affection seemeth strange: if he see nothing, without doubt this dissembling passeth, for nothing shall draw me from the belief.
_Eum._ Father, I plainly see the bottom, (100) and there in white marble engraven these words: _Ask one for all, and but one thing at all_.
_Ger._ O fortunate Eumenides, (for so have I heard thee call thyself,) let me see. I cannot discern any such thing. I think thou dreamest. (105)
_Eum._ Ah, father, thou art not a faithful lover, and therefore canst not behold it.
_Ger._ Then ask, that I may be satisfied by the event, and thyself blessed.
_Eum._ Ask? So I will. And what shall I (110) do but ask, and whom should I ask but Semele, the possessing of whose person is a pleasure that cannot come within the compass of comparison; whose golden locks seem most curious when they seem most careless; whose sweet looks 115 seem most alluring when they are most chaste; and whose words the more virtuous they are, the more amorous they be accounted? I pray thee. Fortune, when I shall first meet with fair Semele, dash my delight with some light disgrace, (120) lest embracing sweetness beyond measure, I take a surfeit without recure. Let her practise her accustomed coyness that I may diet myself upon my desires; otherwise the fulness of my joys will diminish the sweetness, and (125) I shall perish by them before I possess them.
Why do I trifle the time in words? The least minute being spent in the getting of Semele is more worth than the whole world; therefore let me ask. What now, Eumenides! Whither (130) art thou drawn? Hast thou forgotten both friendship and duty, care of Endymion, and the commandment of Cynthia? Shall he die in a leaden sleep because thou sleepest in a golden dream? Ay, let him sleep ever, so I slumber (135) but one minute with Semele. Love knoweth neither friendship nor kindred. Shall I not hazard the loss of a friend for the obtaining of her for whom I would often lose myself? Fond[57] Eumenides, shall the enticing beauty of a (140) most disdainful lady be of more force than the rare fidelity of a tried friend? The love of men to women is a thing common and of course; the friendship of man to man infinite and immortal. Tush! Semele doth possess my love. Ay, (145) but Endymion hath deserved it. I will help Endymion. I found Endymion unspotted in his truth. Ay, but I shall find Semele constant in her love. I will have Semele. What shall I do? Father, thy gray hairs are embassadors of (150) experience. Which shall I ask?
_Ger._ Eumenides, release Endymion, for all things, friendship excepted, are subject to fortune: love is but an eye-worm, which only tickleth the head with hopes and wishes; (155) friendship the image of eternity, in which there is nothing movable, nothing mischievous. As much difference as there is between beauty and virtue, bodies and shadows, colours and life, so great odds is there between love and 160 friendship.
Love is a chameleon, which draweth nothing into the mouth but air, and nourisheth nothing in the body but lungs. Believe me, Eumenides, desire dies in the same moment that beauty (165) sickens, and beauty fadeth in the same instant that it flourisheth. When adversities flow, then love ebbs; but friendship standeth stiffly in storms. Time draweth wrinkles in a fair face, but addeth fresh colours to a fast friend, (170) which neither heat, nor cold, nor misery, nor place, nor destiny, can alter or diminish. O friendship, of all things the most rare, and therefore most rare because most excellent, whose comforts in misery is always sweet, (175) and whose counsels in prosperity are ever fortunate! Vain love, that, only coming near to friendship in name, would seem to be the same or better in nature!
_Eum._ Father, I allow your reasons, and (180) will therefore conquer mine own. Virtue shall subdue affections, wisdom lust, friendship beauty. Mistresses are in every place, and as common as hares on Athos, bees in Hybla, fowls in the air; but friends to be found 185 are like the phœnix in Arabia, but one; or the philadelphi in Arays, never above two. I will have Endymion. Sacred fountain, in whose bowels are hidden divine secrets, I have increased your waters with the tears of unspotted (190) thoughts, and therefore let me receive the reward you promise. Endymion, the truest friend to me, and faithfulest lover to Cynthia, is in such a dead sleep that nothing can wake or move him. 195
_Ger._ Dost thou see anything?
_Eum._ I see in the same pillar these words: _When she whose figure of all is the perfectest, and never to be measured; always one, yet never the same; still inconstant, yet never wavering; (200) shall come and kiss Endymion in his sleep, he shall then rise, else never._ This is strange.
_Ger._ What see you else?
_Eum._ There cometh over mine eyes either a dark mist, or upon the fountain a deep (205) thickness, for I can perceive nothing. But how am I deluded, or what difficult, nay impossible thing is this?
_Ger._ Methinketh it easy.
_Eum._ Good father, and how? 210
_Ger._ Is not a circle of all figures the perfectest?
_Eum._ Yes.
_Ger._ And is not Cynthia of all circles the most absolute? 215
_Eum._ Yes.
_Ger._ Is it not impossible to measure her, who still worketh by her influence, never standing at one stay?
_Eum._ Yes. 220
_Ger._ Is she not always Cynthia, yet seldom in the same bigness; always wavering in her waxing or waning, that our bodies might the better be governed, our seasons the dailier give their increase; yet never to be removed from her (225) course, as long as the heavens continue theirs?
_Eum._ Yes.
_Ger._ Then who can it be but Cynthia, whose virtues being all divine must needs bring things to pass that be miraculous? Go, humble thyself (230) to Cynthia; tell her the success, of which myself shall be a witness. And this assure thyself, that she that sent to find means for his safety will now work her cunning.
_Eum._ How fortunate am I, if Cynthia be (235) she that may do it!
_Ger._ How fond[58] art thou, if thou do not believe it!
_Eum._ I will hasten thither that I may entreat on my knees for succour, and embrace in (240) mine arms my friend.
_Ger._ I will go with thee, for unto Cynthia must I discover all my sorrows, who also must work in me a contentment.
_Eum._ May I now know the cause? 245
_Ger._ That shall be as we walk, and I doubt not but the strangeness of my tale will take away the tediousness of our journey.
_Eum._ Let us go.
_Ger._ I follow. _Exeunt._ 250
ACT IV
SCENE I.[59]
[_Enter_] TELLUS.
_Tellus._ I marvel Corsites giveth me so much liberty,—all the world knowing his charge to be so high and his nature to be most strange,—who hath so ill entreated ladies of great honour that he hath not suffered them to look out (5) of windows, much less to walk abroad. It may be he is in love with me, for (Endymion, hard-hearted Endymion, excepted) what is he that is not enamour’d of my beauty? But what respectest thou the love of all the world? Endymion 10 hates thee. Alas, poor Endymion, my malice hath excepded my love, and thy faith to Cynthia quenched my affections. Quenched, Tellus? Nay, kindled them afresh; insomuch that I find scorching flames for dead embers, (15) and cruel encounters of war in my thoughts instead of sweet parleys. Ah, that I might once again see Endymion! Accursed girl, what hope hast thou to see Endymion, on whose head already are grown gray hairs, and whose life (20) must yield to nature, before Cynthia end her displeasure. Wicked Dipsas, and most devilish Tellus, the one for cunning too exquisite, the other for hate too intolerable! Thou wast commanded to weave the stories and poetries (25) wherein were showed both examples and punishments of tattling tongues, and thou hast only embroidered the sweet face of Endymion, devices of love, melancholy imaginations, and what not, out of thy work, that thou shouldst (30) study to pick out of thy mind. But here cometh Corsites. I must seem yielding and stout; full of mildness, yet tempered with a majesty: for if I be too flexible, I shall give him more hope than I mean; if too froward, enjoy less liberty 35 than I would. Love him I cannot, and therefore will practise that which is most contrary[60] to our sex, to dissemble.
_Enter_ CORSITES.
_Cor._ Fair Tellus, I perceive you rise with the lark, and to yourself sing with the (40) nightingale.
_Tellus._ My lord, I have no playfellow but fancy; being barred of all company, I must question with myself, and make my thoughts my friends. 45
_Cor._ I would you would account my thoughts also your friends, for they be such as are only busied in wondering at your beauty and wisdom; and some such as have esteemed your fortune too hard; and divers of that kind (50) that offer to set you free, if you will set them free.
_Tellus._ There are no colours so contrary as white and black, nor elements so disagreeing as fire and water, nor anything so opposite as (55) men’s thoughts and their words.
_Cor._ He that gave Cassandra the gift of prophesying, with the curse that, spake she never so true, she should never be believed, hath I think poisoned the fortune of men, (60) that uttering the extremities of their inward passions are always suspected of outward perjuries.
_Tellus._ Well, Corsites, I will flatter myself and believe you. What would you do to enjoy (65) my love?
_Cor._ Set all the ladies of the castle free, and make you the pleasure of my life: more I cannot do, less I will not.
_Tellus._ These be great words, and fit your (70) calling; for captains must promise things impossible. But will you do one thing for all?
_Cor._ Anything, sweet Tellus, that am ready for all.
_Tellus._ You know that on the lunary bank (75) sleepeth Endymion.
_Cor._ I know it.
_Tellus._ If you will remove him from that place by force, and convey him into some obscure cave by policy, I give you here the (80) faith of an unspotted virgin that you only shall possess me as a lover, and in spite of malice have me for a wife.
_Cor._ Remove him, Tellus! Yes, Tellus, he shall be removed, and that so soon as[61] thou (85) shalt as much commend my diligence as my force. I go.
_Tellus._ Stay, will yourself attempt it?
_Cor._ Ay, Tellus; as I would have none partaker of my sweet love, so shall none be (90) partners of my labors. But I pray thee go at your best leisure, for Cynthia beginneth to rise, and if she discover our love, we both perish, for nothing pleaseth her but the fairness of virginity. All things must be not only without (95) lust but without suspicion of lightness.
_Tellus._ I will depart, and go you to Endymion.
_Cor._ I fly, Tellus, being of all men the most fortunate. _Exit._ 100
_Tellus._ Simple Corsites, I have set thee about a task, being but a man, that the gods themselves cannot perform, for little dost thou know how heavy his head lies, how hard his fortune; but such shifts must women have to deceive (105) men, and under colour of things easy, entreat that which is impossible; otherwise we should be cumb’red with importunities, oaths, sighs, letters, and all implements of love, which to one resolved to the contrary are most loathsome. (110) I will in, and laugh with the other ladies at Corsites’ sweating. _Exit._
SCENE II.[62]
[_Enter_] SAMIAS _and_ DARES.
_Sam._ Will thy master never awake?
_Dar._ No; I think he sleeps for a wager. But how shall we spend the time? Sir Tophas is so far in love that he pineth in his bed and cometh not abroad. 5
_Sam._ But here cometh Epi in a pelting chafe.[63]
[_Enter_ EPITON.]
_Epi._ A pox of all false proverbs, and were a proverb a page, I would have him by the ears!
_Sam._ Why art thou angry?
_Epi._ Why? You know it is said, “The (10) tide tarrieth no man.”
_Sam._ True.
_Epi._ A monstrous lie; for I was tied two hours, and tarried for one to unloose me.
_Dar._ Alas, poor Epi! 15
_Epi._ Poor! No, no, you base-conceited slaves, I am a most complete gentleman, although I be in disgrace with Sir Tophas.
_Dar._ Art thou out with him?
_Epi._ Ay, because I cannot get him a lodging (20) with Endymion. He would fain take a nap for forty or fifty years.
_Dar._ A short sleep, considering our long life.
_Sam._ Is he still in love?
_Epi._ In love? Why he doth nothing but (25) make sonnets.
_Sam._ Canst thou remember any one of his poems?
_Epi._ Ay, this is one:— The beggar, Love, that knows not where to lodge, 30 At last within my heart, when I slept, He crept, I wak’d, and so my fancies began to fodge.[64]
_Sam._ That’s a very long verse.
_Epi._ Why, the other was short. The first (35) is called from the thumb to the little finger; the second from the little finger to the elbow; and some he hath made to reach to the crown of his head, and down again to the sole of his foot. It is set to the tune of the black (40) Saunce[65]; _ratio est_, because Dipsas is a black saint.
_Dar._ Very wisely. But pray thee, Epi, how art thou complete; and being from thy master, what occupation wilt thou take? 45
_Epi._ Know,[66] my hearts. I am an absolute _Microcosmus_, a petty world of myself: my library is my head, for I have no other books but my brains; my wardrobe on my back, for I have no more apparel than is on my body; (50) my armory at my fingers’ ends, for I use no other artillery than my nails; my treasure in my purse. _Sic omnia mea mecum porto._[67]
_Dar._ Good!
_Epi._ Know,[68] sirs, my palace is pav’d with (55) grass, and tiled with stars, for _Cœlo tegitur qui non habet urnam_,[69]—he that hath no house must lie in the yard.
_Sam._ A brave resolution! But how wilt thou spend thy time? 60
_Epi._ Not in any melancholy sort; for mine exercise I will walk horses.
_Dar._ Too bad!
_Epi._ Why, is it not said, “It is good walking when one hath his horse in his hand”? 65
_Sam._ Worse and worse! But how wilt thou live?
_Epi._ By angling. Oh, ’tis a stately occupation to stand four hours in a cold morning, and to have his nose bitten with frost before his (70) bait be mumbled with a fish.
_Dar._ A rare attempt! But wilt thou never travel?
_Epi._ Yes, in a western barge, when with a good wind and lusty pugs,[70] one may go ten (75) miles in two days.
_Sam._ Thou art excellent at thy choice. But what pastime wilt thou use? None?
_Epi._ Yes, the quickest of all.
_Sam._ What, dice? 80
_Epi._ No, when I am in haste, one-and-twenty games at chess, to pass a few minutes.
_Dar._ A life for a little lord, and full of quickness.
_Epi._ Tush, let me alone! But I must (85) needs see if I can find where Endymion lieth, and then go to a certain fountain hard by, where they say faithful lovers shall have all things they will ask. If I can find out any of these, _Ego et magister meus erimus in tuto_, I (90) and my master shall be friends. He is resolved to weep some three or four pailfuls to avoid the rheum of love that wambleth[71] in his stomach.
_Enter_ [Master Constable _and_ Two] Watch[men].
_Sam._ Shall we never see thy master, Dares?
_Dar._ Yes; let us go now, for to-morrow (95) Cynthia will be there.
_Epi._ I will go with you;—but how shall we see for the Watch?
_Sam._ Tush, let me alone! I’ll begin to them. Masters, God speed you. 100
_1 Watch._ Sir boy, we are all sped already.
_Epi._ [_Aside._] So methinks, for they smell all of drink, like a beggar’s beard.
_Dar._ But I pray, sirs, may we see Endymion? 105
_2 Watch._ No, we are commanded in Cynthia’s name, that no man shall see him.
_Sam._ No man! Why, we are but boys.
_1 Watch._ Mass, neighbours, he says true, for if I swear I will never drink my liquor by (110) the quart, and yet call for two pints, I think with a safe conscience I may carouse both.
_Dar._ Pithily, and to the purpose.
_2 Watch._ Tush, tush, neighbours, take me with you.[72] 115
_Sam._ [_Aside._] This will grow hot.
_Dar._ [_Aside._] Let them alone.
_2 Watch._ If I say to my wife, “Wife, I will have no raisins in my pudding,” she puts in currants; small raisins are raisins, and boys (120) are men: even as my wife should have put no raisins in my pudding, so shall there no boys see Endymion.
