VERA EFFIGIES. ABRAHAMI COWLEY. REGII ALUMNI SCHOLAE WEST:   

LOVES RIDDLE. A PASTORALL comedy; Written, At the time of his being King's Scholar in Westminster School, by A. Cowley.  
LONDON, Printed by john Dawson, for Henry Seile, and are to be sold at the tiger's head in Fleet street over against St. Dunstan's Church. 1638.   

To the truly Worthy, and Noble, Sir KENELME DIGBIE Knight.  
THis latter Age, the Lees of Time, hath known,  
Few, that have made both Pallas arts their own.  
But you, Great Sir, two Laurels wear, and are  
Victorious in Peace, as well as War.  
Learning by right of Conquest is your own,  
And every liberal Art your Captive grown.  
As if neglected Science (for it now  
Wants some defenders) fled for help to you.  
Whom I must follow, and let this for me  
An earnest of my future service be.  
Which I should fear to send you, did I know  
Your judgement only, not your Candour too.  
For 'twas a Work, stolen (though you'll justly call  
This Play, as fond as those) from Cat, or Ball.  
Had it been written since, I should, I fear,  
Scarce have abstained from a Philosopher.  
Which by Tradition here is thought to be  
A necessary Part in Comedy.  
Nor need I tell you this; each line of it  
Betray's the Time and Place wherein 'twas writ,  
And I could wish, that I might safely say  
To th' Reader, that t' was done but th' other day.  
Yet 'tis not stuffed with names of Gods, hard words,  
Such as the Metamorphosis affords.  
Nor hast a part for Robinson, whom they  
At school, account essential to a Play.  
The style is low, such as you'll easily take  
For what a Swain might speak, and a Boy make.  
Take it, as early fruits, which rare appear  
Though not half ripe, but worst of all the year.  
And if it please your taste, my Muse will say,  
The Birch which crowned her then, is grown a Bay.  
Yours in all observance, A. COWLEY.   

The Scene Sicily.  

The Actors names.  Demophil 
two old folk of a Noble family.  Spodaia 
two old folk of a Noble family.  Florellus 
their Children.  Callidora 
their Children.  Philistus 
two Gent. both in love with Callidora.  Aphron 
two Gent. both in love with Callidora.  Clariana, 
sister to Philistus.  Melarnus 
a crabbed old Shepherd.  Truga 
his Wife.  Hylace 
their Daughter.  Aegon 
— an ancient Country man.  Bellula 
— his supposed Daughter.  Palaemon 
— a young Swain in love with Hylace.  Alupis 
— a merry Shepherd.  Clariana's 
Maid.    

Actus I.  
Scaena I.  Enter Callidora disguised in man's apparel. 
Mad feet, ye have been traitors to your Master:  
Where have you lead me? sure my truant mind  
Hath taught my body thus to wander too;  
Faintness and fear surprise me; Ye just gods,  
If ye have brought me to this place to scourge  
The folly of my love, (I might say madness)  
Dispatch me quickly; send some pitying men  
Or cruel beast to find me; let me be  
Fed by the one, or let me feed the other.  
Why are these trees so brave? why do they wear  
Such green and fresh apparel? how they smile!  
How their proud tops play with the courting wind!  
Can they behold me pine and languish here,  
And yet not sympathize at all in mourning?  
Do they upbraid my sorrows? can it be  
That these thick branches never seen before  
But by the Sun, should learn so much of man?  
The trees in Courtiers gardens, which are conscious  
Of their guilt Masters stateliness and pride,  
Themselves would pity me; yet these— Who's there?  Enter Alupis singing. 

1.  
Rise up thou mournful Swain,  
For 'tis but a folly  
To be melancholy  
And get thee thy pipe again.   

2.  
Come sing away the day,  
For 'tis but a folly  
To be melancholy,  
Let's live here whilst we may.   Cal. 
I marry Sir, this fellow hath some fire in him,  
methinks a sad and drowsy shepherd is  
A prodigy in Nature, for the woods  
Should be as far from sorrow, as they are  
From sorrow's causes, riches and the like.  
Haile to you swain, I am a Gentleman  
Driven here by ignorance of the way, and would  
Confess myself bound to you for a courtesy,  
If you would please to help me to some lodging  
Where I may rest myself.  Alu. 
For 'tis but a folly, &c.  Cal. 
Well; if the rest be like this fellow here;  
Then I have travelled fairly now; for certainly  
This is a land of fools; some Colony  
Of elder brothers have been planted here,  
And begot this fair generation.  
Prithee, good Shepherd, tell me where thou dwellest?  Alu. 
For 'tis but a folly, &c.  Call. 
Why art thou mad?  Alu. 
What if I be?  
I hope 'tis no discredit for me Sir?  
For in this age who is not? I'll prove it to you,  
Your Citizen he's mad to trust the Gentleman  
Both with his wares and wife. Your Courtier  
he's mad to spend his time in studying postures,  
Cringes, and fashions, and new compliments;  
Your Lawyer he's mad to sell away  
His tongue for money, and his Client madder  
To buy it of him, since 'tis of no use  
But to undo men, and the Latin tongue;  
Your Scholars they are mad to break their brains,  
Outwatch the Moon, and look more pale than she,  
That so when all the Arts call him their Master,  
He may perhaps get some small Vicarage,  
Or be the Usher of a School; but there's  
A thing in black called Poet, who is ten  
Degrees in madness above these; his means  
Is what the gentle Fates please to allow him  
By the death or marriage of some mighty Lord,  
Which he must solemnize with a new song.  Cal. 
This fellow's wit amazeth me; but friend,  
What do you think of lovers?  Alu. 
Worst of all;  
Is't not a pretty folly to stand thus,  
And sigh, and fold the arms, and cry my Celia,  
My soul, my life, my Calia, than to wring  
Ones state for presents, and ones brain for Sonnets?  
O! 'tis beyond the name of Frenzy.  Cal. 
What so Satyric Shepherd? I believe  
You did not learn these flashes in the Woods;  
How is it possible that you should get  
Such near acquaintance with the City manners,  
And yet live here in such a silent place,  
Where one would think the very name of City  
Could hardly Enter.  Alu. 
Why, I'll tell you Sir:  
My father died, (you force me to remember  
A grief that deserves tears) and left me young,  
And (if a Shepherd may be said so) rich,  
I in an itching wantonness to see  
What other Swains so wondered at, the City,  
Straight sold my rural portion (for the wealth  
Of Shepherds is their flocks) and thither went,  
Where whilst my money lasted I was welcome,  
And lived in credit, but when that was gone,  
And the last piece sighed in my empty pocket,  
I was contemned, than I began to feel  
How dearly I had bought experience,  
And without any thing besides repentance  
To load me, returned back, and here I live  
To laugh at all those follies which I saw.  

Song.  
The merry waves dance up and down, and play,  
Sport is granted to the Sea.  
Birds are the queristers of th'empty air,  
Sport is never wanting there.  
The ground doth smile at the Springs flowery birth,  
Sport is granted to the earth.  
The fire its cheering flame on high doth rear,  
Sport is never wanting there.  
If all the elements, the Earth, the Sea,  
Air, and fire, so merry be;  
Why is man's mirth so seldom, and so small,  
Who is compounded of them all?   Cal. 
You may rejoice; but sighs befit me better.  Alu. 
Now on my conscience thou hast lost a Mistress;  
If it be so, thank God, and love no more;  
Or else perhaps she'has burned your whining letter,  
Or kissed another Gentleman in your sight,  
Or else denied you her glove, or laughed at you,  
Causes indeed, which deserve special mourning,  
And now you come to talk with your God Cupid  
In private here, and call the Woods to witness,  
And all the streams which murmur when they hear  
The injuries they suffer; I am sorry  
I have been a hindrance to your meditations,  
Farewell Sir.  Cal. 
Nay, good Shepherd, you mistake me.  Alu. 
Faith, I am very chary of my health,  
I would be loath to be infected Sir.  Cal. 
Thou needest not fear; I have no disease at all  
Besides a troubled mind.  Alu. 
Why that's the worst, the worst of all.  Cal. 
And therefore it doth challenge  
Your piety the more, you should the rather,  
Strive to be my Physician.  Alu. 
The good Gods forbid it; I turn Physician?  
My Parents brought me up more piously,  
Then that I should play booty with a sickness,  
Turn a consumption to men's purses, and  
Purge them, worse than their bodies, and set up  
An Apothecary's shop in private chambers,  
Live by revenue of closestools and urinals,  
Defer off sick men's health from day to day  
As if they went to law with their disease.  
No, I was borne for better ends, than to send away  
His Majesty's subjects to hell so fast,  
As if I were to share the stakes with Charon.  Cal. 
Your wit errs much:  
For as the soul is nobler than the body,  
So its corruption asks a better medicine  
Then is applied to Gouts, Catarrhs, or Agues,  
And that is counsel.  Alu. 
So then: I should be  
Your soul's Physician; why, I could talk out  
An hour or so, but then I want a cushion  
To thump my precepts into; but tell me pray,  
What name bears your disease?  Cal. 
A fever, shepherd, but so far above  
An outward one, that the vicissitudes  
Of that may seem but warmth, and coolness only;  
This, flame, and frost.  Alu. 
So; I understand you,  
You are a lover, which is by translation  
A fool, or a beast, for I'll define you; you're  
Partly Chamaeleon, partly Salamander,  
You're fed by th'air, and live i' the fire.  Cal. 
Why did you never love? have you no softness,  
Nought of your mother in you? if that Sun  
Which scorched me, should cast one beam upon you.  
'twould quickly melt the ice about your heart,  
And lend your eyes fresh streams.  Alu. 
'Faith, I think not;  
I have seen all your beauties of the Court,  
And yet was never ravished, never made  
A doleful Sonnet unto angry Cupid,  
Either to warm her heart, or else cool mine,  
And no face yet could ever wound me so,  
But that I quickly found a remedy.  Cal. 
That were an art worth learning, and you need not  
Be niggard of your knowledge; See the Sun  
Though it have given this many thousand years'  
Light to the world, yet is as big and bright  
As ere it was, and hath not lost one beam  
Of his first glory; then let charity  
Persuade you to instruct me, I shall be  
A very thankful scholar.  Alu. 
I shall: for 'tis both easily taught and learned,  
Come sing away the day, &c.  
Mirth is the only physic,  Cal. 
It is a way which I have much desired  
To cheat my sorrow with; and for that purpose  
Would fain turn shepherd, and in rural sports  
We are my life's remnant out; I would forget  
All things, my very name if it were possible.  Alu. 
Pray let me learn it first.  Cal. 
'Tis Callidorus.  Alu. 
Thank you; if you yourself chance to forget it  
Come but to me I'll do you the same courtesy,  
In the meanwhile make me your servant Sir,  
I will instruct you in things necessary  
For the creation of a Shepherd, and  
we two will laugh at all the world securely,  
And fling jests 'gainst the businesses of state  
Without endangering our ears.  
Come, come away,  
For 'tis but a folly  
To be melancholy,  
Let's live here whilst we may.  Exeunt. Enter Palaemon, Melarnus, Truga, Aegon Bellula, Hylace. Pa. 
I see I am undone.  Mel. 
Come no matter for that, you love my Daughter? By Pan; but come, no matter for that; you my Hilace?  Tru. 
Nay good Duck, do not vex yourself; what though he loves her? you know she will not have him.  Mel. 
Come, no matter for that; I will vex myself, and vex him too, shall such an idle fellow as he strive to entice away honest men's children? let him go feed his flocks; but alas! he has none to trouble him; ha, ha, ha, yet he would marry my daughter.  Pa. 
Thou art a malicious doting man,  
And one who cannot boast of any thing  
But that she calls thee father, though I cannot  
Number so large a flock of sheep as thou,  
Nor send so many cheeses to the City,  
Yet in my mind I am an Emperor  
If but compared with thee.  Tru. 
Of what place I pray?  
'Tis of some new discovered Country, is't not?  Pa. 
Prithee good Wintor if thou wilt be talking,  
Keep thy breath in a little, for it smells  
Worse than a Goat; yet thou must talk,  
For thou hast nothing left thee of a woman  
But lust, and tongue  Hyl. 
Shepherd, here's none so taken with your wit  
But you might spare it; if you be so lavish,  
You'll have none left another time to make  
The song of the forsaken Lover with.  Pa. 
I'm dumb, my lips are sealed, sealed up for ever  
May my rash tongue forget to be interpreter,  
And organ of my senses, if you say,  
It hath offended you.  Hyl. 
Troth if you make  
But that condition, I shall agree to't quickly:  Mel. 
By Pan well said Girl; what a fool was I  
To suspect thee of loving him? but come  
'Tis no matter for that; whene'er thou married  
I'll add ten sheep more to thy portion,  
For putting this one jest upon him.  Aegon. 
Nay now I must needs tell you that your anger  
Is grounded with no reason to maintain it,  
If you intend your Daughter shall not marry him,  
Say so, but play not with his passion,  
For 'tis inhuman wit which jeers the wretched.  Mel. 
Come 'tis no matter for that; what I do, I do;  
I shall not need your counsel.  Tru. 
I hope my husband and I have enough wisdom  
To govern our own child; if we want any  
'Twill be to little purpose, I dare say,  
To come to borrow some of you.  Aeg. 
'Tis very likely pretty Mistress Maukin,  
You with a face looks like a winter apple  
When 'tis shrunk up together and half rotten,  
I'd see you hanged up for a thing to scare  
The crows away before I'll spend my breath  
To teach you any.  Hyl. 
Alas good shepherd!  
What do you imagine that I should love you for?  Pal. 
For all my services, the virtuous zeal  
And constancy with which I ever wooed you,  
Though I were blacker than a starless night,  
Or consciences where guilt and horror dwell,  
Although splay-legged, crooked, deformed in all parts,  
And but the Chaos only of a man;  
Yet if I love and honour you, humanity  
Would teach you not to hate, or laugh at me.  Hy. 
Pray spare your fine persuasions, and set speeches,  
And rather tell them to those stones and trees,  
'Twill be to as good purpose quite, as when  
You spend them upon me.  Pa. 
Give me my final answer, that I may  
be either blessed for ever, or die quickly;  
Delay's a cruel rack, and kills by piecemeals.  Hy. 
Then here 'tis, you're an ass,  
(Take that for your incivility to my mother)  
And I will never love you.  Pal. 
You're a woman;  
A cruel and fond woman, and my passion  
Shall trouble you no more; but when I'm dead  
My angry Ghost shall vex you worse than now  
Your pride doth me, Farewell.  Enter Aphron mad meeting Palaemon going out. Aph. 
Nay stay Sir, have you found her?  Pa. 
How now? what's the matter?  Aph. 
For I will have her out of you, or else  
I'll cut thee into atoms, till the wind  
Play with the shreds of thy torn body. Look her  
Or I will do't.  Pal. 
Whom; or where?  Aph. 
I'll tell thee honest fellow; thou shalt go  
From me as an Ambassador to the Sun,  
For men call him the eye of heaven, (from which  
Nothing lies hid) and tell him— do you mark me— tell him  
From me— that if he send not word where she is gone,  
— I will— nay by the Gods I will.  Aeg. 
Alas poor Gentleman!  
Sure he hath lost some Mistress; beauteous women  
Take notice of him, (pray) your speaking is  
Worth more than all the rest.  Bell. 
You're very welcome  Cal. 
Thank you fair Nymph, this is indeed a welcome Salutes her,  Bell. 
I never saw, beauty and affability  
So well conjoined before; if I stay long  
I shall be quite undone.  Alu. 
Nay come, put on too.  Hyl. 
You are most kindly welcome.  Cal. 
You bless me too much;  
The honour of your lip is entertainment  
Princes might wish for.  Hyl. 
Bless me how he looks!  
And how he talks; his kiss was honey too,  
His lips as red and sweet as early cherries,  
Softer than Bevers skins  Bel, 
Bless me, how I envy her!  
Would I had that kiss too!  Hyl, 
How his eye shines! what a bright flame it shoots!  Bel. 
How red his cheeks are! so our garden apples  
Look on that side where the hot Sun salutes them.  Hyl, 
How well his hairs become him!  
Just like that star which ushers on the day.  Bell. 
How fair he is! fairer then whitest blossoms?  Trug. 
They two have got a kiss;  
Why should I lose it for want of speaking?  
You're welcome shepherd.  Alu. 
Come on: For 'tis but a folly, etc.:  Tru. 
Do you hear? you are welcome.  Alu. 
Oh! here's another must have a kiss:  Tru. 
Go you're a paltry knave, ay, that you are,  
To wrong an honest woman thus.  Alu. 
Why he shall kiss thee, never fear it, alas!  
I did but jest, he'll do't for all this,  
Nay, because I will be a Patron to thee  
I'll speak to him.  Tru. 
You're a slandering knave,  
And you shall know't, that you shall.  Al. 
Nay, if you scold so loud  
Others shall know it too; He must stop your mouth,  
Or you'll talk on this three hours; Callidorus  
If you can patiently endure a stink,  
Or have frequented ere the City Bear-garden,  
Prithee salute this fourscore years, and free me,  
She says you're welcome too.  Cal. 
I cry you mercy Shepherdess,  
By Pan I did not see you.  Tru. 
If my husband and Alupis were not here  
I'd rather pay him back his kiss again,  
Then be beholding to him.  Al. 
What, thou hast done't?  
Well if thou dost not die upon't, hereafter  
Thy body will agree even with the worst  
And stinking'st air in Europe.  Cal. 
Nay, be not angry Shepherdess, you know  
He doth but jest as 'tis his custom.  Tru. 
I know it is his custom; he was always  
Wont to abuse me, like a knave as he is,  
But I'll endure't no more.  Al. 
Prithee good Callidorus if her breath  
Be not too bad, go stop her mouth again,  
She'll scold till night else.  Tru. 
Yes marry will I, that I will, you rascal you,  
I'll teach you to lay your frumps upon me;  
You delight in it, do you?  Al. 
Prithee be quiet, leave but talking to me  
And I will never jeer thee any more,  
We two will be so peaceable hereafter.  Tru. 
Well upon that condition.  Al. 
So, I'm delivered, why how now Lads?  
What have you lost your tongues? I'll have them cried,  
Palaemon, Aegon, Callidorus, what?  
Are you all dumb? I pray continue so,  
And I'll be merry with myself.  