_Dar._ Learnedly.
_Epi._ Let Master Constable speak; I think (125) he is the wisest among you.
_Master Constable._ You know, neighbours, ’tis an old said saw, “Children and fools speak true.”
_All._ True. 130
_Mast. Const._ Well, there you see the men be the fools, because it is provided from the children.
_Dar._ Good.
_Mast. Const._ Then, say I, neighbours, that (135) children must not see Endymion, because children and fools speak true.
_Epi._ O wicked application!
_Sam._ Scurvily brought about!
_1 Watch._ Nay, he says true, and therefore (140) till Cynthia have been here, he shall not be uncovered. Therefore, away!
_Dar._ [_Aside to Sam. and Epi._] A watch, quoth you! A man may watch seven years for a wise word, and yet go without it. Their wits 145 are all as rusty as their bills.—But come on, Master Constable, shall we have a song before we go?
_Mast. Const._ With all my heart.
THE SECOND SONG[73]
_Watch._ Stand! Who goes there? 150 We charge you appear ’Fore our constable here, In the name of the Man in the Moon. To us billmen relate Why you stagger so late, 155 And how you come drunk so soon.
_Pages._ What are ye, scabs?
_Watch._ The Watch; This the Constable.
_Pages._ A patch.[74]
_Const._ Knock ’em down unless they all stand If any run away, 160 ’Tis the old watchman’s play. To reach him a bill of his hand.
_Pages._ O gentlemen, hold. Your gowns freeze with cold, And your rotten teeth dance in your head; 165
_Epi._ Wine, nothing shall cost ye;
_Sam._ Nor huge fires to roast ye.
_Dares._ Then soberly let us be led.
_Const._ Come, my brown bills, we’ll roar,[75] Bounce loud at tavern door. 170
_Omnes._ And i’ th’ morning steal all to bed. _Exeunt._
SCENE III.[76]
CORSITES _solus_. [ENDYMION _lies asleep on the lunary bank_.]
_Corsites._ I am come in sight of the lunary bank. Without doubt Tellus doteth upon me, and cunningly, that I might not perceive her love, she hath set me to a task that is done before it is begun. Endymion, you must change (5) your pillow, and if you be not weary of sleep, I will carry you where at ease you shall sleep your fill. It were good that without more ceremonies I took him, lest being espied, I be entrapt, and so incur the displeasure of Cynthia, who (10) commonly setteth watch that Endymion have no wrong. [_He tries to lift Endymion._] What now, is your mastership so heavy, or are you nail’d to the ground? Not stir one whit! Then use all thy force, though he feel it and wake. (15) What, stone-still? Turn’d, I think, to earth with lying so long on the earth. Didst not thou, Corsites, before Cynthia, pull up a tree that forty years was fast’ned with roots and wreathed in knots to the ground? Didst not (20) thou, with main force, pull open the iron gates which no ram or engine could move? Have my weak thoughts made brawn-fallen my strong arms, or is it the nature of love, or the quintessence of the mind, to breed numbness or (25) litherness,[77] or I know not what languishing in my joints and sinews, being but the base strings of my body? Or doth the remembrance of Tellus so refine my spirits into a matter so subtle and divine that the other fleshy parts (30) cannot work whilst they muse? Rest thyself, rest thyself; nay, rend thyself in pieces, Corsites, and strive, in spite of love, fortune, and nature, to lift up this dulled body, heavier than dead and more senseless than death. 35 _Enter_ Fairies. But what are these so fair fiends that cause my hairs to stand upright and spirits to fall down? Hags,—out alas, nymphs, I crave pardon. Ay me, out! what do I hear!
[_The Fairies dance, and with a song pinch him, and he falleth asleep. They kiss Endymion and depart._
THE THIRD SONG[78] BY FAIRIES
_Omnes._ Pinch him, pinch him, black and blue, 40 Saucy mortals must not view What the Queen of Stars is doing, Nor pry into our fairy wooing.
_1 Fairy._ Pinch him blue,
_2 Fairy._ And pinch him black; 45
_3 Fairy._ Let him not lack Sharp nails to pinch him blue and red, Till sleep has rock’d his addle head.
_4 Fairy._ For the trespass he hath done, Spots o’er all his flesh shall run. 50 Kiss Endymion, kiss his eyes, Then to our midnight heidegyes.[79] _Exeunt_ [Fairies].
[_Enter, at the side of the stage[80] opposite_ CORSITES,] CYNTHIA, FLOSCULA, SEMELE, PANELION, ZONTES, PYTHAGORAS, _and_ GYPTES. [CORSITES _sleeps still._]
_Cynth._ You see, Pythagoras, what ridiculous opinions you hold, and I doubt not but you are now of another mind. 55
_Pythag._ Madam, I plainly perceive that the perfection of your brightness hath pierced through the thickness that covered my mind; insomuch that I am no less glad to be reformed than ashamed to remember my (60) grossness.
_Gyptes._ They are thrice fortunate that live in your palace where truth is not in colours but life, virtues not in imagination but execution.
_Cynth._ I have always studied to have rather (65) living virtues than painted gods, the body of truth than the tomb. But let us walk to Endymion; it may be it lieth in your arts to deliver him; as for Eumenides, I fear he is dead. 70
_Pythag._ I have alleged all the natural reasons I can for such a long sleep.
_Gyptes._ I can do nothing till I see him.
_Cynth._ Come, Floscula; I am sure you are glad that you shall behold Endymion. 75
_Flosc._ I were blessed, if I might have him recovered.
_Cynth._ Are you in love with his person?
_Flosc._ No, but with his virtue.
_Cynth._ What say you, Semele? 80
_Sem._ Madam, I dare say nothing for fear I offend.
_Cynth._ Belike you cannot speak except you be spiteful; but as good be silent as saucy. Panelion, what punishment were fit for 85 Semele, in whose speech and thoughts is only contempt and sourness?
_Panel._ I love not, madam, to give any judgment; yet, sith Your Highness commandeth, I think to commit her tongue close prisoner 90 to her mouth.
_Cynth._ Agreed. Semele, if thou speak this twelvemonth, thou shalt forfeit thy tongue. Behold Endymion![81] Alas, poor gentleman, hast thou spent thy youth in sleep, that once (95) vowed all to my service! Hollow eyes, gray hairs, wrinkled cheeks, and decayed limbs! Is it destiny or deceit that hath brought this to pass? If the first, who could prevent thy wretched stars? If the latter, I would I (100) might know thy cruel enemy. I favoured thee, Endymion, for thy honour, thy virtues, thy affections; but to bring thy thoughts within the compass of thy fortunes, I have seemed strange, that I might have thee staid; and (105) now are thy days ended before my favour begin. But whom have we here? Is it not Corsites?
_Zon._ It is, but more like a leopard than a man.
_Cynth._ Awake him. [_Zontes wakens Corsites._] How now, Corsites, what make you here? (110) How came you deformed? Look on thy hands, and then thou seest the picture of thy face.
_Cors._ Miserable wretch, and accursed! How am I deluded! Madam, I ask pardon for my offence, and you see my fortune deserveth pity. 115
_Cynth._ Speak on; thy offence cannot deserve greater punishment: but see thou rehearse the truth, else shalt thou not find me as thou wishest me.
_Cors._ Madam, as it is no offence to be in (120) love, being a man mortal, so I hope can it be no shame to tell with whom, my lady being heavenly. Your Majesty committed to my charge fair Tellus, whose beauty in the same moment took my heart captive that I undertook to carry (125) her body prisoner. Since that time have I found such combats in my thoughts between love and duty, reverence and affection, that I could neither endure the conflict, nor hope for the conquest. 130
_Cynth._ In love? A thing far unfitting the name of a captain, and (as I thought) the tough and unsmoothed nature of Corsites. But forth!
_Cors._ Feeling this continual war, I thought (135) rather by parley to yield than by certain danger to perish. I unfolded to Tellus the depth of my affections, and framed my tongue to utter a sweet tale of love, that was wont to sound nothing but threats of war. She, too fair to be (140) true and too false for one so fair, after a nice denial, practised a notable deceit, commanding me to remove Endymion from this cabin, and carry him to some dark cave; which I, seeking to accomplish, found impossible; and so by (145) fairies or fiends have been thus handled.
_Cynth._ How say you, my lords, is not Tellus always practising of some deceits? In sooth, Corsites, thy face is now too foul for a lover, and thine heart too fond for a soldier. You (150) see when warriors become wantons how their manners alter with their faces. Is it not a shame, Corsites, that having lived so long in Mars his camp, thou shouldst now be rocked in Venus’s cradle? Dost thou wear Cupid’s (155) quiver at thy girdle and make lances of looks? Well, Corsites, rouse thyself and be as thou hast been; and let Tellus, who is made all of love, melt herself in her own looseness.
_Cors._ Madam, I doubt not but to recover (160) my former state, for Tellus’s beauty never wrought such love in my mind as now her deceit hath despite; and yet to be revenged of a woman were a thing than love itself more womanish.
_Gyptes._ These spots, gentleman, are to be (165) worn out, if you rub them over with this lunary; so that in place where you received this maim you shall find a medicine.
_Cors._ I thank you for that. The gods bless me from love and these pretty ladies that (170) haunt this green.
_Flosc._ Corsites, I would Tellus saw your amiable face. [SEMELE _laughs._]
_Zont._ How spitefully Semele laugheth, that dare not speak. 175
_Cynth._ Could you not stir Endymion with that doubled strength of yours?
_Cors._ Not so much as his finger with all my force.
_Cynth._ Pythagoras and Gyptes, what (180) think you of Endymion? What reason is to be given, what remedy?
_Pyth._ Madam, it is impossible to yield reason for things that happen not in compass of nature. It is most certain that some strange enchantment (185) hath bound all his senses.
_Cynth._ What say you, Gyptes?
_Gyptes._ With Pythagoras, that it is enchantment, and that so strange that no art can undo it, for that heaviness argueth a malice unremovable (190) in the enchantress, and that no power can end it, till she die that did it, or the heavens show some means more than miraculous.
_Flosc._ O Endymion, could spite itself devise a mischief so monstrous as to make thee dead (195) with life, and living, being altogether dead? Where others number their years, their hours, their minutes, and step to age by stairs, thou only hast thy years and times in a cluster, being old before thou rememb’rest thou wast young. 200
_Cynth._ No more, Floscula; pity doth him no good: I would anything else might; and I vow by the unspotted honour of a lady he should not miss it. But is this all, Gyptes, that is to be done? 205
_Gyptes._ All as yet. It may be that either the enchantress shall die or else be discovered; if either happen, I will then practise the utmost of my art. In the mean season, about this grove would I have a watch, and the first living (210) thing that toucheth Endymion to be taken.
_Cynth._ Corsites, what say you, will you undertake this?
_Cors._ Good madam, pardon me! I was overtaken[82] too late. I should rather break into (215) the midst of a main battle than again fall into the hands of those fair babies.
_Cynth._ Well, I will provide others. Pythagoras and Gyptes, you shall yet remain in my court, till I hear what may be done in this (220) matter.
_Pyth._ We attend.
_Cynth._ Let us go in. _Exeunt._
ACT V
SCENE I.[83]
[_Enter_] SAMIAS _and_ DARES.
_Samias._ Eumenides hath told such strange tales as I may well wonder at them, but never believe them.
_Dar._ The other old man, what a sad speech used he, that caused us almost all to weep. (5) Cynthia is so desirous to know the experiment of her own virtue, and so willing to ease Endymion’s hard fortune, that she no sooner heard the discourse but she made herself in a readiness to try the event. 10
_Sam._ We will also see the event. But whist! here cometh Cynthia with all her train. Let us sneak in amongst them.
_Enter_ CYNTHIA, FLOSCULA, SEMELE, [EUMENIDES,] PANELION, _etc._
_Cynth._ Eumenides, it cannot sink into my head that I should be signified by that sacred (15) fountain, for many things are there in the world to which those words may be applied.
_Eum._ Good madam, vouchsafe but to try; else shall I think myself most unhappy that I asked not my sweet mistress. 20
_Cynth._ Will you not yet tell me her name?
_Eum._ Pardon me, good madam, for if Endymion awake, he shall; myself have sworn never to reveal it.
_Cynth._ Well, let us to Endymion. I will (25) not be so stately, good Endymion, not to stoop to do thee good; and if thy liberty consist in a kiss from me, thou shalt have it; and although my mouth hath been heretofore as untouched as my thoughts, yet now to recover thy life, (30) though to restore thy youth it be impossible, I will do that to Endymion which yet never mortal man could boast of heretofore, nor shall ever hope for hereafter. _She kisseth him._
_Eum._ Madam, he beginneth to stir. 35
_Cynth._ Soft, Eumenides; stand still.
_Eum._ Ah, I see his eyes almost open.
_Cynth._ I command thee once again, stir not. I will stand behind him.
_Pan._ What do I see? Endymion almost (40) awake?
_Eum._ Endymion, Endymion, art thou deaf or dumb, or hath this long sleep taken away thy memory? Ah, my sweet Endymion, seest thou not Eumenides, thy faithful friend, thy faithful (45) Eumenides, who for thy safety hath been careless of his own content? Speak, Endymion! Endymion! Endymion!
_End._ Endymion? I call to mind such a name. 50
_Eum._ Hast thou forgotten thyself, Endymion? Then do I not marvel thou rememb’rest not thy friend. I tell thee thou art Endymion, and I Eumenides. Behold also Cynthia, by whose favour thou art awaked, and by whose (55) virtue thou shalt continue thy natural course.
_Cynth._ Endymion, speak, sweet Endymion! Knowest thou not Cynthia?
_End._ O heavens, whom do I behold? Fair Cynthia, divine Cynthia? 60
_Cynth._ I am Cynthia, and thou Endymion.
_End._ “Endymion”! What do I hear[84]? What, a gray beard, hollow eyes, withered body, decayed limbs,—and all in one night?
_Eum._ One night! Thou hast here slept (65) forty years,—by what enchantress as yet it is not known,—and behold, the twig to which thou laid’st thy head is now become a tree. Callest thou not Eumenides to remembrance?
_End._ Thy name I do remember by the (70) sound, but thy favour[85] I do not yet call to mind; only divine Cynthia, to whom time, fortune, destiny, and death are subject, I see and remember, and in all humility I regard and reverence. 75
_Cynth._ You have good cause to remember Eumenides, who hath for thy safety forsaken his own solace.
_End._ Am I that Endymion who was wont in court to lead my life, and in justs, tourneys, (80) and arms, to exercise my youth? Am I that Endymion?
_Eum._ Thou art that Endymion, and I Eumenides: wilt thou not yet call me to remembrance? 85
_End._ Ah, sweet Eumenides, I now perceive thou art he, and that myself have the name of Endymion; but that this should be my body I doubt, for how could my curled locks be turned to gray hairs and my strong body to a dying (90) weakness, having waxed old, and not knowing it.
_Cynth._ Well, Endymion, arise. [_Endymion, trying to rise, sinks back._] A while sit down, for that thy limbs are stiff and not able to stay (95) thee, and tell what hast thou seen in thy sleep all this while,—what dreams, visions, thoughts, and fortunes; for it is impossible but in so long time thou shouldst see things strange.