Song.  
'Tis better to dance then sing,  
The cause is if you will know it,  
That I to myself shall bring  
A Poverty  
Voluntary  
If once I grow but a Poet.   Aegon. 
And yet methinks you sing,  Al. 
O yes, because here's none do dance,  
And both are better far than to be sad.  Aegon. 
Come then let's have a round.  Al. 
A match; Palaemon whither go you?  Pa. 
The Gods forbid that I should mock myself,  
Cheat my own mind, I dance and weep at once?  
You may: Farewell. Exit.  Al. 
'Tis such a whining fool; come, come, Melarnus.  Mel. 
I have no mind to dance; but come no matter for that, rather than break the squares.—  Cal. 
By your leave, fair one.  Hil. 
Would I were in her place.  Al. 
Come Hilace, thee and I wench I warrant thee,  
You and your wife together. God bless you; so—  
For 'tis but a folly, &c. Dance.  Tru. 
So there's enough, I'm half aweary,  Mel. 
Come no matter for that,  
I have not danced so much this year.  Al. 
So farewell, you'll come along with me.  Cal. 
Yes, farewell gentle Swains.  Tru. 
Farewell good Shepherd,  Bel. 
Your best wishes follow you.  Hyl. 
Pan always guide you.  Mel. 
It's no matter for that, come away. Exeunt.  
Finis Actus primi.   

Actus II.  
Scaena I.  Enter Demophil, Spodaia, Philistus, Clariana. _DEmo. 
Nay, she is lost for ever, and her name  
Which used to be so comfortable, now  
Is poison to our thoughts, and to augment  
Our misery paints forth our former happiness,  
O Callidora, O my Callidora!  
I shall ne'er see thee more.  Spo. 
If cursed Aphron  
Hath carried her away, and triumphs now  
In the destruction of our hoary age  
'Twere better she were dead;  Dem. 
'T were better we were all dead; the enjoying  
Of tedious life is a worse punishment  
Than losing of my Daughter; Oh! my friends,  
Why have I lived so long?  Cla. 
Good Sir be comforted: Brother speak to them.  Spo. 
Would I had died, when first I brought thee forth  
My Girl, my best Girl, than I should have slept  
In quiet, and not wept now.  Phi. 
I am half a statue  
Freeze me up quite ye Gods, and let me be  
My own sad monument.  Cla. 
Alas! you do but hurt yourselves with weeping;  
Consider pray, it may be she'll come back.  Dem. 
Oh! never, never, 'tis impossible  
As to call back sixteen, and with vain Rhetoric  
Persuade my life's fresh April to return,  
she's dead, or else far worse, kept up by Aphron  
Whom if I could but see, methinks new blood  
Would creep into my veins, and my faint sinews  
Renew themselves, I doubt not but to find  
Strength enough yet to be revenged of Aphron.  Sp. 
Would I were with thee, Girl, where ere thou art.  Cla. 
For shame good Brother, see if you can comfort them,  
methinks you should say something.  Phi. 
Do you think  
My griefs so light? or was the interest  
So small which I had in her? I a comforter?  
Alas! she was my wife, for we were married  
In our affection, in our vows; and nothing  
Stopped the enjoying of each other, but  
The thin partition of some ceremonies.  
I lost my hopes, my expectations,  
My joys, nay more, I lost myself with her;  
You have a son, yet left behind, whose memory  
May sweeten all this gall.  Spo. 
ay, we had one,  
But fate's so cruel to us, and such dangers  
Attend a travelling man, that 'twere presumption  
To say we have him; we have sent for him  
To blot out the remembrance of his sister:  
But whether we shall ever see him here,  
The Gods can only tell, we barely hope.  Dem. 
This news, alas!  
Will be but a sad welcome to him.  Phi. 
Why do I play thus with my misery?  
'Tis vain to think I can live here without her,  
I'll seek her where'er she is; patience in this  
Would be a vice, and men might justly say  
My love was but a flash of winged lightning,  
And not a Vestal flame, which always shines  
His wooing is a compliment, not passion,  
Who can if fortune snatch away his Mistress,  
Spend some few tears, then take another choice,  
Mine is not so; Oh Callidora!  Cla. 
Fie Brother, you're a man,  
And should not be shaken with every wind,  
If it were possible to call her back  
with mourning, mourning were a piety,  
But since it cannot, you must give me leave  
To call it folly:  Phi. 
So it is;  
And I will therefore shape some other course,  
This doleful place shall never see me more,  
Unless it see her too in my embraces,  
You sister may retire unto my Farm,  
Adjoining to the woods;  
And my estate I leave for you to manage,  
If I find her, expect me there, if not  
Do you live happier than your Brother hath:  Cla. 
Alas! how can I if you leave me? but  
I hope your resolutions may be altered.  Ph. 
Never, farewell: good Demophil,  
Farewell Spodaia, temper your laments;  
If I return we shall again be happy.  Spo. 
You shall not want my prayers.  Dem. 
The Gods that pity Lovers (if there be any) attend upon you.  Cla. 
Will you needs go?  Ph. 
I knit delays; 'twere time I were now ready,  
And I shall sin if I seem dull or slow  
In any thing which touches Callidora,  Dem. 
Oh! that name wounds me; we'll bear you company  
A little way, and Clariana look  
To see us often at your Country Farm,  
we'll sigh, and grieve together. Exeunt.  Enter Alupis and Palaemon. Alu. 
Come, come away, &c.  
Now where are all your sonnets? your rare fancies?  
Could the fine morning music which you waked  
Your Mistress with, prevail no more than this?  
Why in the City now your very Fiddlers  
Good morrow to your worship, will get something,  
Hath she denied thee quite?  Pa. 
She hath undone me; I have ploughed the Sea,  
And begot storming billows,  Al. 
Can no persuasions move her?  Pa. 
No more than thy least breath can stir an oak,  
Which hath this many years scorned the fierce wars  
Of all the winds.  Al. 
'Tis a good hearing; then  
She'll cost you no more pairs of Turtle Doves,  
Nor garlands knit with amorous conceits,  
I do perceive some rags of the Court fashions  
Visibly creeping now into the woods,  
The more he shows his love, the more she slights him,  
Yet will take any gift of him, as willingly  
As Country Justices the Hens and Geese  
Of their offending neighbours; this is right;  
Now if I loved this wench I would so handle her,  
I'd teach her what the difference were betwixt  
One who had seen the Court and City tricks,  
And a mere shepherd.  Pa. 
Lions are tamed, and become slaves to men,  
And Tigers oft forget the cruelty  
They sucked from their fierce mothers; but, a woman  
Ah me! a woman!—  Al. 
Yet if I saw such wonders in her face  
As you do, I should never doubt to win her.  Pa. 
How pray? if gifts would do it, she hath had  
The daintiest Lambs, the hope of all my flock,  
I let my apples hang for her to gather,  
The painful Bee did never load my hives,  
With honey which she tasted not.  Al. 
You mistake me Friend; I mean not so.  Pa. 
How then? if Poetry would do't, what shade  
Hath not been Auditor of my amorous pipe?  
What banks are not acquainted with her praises?  
Which I have sung in verses, and the shepherds  
Say they are good ones, nay they call me Poet,  
Although I am not easy to believe them.  Al. 
No, no, no; that's not the way.  Pa. 
Why how?  
If show of grief had Rhetoric enough  
To move her, I dare swear she had been mine  
Long before this, what day did ere peep forth  
In which I wept not dulier than the morning?  
Which of the winds hath not my sighs increased  
At sundry times? how often have I cried  
Hylace, Hylace, till the docile woods  
Have answered Hylace; and every valley  
As if it were my Rival, sounded Hylace.  Al. 
ay, and you were a most rare fool for doing so,  
Why 'twas that poisoned all; Had I a Mistress  
I'd almost beat her, by this light, I would,  
For they are much about your spaniel's nature,  
But whilst you cry dear Hylace, o Hylace!  
Pity the tortures of my burning heart,  
She'll always mince it, like a citizen's wife,  
At the first asking; though her tickled blood  
Leaps at the very mention; therefore now  
Leave off your whining tricks, and take my counsel.  
First then be merry; For 'tis but a folly, &c.  Pal. 
'Tis a hard lesson for my mind to learn,  
But I would force myself, if that would help me.  Al. 
Why thou shalt see it will; next I would have thee  
To laugh at her, and mock her pitifully;  
Study for jeers against next time you see her,  
I'll go along with you, and help to abuse her,  
Till we have made her cry, worse than e'er you did;  
When we have used her thus a little while,  
she'll be as tame and gentle.—  Pa. 
But alas!  
This will provoke her more.  Al. 
I'll warrant thee: beside, what if it should?  
She hath refused you utterly already.  
And cannot hurt you worse; come, come, be ruled;  
And follow me, we'll put it straight in practice.  
For 'tis but a folly, &c.  Pa. 
A match; I'll try always; she can but scorn me,  
There is this good in depth of misery  
That men may attempt any thing, they know  
The worst before hand. Exeunt.  Enter Callidorus. 
How happy is that man, who in these woods  
With secure silence wears away his time!  
Who is acquainted better with himself  
Then others; who so great a stranger is  
To City follies, that he knows them not.  
He sits all day upon some mossy hill  
His rural throne, armed with his crook, his sceptre,  
A flowery garland is his country crown;  
The gentle lambs and sheep his loyal subjects  
Which every year pay him their fleecy tribute;  
Thus in an humble stateliness and majesty  
He tunes his pipe, the woods best melody,  
And is at once, what many Monarchs are not  
Both King and Poet. I could gladly wish  
To spend the rest of my unprofitable,  
And needless days in their innocuous sports,  
But then my father, mother, and my brother  
Recurse unto my thoughts, and straight pluck down  
The resolution I had built before;  
Love names Philistus to me, and o'th' sudden  
The woods seem base, and all their harmless pleasures  
The daughters of necessity, not virtue.  
Thus with myself I wage a war, and am  
To my own rest a traitor; I would fain  
Go home, but still the thought of Aphron frights me.  
How now? who's here? o 'tis fair Hylace  
The grumbling Shepherd's daughter. Enter Hylace.  
Brightest of all those stars that paint the woods,  
And grace these shady habitations,  
You're welcome, how shall I requite the benefit  
Which you bestow upon so poor a stranger  
With your fair presence?  Hyl. 
If it be any courtesy, 'tis one  
Which I would gladly do you, I have brought  
A rural present, some of our own apples,  
My father and my mother are so hard,  
They watched the tree, or else they had been more,  
Such as they are, if they can please your taste,  
My wish is crowned.  Cal. 
O you're too kind,  
And teach that duty to me which I ought  
To have performed; I would I could return  
The half of your deserts! but I am poor  
In every thing but thanks.  Hy. 
Your acceptation only is reward  
Too great for me.  Cal. 
How they blush?  
A man may well imagine they were yours,  
They bear so great a show of modesty.  Hyl. 
O you mock my boldness  
To thrust into your company; but truly  
I meant no hurt in't; my intents were virtuous.  Cal. 
The Gods forbid that I should nurse a thought  
So wicked, thou art innocent I know,  
And pure as Venus' Doves, or mountain snow  
Which no foot hath defiled, thy soul is whiter  
if there be any possibility of't)  
Than that clear skin which clothes thy dainty body.  Hy. 
Nay my good will deserves not to be jeered,  
You know I am a rude and country wench.  Cal. 
Far be it from my thoughts, I swear I honour  
And love those maiden virtues which adorn you.  Hy. 
I would you did, as well as I do you,  
But the just Gods intend not me so happy,  
And I must be contented— I'm undone. Ent. Bellula  
Here's Bellula; what is she grown my rival?  Bell. 
Bless me! whom see I? Hylace? some cloud  
Or friendly mist involve me.  Hy. 
Nay Bellula; I see you well enough.  Cal. 
Why doth the day start back? are you so cruel  
To show us first the light, and having struck  
Wonder into us snatch it from our sight?  
If Spring crowned with the glories of the earth  
Appear upon the heavenly Ram, and straight  
Creep back again into a greyhaired frost,  
Men will accuse its forwardness.  Hy. 
Pray heaven  
He be not taken with her, she's somewhat fair;  
He did not speak so long a speech to me  
I'm sure of't, though I brought him apples.  Bell. 
I did mistake my way; Pray pardon me.  Hyl. 
I would you had else.  Cal. 
I must thank fortune then which lead you hither,  
But you can stay a little while and bless us?  Bel. 
Yes (and Love knows how willingly) alas!  
I shall quite spoil my garland ere I give it him,  
With hiding it from Hylace, Pray Fan  
She hath not stolen his heart already from him,  
And cheated my intentions.  Hy. 
I would fain be going, but if I should leave her  
It may be I shall give her opportunity  
To win him from me, for I know she loveth him,  
And hath perhaps a better tongue than I,  
Although I should be loath to yield to her  
In beauty or complexion.  Bell. 
Let me speak  
In private with you; I am bold to bring  
A garland to you, 'tis of the best flowers  
Which I could gather, I was picking them  
All yesterday.  Cal. 
How you oblige me to you!  
I thank you sweetest, How they flourish still!  
Sure they grow better, since your hand hath nipped them.  Bell. 
They will do, when your brow hath honoured them,  
Than they may well grow proud, and shine more freshly.  Call. 
What perfumes dwell in them?  
They owe these odours to your breath.  Hy. 
Defend me ye good Gods, I think he kisses her,  
How long they have been talking? now perhaps  
she's wooing him; perhaps he forgets me  
And will consent, I'll put him in remembrance;  
You have not tasted of the apples yet,  
And they were good ones truly.  Call. 
I will do presently best Hilace.  Hy. 
That's something yet, would he would speak so always.  Cal. 
I would not change them for those glorious apples  
Which give such fame to the Hesperian gardens.  Bell. 
She hath outgone me in her present now,  
But I have got a Beechen cup at home  
Curiously graven with the spreading leaves,  
And gladsome burden of a fruitful vine,  
Which Damon, the best Artist of these woods  
Made and bestowed upon me, I'll bring that tomorrow  
And give it him, and then I'll warrant her  
She will not go beyond me.  Hy. 
What have you got a chaplet? ôh!  
This is I see of Bellula's composing.  Bell. 
Why Hylace? you cannot make a better,  
What flowers pray doth it want?  Cal. 
Poor souls I pity them, and the more,  
Because I have not been myself a stranger  
To these love passions, but I wonder  
What they can find in me worth their affection  
Truly I would fain satisfy them both,  
But can do neither; 'tis fates crime, not mine.  Ball. 
whither go you shepherd?  Hyl. 
You will not leave us will you?  Cal. 
Indeed I ought not,  
You have both me bought with your courtesies  
And should divide me.  Hy. 
she came last to you.  Bell. 
She hath another love,  
And kills Palaemon with her cruelty,  
How can she expect mercy from another?  
In what a Labyrinth doth Love draw mortals  
And then blindfolds them! what a mist it throws  
Upon their senses! if he be a God  
As sure he is (his power could not be so great else)  
He knows the impossibility which Nature  
Hath set betwixt us, yet entangles us,  
And laughs to see us struggle. D'ye both love me?  Bell. 
I do I'm sure.  Hyl. 
And I as much as she.  Cal. 
I pity both of you, for you have sowed  
Upon unthankful sand, whose dried up womb  
Nature denies to bless with fruitfulness,  
You are both fair, and more than common graces  
Inhabit in you both, Bellula's eyes  
Shine like the lamp of Heaven, and so doth Hylaces.  
Hylaces cheeks are deeper died in scarlet  
Than the chaste morning's blushes, so are Bellula's,  
And I protest I love you both. Yet cannot,  
Yet must not enjoy either.  Bell. 
You speak riddles.  Cal. 
Which times commentary  
Must only explain to you; and till then  
Farewell good Bellula, farewell good Hylace,  
I thank you both. Exit.  Hyl. 
Alas! my hopes are strangled. Exit.  Bell. 
I will not yet despair: He may grow milder,  
He bade me farewell first; and looked upon me  
With a more steadfast eye, then upon her  
When he departed hence: 'twas a good sign;  
At least I will imagine it to be so,  
Hope is the truest friend, and seldom leaves one.  Exit. Enter Truga. 
I doubt not but this will move him,  
For they're good apples, but my teeth are gone,  
I cannot bite them; but for all that though  
I'll warrant you I can love a young Fellow  
As well as any of them all: I that I can,  
And kiss him too as sweetly. Oh! here's the madman.  Enter Aphron. Ap. 
Hercules, Hercules, ho Hercules, where are you?  
Lend me thy club and skin, and when I ha'done,  
I'll fling them to thee again, why Hercules?  
Pox on you, are you drunk? can you not answer?  
I'll travel then without them, and do wonders.  Tru. 
I quake all over, worse than any fit  
Of the palsy which I have had this forty years  
Could make me do.  Ap. 
So I ha' found the plot out,  
First I'll climb up, on Porter Atlas' shoulders,  
And then crawl into Heaven, and I'm sure  
I cannot choose but find her there:  Tru. 
What will become of me if he should see me?  
Truly he's a good proper Gentleman,  
If he were not mad, I would not be so 'fraid of him.  Ap. 
What have I caught thee fairest of all women?  
Where hast thou hid thyself so long from Aphron?  
Aphron who hath been dead till this blessed minute?  Tru. 
Ha, ha, ha, whom doth he take me for!  Ap. 
Thy skin is whiter than the snowy feathers  
Of Leda's Swans.  Tru. 
la you there now,—  
I thought I was not so unhandsome, as they'd make me  Ap. 
Thy hairs are brighter than the Moons,  
Then when she spreads her beams and fills her orb  Trug. 
Beshrew their heart that call this Gentleman mad,  
He hath his senses I'll warrant him, about him,  
As well as any fellow of them all.  Apu. 
Thy teeth are like two Arches made of Ivory,  
Of purest Ivory.  Tru. 
I for those few I have,  
I think they're white enough.  Ap. 
Thou art as fresh as May is, and thy look  
Is picture of the Spring.  Tru. 
Nay, I am but some fourscore years and ten  
And bear my age well; yet Alupis says  
I look like January, but I'll teach the knave  
Another tune I'll warrant him.  Ap. 
Thy lips are cherries, let me taste them sweet?  Tru. 
You have begged so handsomely.  Ap. 
Ha! ye good Gods defend me! 'tis a Witch, a Hag.  Trug. 
What am I?  Ap. 
A witch, one that did take the shape  
Of my best Mistress, but thou couldst not long  
Belie her pureness.  Tru. 
Now he's stark mad again upon the sudden;  
He had some sense even now.  Ap. 
Thou look'st as if thou wert some wicked woman  
Frighted out of the grave; defend me, how  
Her eyes do sink into their ugly holes,  
As if they were afraid to see the light.  Tru. 
I will not be abused thus, that I will not  
My hair was bright even now, and my looks fresh:  
Am I so quickly changed?  Ap. 
Her breath infects the air, and sows a pestilence  
where'er it comes; what hath she there?  
I! these are apples made up with the stings  
Of Scorpions, and the blood of Basilisks;  
Which being swallowed up, a thousand pains  
Eat on the heart, and gnaw the entrails out  Tru. 
Thou liest; I, that thou dost,  
For these are honest apples, that they are;  
I'm sure I gathered them myself.  Ap. 
From the Stygian tree; Give them me quickly, or I will—  Tru. 
What will you do? pray take them.  Ap. 
Get thee gone quickly, from me, for I know thee;  
Thou art Tisiphone.  Tru. 
'Tis false; for I know no such woman.  
I'm glad I am got from him, would I had  
My apples too, but 'tis no matter though,  
I'll have a better gift for Callidorus  
Tomorrow.  Ap. 
The fiend is vanished from me,  
And hath left these behind for me to taste of,  
But I will be too cunning; Thus I'll scatter them,  
Now I have spoilt her plot; Unhappy he  
Who finds them. Exit.  
Finis Actus secundi.   

Actus III.  
Scaena I.  Enter Florellus. 
THe Sun five times hath gone his yearly progress,  
Since last I saw my Sister, and returning  
Big with desire to view my native sicily,  
I found my aged parents sadly mourning  
The funeral (for to them it seems no less)  
Of their departed Daughter; what a welcome  
This was to me, all in whose hearts a vein  
Of marble grows not, easily may conceive  
Without the dumb persuasions of my tears.  
Yet as if that were nothing, and it were  
A kind of happiness in misery  
If't come without an army to attend it,  
As I passed through these woods I saw a woman  
Whom her attire called Shepherdess, but face  
Some disguised Angel, or a Sylvan Goddess;  
It struck such adoration (for I durst not  
Harbour the love of so divine a beauty)  
That ever since I could not teach my thoughts  
Another object; (In this happy place  
(Happy her presence made it) she appeared,  
And breathed fresh honours on the smiling trees,  
Which owe more of their gallantry to her  
Then to the musky kisses of the West wind.  
Ha! sure 'tis she; Thus doth the Sun break forth  
From the black curtain of an envious cloud.  Enter Alupis, Bellula, Hylace. Al. 
For 'tis but a folly, &c.  Hyl. 
we did not send for you; pray leave us.  Alu. 
No, by this light, not till I see you cry;  
When you have shed some penitential tears  
For wronging of Palaemon, there may be  
A truce concluded betwixt you and me.  Bell. 
This is uncivil  
To thrust into our company; do you think  
That we admire your wit? pray go to them  
That do, we would be private.  Al. 
To what purpose?  
You'd ask how many shepherds she hath strooken,  
Which is the properest man? which kisses sweetest?  
Which brings her the best presents? And then tell  
What a fine man woos you, how red his lips are?  
How bright his eyes are? and what dainty sonnets  
He hath composed in honour of your beauty?  
And then at last, with what rare tricks you fool him?  
These are your learned discourses; but were all  
Men of my temperance, and wisdom too,  
You should woo us, ay, and woo hardly too  
Before you got us.  Flo. 
Oh profaneness!  
Can he so rudely speak to that blessed virgin,  
And not be strucken dumb?  Al. 
Nay, you have both a mind to me; I know it,  
But I will marry neither; I come hither  
Not to gaze on you, or extol your beauty;  
I come to vex you.  Flo. 
Ruder yet? I cannot,  
I will not suffer this; mad fellow, is there  
No other Nymph in all these spacious woods,  
To fling thy wild, and saucy laughter at,  
But her, whom thy great Deity even Pan  
Himself would honour, do not dare to utter  
The smallest accent if not clothed with reverence,  
Nay, do not look upon her but with eyes  
As humble and submissive as thou wouldst  
Upon the brow of Majesty, when it frowns,  
I speak but that which duty binds us all to,  
Thou shalt not think upon her, no not think,  
Without as much respect and honour to her  
As holy men in superstitious zeal  
Give to the Images they worship.  Bell. 
Oh! this is the Gentleman courted me th'other day.  Al. 
Why? have you got a Patent to restrain me?  
Or do you think your glorious suit can fright me?  
'Twould do you much more credit at the Theater,  
To rise betwixt the Acts, and look about  
The boxes, and then cry, God save you madam,  
Or hear you out in quarrelling at an Ordinary,  
And make your oaths become you; have you shown  
Your gay apparel everywhere in town,  
That you can afford us the sight oft, or  
Hath that Grand Devil whose yclept sergeant,  
Frighted you out of the City?  Flo. 
Your loose jests  
When they are shot at me, I scorn to take  
Any revenge upon them, but neglect,  
For then 'tis rashness only, but as soon  
As you begin to violate her name,  
Nature and conscience too bids me be angry,  
For then 'tis wickedness.  Al. 
Well, if it be so,  
I hope you can forgive the sin that's passed  
Without the doleful sight of trickling tears,  
For I have eyes of pumice; I'm content  
To let her rest in quiet, but you have given me  
Free leave t' abuse you, on the condition  
You will revenge it only with neglect,  
For then 'tis rashness only.  Flo. 
What are you biting?  
Where did you pick these fragments up of wit.  Al. 
Where I paid dear enough a conscience for them,  
They should be more than fragments by their price,  
I bought them sir, even from the very Merchants,  
I scorned to deal with your poor City pedlars, that sell  
By retail: But let that pass; For 'tis but a folly:  Flo. 
Then you have seen the City.  Al. 
I and felt it too, I thank the Devil; I'm sure  
It sucked up in three years the whole estate  
My father left, though he were counted rich,  
A pox of forlorn Captains, pitiful things,  
Whom you mistake for soldiers, only by  
Their sounding oaths, and a buff jerkin, and  
Some Histories which they have learned by rote,  
Of battles fought in Persia, or Polonia,  
Where they themselves were of the conquering side,  
Although God knows one of the City Captains,  
Armed with broad scarf, feather. and scarlet breeches,  
When he instructs the youth on holidays,  
And is made sick with fearful noise of Guns,  
Would pose them in the art Military; these  
Were my first Leeches.  Flo. 
So, no wonder than you spent so fast.  Al. 
Pish, these were nothing:  
I grew to keep your poet's company  
Those are the soakers, they refined me first  
Of those gross humours that are bred by money  
And made me straight a wit, as now you see,  
For 'tis but a folly.  Flo. 
But hast thou none to fling thy salt upon  
But these bright virgins?  Al. 
Yes now you are here;  
You are as good a theme as I could wish.  Hy. 
'Tis best for me to go, whilst they are talking  
For if I steal not from Alupis sight,  
He'll follow me all day to vex me. Exit.  Al. 
What are you vanishing coy Mistress Hylace?  
Nay, I'll be with you straight, but first I'll fetch  
Palaemon, now if he can play his part  
And leave off whining, we'll have princely sport,  
Well, I may live in time to have the women  
Scratch out my eyes, or else scold me to death,  
I shall deserve it richly: Farewell Sir:  
I have employment with the Damsel gone  
And cannot now intend you. Exit.  Flo. 
They're both gone,  
Direct me now good love, and teach my tongue  
Th' enchantments that thou wouldst thy Psyche with.  Bell. 
Farewell Sir.  Flo. 
Oh! be not so cruel,  
Let me enjoy myself a little while,  
Which without you I cannot.  Bell. 
Pray let me go,  
To tend my sheep, there's none that looks to them,  
And if my father miss me, he'll so chide.  Flo. 
Alas! thou needest not fear, for th' Wolf himself  
Though hunger whet the fury of its nature,  
Would learn to spare thy pretty flocks, and be  
As careful as the Shepherd's dog to guard them,  
Nay if he should not, Pan would present be,  
And keep thy tender lambs in safety for thee,  
For though he be a God he would not blush  
To be thy servant.  Bell. 
Oh! you're courtly Sir.  
But your fine words will not defend my sheep,  
Or stop them if they wander; Let me go.  Flo. 
Are you so fearful of your cattle's loss?  
Yet so neglectful of my perishing,  
(For without you how can I choose but perish?)  
Though I myself were most contemptible,  
Yet for this reason only, that I love  
And honour you, I deserve more than they do.  Bell. 
What would you do, that thus you urge my stay?  Flo. 
Nothing I swear that should offend a Saint,  
Nothing which can call up thy maiden blood  
To lend thy face a blush, nothing which chaste  
And virtuous sisters can deny their Brothers,  
I do confess I love you, but the fire  
In which jove courted his ambitious Mistress,  
Or that by holy men on Altars kindled,  
Is not so pure as mine is; I would only  
Gaze thus upon thee; feed my hungry eyes  
Sometimes with those bright tresses, which the wind  
Far happier than I, plays up and down in,  
And sometimes with thy cheeks, those rosy twins;  
Then gently touch thy hand, and often kissed it,  
Till thou thyself shouldst check my modesty  
And yield thy lips, but further, though thou shouldst  
Like other maids with weak resistance ask it,  
(Which I am sure thou wilt not) I'd not offer  
Till lawful Hymen join us both, and give  
A licence unto my desires.  Bell. 
Which I  
Need not bestow much language to oppose,  
Fortune and nature have forbidden it,  
When they made me a rude and homely wench  
You (if your clothes and carriage be not liars,)  
By state and birth a Gentleman.  Flo. 
I hope  
I may without suspicion of a boaster  
Say that I am so, else my love were impudence  
For do you think wise Nature did intend  
You for a Shepherdess, when she bestowed  
Such pains in your creation? would she fetch  
The perfumes of Arabia for your breath?  
Or ransack Pestum of her choicest roses  
T'adorn your cheeks? would she bereave the rock  
Of coral for your lips? and catch two stars  
As they were falling, which she formed your eyes of?  
Would she herself turn workwoman and spin  
Threads of the finest gold to be your tresses?  
Or rob the Great to make one Microcosm?  
And having finished quite the beauteous wonder,  
Hide it from public view and admiration!  
No; she would set it on some pyramid,  
To be the spectacle of many eyes:  
And it doth grieve me that my niggard fortune  
Raised me not up to higher eminency,  
Not that I am ambitious of such honours  
But that through them I might be made more worthy  
To enjoy you.  Bell. 
You are for aught I see  
Too great already; I will either live  
An undefiled virgin as I am  
Or if I marry, not belie my birth,  
But join myself to some plain virtuous shepherd  
(For Callidorus is so, and I will be either his or nobody's.) Aside.  Flo. 
Pray hear me.  Bell. 
Alas! I have Sir, and do therefore now  
Prepare to answer, if this passion  
be love, my fortune bids me to deny you;  
If lust, my honesty commands to scorn you,  
Farewell.  Flo. 
O stay a little! but two words: she's gone,  
Gone like the glorious Sun, which being set  
Night creeps behind and covers all; some way  
I must seek out to win her, or what's easier  
(And the blind man himself without a guide  
May find) some way to die; would I had been  
Borne a poor shepherd in these shady woods.  
Nature is cruel in her benefits  
And when she gives us honey, mingles gall.  
She said that if she married, the woods  
Should find a husband for her. I will woo her  
In Sylvan habit, then perhaps she'll love me—  
But yet I will not, that's in vain; I will too,  
It cannot hurt to try.  Exit. Enter Alupis, Palaemon, after them Hylace. Al. 
Nay come, she's just behind us, are you ready?  
When she scolds, be you low deft, if she cry  
Then laugh abundantly, thus we will vex her  
Into a good conceit of you.  Pal. 
I'll warrant you; you have instructed me enough,  
She comes.  Hyl. 
Is't possible that Bellula—  Pal. 
Fair creature—  Hyl. 
Sure thou wert borne to trouble me, who sent for thee?  Pa. 
Whom all the Nymphs (though women use to be)  
As you know, envious of another's beauty)  
Confess the pride and glory of these woods.  Hyl. 
When did you make this speech? 'tis a most neat one  
Go, get you gone, look to your rotting cattle,  
You'll never keep a wife, who are not able  
To keep your sheep.  Al. 
Good! she abuses him  
Now 'tis a miracle he doth not cry.  Pal. 
Thou whom the stars might envy 'cause they are  
Outshone by thee on earth.  Hyl. 
Pray get you gone,  
Or hold your prating tongue, for whatsoever  
Thou sayest, I will not hear a syllable,  
Much less answer thee.  Pa. 
No; I'll try that straight  
I have a present here—  
Which if you'll give me leave, I shall presume  
To dedicate to your service.  Hy. 
You're so cunning,  
And have such pretty ways to entice me with,  
Come let me see it.  Pa. 
Oh! have you found a tongue?  
I thought I had not been worth an answer?  Hy. 
How now; what tricks are these?  
Give it me quickly, or—  Pa. 
Pray get you gone, or hold your prating tongue;  
For whatsoever thou sayest I will not hear  
A syllable, much less answer thee.  Al. 
Good boy 'faith: now let me come.  Hy. 
This is some plot I see, would I were gone,  
I had as lief see the wolf as this Alupis.  Al. 
Here's a fine Ring, i'faith, a very pretty one,  
Do your teeth water at it Damsel? ha?  
Why we will sell our sheep, and oxen, girl,  
Hang them scurvy beasts, to buy you pretty knacks  
That you might laugh at us, and call us fools  
And jeer us too, as far as your wit reaches,  
Bid us be gone, and when we have talked two hours,  
Deny to answer us; Nay you must stay She offers to be gone.  
And hear a little more.  Hy. 
Must I? are you  
The master of my business? I will not.  Al. 
Faith but you shall; hear therefore and be patient.  
I'll have thee made a Lady, yes a Lady,  
For when thou'st got a chain about thy neck  
And comely bobes to dandle in thine ears;  
When thou'st perfumed thy hair, that if thy breath  
Should be corrupted, it might scape unknown,  
And then bestowed two hours in curling it,  
Uncovering thy breast hither, thine arms hither,  
And had thy Fucus curiously laid on;  
thou'dst be the finest proud thing, I'll warrant thee  
Thou wouldst outdo them all. So, now go thee to her  
And let me breathe a little; For 'tis but a folly, &c.  Hy. 
Oh! is't your turn to speak again? no doubt  
But we shall have a good oration then,  
For they call you the learned shepherd; well  
This is your love I see.  Pa. 
Ha, ha, ha,  
What should I love a stone? or woo a picture?  
Alas! I must be gone, for whatsoever  
I say, you will not hear a syllable  
Much less answer; go, you think you are,  
So singularly handsome, when alas,  
Galla, Menalca's daughter, Bellula,  
Or Amaryllis overcome you quite.  Hy. 
This is a scurvy fellow; I'll fit him for't,  
No doubt they are; I wonder that your wisdom  
Will trouble me so long with your vain suit,  
Why do you not woo them?  Pa. 
Perhaps I do;  
I'll not tell you, because you'll envy them,  
And always be dispraising of their beauties.  Hy. 