_End._ Fair Cynthia, I will rehearse what (100) I have seen, humbly desiring that when I exceed in length, you give me warning, that I may end; for to utter all I have to speak would be troublesome, although haply the strangeness may somewhat abate the tediousness. 105
_Cynth._ Well, Endymion, begin.
_End._ Methought I saw a lady passing fair, but very mischievous, who in the one hand carried a knife with which she offered to cut my throat, and in the other a looking-glass, (110) wherein seeing how ill anger became ladies, she refrained from intended violence. She was accompanied with other damsels, one of which, with a stern countenance, and as it were with a settled malice engraven in her eyes, (115) provoked her to execute mischief; another, with visage sad, and constant only in sorrow, with her arms crossed, and watery eyes, seemed to lament my fortune, but durst not offer to prevent the force. I started in my sleep, (120) feeling my very veins to swell and my sinews to stretch with fear, and such a cold sweat bedewed all my body that death itself could not be so terrible as the vision.
_Cynth._ A strange sight! Gyptes, at our (125) better leisure, shall expound it.
_End._ After long debating with herself, mercy overcame anger, and there appeared in her heavenly face such a divine majesty mingled with a sweet mildness that I was ravished (130) with the sight above measure, and wished that I might have enjoyed the sight without end: and so she departed with the other ladies, of which the one retained still an unmovable cruelty, the other a constant pity. 135
_Cynth._ Poor Endymion, how wast thou affrighted! What else?
_End._ After her, immediately appeared an aged man with a beard as white as snow, carrying in his hand a book with three leaves, 140 and speaking, as I remember, these words: “Endymion, receive this book with three leaves, in which are contained counsels, policies, and pictures,” and with that he offered me the book, which I rejected; wherewith, (145) moved with a disdainful pity, he rent the first leaf in a thousand shivers. The second time he offered it, which I refused also; at which, bending his brows, and pitching his eyes fast to the ground, as though they were fixed (150) to the earth and not again to be removed, then suddenly casting them up to the heavens, he tore in a rage the second leaf, and offered the book only with one leaf. I know not whether fear to offend or desire to know some (155) strange thing moved me: I took the book, and so the old man vanished.
_Cynth._ What didst thou imagine was in the last leaf?
_End._ There portray’d to life, with a cold (160) quaking in every joint, I beheld many wolves barking at thee, Cynthia, who having ground their teeth to bite, did with striving bleed themselves to death. There might I see Ingratitude with an hundred eyes gazing for benefits, (165) and with a thousand teeth gnawing on the bowels wherein she was bred; Treachery stood all clothed in white, with a smiling countenance, but both her hands bathed in blood; Envy with a pale and meagre face (whose body (170) was so lean that one might tell all her bones, and whose garment was so tatter’d that it was easy to number every thread) stood shooting at stars, whose darts fell down again on her own face. There might I behold drones or 175 beetles—I know not how to term them—creeping under the wings of a princely eagle, who, being carried into her nest, sought there to suck that vein that would have killed the eagle. I mused that things so base should (180) attempt a fact so barbarous, or durst imagine a thing so bloody. And many other things, madam, the repetition whereof may at your better leisure seem more pleasing, for bees surfeit sometimes with honey, and the gods are (185) glutted with harmony, and your highness may be dulled with delight.
_Cynth._ I am content to be dieted; therefore, let us in. Eumenides, see that Endymion be well tended, lest either eating immoderately or (190) sleeping again too long, he fall into a deadly surfeit or into his former sleep. See this also be proclaimed: that whosoever will discover this practice shall have of Cynthia infinite thanks and no small rewards. 195
_Exeunt_ [_all except_ ENDYMION, EUMENIDES, FLOSCULA _and_ SEMELE.]
_Flosc._ Ah, Endymion, none so joyful as Floscula of thy restoring.
_Eum._ Yes, Floscula, let Eumenides be somewhat gladder, and do not that wrong to the settled friendship of a man as to compare it (200) with the light affection of a woman. Ah, my dear friend Endymion, suffer me to die with gazing at thee.
_End._ Eumenides, thy friendship is immortal and not to be conceived; and thy good (205) will, Floscula, better than I have deserved; but let us all wait on Cynthia. I marvel Semele speaketh not a word.
_Eum._ Because if she do, she loseth her tongue. 210
_End._ But how prospereth your love?
_Eum._ I never yet spake word since your sleep.
_End._ I doubt not but your affection is old and your appetite cold. 215
_Eum._ No, Endymion, thine hath made it stronger, and now are my sparks grown to flames and my fancies almost to frenzies: but let us follow, and within we will debate all this matter at large. _Exeunt._ 220
SCENE II.[86]
[_Enter_] Sir TOPHAS _and_ EPITON.
_Top._ Epi, Love hath justled my liberty from the wall, and taken the upper hand of my reason.
_Epi._ Let me then trip up the heels of your affection and thrust your good will into the (5) gutter.
_Top._ No, Epi, Love is a lord of misrule and keepeth Christmas in my corps.
_Epi._ No doubt there is good cheer: what dishes of delight doth his lordship feast you (10) withal?
_Top._ First, with a great platter of plum porridge of pleasure, wherein is stewed the mutton of distrust.
_Epi._ Excellent love-pap.[87] 15
_Top._ Then cometh a pie of patience, a hen of honey, a goose of gall, a capon of care, and many other viands, some sweet and some sour, which proveth love to be, as it was said of in old years, _Dulce venenum_. 20
_Epi._ A brave banquet!
_Top._ But, Epi, I pray thee feel on my chin; something pricketh me. What dost thou feel or see?
_Epi._ There are three or four little hairs. 25
_Top._ I pray thee call it my beard. How shall I be troubled when this young spring[88] shall grow to a great wood!
_Epi._ Oh, sir, your chin is but a quiller[89] yet; you will be most majestical when it is full-fledged. (30) But I marvel that you love Dipsas, that old crone.
_Top. Agnosco veteris vestigia flammæ_[90]; I love the smoke of an old fire.
_Epi._ Why she is so cold that no fire can (35) thaw her thoughts.
_Top._ It is an old goose, Epi, that will eat no oats; old kine will kick, old rats gnaw cheese, and old sacks will have much patching. I prefer an old coney before a rabbit-sucker,[91] (40) and an ancient hen before a young chicken-peeper.
_Epi._ [_Aside._] _Argumentum ab antiquitate_; my master loveth antique work.
_Top._ Give me a pippin that is withered (45) like an old wife!
_Epi._ Good, sir.
_Top._ Then,—_a contrario sequitur argumentum_,—give me a wife that looks like an old pippin. 50
_Epi._ [_Aside._] Nothing hath made my master a fool but flat scholarship.
_Top._ Knowest thou not that old wine is best?
_Epi._ Yes.
_Top._ And thou knowest that like will to[92] (55) like?
_Epi._ Ay.
_Top._ And thou knowest that Venus loved the best wine?
_Epi._ So. 60
_Top._ Then I conclude that Venus was an old woman in an old cup of wine, for _est Venus in vinis, ignis in igne fuit_.[93]
_Epi. O lepidum caput._[94] O madcap master! You were worthy to win Dipsas, were she as (65) old again, for in your love you have worn the nap of your wit quite off and made it threadbare. But soft, who comes here?
[_Enter_ SAMIAS _and_ DARES.]
_Top._ My solicitors.
_Sam._ All hail, Sir Tophas; how feel you (70) yourself?
_Top._ Stately in every joint, which the common people term stiffness. Doth Dipsas stoop? Will she yield? Will she bend?
_Dar._ Oh, sir, as much as you would wish, (75) for her chin almost toucheth her knees.
_Epi._ Master, she is bent, I warrant you.
_Top._ What conditions doth she ask?
_Sam._ She hath vowed she will never love any that hath not a tooth in his head less than (80) she.
_Top._ How many hath she?
_Dar._ One.
_Epi._ That goeth hard, master, for then you must have none. 85
_Top._ A small request, and agreeable to the gravity of her years. What should a wise man do with his mouth full of bones like a charnel-house? The turtle true hath ne’er a tooth.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] Thy master is in a notable (90) vein, that will lose his teeth to be like a turtle.
_Epi._ [_Aside._] Let him lose his tongue, too; I care not.
_Dar._ Nay, you must also have no nails, for she long since hath cast hers. 95
_Top._ That I yield to. What a quiet life shall Dipsas and I lead when we can neither bite nor scratch! You may see, youths, how age provides for peace.
_Sam._ [_Aside._] How shall we do to make (100) him leave his love, for we never spake to her?
_Dar._ [_Aside._] Let me alone. [_To_ Sir TOPHAS.] She is a notable witch, and hath turned her maid Bagoa to an aspen tree, for bewraying her secrets. 105
_Top._ I honour her for her cunning, for now when I am weary of walking on two legs, what a pleasure may she do me to turn me to some goodly ass, and help me to four.
_Dar._ Nay, then I must tell you the (110) truth. Her husband, Geron, is come home, who this fifty years hath had her to wife.
_Top._ What do I hear? Hath she an husband? Go to the sexton and tell him Desire is dead, and will him to dig his grave. O (115) heavens, an husband! What death is agreeable to my fortune?
_Sam._ Be not desperate, and we will help you to find a young lady.
_Top._ I love no grissels[95]; they are so brittle (120) they will crack like glass, or so dainty that if they be touched they are straight of the fashion of wax; _animus majoribus instat_.[96] I desire old matrons. What a sight would it be to embrace one whose hair were as orient as (125) the pearl, whose teeth shall be so pure a watchet[97] that they shall stain the truest turquoise, whose nose shall throw more beams from it than the fiery carbuncle, whose eyes shall be environ’d about with redness exceeding (130) the deepest coral, and whose lips might compare with silver for the paleness! Such a one if you can help me to, I will by piecemeal curtail my affections towards Dipsas, and walk my swelling thoughts till they be cold. 135
_Epi._ Wisely provided. How say you, my friends, will you angle for my master’s cause?
_Sam._ Most willingly.
_Dar._ If we speed him not shortly, I will burn my cap. We will serve him of the spades, (140) and dig an old wife out of the grave that shall be answerable to his gravity.
_Top._ Youths, adieu; he that bringeth me first news, shall possess mine inheritance. [_Exit_ Sir TOPHAS.]
_Dar._ What, is thy master landed? 145
_Epi._ Know you not that my master is _liber tenens_?
_Sam._ What ’s that?
_Epi._ A freeholder. But I will after him.
_Sam._ And we to hear what news of Endymion (150) for the conclusion. _Exeunt._
SCENE III.[98]
[_Enter_] PANELION _and_ ZONTES.
_Pan._ Who would have thought that Tellus, being so fair by nature, so honourable by birth, so wise by education, would have entered into a mischief to the gods so odious, to men so detestable, and to her friend so malicious. 5
_Zon._ If Bagoa had not bewrayed it, how then should it have come to light? But we see that gold and fair words are of force to corrupt the strongest men, and therefore able to work silly women like wax. 10
_Pan._ I marvel what Cynthia will determine in this cause.
_Zon._ I fear, as in all causes:—hear of it in justice, and then judge of it in mercy; for how can it be that she that is unwilling to punish (15) her deadliest foes with disgrace, will revenge injuries of her train with death.
_Pan._ That old witch, Dipsas, in a rage, having understood her practice to be discovered, turned poor Bagoa to an aspen tree. But let (20) us make haste and bring Tellus before Cynthia, for she was coming out after us.
_Zon._ Let us go. _Exeunt._
[_Enter_,] CYNTHIA, SEMELE, FLOSCULA, DIPSAS, ENDYMION, EUMENIDES, [GERON, PYTHAGORAS, GYPTES, _and_ SIR TOPHAS].
_Cynth._ Dipsas, thy years are not so many as thy vices, yet more in number than commonly (25) nature doth afford or justice should permit. Hast thou almost these fifty years practised that detested wickedness of witchcraft? Wast thou, so simple as for to know the nature of simples, of all creatures to be most sinful? Thou hast 30 threat’ned to turn my course awry and alter by thy damnable art the government that I now possess by the eternal gods; but know thou, Dipsas, and let all the enchanters know, that Cynthia, being placed for light on earth, is also (35) protected by the powers of heaven. Breathe out thou mayest words; gather thou mayest herbs; find out thou mayest stones agreeable to thine art; yet of no force to appal my heart, in which courage is so rooted, and constant (40) persuasion of the mercy of the gods so grounded, that all thy witchcraft I esteem as weak as the world doth thy case wretched. This noble gentleman, Geron, once thy husband but now thy mortal hate, didst thou procure to live in (45) a desert, almost desperate; Endymion, the flower of my court and the hope of succeeding time, hast thou bewitched by art, before thou wouldst suffer him to flourish by nature.
_Dipsas._ Madam, things past may be repented, (50) not recalled: there is nothing so wicked that I have not done, nor anything so wished for as death; yet among all the things that I committed, there is nothing so much tormenteth my rented and ransack’d thoughts as that in (55) the prime of my husband’s youth I divorced him by my devilish art; for which if to die might be amends, I would not live till to-morrow; if to live and still be more miserable would better content him, I would wish of all creatures to (60) be oldest and ugliest.
_Geron._ Dipsas, thou hast made this difference between me and Endymion, that being both young, thou hast caused me to wake in melancholy, losing the joys of my youth, and him (65) to sleep, not rememb’ring youth.
_Cynth._ Stay, here cometh Tellus; we shall now know all.
[_Re-enter_ PANELION _and_ ZONTES, _with_ CORSITES _and_ TELLUS.]
_Cors._ I would to Cynthia thou couldst make as good an excuse in truth as to me thou hast (70) done by wit.
_Tellus._ Truth shall be mine answer, and therefore I will not study for an excuse.
_Cynth._ Is it possible, Tellus, that so few years should harbour so many mischiefs? Thy (75) swelling pride have I borne, because it is a thing that beauty maketh blameless, which the more it exceedeth fairness in measure, the more it stretcheth itself in disdain. Thy devices against Corsites I smile at, for that wits, the sharper 80 they are, the shrewder[99] they are; but this unacquainted[100] and most unnatural practice with a vile enchantress against so noble a gentleman as Endymion I abhor as a thing most malicious, and will revenge as a deed most monstrous. (85) And as for you, Dipsas, I will send you into the desert amongst wild beasts, and try whether you can cast lions, tigers, boars, and bears into as dead a sleep as you did Endymion, or turn them to trees, as you have done Bagoa. But tell me, (90) Tellus, what was the cause of this cruel part, far unfitting thy sex, in which nothing should be but simpleness, and much disagreeing from thy face, in which nothing seemed to be but softness. 95
_Tellus._ Divine Cynthia, by whom I receive my life and am content to end it, I can neither excuse my fault without lying, nor confess it without shame; yet were it possible that in so heavenly thoughts as yours there could fall (100) such earthly motions as mine, I would then hope, if not to be pardoned without extreme punishment, yet to be heard without great marvel.