It shall appear I will not, for I'll sooner  
Embrace a Scorpion, than thee, base man.  Pa. 
Ha, ha, ha.  
Alupis dost thou hear her? she'll cry presently,  
Do not despair yet girl, by your good carriage  
You may recall me still; some few entreaties  
Mingled with tears may get a kiss perhaps.  Hy. 
I would not kiss thee for the wealth of Sicily  
Thou wicked perjured Fellow.  Pal. 
Alupis, ôh!  
We have incensed her too much! how she looks?  
Prithee Alupis help me to entreat,  
You know we did but jest, dear Hylace,  
Alupis, prithee speak, best, beauteous Hylace,  
I did but do't to try you, pray forgive me,  
Upon my knees I beg it.  Al. 
Here's a precious fool.  Hyl. 
Dost thou still mock me? hast thou found more ways?  
Thou needest not vex thy wit to move my hate,  
Sooner the Sun and stars shall shine together,  
Sooner the Wolf make peace with tender lambs  
Then I with thee; thou'rt a disease to me  
And wound'st my eyes. Exit.  Pal. 
Eternal night involve me! if there be  
A punishment, (but sure there is not any)  
Greater then what her anger hath inflicted,  
May that fall on me too? how have I fooled  
Away my hopes? how have I been myself  
To my own self a thief?  Al. 
I told you this,  
That if she should but frown, you must needs fall  
To your old tricks again.  Pa. 
Is this your art?  
A lovers curse upon it; Oh! Alupis  
Thou hast done worse than murdered me: for which  
May all thy flocks pine and decay like me,  
May thy cursed wit hurt all; but most its Master,  
May'st thou (for I can wish no greater ill)  
Love one like me, and be, like me, contemned.  
Thou'st all the darts my tongue can fling at thee,  
But I will be revenged some other way  
Before I die, which cannot now be long.  Alu. 
Poor Shepherd, I begin to pity him.  
I'll see if I can comfort him; Palaemon,—  Pal. 
Nay, do not follow me, grief, passion  
And troubled thoughts are my companions,  
Those I had rather entertain then thee,  
If you choose this way let me go the other,  
And in both parts distracted error, thee  
May revenge quickly meet, may death meet me. Exit.  Alu. 
Well, I say Pan defend me from a lover  
Of all tame madmen certainly they're the worst,  
I would not meet with two such creatures more  
For any good, they without doubt would put me,  
If it be possible into a fit of sadness,  
Though it Be but a folly, &c.  
Well; I must find some plot yet to salve this  
Because I have engaged my wit in the business,  
And 'twould be a great scandal to the City  
If I who have spent my means there, should not be  
Able to cheat these shepherds. How now, how now,  
Have we more distressed lovers here? Enter Aphron.  Aph. 
No, I'm a mad man.  Al. 
I gave a shrewd guess at it at first sight  
I thought thee little better.  Aph. 
Better? why?  
Can there be any better than a madman?  
I tell thee, I came here to be a madman,  
Nay, do not dissuade me from't, I would be  
A very Madman.  Al. 
A good resolution!  
'Tis as gentile a course as you can take,  
I have known great ones have not been ashamed of't,  
But what cause pray drove you into this humour?  Aph. 
Why a Mistress,  
And such a beauteous one— dost thou see nobody?  
She sits upon a throne amongst the stars  
And outshines them, look up and be amazed  
Such was her beauty here,— sure there do lie  
A thousand vapours in thy sleepy eyes,  
Dost thou not see her yet? not yet, nor yet?  Alu. 
No in good troth.  Aph. 
thou'rt dull and ignorant,  
Not skilled at all in deep Astrology.  
Let me instruct thee?  Alu. 
Prithee do, for thou  
Art in an admirable case to teach now,  Ap. 
I'll show thee first all the celestial signs,  
And to begin, look on that horned head.  Al. 
Whose is't? Jupiter's?  Ap. 
No, 'tis the Ram!  
Next that, the spacious Bull fills up the place.  Al. 
The Bull? 'tis well, the fellows of the Guard  
Intend not to come thither; if they did  
The Gods might chance to lose their beef.  Ap. 
And then,  
Yonder's the sign of Gemini, dost see it?  Alu. 
Yes, yes, I see one of the zealous sisters  
Mingled in friendship with a holy Brother;  
To beget Reformations.  Ap. 
And there sits Capricorn.  Al. 
A Welshman is't not?  Ap. 
There Cancer creeps along with gouty pace,  
As if his feet were sleepy, there, Do you mark it?  Al. 
ay, ay, Alderman-like a walking after dinner,  
His paunch o'ercharged with capon and with white broth.  Ap. 
But now, now, now, now, gaze eternally  
Hadst thou as many eyes as the black night  
They would be all too little; seest thou Virgo?  Al. 
No by my troth, there are so few on earth,  
I should be loath to swear there's more in heaven,  
Then only one.  Ap. 
That was my Mistress once, but is of late  
Translated to the height of deserved glory,  
And adds new ornaments to the wondering heavens.  
Why do I stay behind then, a mere nothing  
Without her presence to give life and being?  
If there be any hill whose lofty top  
Nature hath made contiguous with heaven,  
Though it be steep, rugged as Neptune's brow,  
Though armed with cold, with hunger, and diseases,  
And all the other soldiers of misery,  
Yet I would climb it up, that I might come  
Next place to thee, and there be made a star.  Al. 
I prithee do, for amongst all the beasts  
That help to make up the celestial signs  
There's a Calf wanting yet.  Ap. 
But stay—  Al. 
Nay, I have learned enough Astrology.  Ap. 
Hunger and faintness have already seized me,  
'Tis a long journey thither, I shall want  
Provision; canst thou help me, gentle shepherd?  
And when I am come thither I will snatch  
The Crown of Ariadne, and fling't down  
To thee for a reward.  Al. 
No doubt you will;  
But you shall need no victuals, when you have ended  
Your toilsome journey, kill the Ram you talk of,  
And feed yourself with most celestial mutton.  Ap. 
thou'rt in the right, if they deny me that  
I'll pluck the Bear down from the Arctic Pole,  
And drown it in those waters it avoids,  
And dares not touch; I'll tug the Hyades  
And make them to sink down in spite of Nature;  
I'll meet with Charles his Wain, and overturn it  
And break the wheels of 't, till Boötes start  
For fear, and grow more slow than e'er he was.  Al. 
By this good light he'll snuff the Moon anon,  
Here's words indeed would fright a Conjurer  
'Tis pity that these huge Gigantic speeches  
Are not upon the stage, they would do rarely  
For none would understand them, I could wish  
Some Poet here now, with his table-book.  Ap. 
I'll cuff with Pollux, and outride thee, Castor,  
When the fierce Lion roars I'll pluck his heart out  
And be called Cordelion; I'll grapple with the Scorpion,  
Take his sting out and fling him to the earth.  Al. 
To me good Sir,  
It may perhaps raise me a great estate  
With showing it up and down for pence apiece  Ap. 
Alcides freed the earth from savage monsters,  
And I will free the heavens and be called  
Don Hercules Alcido de secundo.  Al. 
A brave Castilian name.  Ap. 
'Tis a hard task,  
But if that fellow did so much by strength,  
I may well do't armed both with love and fury.  Alup. 
Of which thou hast enough.  Aph, 
Farewell thou rat.  
The Cedar bids the shrub adieu.  Al. 
Farewell  
Don Hercules Alcido de secundo.  
If thou scarest any, 'twill be by that name.  
This is a wonderful rare fellow, and  
I like his humour mightily— who's here?  Enter Truga. 
The Chronicle of a hundred years ago!  
How many crows hath she outlived? sure death  
Hath quite forgot her; by this Memento mori  
I must invent some trick to help Palaemon.  Tru. 
I am going again to Callidorus,  
But I have got a better present now,  
My own ring made of good Ebony,  
Which a young handsome shepherd bestowed on me  
Some fourscore years ago, than they all loved me,  
I was a handsome Lass, I wosse in those days.  Al. 
I so thou wert I'll warrant; here's good sign of't  
Now I'll begin the work, Reverend Truga,  
Whose very Autumn shows how glorious  
The spring-time of your youth was—  Tru. 
Are you come  
To put your mocks upon me?  Al. 
I do confess indeed my former speeches  
Have been too rude and saucy; I have flung  
Mad jests too wildly at you; but considering  
The reverence which is due to age, and virtue,  
I have repented, will you see my tears?  
And believe them? Oh for an onion now!  
Or I shall laugh aloud; ha, ha, ha!) Aside.  Tru. 
Alas good soul I do forgive you truly;  
I would not have you weep for me, indeed  
I ever thought you would repent at last,  Al. 
You might well,  
But the right valuing of your worth and virtue  
Hath turned the folly of my former scorn  
Inro a wiser reverence, pardon me  
If I say love.  Tru. 
ay, ay, with all my heart,  
But do you speak sincerely?  Al. 
Oh! it grieves me  
That you should doubt it, what I spoke before  
Were lies, the offspring of a foolish rashness,  
I see some sparks still of your former beauty,  
Which spite of time still flourish.  Tru. 
Why, I am not  
So old as you imagined, I am yet  
But fourscore years. Am I a January now?  
How do you think? I always did believe  
You'd be of another opinion one day;  
I know you did but jest.  Al. 
Oh no, oh no, (I see it takes) Aside.  
How you belie your age— for— let me see—  
A man would take you— let me see— for—  
Some forty years or thereabouts (I mean four hundred)  
Not a jot more I swear. Aside.  Tru. 
Oh no! you flatter me,  
But I look something fresh indeed this morning.  
I should please Callidorus mightily,  
But I'll not go perhaps; this fellow is  
As handsome quite as he, and I perceive  
He loves me hugely, I protest I will not Aside  
Have him grow mad, which he may chance to do  
If I should scorn him.  Al. 
I have something here  
Which I would fain reveal to you, but dare not  
Without your licence.  Tru. 
Do in Pan's name, do; now, now.  Al. 
The comely gravity which adorns your age,  
And makes you still seem lovely, hath so strucken me—  Tru. 
Alas good soul! I must seem coy at first,  
But not too long, for fear I should quite lose him.  Al. 
That I shall perish utterly, unless  
Your gentle nature help me.  Tru. 
Alas good Shepherd!  
And in troth I fain would help you  
But I am past those vanities of love.  Al. 
Oh no!  
Wise nature which preserved your life till now  
Doth it because you should enjoy these pleasures  
Which do belong to life, if you deny me,  
I am undone.  Tru. 
Well you should not win me  
But that I am loath to be held the cause  
Of any young man's ruin, do not think it  
My want of chastity, but my good nature  
Which would see no one hurt.  Al. 
Ah pretty soul! Aside.  
How supple 'tis like wax before the Sun!  
Now cannot I choose but kiss her, there's the plague of 't,  
Let's then join our hearts, and seal them with a kiss  Tru. 
Well, let us then:  
'T were incivility to be your debtor,  
I'll give you back again your kiss, sweetheart,  
And come in th'afternoon, I'll see you;  
My husband will be gone to sell some kine,  
And Hylace tending the sheep, till then  
Farewell good Duck (Offers to go.)  
But do you hear, because you shall remember (Turns back.)  
To come I'll give thee here this Ebon ring  
But do not wear it, lest my husband chance  
To see't: Farewell Duck.  Al. 
Lest her husband chance  
To see't; she cannot deny this, here's enough;  
My scene of love is done then, is she gone?  
I'll call her back; ho Truga; Truga hô:  Tru. 
Why do you call me Duck?  Al 
Only to ask one foolish question of thee:  
Ha'n't you a husband?  Tru. 
Yes, you know I have.  Al. 
And do you love him?  Tru. 
Why do you ask? I do.  Al. 
Yet you can be content to make him cuckold  Tru. 
Rather than to see you perish in your flames.  Al. 
Why art thou now two hundred years of age,  
Yet hast no more discretion but to think  
That I could love thee? ha, ha, were't mine  
I'd sell thee to some gardener, thou wouldst serve  
To scare away the thieves as well as crows.  Tru. 
Oh, you're disposed to jest I see, Farewell.  Al. 
Nay, I'm in very earnest; I love you?  
Why thy face is a vizard.  Trug. 
Leave off these tricks, I shall be angry else,  
And take away the favours I bestowed.  Al. 
'Tis known that thou hast eyes by the holes only,  
Which are crept farther in, than thy nose out,  
And that's almost a yard; thy quarreling teeth  
Of such a colour are, that they themselves  
Scare one another, and do stand at distance.  
Thy skin hangs loose as if it feared the bones  
(For flesh thou hast not) and is grown so black  
That a wild Centaur would not meddle with thee.  
To conclude, Nature made thee when she was  
Only disposed to jest, and length of time  
Hath made thee more ridiculous.  Tru. 
Base villain, is this your love?  
Give me my ring again?  Al. 
No, no; soft there:  
I intend to bestow it on your husband;  
He'll keep it better far than you have done.  Trug. 
What shall I do? Alupis, good Alupis,  
Stay but a little while, pray do but hear me.  Al. 
No, I'll come to you in the afternoon  
Your husband will be selling of some kine  
And Hylace tending the sheep.  Tru. 
Pray hear me, command me any thing  
And be but silent of this, good Alupis;  
Hugh, Hugh, Hugh.  Al. 
Yes, yes, I will be silent,  
I'll only blow a trumpet on yond hill,  
Till all the country swains are flocked about me.  
Then show the ring, and tell the passages  
'Twixt you and me.  Trug. 
Alas! I am undone.  Al. 
Well now 'tis ripe; I have had sport enough  
Since I behold your penitential tears  
I'll propose this to you, if you can get  
Your Daughter to be married to Palaemon  
This day, for I'll allow no longer time;  
Tomorrow I'll restore your ring, and swear  
Never to mention what is passed betwixt us,  
If not— you know what follows— take your choice.  Tru. 
I'll do my best endeavour.  Al. 
Go make haste then,  
You know your time's but short, and use it well:  
Now if this fail the devil's in all wit.  Exit Truga. 
I'll go and thrust it forward, if it take,  
I'll sing away the day,  
For 'tis but a folly  
To be melancholy,  
Let's live here whilst we may.  Exit. 
Finis Actus Tertij.   

Actus IIII.  
Scaena I.  Enter Callidorus, Bellula, Florellus. _CAl. 
Pray follow me no more, methinks that modesty  
Which is so lively painted in your face  
Should prompt your maiden heart with fears and blushes  
To trust yourself in so much privateness  
With one you know not.  Bel. 
I should love those fears  
And call them hopes, could I persuade myself,  
There were so much heat in you as to cause them;  
Prithee leave me; if thou dost hope success  
To thine own love, why interruptest thou mine?  Flo. 
If love cause you  
To follow him, how can you angry be?  
Because love forces me without resistance  
To do the same to you?  Bell. 
Love should not grow  
So subtle as to play with arguments.  Flo. 
Love should not be an enemy to reason.  Cal. 
To love is of itself a kind of Folly,  
But to love one who cannot render back  
Equal desire, is nothing else but madness:  Bell. 
Tell him so; 'tis a lesson he should learn.  Flo. 
Not to love is of't self a kind of hardness,  
But not to love him who hath always wooed you  
With chaste desires, is nothing less than tyranny.  Bell. 
Tell him so; 'tis a lesson he should learn.  Call. 
Why do you follow him that flies from you?  Flo. 
Why do you fly from him that follows you?  Bell. 
Why do you follow? Why do you fly from me?  Call. 
The Fates command me that I must not love you.  Flo. 
The Fates command me that I needs must love you.  Bell. 
The Fates impose the like command on me,  
That you I must, that you I cannot love.  Flo. 
Unhappy man! when I begin to clothe  
My love with words, and court her with persuasions,  
She stands unmoved, and doth not clear her brow  
Of the least wrinkle which sat there before;  
So when the waters with an amorous noise  
Leap up and down, and in a wanton dance  
Kiss the dull rock, that scorns their fond embraces,  
And darts them back; till they with terror scattered,  
Drop down again in tears.  Bell. 
Unhappy woman!  
When I begin to show him all my passion,  
He flies from me, and will not clear his brow  
Of any cloud which covered it before;  
So when the ravishing Nightingale hath tuned  
Her mournful notes, and silenced all the birds,  
Yet the deaf wind flirts by, and in disdain  
With a rude whistle leaves her.  Cal. 
We are all three  
Unhappy; borne to be the proud example  
Of love's great Godhead, not his Godlike goodness.  
Let us not call upon ourselves those miseries  
Which love hath not, and those it hath bear bravely,  
Our desires yet are like some hidden text,  
Where one word seems to contradict another,  
They are love's nonsense, wrapped up in thick clouds  
Till Fate be pleased to write a Commentary,  
Which doubtless 'twill; till then let let us endure,  
And sound a parley to our passions,  Bell. 
We may join hands though, may we not?  Flo. 
We may, and lips too, may we not?  Bell, 
We may; come let's sit down and talk.  Cal. 
And look upon each other.  Flo. 
Then kiss again.  Bell. 
Then look.  Call. 
Then talk again,  
What are we like? the hand of Mother Nature  
Would be quite posed to make our simile.  Flo. 
We are the Trigon in love's Hemisphere.  Bel. 
We are three strings on Venus' daintiest Lute,  
Where all three hinder one another's music,  
Yet all three join and make one harmony.  Call. 
We are three flowers of Venus' dainty garden,  
Where all three hinder one another's odour,  
Yet all three join, and make one nosegay up.  Flo. 
Come let us kiss again.  Bell. 
And look.  Call. 
And talk.  Flo. 
Nay rather sing, your lips are Nature's organs,  
And made for nought less sweet than harmony.  Call. 
Pray do.  Bell. 
Though I forfeit  
My little skill in singing to your wit,  
Yet I will do't, since you command.  