_Cynth._ Say on, Tellus; I cannot imagine any thing that can colour such a cruelty. 105
_Tellus._ Endymion, that Endymion, in the prime of his youth, so ravish’d my heart with love, that to obtain my desires I could not find means, nor to resist them reason. What was she that favoured not Endymion, being (110) young, wise, honourable, and virtuous; besides, what metal was she made of (be she mortal) that is not affected with the spice, nay, infected with the poison of that not-to-be-expressed yet always-to-be-felt love, which breaketh the (115) brains and never bruiseth the brow, consumeth the heart and never toucheth the skin, and maketh a deep scar to be seen before any wound at all be felt.[101] My heart, too tender to withstand such a divine fury, yielded to (120) love. Madam, I, not without blushing, confess [I] yielded to love.
_Cynth._ A strange effect of love, to work such an extreme hate. How say you, Endymion? All this was for love? 125
_End._ I say, madam, then the gods send me a woman’s hate.
_Cynth._ That were as bad, for then by contrary you should never sleep. But on, Tellus; let us hear the end. 130
_Tellus._ Feeling a continual burning in all my bowels, and a bursting almost in every vein, I could not smother the inward fire, but it must needs be perceived by the outward smoke; and by the flying abroad of divers sparks, (135) divers judged of my scalding flames. Endymion, as full of art as wit, marking mine eyes, (in which he might see almost his own,) my sighs, (by which he might ever hear his name sounded,) aimed at my heart, in which he (140) was assured his person was imprinted, and by questions wrung out that which was ready to burst out. When he saw the depth of my affections, he swore that mine in respect of his were as fumes to Ætna, valleys to Alps, ants (145) to eagles, and nothing could be compared to my beauty but his love and eternity. Thus drawing a smooth shoe upon a crooked foot, he made me believe that (which all of our sex willingly acknowledge) I was beautiful, and (150) to wonder (which indeed is a thing miraculous) that any of his sex should be faithful.
_Cynth._ Endymion, how will you clear yourself?
_End._ Madam, by mine own accuser. 155
_Cynth._ Well, Tellus, proceed; but briefly, lest taking delight in uttering thy love, thou offend us with the length of it.
_Tellus._ I will, madam, quickly make an end of my love and my tale. Finding continual (160) increase of my tormenting thoughts, and that the enjoying of my love made deeper wounds than the entering into it, I could find no means to ease my grief but to follow Endymion, and continually to have him in the object of (165) mine eyes who had me slave and subject to his love. But in the moment that I feared his falsehood and tried myself most in mine affections, I found—ah, grief, even then I lost myself!—I found him in most melancholy and desperate (170) terms cursing his stars, his state, the earth, the heavens, the world, and all for the love of—
_Cynth._ Of whom? Tellus, speak boldly.
_Tellus._ Madam, I dare not utter, for fear to offend. 175
_Cynth._ Speak, I say; who dare take offence, if thou be commanded by Cynthia?
_Tellus._ For the love of Cynthia.
_Cynth._ For my love, Tellus? That were strange. Endymion, is it true? 180
_End._ In all things, madam, Tellus doth not speak false.
_Cynth._ What will this breed to in the end? Well, Endymion, we shall hear all.
_Tellus._ I, seeing my hopes turned to mishaps, (185) and a settled dissembling towards me, and an immovable desire to Cynthia, forgetting both myself and my sex, fell into this unnatural hate; for knowing your virtues, Cynthia, to be immortal, I could not have an imagination to withdraw (190) him; and finding mine own affections unquenchable, I could not carry the mind that any else should possess what I had pursued. For though in majesty, beauty, virtue, and dignity, I always humbled and yielded myself (195) to Cynthia, yet in affections I esteemed myself equal with the goddesses, and all other creatures, according to their states, with myself; for stars to their bigness have their lights, and the sun hath no more, and little pitchers, when (200) they can hold no more, are as full as great vessels that run over. Thus, madam, in all truth have I uttered the unhappiness of my love and the cause of my hate, yielding wholly to that divine judgment which never erred for want of (205) wisdom or envied for too much partiality.
_Cynth._ How say you, my lords, to this matter? But what say you, Endymion; hath Tellus told truth?
_End._ Madam, in all things but in that (210) she said I loved her and swore to honour her.
_Cynth._ Was there such a time whenas for my love thou didst vow thyself to death, and in respect of it loathed thy life? Speak, Endymion; I will not revenge it with hate. 215
_End._ The time was, madam, and is, and ever shall be, that I honoured your highness above all the world, but to stretch it so far as to call it love I never durst. There hath none pleased mine eye but Cynthia, none delighted (220) mine ears but Cynthia, none possessed my heart but Cynthia. I have forsaken all other fortunes to follow Cynthia, and here I stand ready to die, if it please Cynthia. Such a difference hath the gods set between our states that all must be (225) duty, loyalty, and reverence; nothing (without it vouchsafe your highness) be termed love. My unspotted thoughts, my languishing body, my discontented life, let them obtain by princely favour that which to challenge they (230) must not presume, only wishing of impossibilities; with imagination of which I will spend my spirits, and to myself, that no creature may hear, softly call it love; and if any urge to utter what I whisper, then will I name it honour. 235 From this sweet contemplation if I be not driven, I shall live of all men the most content, taking more pleasure in mine aged thoughts than ever I did in my youthful actions.
_Cynth._ Endymion, this honourable respect (240) of thine shall be christened love in thee, and my reward for it, favour. Persevere, Endymion, in loving me, and I account more strength in a true heart than in a walled city. I have laboured to win all, and study to keep such as I (245) have won; but those that neither my favour can move to continue constant, nor my offered benefits get to be faithful, the gods shall either reduce to truth, or revenge their treacheries with justice. Endymion, continue as thou hast (250) begun, and thou shalt find that Cynthia shineth not on thee in vain.
_End._ Your Highness hath blessed me, and your words have again restored my youth; methinks I feel my joints strong and these 255 mouldy hairs to moult, and all by your virtue, Cynthia, into whose hands the balance that weigheth time and fortune are committed.
_Cynth._ What, young again! Then it is pity to punish Tellus. 260
_Tellus._ Ah, Endymion, now I know thee and ask pardon of thee; suffer me still to wish thee well.
_End._ Tellus, Cynthia must command what she will. 265
_Flosc._ Endymion, I rejoice to see thee in thy former estate.
_End._ Good Floscula, to thee also am I in my former affections.
_Eum._ Endymion, the comfort of my life, (270) how am I ravished with a joy matchless, saving only the enjoying of my mistress.
_Cynth._ Endymion, you must now tell who Eumenides shrineth for his saint.
_End._ Semele, madam. 275
_Cynth._ Semele, Eumenides? Is it Semele, the very wasp of all women, whose tongue stingeth as much as an adder’s tooth?
_Eum._ It is Semele, Cynthia, the possessing of whose love must only prolong my life. 280
_Cynth._ Nay, sith Endymion is restored, we will have all parties pleased. Semele, are you content after so long trial of his faith, such rare secrecy, such unspotted love, to take Eumenides? Why speak you not? Not a word? 285
_End._ Silence, madam, consents; that is most true.
_Cynth._ It is true, Endymion. Eumenides, take Semele; take her, I say.
_Eum._ Humble thanks, madam; now only (290) do I begin to live.
_Sem._ A hard choice, madam, either to be married if I say nothing, or to lose my tongue if I speak a word. Yet do I rather choose to have my tongue cut out than my heart distempered: (295) I will not have him.
_Cynth._ Speaks the parrot! She shall nod hereafter with signs. Cut off her tongue, nay her head, that having a servant of honourable birth, honest manners, and true love, will not be (300) persuaded.
_Sem._ He is no faithful lover, madam, for then would he have asked his mistress.
_Ger._ Had he not been faithful, he had never seen into the fountain, and so lost his friend (305) and mistress.
_Eum._ Thine own thoughts, sweet Semele, witness against thy words, for what hast thou found in my life but love? And as yet what have I found in my love but bitterness? (310) Madam, pardon Semele, and let my tongue ransom hers.
_Cynth._ Thy tongue, Eumenides! What, shouldst thou live wanting a tongue to blaze the beauty of Semele! Well, Semele, I will (315) not command love, for it cannot be enforced; let me entreat it.
_Sem._ I am content your highness shall command, for now only do I think Eumenides faithful, that is willing to lose his tongue for my (320) sake; yet loath, because it should do me better service. Madam, I accept of Eumenides.
_Cynth._ I thank you, Semele.
_Eum._ Ah, happy Eumenides, that hast a friend so faithful and a mistress so fair! (325) With what sudden mischief will the gods daunt this excess of joy? Sweet Semele, I live or die as thou wilt.
_Cynth._ What shall become of Tellus? Tellus, you know Endymion is vowed to a service (330) from which death cannot remove him. Corsites casteth still a lovely look towards you. How say you, will you have your Corsites, and so receive pardon for all that is past?
_Tellus._ Madam, most willingly. 335
_Cynth._ But I cannot tell whether Corsites be agreed.
_Cors._ Ay, madam, more happy to enjoy Tellus than the monarchy of the world.
_Eum._ Why, she caused you to be pinch’d (340) with fairies.
_Cors._ Ay, but her fairness hath pinched my heart more deeply.
_Cynth._ Well, enjoy thy love. But what have you wrought in the castle, Tellus? (345)
_Tellus._ Only the picture of Endymion.
_Cynth._ Then so much of Endymion as his picture cometh to, possess and play withal.
_Cors._ Ah, my sweet Tellus, my love shall be as thy beauty is, matchless. 350
_Cynth._ Now it resteth, Dipsas, that if thou wilt forswear that vile art of enchanting, Geron hath promised again to receive thee; otherwise, if thou be wedded to that wickedness, I must and will see it punished to the uttermost. 355
_Dipsas._ Madam, I renounce both substance and shadow of that most horrible and hateful trade, vowing to the gods continual penance, and to your highness obedience.
_Cynth._ How say you, Geron; will you admit (360) her to your wife?
_Ger._ Ay, with more joy than I did the first day, for nothing could happen to make me happy but only her forsaking that lewd[102] and detestable course. Dipsas, I embrace thee. 365
_Dipsas._ And I thee, Geron, to whom I will hereafter recite the cause of these my first follies.
_Cynth._ Well, Endymion, nothing resteth now but that we depart. Thou hast my favour; (370) Tellus her friend, Eumenides in Paradise with his Semele; Geron content with Dipsas.
_Sir Top._ Nay, soft; I cannot handsomely go to bed without Bagoa.
_Cynth._ Well, Sir Tophas, it may be there (375) are more virtues in me than myself knoweth of, for Endymion I awaked, and at my words he waxed young. I will try whether I can turn this tree again to thy true love.
_Top._ Turn her to a true love or false, so (380) she be a wench I care not.
_Cynth._ Bagoa, Cynthia putteth an end to thy hard fortunes; for, being turn’d to a tree for revealing a truth, I will recover thee again, if in my power be the effect of truth. 385
[BAGOA _recovers human shape_.]
_Top._ Bagoa, a bots[103] upon thee!
_Cynth._ Come, my lords, let us in. You, Gyptes and Pythagoras, if you can content yourselves in our court, to fall from vain follies of philosophers to such virtues as are here practised, (390) you shall be entertained according to your deserts, for Cynthia is no stepmother to strangers.
_Pythag._ I had rather in Cynthia’s court spend ten years than in Greece one hour.
_Gyptes._ And I choose rather to live by (395) the sight of Cynthia than by the possessing of all Egypt.
_Cynth._ Then follow.
_Eum._ We all attend. _Exeunt._
THE EPILOGUE
A MAN walking abroad, the Wind and Sun strove for sovereignty, the one with his blast, the other with his beams. The Wind blew hard; the man wrapped his garment about him harder: it blust’red more strongly; he then girt it fast to him. “I cannot prevail,” said the Wind. The Sun, casting her crystal beams, began to warm the man; he unloosed his gown: yet it shined brighter; he then put it off. “I yield,” said the Wind, “for if thou continue shining, he will also put off (5) his coat.”
Dread Sovereign, the malicious that seek to overthrow us with threats, do but stiffen our thoughts, and make them sturdier in storms; but if your highness vouchsafe with your favourable beams to glance upon us, we shall not only stoop, but with all humility lay both our hands and hearts at your majesty’s feet. 10
THE OLD WIVES TALE
BY GEORGE PEELE
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
SACRAPANT. First Brother, named CALYPHA. Second Brother, named THELEA. EUMENIDES. ERESTUS. LAMPRISCUS. HUANEBANGO. COREBUS. WIGGEN. Churchwarden. Sexton. Ghost of JACK. Friar, Harvest-men, Furies, Fiddlers, &c.
DELIA, sister to CALYPHA and THELEA. VENELIA, betrothed to ERESTUS. ZANTIPPA, } CELANTA, } daughters to LAMPRISCUS. Hostess.
ANTIC. FROLIC. FANTASTIC. CLUNCH, a smith. MADGE, his wife.]
_Enter_ ANTIC, FROLIC, _and_ FANTASTIC.
_Ant._ How now, fellow Frolic![104] What, all amort?[105] Doth this sadness become thy madness? What though we have lost our way in the woods, yet never hang the head as though thou hadst no hope to live till to-morrow; for (5) Fantastic and I will warrant thy life to-night for twenty in the hundred.
_Fro._ Antic and Fantastic, as I am frolic franion,[106] never in all my life was I so dead slain. What, to lose our way in the wood, 10 without either fire or candle, so uncomfortable! _O cœlum! O terra! O Maria!_ O Neptune!
_Fan._ Why makes thou it so strange, seeing Cupid hath led our young master to the fair lady, and she is the only saint that he hath 15 sworn to serve?
_Fro._ What resteth, then, but we commit him to his wench, and each of us take his stand up in a tree, and sing out our ill fortune to the tune of “_O man in desperation_”? 20
_Ant._ Desperately spoken, fellow Frolic, in the dark; but seeing it falls out thus, let us rehearse the old proverb:
“Three merry men, and three merry men, And three merry men be we; 25 I in the wood, and thou on the ground, And Jack sleeps in the tree.”
_Fan._ Hush! a dog in the wood, or a wooden[107] dog! O comfortable hearing! I had even as lief the chamberlain of the White Horse had 30 called me up to bed.
_Fro._ Either hath this trotting cur gone out of his circuit, or else are we near some village, which should not be far off, for I perceive (_Enter_ [CLUNCH] _a smith, with a lantern and candle._) the glimmering of a glow-worm, a candle, or a (35) cat’s eye, my life for a halfpenny! In the name of my own father, be thou ox or ass that appearest, tell us what thou art.
_Smith._ What am I? Why, I am Clunch the smith. What are you? What make you in (40) my territories at this time of the night?
_Ant._ What do we make, dost thou ask? Why, we make faces for fear; such as if thy mortal eyes could behold, would make thee water the long seams of thy side slops,[108] (45) smith.
_Fro._ And, in faith, sir, unless your hospitality do relieve us, we are like to wander, with a sorrowful heigh-ho, among the owlets and hobgoblins of the forest. Good Vulcan, for (50) Cupid’s sake that hath cozened us all, befriend us as thou mayst; and command us howsoever, wheresoever, whensoever, in whatsoever, for ever and ever.