Song.  
It is a punishment to love,  
And not to love a punishment doth prove;  
But of all pains there's no such pain,  
As 'tis to love, and not be loved again.   

Till sixteen parents we obey,  
After sixteen, men steal our hearts away  
How wretched are we women grown,  
Whose wills, whose minds, whose hearts are ne'er our own!   Call. 
Thank you.  Flo. 
For ever be the tales of Orpheus silent,  
Had the same age seen thee, that very Poet,  
Who drew all to him by his harmony,  
Thou wouldst have drawn to thee.  Cal. 
Come shall we rise?  Bell. 
If it please you, I will.  Call. 
I cannot choose  
But pity these two Lovers, and am taken  
Much with the serious trifles of their passion.  
Let's go and see, if we can break this net  
In which we all are caught; if any man  
Ask who we are, we'll say we are love's riddle.  Exeunt. Enter Aegon, Palaemon, Alupis. Pa. 
Thou art my better Genius, honest Aegon,  Al. 
And what am I?  Pa. 
myself, my soul, my friend,  
Let me hug thee Alupis, and thee Aegon,  
Thee for inventing it, thee for putting it  
In act; But do you think the plot will hold?  Alu. 
Hold? why I'll warrant thee it shall hold,  
Till we have tied you both in wedlock fast,  
Then let the bonds of Matrimony hold you  
If 'twill, if that will not neither, I can tell you  
What will I'm sure; A Halter.  
Then sing, &c.—  Aegon 
Come, shall we knock?  Al. 
I do; For 'tis, &c.—  Aegon. 
Ho Truga; who's within there?  Al. 
You, Winter, Ho, you that the grave expected  
Some hundred years ago, you that intend  
To live till you turn Skeleton, and make  
All men weary of you but Physicians,  
Pox on you, will you come.  Enter Clariana and her Maid. Cla. 
Did you command the servants to withdraw?  M. 
I did forsooth.  Cla. 
And have you shut the doors?  M. 
Yes.  Cl. 
Is there none can overhear our talk?  M. 
Your curious enquiry much amazeth me,  
And I could wish you would excuse my boldness  
If I should ask the reason.  Cl. 
Thou knowest well  
That thou hast found me always liker to  
Thy Kinswoman then Mistress, that thy breast  
Has been the Cabinet of all my secrets,  
This I tell thee, not as an exprobration,  
But because I must require thy faith  
And counsel here. And therefore prithee swear—  M. 
Swear? to do what?  Cl. 
To be more silent than the dead of night,  
And to thy power to help me.  M. 
Would my power  
To assist you were as ready as my will,  
And for my tongue that Mistress I'll condemn  
Unto perpetual silence, ere it shall  
Betray the smallest word that you commit to't.  
By all—  Cl. 
Nay do not swear, I will not wrong thy virtue  
To bind it with an oath. I'll tell thee all;  
Doth not my face seem paler than 'twas wont?  
Doth not my eye look as it borrowed flame  
From my fond heart; could not my frequent weepings,  
My sudden sighs, and abrupt speeches tell thee  
What I am grown?  M. 
You are the same you were,  
Or else my eyes are liars.  Cl. 
No, I'm a wretched Lover; couldst thou nor  
Read that out of my blushes? fie upon thee;  
Thou art a novice in love's school I see;  
Trust me I envy at thy ignorance,  
That canst not find out Cupid's characters  
In a lost Maid, sure thou didst never know him.  M. 
Would you durst trust me with his name,  
Sure he had charms about him that might tempt  
Chaste Votaries, or move a Scythian rock  
When he shot fire into your chaster breast.  Cl. 
I am ashamed to tell thee, prithee guess him,  M. 
Why 'tis impossible.  Cl. 
Thou sawst the gentleman whom I this morning  
Brought in to be my guest.  M. 
Yes, but am ignorant, who, or from whence he is;  Cl. 
Thou shalt know all;  
The freshness of the morning did invite me  
To walk abroad, there I began to think  
How I had lost my Brother, that one thought  
Like circles in the water begat many,  
Those and the pleasant verdure of the fields  
Made me forget the way, and did entice me  
Farther than either fear or modesty  
Else would have suffered me, beneath an oak  
Which spread a flourishing Canopy round about,  
And was itself alone almost a wood,  
I found a Gentleman distracted strangely,  
Crying aloud for either food, or sleep,  
And knocking his white hands against the ground,  
Making that groan like me, when I beheld it,  
Pity, and fear, both proper to us women,  
drove my feet back far swifter than they went,  
When I came home, I took two servants with me  
And fetched the gentleman, hither I brought him,  
And with such cheer as then the house afforded,  
Replenished him, he was much mended suddenly,  
Is now asleep, and when he wakes I hope  
Will find his senses perfect.  M. 
You did show  
In this, what never was a stranger to you,  
Much piety; but wander from your subject;  
You have not yet discovered, who it is  
Deserves your love.  Cl. 
Fie, Fie, how dull thou art,  
Thou dost not use in other things to be so;  
Why I love him; His name I cannot tell thee;  
For 'tis my great unhappiness to be  
Still ignorant of that myself. He comes,  
Look, this is he, but do not grow my rival If thou canst those.  M. 
You need not, fear't forsooth. Enter Aphron.  Cl. 
Leave me alone with him; withdraw.  M. 
I do. Exit Maid.  Ap. 
Where am I now? under the Northern Pole  
Where a perpetual winter binds the ground  
And glazeth up the floods? or where the Sun  
With neighbouring rays bakes the divided earth,  
And drinks the rivers up? or do I sleep?  
Is't not some foolish dream deludes my fancy?  
Who am I? I begin to question that.  
Was not my country Sicily? my name  
Called Aphron, wretched Aphron?  Cla. 
Ye good Gods  
Forbid; is this that man who was the cause  
Of all the grief for Callidora's loss?  
Is this the man that I so oft have cursed?  
Now I could almost hate him, and methinks  
He is not quite so handsome as he was;  
And yet alas he is, though by his means  
My Brother is gone from me, and heaven knows  
If I shall see him more, Fool as I am,  
I cannot choose but love him.  Ap. 
Cheat me not good eyes,  
What woman, or what Angel do I see?  
Oh stay, and let me worship ere thou goest,  
Whether thou be'st a Goddess which thy beauty  
Commands me to believe, or else some mortal  
Which I the rather am induced to think,  
Because I know the Gods all hate me so,  
They would not look upon me.  Cl. 
Spare these titles  
I am a wretched woman, who for pity  
(Alas that I should pity! t'had been better (Aside)  
That I had been remorseless) brought you hither,  
Where with some food and rest, thanks to the Gods  
Your senses are recovered.  Ap. 
My good Angel!  
I do remember now that I was mad  
For want of meat and sleep, thrice did the Sun  
Cheer all the world but me, thrice did the night  
With silent and bewitching darkness give  
A resting time to every thing but Aphron.  
The fish, the beasts, the birds, the smallest creatures  
And the most despicable snored securely.  
The aguish head of every tree by Aeolus  
Was rocked asleep, and shook as if it nodded.  
The crooked mountains seemed to bow and slumber,  
The very rivers ceased their daily murmur,  
Nothing did watch, but the pale Moon, and I  
Paler than she; Grief wedded to this toil  
What else could it beget but franticness?  
But now methinks, I am my own, my brain  
Swims not as it was wont; O brightest Virgin  
Show me some way by which I may be grateful,  
And if I do't not, let an eternal Frenzy  
immediately seize on me.  Cl. 
Alas! 'twas only  
My love, and if you will reward me for't,  
Pay that I lent you, I'll require no interest;  
The principal's enough.  Ap. 
You speak in mists.  Cl. 
You're loath perhaps to understand.  Ap. 
If you intend that I should love and honour you,  
I do by all the Gods.  Cl. 
But I am covetous in my demands,  
I am not satisfied with windlike promises  
Which only touch the lips; I ask your heart  
Your whole heart for me, in exchange of mine,  
Which so I gave to you.  Ap. 
Ha! you amaze me.  
Oh! you have spoken something worse than lightning,  
That blasts the inward parts, leaves, the outward whole,  
My gratitude commands me to obey you,  
But I am borne a man, and have those passions  
Fighting within me, which I must obey.  
Whilst Callidora lives, although she be  
As cruel, as thy breast is soft and gentle;  
'TIs sin for me to think of any other.  Cl. 
You cannot love me then?  Ap. 
I do I swear,  
Above myself I do: myself? what said I?  
Alas! that's nothing; above any thing  
But heaven and Callidora.  Cl. 
Fare you well then,  
I would not do that wrong to one I love,  
To urge him farther than his power and will;  
Farewell, remember me when you are gone,  
And happy in the love of Callidora. Exit.  Ap. 
When I do not, may I forget myself,  
Would I were mad again; then I might rave  
With privilege, I should not know the griefs  
That hurried me about, 'twere better far  
To lose the senses, then be tortured by them.  
Where is she gone? I did not ask her name,  
Fool that I was, alas poor Gentlewoman!  
Can any one love me? ye cruel Gods,  
Is't not enough that I myself am miserable,  
Must I make others so too? I'll go in  
And comfort her; alas! how can I though?  
I'll grieve with her, that is in ills a comfort.  Exit. Enter Alupis, Melarnus, Truga, Palaemon, Aegon. Pa. 
Before when you denied your Daughter to me  
'Twas Fortune's fault, not mine, but since good Fate  
Or rather Aegon, better far than Fate  
Hath raised me up to what you aimed at, riches,  
I see not with what countenance you can  
Coin any second argument against me.  Mel. 
Come, no matter for that:  
Yes, I could wish you were less eloquent,  
You have a vice called Poesy which much  
Displeaseth me, but no matter for that neither.  Al. 
Alas! he'll leave that straight  
When he has got but money; he that swims  
In Tagus, never will go back to Helicon.  
beside, when he hath married Hylace  
Whom should he woo, to praise her comely feature,  
Her skin like falling snow, her eyes like stars,  
Her cheeks like roses (which are common places  
Of all your lovers praises) ôh! those vanities,  
Things quite as light, and foolish as a Mistress,  
Are by a Mistress first begot, and left  
When they leave her.  Ra. 
Why do you think that Poesy  
An art which even the Gods—  Al. 
Pox on your arts,  
Let him think what he will; what's that to us?  Aegon. 
Well, I would gladly have an answer of you,  
Since I have made Palaemon here my son,  
If you conceive your Daughter is so good,  
we will not press you, but seek out some other  
Who may perhaps please me and him as well.  Pa. 
Which is impossible'—  Al. 
Rot on your possibles—  
Thy mouth like a cracked fiddle never sounds  
But out of tune; Come, put on Truga  
You'll never speak unless I show the ring.  Tru. 
Yes, yes, I do, I do; Do ye hear sweet heart?  
Are you mad to fling away a fortune  
That's thrust upon you, you know Aegon's rich.  Mel. 
Come, no matter for that,  
That's thrust upon me? I would fain see any man  
Thrust aught upon me; but's no matter for that,  
I will do that which I intend to do,  
And 'tis no matter for that neither, that's thrust upon me?  Pa. 
Come, what say you Melarnus?  Mel. 
What say I? 'tis no matter what I say,  
I'll speak to Aegon, if I speak to any,  
And not to you; but no matter for that;  
Hark you, will you leave all the means you have  
To this Palaemon?  Tru. 
I Duck, he says he will.  Mel. 
Pish, 'tis no matter for that, I'll hear him say so.  Aeg. 
I will, and here do openly protest,  
That since my Bellula (mine that was once)  
Thinks herself wiser than her father is,  
And will be governed rather by her passions,  
Then by the square that I prescribe to her,  
That I will never count her as my Daughter.  Al. 
Well acted by God Pan, see but what 'tis  
To have me for a tutor in these rogueries.  Mel. 
But tell me now, good neighbour, what estate  
Do you intend to give him?  Aeg. 
That estate  
Which Fortune and my care hath given to me,  
The money which I have, and that's not much,  
The sheep, and Goats.  Mel. 
And not the oxen too?  Aeg. 
Yes; every thing.  Mel. 
The Horses too?  Aeg. 
I tell you, every thing.  Al. 
By Pan he'll make him promise him particularly  
Each thing above the value of a Beans-straw.  
You'll leave him the pails too, to milk the Kine in,  
And harness for the horses, will you not?  Mel. 
ay, ay, what else; but 'tis no matter for that,  
I know Palaemon's an ingenious man,  
And love him therefore; But's no matter for that neither  Aeg. 
Well, since we are both agreed, why do we stay here  
I know Palaemon longs t'embrace his Hylace.  Mel. 
ay, ay, 'tis no matter for that, within this hour  
we will be ready, Aegon, pray be you so,  
Farewell my son in Law that shall be,  
But's no matter for that: Farewell all:  
Come Truga. Exeunt Melarnus and Truga.  Aeg. 
Come on then, let's not stay too long in trifling,  
Palaemon go, and prepare yourself against the time.  
I'll go acquaint my Bellula with your plot,  
Lest this unwelcome news should too much grieve her,  
Before she know my meaning.  A. 
Do, do; and I'll go study  
Some new-found ways to vex the fool Malernus.  
For 'tis but a folly,  
To be melancholy, &c.  Enter Florellus. 
Whilst Callidorus lives, I cannot love thee.  
These were her parting words; I'll kill him then;  
Why do I doubt it Fool? such wounds as these  
Require no gentler medicine; methinks Love  
Frowns at me now, and says I am too dull,  
Too slow in his command: and yet I will not,  
These hands are virgins yet, unstained with villainy,  
Shall I begin to teach them?— methinks Piety  
Frowns at me now, and says, I am too weak  
Against my passions. Piety!—  
'T was fear begot that Bugbear; for thee Bellula  
I durst be wicked, though I saw jove's hand  
Armed with a naked thunderbolt: Farewell,  
If thou be'st any thing, and not a shadow  
To fright boys and old women) Farewell conscience,  
Go and be strong in other petty things  
To Lovers come, when Lovers may make use of thee,  
Not else: and yet,— what shall I do or say?  
I see the better way, and know 'tis better,  
Yet still this devious error draws me backward.  
So when contrary winds rush out and meet,  
And wrestle on the Sea with equal fury  
The waves swell into mountains, and are driven  
Now back, now forward, doubtful of the two  
Which Captain to obey.  Enter Alupis. Al. 
Ha, ha, I'll have such excellent sport  
For 'tis but a folly, &c.  Flo. 
Why here's a fellow now makes sport of every thing,  
See one man's fate how it excels another,  
He can sit, and pass away the day in jollity,  
My music is my sighs, whilst tears keep time.  Al. 
Who's here? a most rare posture!  
How the good soul folds in his arms! he dreams  
Sure that he hugs his Mistress now, for that  
Is his disease without all doubt, so, good,  
With what judicious garb he plucks his hat  
Over his eyes; so, so, good! better yet;  
He cries; by this good light, he cries; the man  
Is careful, and intends to water his sheep  
With his own tears; ha, ha, ha, ha.  Flo. 
Dost thou see any thing that deserves thy laughter,  
Fond swain?  Al. 
I see nothing in good troth but you,  Flo. 
To jeer those who are Fates May-game  
Is a redoubled fault; for 'tis both sin,  
And folly too; our life is so uncertain  
Thou canst not promise that thy mirth shall last  
Tomorrow, and not meet with any rub,  
Than thou mayst act that part, today thou laugh'st as  Al. 
I act a part? it must be in a Comedy then,  
I abhor Tragedies: beside, I never  
Practised this posture; heigh ho! woe, alas!  
Why do I live? my music is my sighs  
Whilst tears keep time.  Flo. 
You take too great a licence to your wit;  
Wit, did I say? I mean, that which you think so.  
And it deserves my pity, more than anger.  
Else you should find, that blows are heavier far  
Than the most studied jests you can throw at me.  Al. 
Faith it will be but labour lost to beat me,  
All will not teach me how to act this part;  
Woe's me! alas! I'm a dull rogue, and so  
Shall never learn it.  Flo. 
You're unmannerly  
To talk thus saucily with one you know not,  
Nay, hardly ever saw before, be gone  
And leave me as you found me, my worst thoughts  
Are better company than thou.  Al. 
Enjoy them then,  
Here's nobody desires to rob you of them.  
I would have left your company without bidding,  
'Tis not so pleasant, I remember well,  
When I had spent all my money, I stood thus  
And therefore hate the posture ever since.  
D'ye hear? I'm going to a wedding now;  
If you'ave a mind to dance, come along with me,  
Bring your hard-hearted Mistress with you too,  
Perhaps I may persuade her, and tell her  
Your music's sighs, and that your tears keep time.  
Will you not go? Farewell then, good Tragical actor.  
Now have at thee Melarnus; For 'tis but a folly, &c. Exit  Flo. 
Thou art a Prophet, Shepherd; She is hard  
As rocks which suffer the continual siege  
Of Sea and wind against them; but I will  
Win her or lose (which I should gladly do)  
myself: myself? why so I have already:  
Ho! who hath found Florellus? he is lost,  
Lost to himself, and to his parents likewise,  
(who having missed me, do by this time search  
Each corner for to find me) ôh! Florellus,  
Thou must be wicked, or for ever wretched,  
Hard is the Physic, harder the disease.  
Finis Actus Quarti.   