_Smith._ Well, masters, it seems to me you (55) have lost your way in the wood; in consideration whereof, if you will go with Clunch to his cottage, you shall have house-room and a good fire to sit by, although we have no bedding to put you in. 60
_All._ O blessed smith, O bountiful Clunch!
_Smith._ For your further entertainment, it shall be as it may be, so and so. _A dog barks_ [_within_]. Hark![109] this is Ball my dog, that bids you all welcome in his own language. Come, take (65) heed for stumbling on the threshold.—Open door, Madge; take in guests.
_Enter_ [MADGE, _an_] _old woman_.
_Madge._[110] Welcome, Clunch, and good fellows all, that come with my good-man. For my good-man’s sake, come on, sit down; here is 70 a piece of cheese, and a pudding of my own making.
_Ant._ Thanks, gammer; a good example for the wives of our town.
_Fro._ Gammer, thou and thy good-man sit (75) lovingly together; we come to chat, and not to eat.
_Smith._ Well, masters, if you will eat nothing, take away. Come, what do we to pass away the time? Lay a crab in the fire to roast for (80) lamb’s-wool.[111] What, shall we have a game at trump[112] or ruff[112] to drive away the time? How say you?
_Fan._ This smith leads a life as merry as a king with Madge his wife. Sirrah Frolic, I (85) am sure thou art not without some round or other; no doubt but Clunch can bear his part.
_Fro._ Else think you me ill brought up; so set to it when you will. _They sing._
SONG.
Whenas the rye reach to the chin, 90 And chopcherry, chopcherry ripe within, Strawberries swimming in the cream, And school-boys playing in the stream; Then, O, then, O, then, O, my true-love said, Till that time come again 95 She could not live a maid.
_Ant._ This sport does well; but methinks, gammer, a merry winter’s tale would drive away the time trimly. Come, I am sure you are not without a score. (100)
_Fan._ I’faith, gammer, a tale of an hour long were as good as an hour’s sleep.
_Fro._ Look you, gammer, of the giant and the king’s daughter, and I know not what. I have seen the day, when I was a little one, 105 you might have drawn me a mile after you with such a discourse.
_Madge._ Well, since you be so importunate, my good-man shall fill the pot and get him to bed; they that ply their work must keep 110 good hours. One of you go lie with him; he is a clean-skinned man I tell you, without either spavin or wind-gall: so I am content to drive away the time with an old wives’ winter’s tale.
_Fan._ No better hay in Devonshire; o’ my (115) word, gammer, I ’ll be one of your audience.
_Fro._ And I another, that ’s flat.
_Ant._ Then must I to bed with the good-man.—_Bona nox_, gammer.—Good night, Frolic.
_Smith._ Come on, my lad, thou shalt take (120) thy unnatural rest with me. _Exit_ ANTIC _and the smith_.
_Fro._ Yet this vantage shall we have of them in the morning, to be ready at the sight thereof extempore.
_Madge._ Now this bargain, my masters, (125) must I make with you, that you will say hum and ha to my tale, so shall I know you are awake.
_Both._ Content, gammer, that will we do.
_Madge._ Once upon a time, there was a (130) king, or a lord, or a duke, that had a fair daughter, the fairest that ever was, as white as snow and as red as blood; and once upon a time his daughter was stolen away; and he sent all his men to seek out his daughter; and he (135) sent so long, that he sent all his men out of his land.
_Fro._ Who drest his dinner, then?
_Madge._ Nay, either hear my tale, or kiss my tail. 140
_Fan._ Well said! On with your tale, gammer.
_Madge._ O Lord, I quite forgot! There was a conjurer, and this conjurer could do any thing, and he turned himself into a great dragon, and carried the king’s daughter away in his (145) mouth to a castle that he made of stone; and there he kept her I know not how long, till at last all the king’s men went out so long that her two brothers went to seek her. O, I forget! She (he, I would say,) turned a proper[113] (150) young man to a bear in the night, and a man in the day, and keeps[114] by a cross that parts three several ways; and he made his lady run mad,—Gods me bones, who comes here?
_Enter the_ Two Brothers.
_Fro._ Soft, gammer, here some come to (155) tell your tale for you.
_Fan._ Let them alone; let us hear what they will say.
_1 Bro._ Upon these chalky cliffs of Albion We are arrived now with tedious toil; 160 And compassing the wide world round about, To seek our sister, to seek fair Delia forth, Yet cannot we so much as hear of her.
_2 Bro._ O fortune cruel, cruel and unkind! Unkind in that we cannot find our sister, 165 Our sister, hapless in her cruel chance! Soft! who have we here?
_Enter Senex_ [ERESTUS] _at the cross, stooping to gather_.
_1 Bro._ Now, father, God be your speed! What do you gather there?
_Erest._[115] Hips and haws, and sticks and (170) straws, and things that I gather on the ground, my son.
_1 Bro._ Hips and haws, and sticks and straws! Why, is that all your food, father?
_Erest._ Yea, son. 175
_2 Bro._ Father, here is an alms-penny for me; and if I speed in that I go for, I will give thee as good a gown of grey as ever thou didst wear.
_1 Bro._ And, father, here is another alms-penny (180) for me; and if I speed in my journey, I will give thee a palmer’s staff of ivory, and a scallop-shell of beaten gold.
_Erest._ Was she fair?
_2 Bro._ Ay, the fairest for white, and the (185) purest for red, as the blood of the deer, or the driven snow.
_Erest._ Then hark well, and mark well, my old spell:
Be not afraid of every stranger; Start not aside at every danger; 190 Things that seem are not the same; Blow a blast at every flame; For when one flame of fire goes out, Then comes your wishes well about: If any ask who told you this good, 195 Say, the white bear of England’s wood.
_1 Bro._ Brother, heard you not what the old man said?
“Be not afraid of every stranger; Start not aside for every danger; Things that seem are not the same; 200 Blow a blast at every flame; [For when one flame of fire goes out, Then comes your wishes well about:] If any ask who told you this good, Say, the white bear of England’s wood.” 205
_2 Bro._ Well, if this do us any good, Well fare the white bear of England’s wood! _Exeunt_ [_the_ Two Brothers].
_Erest._ Now sit thee here, and tell a heavy tale, Sad in thy mood, and sober in thy cheer; Here sit thee now, and to thyself relate 210 The hard mishap of thy most wretched state. In Thessaly I liv’d in sweet content, Until that fortune wrought my overthrow; For there I wedded was unto a dame, That liv’d in honour, virtue, love, and fame. 215 But Sacrapant, that cursed sorcerer, Being besotted with my beauteous love, My dearest love, my true betrothed wife, Did seek the means to rid me of my life. But worse than this, he with his chanting spells 220 Did turn me straight unto an ugly bear; And when the sun doth settle in the west, Then I begin to don my ugly hide. And all the day I sit, as now you see. And speak in riddles, all inspired with rage, 225 Seeming an old and miserable man, And yet I am in April of my age. _Enter_ VENELIA _his lady, mad; and goes in again._ See where Venelia, my betrothed love, Runs madding, all enrag’d, about the woods, All by his cursed and enchanting spells.— 230 _Enter_ LAMPRISCUS _with a pot of honey._ But here comes Lampriscus, my discontented neighbour. How now, neighbour! You look toward the ground as well as I; you muse on something.
_Lamp._ Neighbour, on nothing but on the (235) matter I so often moved to you. If you do anything for charity, help me; if for neighbourhood or brotherhood, help me: never was one so cumbered as is poor Lampriscus; and to begin, I pray receive this pot of honey, to (240) mend your fare.
_Erest._ Thanks, neighbour, set it down; honey is always welcome to the bear. And now, neighbour, let me hear the cause of your coming. 245
_Lamp._ I am, as you know, neighbour, a man unmarried; and lived so unquietly with my two wives, that I keep every year holy the day wherein I buried them both: the first was on Saint Andrew’s day, the other on Saint (250) Luke’s.
_Erest._ And now, neighbour, you of this country say, your custom is out. But on with your tale, neighbour.
_Lamp._ By my first wife, whose tongue (255) wearied me alive, and sounded in my ears like the clapper of a great bell, whose talk was a continual torment to all that dwelt by her or lived nigh her, you have heard me say I had a handsome daughter. 260
_Erest._ True, neighbour.
_Lamp._ She it is that afflicts me with her continual clamours, and hangs on me like a bur. Poor she is, and proud she is; as poor as a sheep new-shorn, and as proud of her hopes (265) as a peacock of her tail well-grown.
_Erest._ Well said, Lampriscus! You speak it like an Englishman.
_Lamp._ As curst as a wasp, and as froward as a child new-taken from the mother’s teat; (270) she is to my age as smoke to the eyes or as vinegar to the teeth.
_Erest._ Holily praised, neighbour. As much for the next.
_Lamp._ By my other wife I had a daughter (275) so hard-favoured, so foul and ill-faced, that I think a grove full of golden trees, and the leaves of rubies and diamonds, would not be a dowry answerable to her deformity.
_Erest._ Well, neighbour, now you have (280) spoke, hear me speak. Send them to the well for the water of life; there shall they find their fortunes unlooked for. Neighbour, farewell. _Exit._
_Lamp._ Farewell, and a thousand! And (285) now goeth poor Lampriscus to put in execution this excellent counsel. _Exit._
_Fro._ Why, this goes round without a fiddling-stick: but, do you hear, gammer, was this the man that was a bear in the night and a man (290) in the day?
_Madge._ Ay, this is he; and this man that came to him was a beggar, and dwelt upon a green. But soft! who comes here? O, these are the harvest-men; ten to one they sing a (295) song of mowing.
_Enter the_ Harvest-men _a-singing, with this song double repeated._
All ye that lovely lovers be, Pray you for me. Lo, here we come a-sowing, a-sowing, And sow sweet fruits of love; 300 In your sweet hearts well may it prove! _Exeunt._
_Enter_ HUANEBANGO _with his two-hand sword, and_ BOOBY,[116] _the clown._
_Fan._ Gammer, what is he?
_Madge._ O, this is one that is going to the conjurer. Let him alone; hear what he says.
_Huan._ Now, by Mars and Mercury, (305) Jupiter and Janus, Sol and Saturnus, Venus and Vesta, Pallas and Proserpina, and by the honour of my house, Polimackeroeplacidus, it is a wonder to see what this love will make silly fellows adventure, even in the wane of their 310 wits and infancy of their discretion. Alas, my friend! what fortune calls thee forth to seek thy fortune among brazen gates, enchanted towers, fire and brimstone, thunder and lightning? Beauty, I tell thee, is peerless, and (315) she precious whom thou affectest. Do off these desires, good countryman; good friend, run away from thyself; and, so soon as thou canst, forget her, whom none must inherit but he that can monsters tame, labours achieve, riddles (320) absolve, loose enchantments, murder magic, and kill conjuring,—and that is the great and mighty Huanebango.
_Booby._ Hark you, sir, hark you. First know I have here the flurting feather, and have (325) given the parish the start for the long stock:[117] now, sir, if it be no more but running through a little lightning and thunder, and “riddle me, riddle me what ’s this?” I ’ll have the wench from the conjurer, if he were ten conjurers. 330
_Huan._ I have abandoned the court and honourable company, to do my devoir against this sore sorcerer and mighty magician: if this lady be so fair as she is said to be, she is mine, she is mine; _meus, mea, meum, in contemptum (335) omnium grammaticorum._
_Booby. O falsum Latinum!_ The fair maid is _minum_. _Cum apurtinantibus gibletis_ and all.
_Huan._ If she be mine, as I assure myself (340) the heavens will do somewhat to reward my worthiness, she shall be allied to none of the meanest gods, but be invested in the most famous stock of Huanebango,—Polimackeroeplacidus my grandfather, my father Pergopolineo, (345) my mother Dionora de Sardinia, famously descended.
_Booby._ Do you hear, sir? Had not you a cousin that was called Gusteceridis?
_Huan._ Indeed, I had a cousin that sometime (350) followed the court infortunately, and his name Bustegusteceridis.
_Cor._ O Lord, I know him well! He is the knight of the neat’s-feet.
_Huan._ O, he loved no capon better! He (355) hath oftentimes deceived his boy of his dinner; that was his fault, good Bustegusteceridis.
_Booby._ Come, shall we go along? [_Enter_ ERESTUS _at the cross._] Soft! here is an old man at the cross; let us ask him the way thither.—Ho, you gaffer! (360) I pray you tell where the wise man the conjurer dwells.
_Huan._ Where that earthly goddess keepeth her abode, the commander of my thoughts, and fair mistress of my heart. 365
_Erest._ Fair enough, and far enough from thy fingering, son.
_Huan._ I will follow my fortune after mine own fancy, and do according to mine own discretion. 370
_Erest._ Yet give something to an old man before you go.
_Huan._ Father, methinks a piece of this cake might serve your turn.
_Erest._ Yea, son. 375
_Huan._ Huanebango giveth no cakes for alms; ask of them that give gifts for poor beggars.—Fair lady, if thou wert once shrined in this bosom, I would buckler thee haratantara. _Exit._
_Booby._ Father, do you see this man? You (380) little think he ’ll run a mile or two for such a cake, or pass[118] for a pudding. I tell you, father, he has kept such a begging of me for a piece of this cake! Whoo! he comes upon me with “a superfantial substance, and the foison[119] of (385) the earth,” that I know not what he means. If he came to me thus, and said, “My friend Booby,” or so, why, I could spare him a piece with all my heart; but when he tells me how God hath enriched me above other fellows (390) with a cake, why, he makes me blind and deaf at once. Yet, father, here is a piece of cake for you, as hard as the world goes.[120] [_Gives cake._]
_Erest._ Thanks, son, but list to me; He shall be deaf when thou shalt not see. 395 Farewell, my son: things may so hit, Thou mayst have wealth to mend thy wit.
_Cor._ Farewell, father, farewell; for I must make haste after my two-hand sword that is gone before. _Exeunt omnes._ 400
_Enter_ SACRAPANT _in his study._
_Sac._ The day is clear, the welkin bright and grey, The lark is merry and records[121] her notes; Each thing rejoiceth underneath the sky, But only I, whom heaven hath in hate, Wretched and miserable Sacrapant. 405 In Thessaly was I born and brought up; My mother Meroe hight,[122] a famous witch, And by her cunning I of her did learn To change and alter shapes of mortal men. There did I turn myself into a dragon, 410 And stole away the daughter to the king, Fair Delia, the mistress of my heart; And brought her hither to revive the man That seemeth young and pleasant to behold, And yet is aged, crooked, weak, and numb. 415 Thus by enchanting spells I do deceive Those that behold and look upon my face; But well may I bid youthful years adieu. _Enter_ DELIA _with a pot in her hand._ See where she comes from whence my sorrows grow! How now, fair Delia! where have you been? 420
_Del._ At the foot of the rock for running water, and gathering roots for your dinner, sir.
_Sac._ Ah, Delia, fairer art thou than the running water, yet harder far than steel or adamant! 425
_Del._ Will it please you to sit down, sir?
_Sac._ Ay, Delia, sit and ask me what thou wilt, Thou shalt have it brought into thy lap.
_Del._ Then, I pray you, sir, let me have the best meat from the King of England’s table, (430) and the best wine in all France, brought in by the veriest knave in all Spain.