Actus V.  
Scaena I.  Enter Alupis, Palaemon, Aegon. _PA. 
The Gods convert these omens into good:  
And mock my fears; thrice in the very threshold,  
Without its Masters leave my foot stood still,  
Thrice in the way it stumbled:  Al. 
Thrice, and thrice  
You were a fool then for observing it.  
Why these are follies the young years of Truga  
Did hardly know; are they not vanished yet?  Pa. 
Blame not my fear: that's Cupid's Usher always;  
Though Hylace were now in my embraces,  
I should half doubt it.  Al. 
If you chanced to stumble.  Aeg. 
Let him enjoy his madness, the same liberty  
he'll grant to you, when you're a Lover too.  Al. 
ay, when I am, he may; yet if I were one  
I should not be dismayed because threshold—  Pa. 
Alas! that was not all, as I came by  
The oak to Faunus sacred, where the Shepherd's  
Exercise rural sports on Festivals,  
On that trees top an inauspicious Crow  
Foretold some ill to happen.  Aeg. 
And because Crows  
Foretell wet weather, you interpret it  
The rain of your own eyes; but leave these tricks  
And let me advise you.  Melarnus speaking to Hylace within his door. Mel. 
Well come, no matter for that; I do believe thee; Girl  
And would they have such sport with vexing me!  
But's no matter for that; I'll vex them for't.  
I know your fiery lover will be here straight,  
But I shall cool him; but come, no matter for that!  
Go get you in, for I do see them coming.  Aeg. 
Here comes Melarnus.  Pa. 
He looks cheerfully, I hope all's well?  Aeg. 
Melarnus, opportunely: we were a coming  
Just now unto you.  Mel. 
Yes, very likely; would you have spoken with me?  Aeg. 
Spoken with you?  
Why, are you mad? have you forgot your promise?  Mel. 
My promise? oh! 'tis true, I said indeed  
I would go with you today to sell some kine,  
Stay but a little, I'll be ready straight.  Pa. 
I am amazed; Good Aegon speak to him.  Al. 
By this good light,  
I see no likelihood of any marriage,  
Except betwixt the Kine and oxen. Hark you hither;  
A rot upon your beasts; is Hylace ready?  Mel. 
It's no matter for that! who's there? Alupis?  
Give me thy hand 'faith, thou'rt a merry fellow,  
I have not seen thee here these many days,  
But now I think on't, it's no matter for that neither.  Al. 
Thy memory's fled away sure with thy wit.  
Was not I here less than an hour ago  
With Aegon, when you made the match?  Mel. 
Oh! then you'll go along with us,  
Faith do; for you will make us very merry.  Al. 
I shall, if you thus make a fool of me.  Mel. 
Oh no! you'll make you sport with vexing me,  
But mum; no matter for that neither: there  
I bobbed him privately, I think. Aside.  Aeg. 
Come, what's the business?  Al. 
The business? why he's mad, beyond the cure  
Of all the herbs grow in Anticyra.  Aeg. 
You see we have not failed our word Melarnus,  
I and my son are come.  Mel. 
Your son! goodlack!  
I thought, I swear, you had no other child  
Besides your Daughter Bellula.  Aegon. 
Nay, than  
I see you are disposed to make us fools,—  
Did not I tell you that 'twas my intent  
To adopt Palaemon for my son and heir?  Al. 
Did not you examine  
Whether he would leave him all, lest that he should  
Adopt some other heir to the cheese-presses,  
The milking-pails, and cream-bowls? did you not?  Mel. 
In troth 'tis well; but where is Bellula?  Aegon. 
Nay; prithee leave these tricks, and tell me  
What you intend, is Hylace ready?  Mel. 
Ready? what else? she's to be married presently:  
To a young shepherd, but's no matter for that.  Fa. 
That's I, hence fears;  
Attend upon the infancy of love,  
She's now mine own.  Al. 
Why I; did not the crow on the oak foretell you this?  Mel. 
Hylace, Hylace, come forth,  
Here's some are come to dance at your wedding,  
And they're welcome. (Enter Hylace.)  Pa. 
The light appears, just like the rising Sun,  
When o'er yond hill it peeps, and with a draught  
Of morning dew salutes the day, how fast  
The night of all my sorrow flies away,  
Quite banished with her sight!  Hy. 
Did you call for me?  Mel. 
Is Damaetas come? Fie, how slow he is  
At such a time? but it's no matter for that;  
Well get you in, and prepare to welcome him.  Pa. 
Will you be gone so quickly, ôh! bright Hylace  
That blessed hour by me so often begged,  
By you so oft denied, is now approaching.  Mel. 
What, how now? what do you kiss her? (Exit Hylace.)  
If Damoetas were here, he would grow jealous,  
But 'tis a parting kiss, and so in manners  
She cannot deny it you; but it's no matter for that.  Al. 
How?  Mel. 
What do you wonder at?  
Why do you think as soon as they are married,  
Damoetas such a fool, to let his wife  
Be kissed by everybody?  Pa. 
How now? Damoetas?  
Why what hath he to do with her?  Mel. 
Ha, ha!  
What hath the husband then to do with's wife?  
Good: 'tis no matter for that though; he knows what.  Aeg. 
You mean Palaemon sure, ha, do you not?  Mel. 
'Tis no matter for that, what I mean, I mean,  
Well, rest ye merry gentlemen, I must in,  
And see my daughter's wedding, if you please  
To dance with us; Damaetas sure will thank ye;  
Pray bring your son and heir Palaemon with you,  
Bellula's cast away, ha, ha, ha, ha!  
And the poor fool Melarnus must be cheated,  
But it's no matter for that; how now Alupis?  
I thought you would have had most excellent sport  
With abusing poor Melarnus? that same coxcomb,  
For he's a fool; but it's no matter for that,  
Aegon hath cheated him, Palaemon is  
Married to Hylace, and one Alupis  
Doth nothing else but vex him, ha, ha, ha!  
But it's no matter for that; farewell gentles,  
Or if ye'll come and dance, ye shall be welcome,  
Will you Palaemon? 'tis your Mistress wedding.  
I am a fool, a coxcomb, gulled on every side,  
No matter for that though; what I have done, I have done?  
Ha, ha, ha! Exit.  Aeg. 
How now? what are you both dumb? both thunderstruck?  
This was your plot Alupis.  Al. 
I'll begin.  
May his sheep rot, and he for want of food  
Be forced to eat them then; may every man  
Abuse him, and yet he not have the wit  
To abuse any man, may he never speak  
More sense than he did now; and may he never  
be rid of his old wife Truga, may his son  
In Law be a more famous Cuckold made  
Then any one I knew when I lived in the City.  Pa. 
Fool as thou art, the Sun shall lose his course,  
And brightness too, ere Hylace her chastity.  
Oh no! ye Gods, may she be happy always,  
Happy in the embraces of Damoetas;  
And that shall be some comfort to my Ghost  
When I am dead; and dead I shall be shortly.  Al. 
May a disease seize upon all his Cattle,  
And a far worse on him; till he at last  
be carried to some Hospital i'the City,  
And there killed by a Chirurgeon for experience.  
And when he's gone, I'll wish this good thing for him,  
May the earth lie gently on him— that the dogs  
May tear him up the easier.  Aeg. 
A curse upon thee!  
And upon me for trusting thy fond counsels!  
Was this your cunning trick? why thou hast wounded  
My conscience and my reputation too,  
With what face can I look on the other Swains?  
Or who will ever trust me, who have broke  
My faith thus openly?  Pa. 
A curse upon thee,  
This is the second time that thy persuasions  
Made me not only fool, but wicked too;  
I should have died in quiet else, and known  
No other wound, but that of her denial;  
Go now, and brag how thou hast used Palaemon,  
But yet methinks you might have chose some other  
For subject of your mirth, not me.  Aeg. 
Nor me.  Al. 
And yet if this had prospered (as I wonder  
Who it should be, betrayed us, since we three  
And Truga only knew it, whom, if she  
Betrayed us, I—) if this, I say, had prospered,  
You would have hugged me for inventing it,  
And him for putting it in act; foolish men  
That do not mark the thing but the event!  
Your judgements hang on Fortune, not on reason.  Aeg. 
Dost thou upbraid us too?  Pa. 
First make us wretched,  
And then laugh at us? believe, Alupis,  
Thou shalt not long have cause to boast thy villainy.  Al. 
My villainy? do what ye can: you're fools,  
And there's an end; I'll talk with you no more,  
I had as good speak reason to the wind  
As you, that can but hiss at it.  Aeg. 
we will do more; Palaemon, come away,  
He hath wronged both; and both shall satisfy.  Al. 
Which he will never do; nay, go and plod,  
Your two wise brains will invent certainly  
politic begins to catch me in. Exeunt.  
And now have at thee Truga, if I find  
That thou art guilty; mum,— I have a ring.—  
Palaemon, Aegon, Hylace, Melarnus  
Are all against me; no great matter: hang care,  
For 'tis but a folly, &c.  Exit. Enter Bellula. 
This way my Callidorus went, what chance  
Hath snatched him from my sight? how shall I find him?  
How shall I find myself, now I have lost him?  
With ye my feet and eyes I will not make  
The smallest truce, till ye have sought him out.  Exit. Enter Callidorus and Florellus. 
Come, now your business.  Flo. 
'Tis a fatal one,  
Which will almost as much shame me to speak,  
Much more to act, as 'twill fright you to hear it.  Cal. 
Fright me? it must be then some wickedness,  
I am accustomed so to misery,  
That cannot do't.  Flo. 
Oh! 'Tis a sin young man,  
A sin which every one shall wonder at,  
None not condemn, if ever it be known?  
methinks my blood shrinks back into my veins,  
And my affrighted hairs are turned to bristles.  
Do not my eyes creep back into their cells;  
As if they seemed to wish for thicker darkness,  
Than either night or death to cover them?  
Doth not my face look black and horrid too?  
As black and horrid as my thoughts? ha! tell me.  Cal. 
I am a novice in all villainies,  
If your intents be such, dismiss me, pray,  
My nature is more easy to discover  
Then help you; so, Farewell.  Flo. 
Yet stay a little longer; you must stay:  
You are an actor in this Tragedy.  Cal. 
What would you do?  Flo. 
Alas! I would do nothing; but I must—  Cal. 
What must you do?  Flo. 
I must.— Love thou hast got the victory—  
Kill thee.  Cal. 
Who? me? you do but jest,  
I should believe you, if I could tell how  
To frame a cause, or think on any injury  
Worth such a large revenge, which I have done you.  Flo. 
Oh no! there's all the wickedness, they may seem  
To find excuse for their abhorred fact;  
That kill when wrongs, and anger urgeth them;  
Because thou art so good, so affable.  
So full of graces, both of mind and body,  
Therefore I kill thee, wilt thou know it plainly,  
Because whilst thou art living, Bellula  
Protested she would never be another's,  
Therefore I kill thee.  Call. 
Had I been your rival  
You might have had some cause; cause did I say?  
You might have had pretence for such a villainy:  
He who unjustly kills is twice a murderer.  Flo. 
He whom love bids to kill is not a murderer.  Cal. 
Call not that love that's ill; 'tis only fury.  Flo. 
Fury in ills is half excusable:  
Therefore prepare thyself; if any sin  
(Though I believe thy hot and flourishing youth,  
As innocent as other men's nativities)  
Hath flung a spot upon thy purer conscience  
Wash it in some few tears.  Call. 
Are you resolved to be so cruel?  Flo. 
I must, or be as cruel to myself.  Call. 
As sick men do their beds, so have I yet  
Enjoyed myself, with little rest, much trouble:  
I have been made the Ball of Love and Fortune,  
And am almost worn out with often playing.  
And therefore I would entertain my death  
As some good friend whose coming I expected;  
Were it not that my parents—  Flo. 
Here; see, I do not come (Draws two swords from under his garment and offers one to Call.)  
Like a foul murderer to entrap you falsely,  
Take your own choice, and then defend yourself.  Cal. 
'Tis nobly done; and since it must be so,  
Although my strength and courage call me woman  
I will not die like sheep without resistance,  
If innocence be guard sufficient,  
I'm sure he cannot hurt me.  Flo. 
Are you ready? the fatal Cuckoo on yond spreading tree  
Hath sounded out your dying knell already.  Cal. 
I am.  Flo. 
'Tis well, and I could wish thy hand  
Were strong enough; 'tis thou deservest the victory,  
Nay, were not th'hope of Bellula engraven  
In all my thoughts, I would myself play booty  
Against myself; But Bellula— come on. Fight  Enter Philistus. 
This is the wood adjoining to the Farm,  
Where I gave order unto Clariana  
My sister, to remain till my return;  
Here 'tis in vain to seek her, yet who knows?  
Though it be in vain I'll seek; to him that doth  
Propose no journey's end, no paths amiss.  
Why how now? what do you mean? for shame part Shepherds,  
I thought you honest shepherds, had not had Sees them fighting.  
So much of Court, and City follies in you.  Flo. 
'Tis Philistus; I hope he will not know me,  
Now I begin to see how black and horrid  
My attempt was; how much unlike Florellus,  
Thanks to the juster Deities for declining  
From both the danger, and from me the sin.  Phi. 
'Twould be a wrong to charity to dismiss ye  
Before I see you friends, give me your weapons.  Cal. 
'Tis he; why do I doubt? most willingly,  
And myself too, best man; now kill me shepherd—  Phi. 
What do you mean? ('swounds)  
Rise, prithee rise; sure you have wounded him.  Enter Bellula. 
Deceive me not good eyes; what do I see?  
My Callidorus dead? 'Tis impossible!  
Who is it that lies slain there? are you dumb?  
Who is't I pray?  Flo. 
Fair Mistress—  Bel. 
Pish, fair Mistress,—  
I ask who 'tis; if it be Callidorus—  Phi. 
Was his name Callidorus? it is strange.  Bel. 
You are a villain, and you too a villain,  
Wake Callidorus, wake, it is thy Bellula  
That calls thee, wake, it is thy Bellula;  
Why Gentlemen? why shepherd? fie for shame,  
Have you no charity? o my Callidorus!  
Speak but one word—  Cal. 
'Tis not well done to trouble me,  
Why do you envy me this little rest?  Bel. 
No; I will follow thee. ('swounds.)  Flo. 
O help, help quickly,  
What do you mean? your Callidorus lives.  Bel. 
Callidorus!  Flo. 
And will be well immediately, take courage,  
Look up a little: wretched as I am,  
I am the cause of all this ill.  Phi. 
What shall we do? I have a sister dwells  
Close by this place, let's haste to bring them thither.  
But let's be sudden.  Flo. 
As winged lightning is.  
Come Bellula in spite of Fortune now  
I do embrace thee.  Phi. 
I did protest without my Callidora  
ne'er to return, but pity hath o'ercome.  Bel. 
Where am I?  Flo. 
Where I could always wish thee: in those arms  
Which would enfold thee with more subtle knots,  
Then amorous Ivy, whilst it hugs the oak.  Cal. 
Where do ye bear me? is Philistus well?  Phi. 
How should he know my name? 'tis to me a riddle  
Nay Shepherd find another time to court in,  
Make haste now with your burden.  Flo. 
With what ease should I go always were I burdened thus! Exeunt  Enter Aphron. 
She told me she was sister to Philistus,  
Who having missed the beauteous Callidora,  
Hath undertook a long, and hopeless journey  
To find her out; then Callidora's fled,  
Without her parent's knowledge, and who knows  
When she'll return, or if she do, what then?  
Lamb's will make peace, and join themselves with wolves  
Ere she with me, worse than a wolf to her:  
Besides, how durst I undertake to court her?  
How dare I look upon her after this?  
Fool as I am, I will forget her quite,  
And Clariana shall henceforth— but yet  
How fair she was! what then? so's Clariana;  
What graces did she dart on all beholders?  
she did; but so does Clariana too,  
She was as pure and white as Parian marble,  
What then? she was as hard too; Clariana  
Is pure and white as Ericina's Doves,  
And is as soft, as gall-less too as they,  
Her pity saved my life, and did restore  
My wandering senses, if I should not love her,  
I were far madder now, then when she found me,  
I will go in and render up myself,  