_Sac._ Delia, I am glad to see you so pleasant. Well, sit thee down.— Spread, table, spread, 435 Meat, drink, and bread, Ever may I have What I ever crave, When I am spread, For meat for my black cock, 440 And meat for my red. _Enter a_ Friar _with a chine of beef and a pot of wine._ Here, Delia, will ye fall to?
_Del._ Is this the best meat in England?
_Sac._ Yea.
_Del._ What is it? 445
_Sac._ A chine of English beef, meat for a king and a king’s followers.
_Del._ Is this the best wine in France?
_Sac._ Yea.
_Del._ What wine is it? 450
_Sac._ A cup of neat wine of Orleans, that never came near the brewers in England.
_Del._ Is this the veriest knave in all Spain?
_Sac._ Yea.
_Del._ What, is he a friar? 455
_Sac._ Yea, a friar indefinite, and a knave infinite.
_Del._ Then, I pray ye, Sir Friar, tell me before you go, which is the most greediest Englishman? 460
_Fri._ The miserable and most covetous usurer.
_Sac._ Hold thee there, friar. (_Exit_ Friar.) But, soft! Who have we here? Delia, away, be gone! _Enter the_ Two Brothers. Delia, away! for beset are we.— But heaven or hell shall rescue her for me. 465 [_Exeunt_ DELIA _and_ SACRAPANT.]
_1 Bro._ Brother, was not that Delia did appear, Or was it but her shadow that was here?
_2 Bro._ Sister, where art thou? Delia, come again! He calls, that of thy absence doth complain.— Call out, Calypha, that she may hear, 470 And cry aloud, for Delia is near.
_Echo._ Near.
_1 Bro._ Near! O, where? Hast thou any tidings?
_Echo._ Tidings.
_2 Bro._ Which way is Delia, then; or that, or this? 475
_Echo._ This.
_1 Bro._ And may we safely come where Delia is?
_Echo._ Yes.
_2 Bro._ Brother, remember you the white bear of England’s wood? 480
“Start not aside for every danger, Be not afeard of every stranger; Things that seem are not the same.”
_1 Bro._ Brother, Why do we not, then, courageously enter? 485
_2 Bro._ Then, brother, draw thy sword and follow me.
_Re-enter_ [SACRAPANT] _the Conjurer: it lightens and thunders; the_ Second Brother _falls down._
_1 Bro._ What, brother, dost thou fall?
_Sac._ Ay, and thou too, Calypha. _The_ First Brother _falls down. Enter_ Two Furies. _Adeste, dæmones!_ Away with them: Go carry them straight to Sacrapanto’s cell, 490 There in despair and torture for to dwell. [_Exeunt_ Furies _with the_ Two Brothers.] These are Thenores’ sons of Thessaly, That come to seek Delia their sister forth; But, with a potion I to her have given, My arts have made her to forget herself. 495 _Removes a turf, and shows a light in a glass._ See here the thing which doth prolong my life, With this enchantment I do any thing; And till this fade, my skill shall still endure, And never none shall break this little glass, But she that ’s neither wife, widow, nor maid. 500 Then cheer thyself; this is thy destiny, Never to die but by a dead man’s hand. _Exit._
_Enter_ EUMENIDES, _the wandering knight, and_ [ERESTUS] _the old man at the cross._
_Eum._ Tell me, Time, Tell me, just Time, when shall I Delia see? When shall I see the loadstar of my life? 505 When shall my wand’ring course end with her sight, Or I but view my hope, my heart’s delight? [_Seeing Erestus._] Father, God speed! If you tell fortunes, I pray, good father, tell me mine.
_Erest._ Son, I do see in thy face 510 Thy blessed fortune work apace. I do perceive that thou hast wit; Beg of thy fate to govern it, For wisdom govern’d by advice, Makes many fortunate and wise. 515 Bestow thy alms, give more than all, Till dead men’s bones come at thy call. Farewell, my son! Dream of no rest, Till thou repent that thou didst best. _Exit._
_Eum._ This man hath left me in a labyrinth: 520 He biddeth me give more than all, Till dead men’s bones come at my call; He biddeth me dream of no rest. Till I repent that I do best. [_Lies down and sleeps._]
_Enter_ WIGGEN, COREBUS,[123] Churchwarden, and Sexton.
_Wig._ You may be ashamed, you whoreson (525) scald Sexton and Churchwarden, if you had any shame in those shameless faces of yours, to let a poor man lie so long above ground unburied. A rot on you all, that have no more compassion of a good fellow when he is gone! 530
_Church._[124] What, would you have us to bury him, and to answer it ourselves to the parish?
_Sex._ Parish me no parishes; pay me my fees, and let the rest run on in the quarter’s accounts, and put it down for one of your good 535 deeds, o’ God’s name! for I am not one that curiously stands upon merits.
_Cor._ You whoreson, sodden-headed sheep’s-face, shall a good fellow do less service and more honesty to the parish, and will you not, 540 when he is dead, let him have Christmas burial?
_Wig._ Peace, Corebus! As sure as Jack was Jack, the frolic’st franion amongst you, and I, Wiggen, his sweet sworn brother, Jack shall have his funerals, or some of them shall lie (545) on God’s dear earth for it, that’s once.[125]
_Church._ Wiggen, I hope thou wilt do no more than thou dar’st answer.
_Wig._ Sir, sir, dare or dare not, more or less, answer or not answer, do this, or have this. 550
_Sex._ Help, help, help!
WIGGEN _sets upon the parish with a pike-staff_:[126] EUMENIDES _awakes and comes to them._
_Eum._ Hold thy hands, good fellow.
_Cor._ Can you blame him, sir, if he take Jack’s part against this shake-rotten parish that will not bury Jack? 555
_Eum._ Why, what was that Jack?
_Cor._ Who, Jack, sir? Who, our Jack, sir? As good a fellow as ever trod upon neat’s-leather.
_Wig._ Look you, sir; he gave fourscore (560) and nineteen mourning gowns to the parish when he died, and because he would not make them up a full hundred, they would not bury him: was not this good dealing?
_Church._ O Lord, sir, how he lies! He was (565) not worth a halfpenny, and drunk out every penny; and now his fellows, his drunken companions, would have us to bury him at the charge of the parish. An we make many such matches, we may pull down the steeple, sell (570) the bells, and thatch the chancel. He shall lie above ground till he dance a galliard about the church-yard, for Steven Loach.
_Wig. Sic argumentaris, Domine_ Loach;—“an we make many such matches, we may (575) pull down the steeple, sell the bells, and thatch the chancel!”—in good time, sir, and hang yourselves in the bell-ropes, when you have done. _Domine, opponens præpono tibi hanc quœstionem_, whether will you have the (580) ground broken or your pates broken first? For one of them shall be done presently, and to begin mine,[127] I’ll seal it upon your coxcomb.
_Eum._ Hold thy hands, I pray thee, good fellow; be not too hasty. 585
_Cor._ You capon’s face, we shall have you turned out of the parish one of these days, with never a tatter to your arse; then you are in worse taking than Jack.
_Eum._ Faith, and he is bad enough. This (590) fellow does but the part of a friend, to seek to bury his friend. How much will bury him?
_Wig._ Faith, about some fifteen or sixteen shillings will bestow him honestly.
_Sex._ Ay, even thereabouts, sir. 595
_Eum._ Here, hold it, then:—[_aside._] and I have left me but one poor three half-pence. Now do I remember the words the old man spake at the cross, “Bestow all thou hast,” and this is all, “till dead men’s bones come (600) at thy call.”—Here, hold it [_gives money_]; and so farewell.
_Wig._ God, and all good, be with you, sir! [_Exit_ EUMENIDES.] Nay, you cormorants, I’ll bestow one peal of[128] Jack at mine own 605 proper costs and charges.
_Cor._ You may thank God the long staff and the bilbo-blade crossed nor your coxcomb.—Well, we’ll to the church-stile[129] and have a pot, and so trill-lill. [_Exit with_ WIGGEN.] 610
_Church._} _Sex._ } Come, let’s go. _Exeunt._
_Fan._ But, hark you, gammer, me thinks this Jack bore a great sway in the parish.
_Madge._ O, this Jack was a marvellous (615) fellow! he was but a poor man, but very well beloved. You shall see anon what this Jack will come to.
_Enter the_ Harvest-men _singing, with women in their hands._
_Fro._ Soft! who have we here? Our amorous harvesters. 620
_Fan._ Ay, ay, let us sit still, and let them alone.
_Here they begin to sing, the song doubled._
Lo, here we come a-reaping, a-reaping, To reap our harvest-fruit! And thus we pass the year so long, 625 And never be we mute _Exeunt the_ Harvest-men.
_Enter_ HUANEBANGO _and_ COREBUS, _the clown._
_Fro._ Soft! who have we here?
_Madge._ O, this is a choleric gentleman! All you that love your lives, keep out of the smell of his two-hand sword. Now goes he to the (630) conjurer.
_Fan._ Methinks the conjurer should put the fool into a juggling-box.
_Huan._ Fee, fa, fum, Here is the Englishman,— 635 Conquer him that can,— Come for his lady bright, To prove himself a knight, And win her love in fight.
_Cor._ Who-haw, Master Bango, are you (640) here? Hear you, you had best sit down here, and beg an alms with me.
_Huan._ Hence, base cullion! Here is he that commandeth ingress and egress with his weapon, and will enter at his voluntary, 645 whosoever saith no.
_A voice and flame of fire_; HUANEBANGO _falleth down._
_Voice._ No.
_Madge._ So with that they kissed, and spoiled the edge of as good a two-hand sword as ever God put life in. Now goes Corebus in, spite 650 of the conjurer.
_Enter_ [SACRAPANT] the Conjurer _and_ [Two Furies].
_Sac._ Away with him into the open fields, To be a ravening prey to crows and kites: [HUAN. _is carried out by the_ Two Furies.] And for this villain, let him wander up and down, In naught but darkness and eternal night. 655
_Strikes_ COREBUS _blind._
_Cor._ Here hast thou slain Huan, a slashing knight, And robbed poor Corebus of his sight. _Exit._
_Sac._ Hence, villain, hence!—Now I have unto Delia Given a potion of forgetfulness, That, when she comes, she shall not know her brothers. 660 Lo, where they labour, like to country-slaves, With spade and mattock, on this enchanted ground! Now will I call her by another name; For never shall she know herself again, Until that Sacrapant hath breath’d his last. 665 See where she comes.
_Enter_ DELIA.
Come hither, Delia, take this goad; here hard At hand two slaves do work and dig for gold: Gore them with this, and thou shalt have enough. _Gives her a goad._
_Del._ Good sir, I know not what you mean. 670
_Sac._ [_aside._] She hath forgotten to be Delia, But not forgot the same she should forget; But I will change her name.— Fair Berecynthia, so this country calls you, Go ply these strangers, wench; they dig for gold. _Exit._ 675
_Del._ O heavens, how Am I beholding to this fair young man! But I must ply these strangers to their work: See where they come.
_Enter the_ Two Brothers _in their shirts, with spades, digging_.
_1 Bro._ O brother, see where Delia is! 680
_2 Bro._ O Delia, Happy are we to see thee here!
_Del._ What tell you me of Delia, prating swains? I know no Delia, nor know I what you mean. Ply you your work, or else you ’re like to smart. 685
_1 Bro._ Why, Delia, know’st thou not thy brothers here? We come from Thessaly to seek thee forth; And thou deceiv’st thyself, for thou art Delia.
_Del._ Yet more of Delia? Then take this, and smart. [_Pricks them with the goad._] What, feign you shifts for to defer your labour? 690 Work, villains, work; it is for gold you dig.
_2 Bro._ Peace, brother, peace: this vild[130] enchanter Hath ravisht Delia of her senses clean, And she forgets that she is Delia.
_1 Bro._ Leave, cruel thou, to hurt the miserable.— 695 Dig, brother, dig, for she is hard as steel.
_Here they dig, and descry a light [in a glass] under a little hill._
_2 Bro._ Stay, brother; what hast thou descried?
_Del._ Away, and touch it not; ’tis something that My lord hath hidden there. _Covers the light again._
_Re-enter_ SACRAPANT.
_Sac._ Well said![131] thou plyest these pioners[132] well— 700 Go get you in, you labouring slaves. [_Exeunt the_ Two Brothers.] Come, Berecynthia, let us in likewise, And hear the nightingale record her notes. _Exeunt._
_Enter_ ZANTIPPA, _the curst daughter, to the Well_ [_of Life_], _with a pot in her hand._
_Zan._ Now for a husband, house, and home: God send a good one or none, I pray God! (705) My father hath sent me to the well for the water of life, and tells me, if I give fair words, I shall have a husband. But here comes
_Enter_ [CELANTA], _the foul wench, to the Well for water with a pot in her hand._
Celanta, my sweet sister. I ’ll stand by and hear what she says. 710
_Cel._ My father hath sent me to the well for water, and he tells me, if I speak fair, I shall have a husband, and none of the worst. Well, though I am black,[133] I am sure all the world will not forsake me; and, as the old proverb (715) is, though I am black, I am not the devil.
_Zan._ Marry-gup with a murrain,[134] I know wherefore thou speakest that: but go thy ways home as wise as thou camest, or I ’ll set thee home with a wanion.[135] 720
_Here she strikes her pitcher against her sister’s, and breaks them both, and then exit._
_Cel._ I think this be the curstest quean in the world. You see what she is, a little fair, but as proud as the devil, and the veriest vixen that lives upon God’s earth. Well, I ’ll let her alone, and go home and get another pitcher, and, (725) for all this, get me to the well for water. _Exit._
_Enter two Furies out of the Conjurer’s cell and lay_ HUANEBANGO _by the Well of Life_ [_and then exeunt_.] _Re-enter_ ZANTIPPA _with a pitcher to the well_.
_Zan._ Once again for a husband; and, in faith, Celanta, I have got the start of you; belike husbands grow by the well-side. Now my father says I must rule my tongue. Why, alas, (730) what am I, then? A woman without a tongue is as a soldier without his weapon. But I ’ll have my water, and be gone.
_Here she offers to dip her pitcher in, and a_ Head _speaks in the well_.
_Head._ Gently dip, but not too deep. For fear you make the golden beard to weep. 735 Fair maiden, white and red, Stroke me smooth, and comb my head, And thou shalt have some cockell-bread.[136]
_Zan._ What is this? “Fair maiden, white and red, 740 Comb me smooth, and stroke my head. And thou shalt have some cockell-bread”? “Cockell” callest thou it, boy? Faith, I ’ll give you cockell-bread.
_She breaks her pitcher upon the_ Head: _then it thunders and lightens; and_ HUANEBANGO, _who is deaf and cannot hear, rises up_.
_Huan._ Philida, phileridos, pamphilida, florida, flortos: 745 Dub dub-a-dub, bounce, quoth the guns, with a sulphurous huff-snuff:[137] Wakt with a wench, pretty peat, pretty love, and my sweet pretty pigsnie,[138] Just by thy side shall sit surnamed great Huanebango: Safe in my arms will I keep thee, threat Mars or thunder Olympus.
_Zan._ [_aside._] Foh, what greasy groom (750) have we here? He looks as though he crept out of the backside of the well, and speaks like a drum perisht at the west end.
_Huan._ O, that I might,—but I may not, woe to my destiny therefore!—[139] Kiss that I clasp! but I cannot. Tell me, my destiny, wherefore? 755
_Zan._ [_aside._] Whoop! now I have my dream. Did you never hear so great a wonder as this? Three blue beans in a blue bladder, rattle, bladder, rattle.
_Huan._ [_aside._] I ’ll now set my countenance, (760) and to her in prose, it may be, this rim-ram-ruff[140] is too rude an encounter.—Let me, fair lady, if you be at leisure, revel with your sweetness, and rail upon that cowardly conjurer, that hath cast me, or congealed me (765) rather, into an unkind sleep, and polluted my carcass.
_Zan._ [_aside._] Laugh, laugh, Zantippa; thou hast thy fortune, a fool and a husband under one.
_Huan._ Truly, sweet-heart, as I seem, (770) about some twenty years, the very April of mine age.
_Zan._ [_aside._] Why, what a prating ass is this!
_Huan._ Her coral lips, her crimson chin, Her silver teeth so white within, 775 Her golden locks, her rolling eye, Her pretty parts, let them go by, Heigh-ho, hath wounded me, That I must die this day to see!
_Zan._ By Gogs-bones, thou art a flouting (780) knave. “Her coral lips, her crimson chin”! ka,[141] wilshaw!
_Huan._ True, my own, and my own because mine, and mine because mine, ha, ha! Above a thousand pounds in possibility, and things 785 fitting thy desire in possession.
_Zan._ [_aside._] The sot thinks I ask of his lands. Lob[142] be your comfort, and cuckold be your destiny!—Hear you, sir; an if you will have us, you had best say so betime. 790
_Huan._ True, sweet-heart, and will royalize thy progeny with my pedigree. _Exeunt._
_Enter_ EUMENIDES, _the wandering knight_.
_Eum._ Wretched Eumenides, still unfortunate, Envied by fortune and forlorn by fate, Here pine and die, wretched Eumenides, 795 Die in the spring, the April of my age! Here sit thee down, repent what thou hast done: I would to God that it were ne’er begun!
_Enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ You are well overtaken, sir.
_Eum._ Who ’s that? 800
[_G. of_] _Jack._ You are heartily well met, sir.
_Eum._ Forbear, I say; who is that which pincheth me?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Trusting in God, good Master Eumenides, that you are in so good health as (805) all your friends were at the making hereof, God give you good morrow, sir! Lack you not a neat, handsome, and cleanly young lad, about the age of fifteen or sixteen years, that can run by your horse, and, for a need, make (810) your mastership’s shoes as black as ink? How say you, sir?
_Eum._ Alas, pretty lad, I know not how to keep myself, and much less a servant, my pretty boy; my state is so bad. 815
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Content yourself, you shall not be so ill a master but I ’ll be as bad a servant. Tut, sir, I know you, though you know not me. Are not you the man, sir, deny it if you can, sir, that came from a strange place (820) in the land of Catita, where Jack-an-apes flies with his tail in his mouth, to seek out a lady as white as snow and as red as blood? Ha, ha! have I touched you now?
_Eum._ [_aside._] I think this boy be a (825) spirit.—How knowest thou all this?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Tut, are not you the man, sir, deny it if you can, sir, that gave all the money you had to the burying of a poor man, and but one three half-pence left in your (830) purse? Content you, sir, I ’ll serve you, that is flat.
_Eum._ Well, my lad, since thou art so impor[tu]nate, I am content to entertain thee, not as a servant, but a copartner in my journey, (835) But whither shall we go? for I have not any money more than one bare three half-pence.
_G._ [_of_] _Jack._ Well, master, content yourself, for if my divination be not out, that shall be spent at the next inn or alehouse we come (840) to: for, master, I know you are passing hungry; therefore I ’ll go before and provide dinner until that you come; no doubt but you ’ll come fair and softly after.
_Eum._ Ay, go before; I ’ll follow thee. 845
[_G. of_] _Jack._ But do you hear, master? Do you know my name?
_Eum._ No, I promise thee, not yet.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, I am Jack. _Exit._
_Eum._ Jack! Why, be it so, then. 850
_Enter the_ HOSTESS _and_ JACK, _setting meat on the table: and Fiddlers come to play_. EUMENIDES _walketh up and down, and will eat no meat_.
_Host._ How say you, sir? Do you please to sit down?
_Eum._ Hostess, I thank you, I have no great stomach.
_Host._ Pray, sir, what is the reason your (855) master is so strange? Doth not this meat please him?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Yes, hostess, but it is my master’s fashion to pay before he eats; therefore, a reckoning, good hostess. 860
_Host._ Marry, shall you, sir, presently. _Exit._
_Eum._ Why. Jack, what dust thou mean? Thou knowest I have not any money; therefore, sweet Jack, tell me what shall I do?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Well, master, look in your (865) purse.
_Eum._ Why, faith, it is a folly, for I have no money.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, look you, master; do so much for me. 870
_Eum._ [_looking into his purse._] Alas, Jack, my purse is full of money!
[_G. of_] _Jack._ “Alas,” master! does that word belong to this accident? Why, methinks I should have seen you cast away your cloak, (875) and in a bravado dance a galliard round about the chamber. Why, master, your man can teach you more wit than this. [_Re-enter_ Hostess.] Come, hostess, cheer up my master.
_Host._ You are heartily welcome; and if it (880) please you to eat of a fat capon, a fairer bird, a finer bird, a sweeter bird, a crisper bird, a neater bird, your worship never eat of.
_Eum._ Thanks, my fine, eloquent hostess.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ But hear you, master, one (885) word by the way. Are you content I shall be halves in all you get in your journey?
_Eum._ I am. Jack, here is my hand.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Enough, master, I ask no more.
_Eum._ Come, hostess, receive your money; (890) and I thank you for my good entertainment. [_Gives money._]
_Host._ You are heartily welcome, sir.
_Eum._ Come, Jack, whither go we now?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Marry, master, to the conjurer’s presently. 895
_Eum._ Content, Jack.—Hostess, farewell. _Exeunt._
_Enter_ COREBUS [_blind_], _and_ CELANTA, _the foul wench, to the Well for water_.
_Cor._ Come, my duck, come: I have now got a wife. Thou art fair, art thou not?
_Cel._ My Corebus, the fairest alive; make no doubt of that. 900
_Cor._ Come, wench, are we almost at the well?
_Cel._ Ay, Corebus, we are almost at the well now. I ’ll go fetch some water; sit down while I dip my pitcher in.
_Voice._ Gently dip, but not too deep, 905 For fear you make the golden beard to weep.
_A_ Head _comes up with ears of corn, and she combs them into her lap_.
Fair maiden, white and red, Comb me smooth, and stroke my head. And thou shalt have some cockell-bread.
_A_ [Second] Head _comes up full of gold; she combs it into her lap_.[143]
[_Sec. Head._] Gently dip, but not too deep, 910 For fear thou make the golden beard to weep. Fair maid, white and red, Comb me smooth, and stroke my head, And every hair a sheaf shall be, And every sheaf a golden tree. 915
_Cel._ O, see, Corebus, I have comb’d a great deal of gold into my lap, and a great deal of corn!
_Cor._ Well said,[144] wench! now we shall have just enough. God send us coiners to coin our (920) gold. But come, shall we go home, sweet-heart?
_Cel._ Nay, come, Corebus, I will lead you.
_Cor._ So, Corebus, things have well hit; Thou hast gotten wealth to mend thy wit. _Exeunt._
_Enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _and_ [EUMENIDES] _the wandering knight_.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Come away, master, come. 925
_Eum._ Go along. Jack, I ’ll follow thee. Jack, they say it is good to go cross-legged, and say his prayers backward; how sayest thou?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Tut, never fear, master; let me alone. Here sit you still; speak not a word; (930) and because you shall not be enticed with his enchanting speeches, with this same wool I ’ll stop your ears: and so, master, sit still, for I must to the conjurer. _Exit._
_Enter_ [SACRAPANT] _the Conjurer to the wandering knight._
_Sac._ How now! What man art thou that sits so sad? 935 Why dost thou gaze upon these stately trees Without the leave and will of Sacrapant? What, not a word but mum? Then, Sacrapant, Thou art betray’d.
_Re-enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _invisible, and takes off_ SACRAPANT’S _wreath from his head, and his sword out of his hand._
What hand invades the head of Sacrapant? 940 What hateful Fury doth envy my happy state? Then, Sacrapant, these are thy latest days. Alas, my veins are numb’d, my sinews shrink. My blood is pierc’d, my breath fleeting away. And now my timeless date is come to end! 945 He in whose life his actions hath[145] been so foul, Now in his death to hell descends his soul. _He dieth._
[_G. of_] _Jack._ O, sir, are you gone? Now I hope we shall have some other coil.—Now, master, how like you this? The conjurer he is 950 dead, and vows never to trouble us more. Now get you to your fair lady, and see what you can do with her.—Alas, he heareth me not all this while; but I will help that.
_Pulls the wool out of the ears of_ EUMENIDES.
_Eum._ How now. Jack! What news? 955
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Here, master, take this sword, and dig with it at the foot of this hill.
EUMENIDES _digs, and spies a light [in a glass]._
_Eum._ How now, Jack! What is this?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Master, without this the conjurer could do nothing; and so long as this (960) light lasts, so long doth his art endure, and this being out, then doth his art decay.
_Eum._ Why, then, Jack, I will soon put out this light.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Ay, master, how? 965
_Eum._ Why, with a stone I ’ll break the glass, and then blow it out.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ No, master, you may as soon break the smith’s anvil as this little vial; nor the biggest blast that ever Boreas blew cannot (970) blow out this little light; but she that is neither maid, wife, nor widow. Master, wind this horn, and see what will happen.
EUMENIDES _winds the horn. Here enters_ VENELIA, _and breaks the glass, and blows out the light, and goeth in again._
So, master, how like you this? This is she that ran madding in the woods, his betrothed love (975) that keeps the cross; and now, this light being out, all are restored to their former liberty. And now, master, to the lady that you have so long looked for.
_The_ GHOST OF JACK _draweth a curtain, and there_ DELIA _sitteth asleep._
_Eum._ God speed, fair maid, sitting alone,—there (980) is once; God speed, fair maid,—there is twice; God speed, fair maid,—that is thrice.
_Del._ Not so, good sir, for you are by.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Enough, master, she hath (985) spoke; now I will leave her with you. [_Exit._]
_Eum._ Thou fairest flower of these western parts, Whose beauty so reflecteth in my sight As doth a crystal mirror in the sun; For thy sweet sake I have crost the frozen Rhine;[146] 990 Leaving fair Po, I sail’d up Danuby As far as Saba, whose enhancing streams Cut twixt the Tartars and the Russians; These have I crost for thee, fair Delia: Then grant me that which I have su’d for long. 995
_Del._ Thou gentle knight, whose fortune is so good To find me out and set my brothers free, My faith, my heart, my hand I give to thee.
_Eum._ Thanks, gentle madam; but here comes Jack: thank him, for he is the (1000) best friend that we have.
_Re-enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK, _with a head in his hand._
How now. Jack! What hast thou there?
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Marry, master, the head of the conjurer.
_Eum._ Why, Jack, that is impossible; he (1005) was a young man.
[_G. of_] _Jack_. Ah, master, so he deceived them that beheld him! But he was a miserable, old, and crooked man, though to each man’s eye he seemed young and fresh; for, (1010) master, this conjurer took the shape of the old man that kept the cross, and that old man was in the likeness of the conjurer. But now, master, wind your horn.
EUMENIDES _winds his horn. Enter_ VENELIA, _the_ Two Brothers, _and_ [ERESTUS] _he that was at the cross._
_Eum._ Welcome, Erestus! welcome, fair Venelia! 1015 Welcome, Thelea and Calypha both! Now have I her that I so long have sought; So saith fair Delia, if we have your consent.
_1 Bro._ Valiant EUMENIDES, thou well deservest To have our favours; so let us rejoice 1020 That by thy means we are at liberty. Here may we joy each in other’s sight, And this fair lady have her wandering knight.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ So, master, now ye think you have done; but I must have a saying to (1025) you. You know you and I were partners, I to have half in all you got.
_Eum._ Why, so thou shalt. Jack.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, then, master, draw your sword, part your lady, let me have half of (1030) her presently.
_Eum._ Why, I hope. Jack, thou dost but jest. I promised thee half I got, but not half my lady.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ But what else, master? (1035) Have you not gotten her? Therefore divide her straight, for I will have half; there is no remedy.
_Eum._ Well, ere I will falsify my word unto my friend, take her all. Here, Jack, I’ll (1040) give her thee.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Nay, neither more nor less, master, but even just half.
_Eum._ Before I will falsify my faith unto my friend, I will divide her. Jack, thou shalt (1045) have half.
_1 Bro._ Be not so cruel unto our sister, gentle knight.
_2 Bro._ O, spare fair Delia! She deserves no death. 1050
_Eum._ Content yourselves; my word is passed to him.—Therefore prepare thyself, Delia, for thou must die.
_Del._ Then farewell, world! Adieu, Eumenides!
EUMENIDES _offers to strike, and_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _stays him._
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Stay, master; it is sufficient (1055) I have tried your constancy. Do you now remember since you paid for the burying of a poor fellow?
_Eum._ Ay, very well, Jack.
[_G. of_] _Jack._ Then, master, thank that (1060) good deed for this good turn; and so God be with you all! _Leaps down in the ground._
_Eum._ Jack, what, art thou gone? Then farewell. Jack!— Come, brothers, and my beauteous Delia, Erestus, and thy dear Venelia, 1065 We will to Thessaly with joyful hearts.
_All._ Agreed: we follow thee and Delia.
_Exeunt all_ [_except_ FROLIC, FANTASTIC, _and_ MADGE].
_Fan._ What, gammer, asleep?
_Madge._ By the mass, son, ’t is almost day; and my windows shut at the cock’s-crow. 1070
_Fro._ Do you hear, gammer? Methinks this Jack bore a great sway amongst them.
_Madge._ O, man, this was the ghost of the poor man that they kept such a coil to bury; and that makes him to help the wandering 1075 knight so much. But come, let us in: we will have a cup of ale and a toast this morning, and so depart.[147]
_Fan._ Then you have made an end of your tale, gammer? 1080
_Madge._ Yes, faith: when this was done, I took a piece of bread and cheese, and came my way; and so shall you have, too, before you go, to your breakfast. [_Exeunt._]
THE HONOURABLE HISTORY OF FRIAR BACON AND FRIAR BUNGAY
BY ROBERT GREENE
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
KING HENRY THE THIRD. EDWARD, Prince of Wales, his son. EMPEROR OF GERMANY. KING OF CASTILE. LACY, Earl of Lincoln. WARREN, Earl of Sussex. ERMSBY, a gentleman. RALPH SIMNELL, the King’s Fool. FRIAR BACON. MILES, Friar Bacon’s poor scholar. FRIAR BUNGAY. JAQUES VANDERMAST, a German. BURDEN, } MASON, } Doctors of Oxford. CLEMENT,} LAMBERT,} gentlemen. SERLSBY,} Two Scholars, their sons. The Keeper of Fressingfield. THOMAS, } farmers’ sons. RICHARD, } Constable. A Post. Lords, Country Clowns, &c.
ELINOR, daughter to the King of Castile. MARGARET, the Keeper’s daughter of Fressingfield. JOAN, a country wench. Hostess of the Bell at Henley.
A DEVIL. Spirit in the shape of HERCULES. A dragon shooting fire.]
[SCENE I.][148]
_Enter_ PRINCE EDWARD _malcontented, with_ LACY, WARREN, ERMSBY, _and_ RALPH SIMNELL.
_Lacy._ Why looks my lord like to a troubled sky When heaven’s bright shine is shadow’d with a fog? Alate[149] we ran the deer, and through the lawns Stripp’d[150] with our nags the lofty frolic bucks That scudded ’fore the teasers[151] like the wind. Ne’er was the deer of merry Fressingfield 6 So lustily pull’d down by jolly mates, Nor shar’d the farmers such fat venison, So frankly dealt, this hundred years before; Nor have I seen my lord more frolic in the chase, 10 And now—chang’d to a melancholy dump.
_War._ After the prince got to the Keeper’s lodge, And had been jocund in the house awhile, Tossing off ale and milk in country cans, Whether it was the country’s sweet content, 15 Or else the bonny damsel fill’d us drink, That seem’d so stately in her stammel[152] red, Or that a qualm did cross his stomach then,— But straight he fell into his passions.
_Erms._ Sirrah Ralph, what say you to your master? 20 Shall he thus all amort[153] live malcontent?
_Ralph._ Hearest thou, Ned?—Nay, look if he will speak to me!
_P. Edw._ What say’st thou to me, fool?
_Ralph._ I prithee, tell me, Ned, art thou in (25) love with the Keeper’s daughter?
_P. Edw._ How if I be, what then?
_Ralph._ Why, then, sirrah, I’ll teach thee how to deceive Love.
_P. Edw._ How, Ralph? (30)
_Ralph._ Marry, Sirrah Ned, thou shalt put on my cap and my coat and my dagger, and I will put on thy clothes and thy sword; and so thou shalt be my fool.
_P. Edw._ And what of this? 35
_Ralph._ Why, so thou shalt beguile Love: for Love is such a proud scab, that he will never meddle with fools nor children. Is not Ralph’s counsel good, Ned?
_P. Edw._ Tell me, Ned Lacy, didst thou mark the maid, 40 How lively in her country-weeds she look’d? A bonnier wench all Suffolk cannot yield:— All Suffolk! nay, all England holds none such.
_Ralph._ Sirrah Will Ermsby, Ned is deceived.
_Erms._ Why, Ralph? 45
_Ralph._ He says all England hath no such, and I say, and I ’ll stand to it, there is one better in Warwickshire.
_War._ How provest thou that, Ralph?
_Ralph._ Why is not the abbot a learned man, (50) and hath read many books, and thinkest thou he hath not more learning than thou to choose a bonny wench? Yes, I warrant thee, by his whole grammar.
_Erms._ A good reason, Ralph. 55
_P. Edw._ I tell thee, Lacy, that her sparkling eyes Do lighten forth sweet love’s alluring fire; And in her tresses she doth fold the looks Of such as gaze upon her golden hair; 60 Her bashful white, mix’d with the morning’s red, Luna doth boast upon her lovely cheeks; Her front is beauty’s table, where she paints The glories of her gorgeous excellence; Her teeth are shelves of precious marguerites,[154] Richly enclos’d with ruddy coral cliffs. 65 Tush, Lacy, she is Beauty’s over-match. If thou survey’st her curious imagery.[155]
_Lacy._ I grant, my lord, the damsel is as fair As simple Suffolk’s homely towns can yield; But in the court be quainter dames than she, 70 Whose faces are enrich’d with honour’s taint,[156] Whose beauties stand upon the stage of Fame, And vaunt their trophies in the Courts of Love.
_P. Edw._ Ah, Ned, but hadst thou watch’d her as myself, And seen the secret beauties of the maid, 75 Their courtly coyness, were but foolery.
_Erms._ Why, how watch’d you her, my lord?
_P. Edw._ Whenas she swept like Venus through the house. And in her shape fast folded up my thoughts, Into the milk-house went I with the maid, 80 And there amongst the cream-bowls she did shine As Pallas ’mongst her princely huswifery, She turn’d her smock over her lily arms, And div’d them into milk to run her cheese; But, whiter than the milk, her crystal skin, 85 Checked with lines of azure, made her blush[157] That art or nature durst bring for compare. Ermsby, if thou hadst seen, as I did note it well, How Beauty play’d the huswife, how this girl, Like Lucrece, laid her fingers to the work, 90 Thou wouldst, with Tarquin, hazard Rome and all To win the lovely maid of Fressingfield.
_Ralph._ Sirrah Ned, wouldst fain have her?
_P. Edw._ Ay, Ralph.
_Ralph._ Why, Ned, I have laid the plot in (95) my head; thou shalt have her already.
_P. Edw._ I’ll give thee a new coat, an learn me that.
_Ralph._ Why, Sirrah Ned, we’ll ride to Oxford to Friar Bacon. O, he is a brave scholar, (100) sirrah; they say he is a brave necromancer, that he can make women of devils, and he can juggle cats into costermongers.
_P. Edw._ And how then, Ralph?
_Ralph._ Marry, sirrah, thou shalt go to (105) him: and because thy father Harry shall not miss thee, he shall turn me into thee; and I’ll to the court, and I’ll prince it out; and he shall make thee either a silken purse full of gold, or else a fine wrought smock. 110
_P. Edw._ But how shall I have the maid?
_Ralph._ Marry, sirrah, if thou be’st a silken purse full of gold, then on Sundays she’ll hang thee by her side, and you must not say a word. Now, sir, when she comes into a great (115) press of people, for fear of the cutpurse, on a sudden she’ll swap thee into her plackerd;[158] then, sirrah, being there, you may plead for yourself.
_Erms._ Excellent policy! 120
_P. Edw._ But how if I be a wrought smock?
_Ralph._ Then she’ll put thee into her chest and lay thee into lavender, and upon some good day she’ll put thee on; and at night when you go to bed, then being turned from a smock (125) to a man, you may make up the match.
_Lacy._ Wonderfully wisely counselled, Ralph.
_P. Edw._ Ralph shall have a new coat.
_Ralph._ God thank you when I have it on my back, Ned. 130
_P. Edw._ Lacy, the fool hath laid a perfect plot; For-why[159] our country Margaret is so coy, And stands so much upon her honest points, That marriage or no market with the maid. Ermsby, it must be necromantic spells 135 And charms of art that must enchain her love, Or else shall Edward never win the girl. Therefore, my wags, we’ll horse us in the morn. And post to Oxford to this jolly friar: 140 Bacon shall by his magic do this deed.
_War._ Content, my lord; and that’s a speedy way To wean these headstrong puppies from the teat.
_P. Edw._ I am unknown, not taken for the prince; They only deem us frolic courtiers, That revel thus among our liege’s game; 145 Therefore I have devis’d a policy. Lacy, thou know’st next Friday is Saint James’,[160] And then the country flocks to Harleston fair; Then will the Keeper’s daughter frolic there, And over-shine the troop of all the maids 150 That come to see and to be seen that day. Haunt thee disguis’d among the country-swains, Feign thou ’rt a farmer’s son, not far from thence, Espy her loves, and who she liketh best; Cote[161] him, and court her, to control[162] the clown; 155 Say that the courtier tired all in green. That help’d her handsomely to run her cheese, And fill’d her father’s lodge with venison, Commends him, and sends fairings to herself. Buy something worthy of her parentage, 160 Not worth her beauty; for, Lacy, then the fair Affords no jewel fitting for the maid. And when thou talk’st of me, note if she blush; O, then she loves: but if her cheeks wax pale, Disdain it is. Lacy, send how she fares, 165 And spare no time nor cost to win her loves.
_Lacy._ I will, my lord, so execute this charge As if that Lacy were in love with her.
_P. Edw._ Send letters speedily to Oxford of the news.
_Ralph._ And, Sirrah Lacy, buy me a thousand (170) thousand million of fine bells.
_Lacy._ What wilt thou do with them, Ralph?
_Ralph._ Marry, every time that Ned sighs for the Keeper’s daughter, I’ll tie a bell about him; and so within three or four days I will send (175) word to his father Harry that his son and my master Ned is become Love’s morris-dance.
_P. Edw._ Well, Lacy, look with care unto thy charge, And I will haste to Oxford to the friar, That he by art and thou by secret gifts 180 Mayst make me lord of merry Fressingfield.
_Lacy._ God send your honour your heart’s desire. _Exeunt._
[SCENE II.][163]
_Enter_ FRIAR BACON, _with_ MILES _his poor Scholar, with books under his arm; with them_ BURDEN, MASON, _and_ CLEMENT, _three Doctors_.
_Bacon._ Miles, where are you?
_Miles. Hic sum, doctissime et reverendissime doctor._
_Bacon. Attulisti nos libros meos de necromantia?_ 5
_Miles. Ecce quam bonum et quam jucundum habitare libros in unum!_
_Bacon._ Now, masters of our academic state, That rule in Oxford, viceroys in your place, Whose heads contain maps of the liberal arts, 10 Spending your time in depth of learned skill, Why flock you thus to Bacon’s secret cell, A friar newly stall’d in Brazen-nose? Say what’s your mind, that I may make reply.
_Burd._ Bacon, we hear that long we have suspect, 15 That thou art read in magic’s mystery; In pyromancy, to divine by flames; To tell, by hydromatic, ebbs and tides; By aeromancy to discover doubts. To plain out questions, as Apollo did. 20
_Bacon._ Well, Master Burden, what of all this?
_Miles._ Marry, sir, he doth but fulfil, by rehearsing of these names, the fable of the Fox and the Grapes; that which is above us pertains nothing to us. 25
_Burd._ I tell thee, Bacon, Oxford makes report, Nay, England, and the court of Henry says, Thou ’rt making of a brazen head by art, Which shall unfold strange doubts and aphorisms, And read a lecture in philosophy; 30 And, by the help of devils and ghastly fiends, Thou mean’st, ere many years or days be past, To compass England with a wall of brass.
_Bacon._ And what of this?
_Miles._ What of this, master! Why, he doth (35) speak mystically; for he knows, if your skill fail to make a brazen head, yet Mother Waters’ strong ale will fit his turn to make him have a copper nose.
_Clem._ Bacon, we come not grieving at thy skill, 40 But joying that our académy yields A man suppos’d the wonder of the world; For if thy cunning work these miracles, England and Europe shall admire thy fame, And Oxford shall in characters of brass, 45 And statues, such as were built up in Rome, Etérnize Friar Bacon for his art.
_Mason._ Then, gentle friar, tell us thy intent.
_Bacon._ Seeing you come as friends unto the friar, Resolve you,[164] doctors, Bacon can by books 50 Make storming Boreas thunder from his cave, And dim fair Luna to a dark eclipse. The great arch-ruler, potentate of hell, Trembles when Bacon bids him or his fiends Bow to the force of his pentagonon.[165] 55 What art can work, the frolic friar knows; And therefore will I turn my magic books, And strain out necromancy to the deep. I have contriv’d and fram’d a head of brass (I made Belcephon hammer out the stuff), 60 And that by art shall read philosophy; And I will strengthen England by my skill, That if ten Cæsars liv’d and reign’d in Rome, With all the legions Europe doth contain, They should not touch a grass of English ground. 65 The work that Ninus rear’d at Babylon, The brazen walls fram’d by Semiramis, Carv’d out like to the portal of the sun, Shall not be such as rings the English strand From Dover to the market-place of Rye. 70
_Burd._ Is this possible?
_Miles._ I’ll bring ye two or three witnesses.
_Burd._ What be those?
_Miles._ Marry, sir, three or four as honest devils and good companions as any be in hell. 75
_Mason._ No doubt but magic may do much in this; For he that reads but mathematic rules Shall find conclusions that avail to work Wonders that pass the common sense of men.
_Burd._ But Bacon roves[166] a bow beyond his reach, 80 And tells of more than magic can perform, Thinking to get a fame by fooleries. Have I not pass’d as far in state of schools, And read of many secrets? Yet to think That heads of brass can utter any voice, 85 Or more, to tell of deep philosophy,— This is a fable Æsop had forgot.
_Bacon._ Burden, thou wong’st me in detracting thus; Bacon loves not to stuff himself with lies. But tell me ’fore these doctors, if thou dare, 90 Of certain questions I shall move to thee.
_Burd._ I will: ask what thou can.
_Miles._ Marry, sir, he’ll straight be on your pick-pack,[167] to know-whether the feminine or the masculine gender be most worthy. 95
_Bacon._ Were you not yesterday, Master Burden, at Henley upon the Thames?
_Burd._ I was; what then?
_Bacon._ What book studied you thereon all night? 100
_Burd._ I! none at all; I read not there a line.
_Bacon._ Then, doctors, Friar Bacon’s art knows naught.
_Clem._ What say you to this, Master Burden? Doth he not touch you?
_Burd._ I pass not of[168] his frivolous speeches. 105
_Miles._ Nay, Master Burden, my master, ere he hath done with you, will turn you from a doctor to a dunce, and shake you so small, that he will leave no more learning in you than is in Balaam’s ass. 110
_Bacon._ Masters, for that learned Burden’s skill is deep, And sore he doubts of Bacon’s cabalism, I’ll show you why he haunts to Henley oft: Not, doctors, for to taste the fragrant air, But there to spend the night in alchemy, 115 To multiply with secret spells of art; Thus private steals he learning from us all. To prove my sayings true, I’ll show you straight The book he keeps at Henley for himself.
_Miles._ Nay, now my master goes to conjuration, take heed. 120
_Bacon._ Masters, stand still, fear not, I’ll show you but his book. _Here he conjures. Per omnes deos infernales, Belcephon!_
_Enter a Woman with a shoulder of mutton on a spit, and a_ Devil.
_Miles._ O master, cease your conjuration, or you spoil all; for here’s a she-devil come (125) with a shoulder of mutton on a spit. You have marr’d the devil’s supper; but no doubt he thinks our college fare is slender, and so hath sent you his cook with a shoulder of mutton, to make it exceed. 130
_Hostess._ O, where am I, or what’s become of me?
_Bacon._ What art thou?
_Hostess._ Hostess at Henley, mistress of the Bell.
_Bacon._ How camest thou here?
_Hostess._ As I was in the kitchen ’mongst the maids, 135 Spitting the meat ’gainst supper for my guests, A motion[169] mov’d me to look forth of door: No sooner had I pried into the yard, But straight a whirlwind hoisted me from thence, And mounted me aloft unto the clouds. 140 As in a trance, I thought nor feared naught, Nor know I where or whither I was ta’en, Nor where I am nor what these persons be.
_Bacon._ No? Know you not Master Burden?
_Hostess._ O, yes, good sir, he is my daily guest.— 145 What, Master Burden! ’t was but yesternight That you and I at Henley play’d at cards.
_Burd._ I know not what we did.—A pox of all conjuring friars!
_Clem._ Now, jolly friar, tell us, is this the