For her most faithful servant.  
Wonderful! Exit. Enter again.  
She has locked me in, and keeps me here her prisoner.  
In these two chambers; what can she intend?  
No matter, she intends no hurt I'm sure,  
I'll patiently expect her coming to me. Exit.  Enter Demophil, Spodaia, Clariana, Florellus, Callidora, Bellula, Philistus. Dem. 
My Daughter found again, and son returned!  
Ha, ha! methinks it makes me young again.  
My Daughter and my Son meet here together!  
Philistus with them too! that we should come  
To grieve with Clariana, and find her here.  
Nay, when we thought we had lost Florellus too  
To find them both, methinks it makes me young again.  Spo. 
I thought I never should have seen thee more  
My Callidora; come wench, now let's hear,  
The story of your flight and life in the woods.  Phi. 
Do happy Mistress for the recordation,  
Of fore past ills, makes us the sweetlier relish  
Our present good.  Cal. 
Of Aphron's love to me, and my antipathy  
Towards him, there's none here ignorant, you know too.  
How guarded with his love, or rather fury,  
And some few men he broke into our house  
With resolution to make me the prey  
Of his wild lust.  Sp. 
ay, there's a villain now; oh! that I had him here.  Cla. 
Oh! say not so:  
The crimes which Lovers for their Mistress act  
Bear both the weight and stamp of piety.  Dem. 
Come girl; go on, go on. His wild lust—  Cla. 
What sudden fear shook me, you may imagine,  
What should I do? you both were out of town,  
And most of the servants at that time gone with you.  
I on the sudden found a corner out,  
And hid myself, till they wearied with searching,  
Quit the house, but fearing lest they should  
Attempt the same again ere your return,  
I took with me money and other necessaries;  
And in a suit my Brother left behind  
Disguised myself, thus to the woods I went,  
Where meeting with an honest merry Swain,  
I by his help was furnished, and made Shepherd.  Sp. 
Nay, I must needs say for her, she was always  
A witty wench.  Dem. 
Pish, pish: And made a Shepherd—  Cal. 
It happened that this gentle Shepherdess,  
(I can attribute it to nought in me  
Deserved so much) began to love me.  Phi. 
Why so did all besides I'll warrant you,  
Nor can I blame them, though they were my rival.  Cal. 
Another Shepherd with as much desire  
Wooed her in vain, as she in vain wooed me,  
Who seeing that no hope was left for him,  
Whilst I enjoyed this life t'enjoy his Bellula,  
(For by that name she's known) sought to take me  
Out of the way as a partition  
Betwixt his love and him, whilst in the fields  
we two were struggling, (him his strength defending.  
And me my innocence.)  Flo. 
I am ashamed to look upon their faces.  
What shall I say? my guilt's above excuse.  Cal. 
Philistus; as if the Gods had all agreed  
To make him mine, just at the nick came in  
And parted us, with sudden joy I sounded,  
Which Bellula perceiving (for even then  
She came to seek me) sudden grief did force  
The same effect from her, which joy from me.  
Hither they brought us both, in this amazement,  
Where being straight recovered to ourselves,  
I found you here, and you your dutiful Daughter.  Spo. 
The Gods be thanked.  Dem. 
Go on.  Cal. 
Nay, you have all Sir.  Dem. 
Where's that Shepherd?  Flo. 
Here.  Dem. 
Here, where?  Flo. 
Here, your unhappy son's the man; for her  
I put on Sylvan weeds, for her fair sake  
I would have stained my innocent hands in blood,  
Forgive me all, 'twas not a sin of malice,  
'Twas not begot by lust, but sacred love;  
The cause must be the excuse for the effect.  Dem. 
You should have used some other means, Florellus.  Cal. 
Alas! 'twas the God's will Sir, without that  
I had been undiscovered yet; Philistus  
Wandered too far, my Brother yet a Shepherd,  
You groaning for our loss, upon this wheel  
All our felicity is turned.  Sp. 
Alas! you have forgot the power of love, sweetheart.  Dem. 
Be patient Son, and temper your desire,  
You shall not want a wife that will perhaps  
Please you as well, I'm sure befit you better.  Flo. 
They marry not, but sell themselves t'a wife,  
Whom the large dowry tempts, and take more pleasure  
To hug the wealthy bags than her that brought them.  
Let them whom nature bestows nothing on  
Seek to patch up their want by parents' plenty;  
The beautiful, the chaste, the virtuous,  
herself alone is portion to herself.  Enter Aegon. 
By your leave; I come to seek a Daughter.  
O! are you there, 'tis well.  Flo. 
This is her Father,  
I do conjure you Father, by the love  
Which parents bear their children, to make up  
The match betwixt us now, or if you will not  
Send for your friends, prepare a coffin for me  
And let a grave be digged, I will be happy,  
Or else not know my misery tomorrow;  Spo. 
You do not think what ill may happen husband,  
Come, let him have her, you have means enough  
For him, the wench is fair, and if her face  
Be not a flatterer, of a noble mind,  
Although not stock.  Aeg. 
I do not like this straggling, come along,  
By your leave Gentlemen, I hope you will  
Pardon my bold intrusion.  Cl. 
You're very welcome.  
What are you going Bellula? pray stay,  
Though Nature contradicts our love, I hope  
That I may have your friendship.  Aeg. 
Bellula!  Bel. 
My father calls; farewell; your name, and memory  
In spite of Fate, I'll love, farewell.  Flo. 
Would you be gone, and not bestow one word  
Upon your faithful servant? do not all  
my griefs and troubles for your sake sustained.  
Deserve, Farewell Florellus?  Bel. 
Fare you well then.  Flo. 
Alas! how can I, Sweet, unless you stay,  
Or I go with you? you were pleased ere while  
To say you honoured me with the next place  
To Callidorus in your heart, then now  
I should be first: do you repent your sentence?  
Or can that tongue sound less than Oracle?  Bel. 
Perhaps I am of that opinion still,  
But must obey my Father.  Aeg. 
Why Bellula? would you have aught with her Sir?  Flo. 
Yes, I would have herself; if constancy  
And love be meritorious, I deserve her.  
Why Father, Mother, Sister, Gentlemen,  
Will you plead for me?  Dem. 
Since't must be so, I'll bear it patiently,  
Shepherd you see how much our son is taken  
With your fair Daughter, therefore if you think  
Him fitting for her husband speak, and let it  
Be made a match immediately, we shall  
Expect no other dowry than her virtue.  Aeg. 
Which only I can promise; for her fortune  
Is beneath you so far, that I could almost  
Suspect your words, but that you seem more noble.  
How now, what say you Girl?  Bel. 
I only do depend upon your will.  Aeg. 
And I'll not be an enemy to thy good fortune.  
Take her Sir, and the Gods bless you.  Flo. 
With greater joy than I would take a Crown.  Al. 
The Gods bless you.  Flo. 
They have done't already.  Aeg. 
Lest you should think when time, and oft enjoying  
Hath dulled the point, and edge of your affection  
That you have wronged yourself and family,  
By marrying one whose very name, a Shepherdess,  
Might fling some spot upon your birth, I'll tell you,  
She is not mine, nor borne in these rude woods:  Flo. 
How! you speak misty wonders.  Aeg. 
I speak truth's Sir,  
Some fifteen years ago, as I was walking  
I found a Nurse wounded, and groaning out  
Her latest spirit, and by her a fair child,  
And, which her very dressing might declare,  
Of wealthy parents, as soon as I came to them  
I asked her who had used her so inhumanly:  
She answered Turkish Pirates; and withal  
Desired me to look unto the child,  
For 'tis, said she, a nobleman's of Sicily,  
His name she would have spoke, but death permitted not.  
Her as I could, I caused to be buried,  
But brought home the little Girl with me,  
Where by my wife's persuasions we agreed,  
Because the Gods had blessed us with no issue,  
To nourish as our own, and call it Bellula  
Whom now you see, your wife, your Daughter.  Spo. 
Is't possible?  Flo. 
Her manners showed her noble.  Aeg. 
I call the Gods to witness, this is true.  
And for the farther testimony of it,  
I have yet kept at home the furniture,  
And the rich mantle which she then was wrapped in,  
Which now perhaps may serve to some good use  
Thereby to know her parents.  Dem. 
Sure this is Aphron's sister then, for just  
About the time he mentions, I remember,  
The governor of Pachinus, than his Father  
Told me that certain Pirates of Argier  
Had broke into his house, and stolen from thence  
With other things his Daughter, and her Nurse,  
Who being after taken, and executed,  
Their last confession was, that they indeed  
Wounded the Nurse, but she fled with the child,  
Whilst they were busy searching for more prey.  
Whom since her father, neither saw, nor heard of.  Cla. 
Then now I'm sure Sir, you would gladly pardon  
The rash attempt of Aphron, for your Daughter,  
Since fortune hath joined, both of you by kindred.  Dem. 
Most willingly:  Spo. 
ay, ay, alas! 'twas love:  Flo. 
Where should we find him out?  Cla. 
I'll save that labour. Exit Clariana.  Cal. 
Where's Hylace pray shepherd? and the rest  
Of my good Sylvan friends? methinks I would,  
Fain take my leave of them.  Aeg. 
I'll fetch them hither.  
They're not far off, and if you please to help  
The match betwixt Hylace and Palaemon,  
'Twould be a good deed, I'll go fetch them.  Exit. Enter Aphron, Clariana. Ap. 
Ha! whether have you led me Clariana?  
Some steepy mountain bury me alive,  
Or rock entomb me in its stony entrails,  
Whom do I see?  Cla. 
Why do you stare my Aphron?  
They have forgiven all.  Dem. 
Come, Aphron, welcome,  
We have forgot the wrong you did my Daughter,  
The name of love hath covered all; this is  
A joyful day, and sacred to great Hymen  
'Twere sin not to be friends with all men now.  Sp. 
Methinks, I have much ado to forgive the rascal. (Aside.)  Ap. 
I know not what to say; do you all pardon me?  
I have done wrong to ye all, yea, to all those  
That have a share in virtue. Can ye pardon me?  All. 
Most willingly.  Aph. 
Do you say so fair Virgin?  
You I have injured most: with love,  
With saucy love, which I henceforth recall,  
And will look on you with an adoration,  
Not with desire hereafter; tell me, pray,  
Doth any man yet call you his?  Cal. 
Yes; Philistus.  Ap. 
I congratulate it Sir.  
The Gods make ye both happy: fool, as I am,  
You are at the height already of felicity,  
To which there's nothing can be added now,  
But perpetuity; you shall not find me  
Your rival any more, though I confess  
I honour her, and will for ever do so.  
Clariana, I am so much unworthy  
Of thy love. That—  Cl. 
Go no farther Sir, 'tis I should say so  
Of my own self.  Phi. 
How Sister? are you two so near upon a match?  Ap. 
In our heart's Sir,  
we are already joined, it may be though  
You will be loath to have unhappy Aphron,  
Style you his Brother?  Phi. 
No Sir, if you both  
Agree, to me it shall not be unwelcome.  
Why here's a day indeed; sure Hymen now  
Means to spend all his torches.  Dem. 
'Tis my Son Sir,  
New come from travail, and your Brother now.  Ap. 
I understand not.  Dem. 
Had you not a sister?  Ap. 
I had Sir; but where now she is none knows,  
Besides the Gods.  Dem. 
Is't not about some fifteen years ago  
Since that the Nurse 'scaped with her from the hands  
Of Turkish Pirates that beset the house?  Ap. 
It is Sir.  Dem 
Your sister lives then, and is married  
Now to Florellus; this is she, you shall be  
Informed of all the circumstances anon.  Ap. 
'Tis impossible.  
I shall be made too happy on the sudden.  
My Sister found, and Clariana mine!  
Come not too thick good joys, you will oppress me.  Enter Melarnus, Truga, Aegon, Hylace, Palaemon. Cal. 
shepherds you're welcome all; though I have lost  
Your good society, I hope I shall not  
Your friendship, and best wishes.  Aegon. 
Nay, here's wonders;  
Now Callidorus is found out a woman,  
Bellula not my Daughter, and is married  
To yonder Gentleman, for which I intend  
To do in earnest what before I jested,  
To adopt Palaemon for my heir.  Mel. 
Ha, ha, ha!  
Come it's no matter for that; do you think  
To cheat me once again with your fine tricks?  
No matter for that neither. Ha, ha, ha!  
Alas! she's married to Dametas.  Aeg. 
Nay, that was your plot Melarnus,  
I met with him, and he denies it to me.  Hy. 
Henceforth I must not love, but honour you— to Callidora:  Aeg. 
By all the Gods I will.  Tru. 
He will, he will; Duck.  Mel. 
Of everything?  Aeg. 
Of every thing; I call  
These gentlemen to witness here, that since  
I have no child to care for; I will make  
Palaemon heir to those small means the Gods,  
Have blessed me with, if he do marry Hylace.  Mel. 
Come it's no matter for that, I scarce believe you.  Dem. 
we'll be his sureties.  Mel. 
Hylace  
What think you of Palaemon? can you love him?  
H'as our consents, but it's no matter for that,  
If he do please you, speak, or now, or never.  Hyl. 
Why do I doubt fond Girl? she's now a woman.  Mel. 
No matter for that, what you do, do quickly.  Hyl. 
My duty binds me not to be averse  
To what likes you.—  Mel. 
Why take her then Palaemon; she's yours for ever.  Pa. 
With far more joy  
Than I would do the wealth of both the Indyes,  
Thou art above a father to me, Aegon.  
W'are freed from misery with sense of joy,  
we are not borne so; oh! my Hylace,  
It is my comfort now that thou wert hard,  
And cruel till this day, delights are sweetest?  
When poisoned with the trouble to attain them.  Enter Alupis. 
For 'tis but a folly, etc.  
By your leave, I come to seek a woman,  
That hath outlived the memory of her youth,  
With skin as black as her teeth, if she have any,  
With a face would fright the Constable and his watch  
Out of their wits (and that's easily done you'll say) if they  
should meet her at midnight.  
O! are you there? I thought I smelled you somewhere;  
Come hither my she Nestor, pretty Truga,  
Come hither, my sweet Duck.  Tru. 
Why? are you not ashamed to abuse me thus,  
Before this company?  Al. 
I have something more;  
I come to show the ring before them all;  
How durst you thus betray us to Melarnus?  Tru. 
'Tis false, 'twas Hylace that overheard you;  
She told me so; but they are married now.  Al. 
What do you think to flam me? why ho! here's news.  Pa. 
Alupis art thou there? forgive my anger,  
I am the happiest man alive, Alupis,  
Hylace is mine, here are more wonders too,  
Thou shalt know all anon.  Tru. 
Alupis, give me.  Al. 
Well, rather than be troubled.  Aeg. 
Alupis welcome, now w'are friends I hope?  
Give me your hand.  Mel. 
And me.  Al. 
With all my heart,  
I'm glad to see ye have learned more wit at last.  Cal. 
This is the Shepherd, Father, to whose care  
I owe for many favours in the woods,  
You're welcome heartily; here's everybody  
Paired of a sudden; when shall's see you married?  Al. 
Me? when there are no ropes to hang myself,  
No rocks to break my neck down; I abhor  
To live in a perpetual belfry;  
I never could abide to have a Master,  
Much less a Mistress, and I will not marry,  
Because, I'll sing away the day,  
For 'tis but a folly to be melancholy,  
I'll be merry whilst I may.  Phi. 
You're welcome all, and I desire you all  
To be my guests today; a Wedding dinner,  
Such as the sudden can afford, we'll have,  
Come will ye walk in Gentlemen?  Dem. 
Yes, yes,  
What crosses have ye borne before ye joined!  
What seas passed through before ye touched the port!  
Thus Lovers do, ere they are crowned by Fates  
With Palm, the tree their patience imitates.  
FINIS.   

Epilogue Spoken by Alupis.  
THe Author bid me tell you— 'faith, I have  
Forgot what 'twas; and I'm a very slave  
If I know what to say; but only this,  
be merry, that my counsel always is.  
Let no grave man knit up his brow, and say,  
'Tis foolish: why? 'twas a Boy made the Play.  
Nor any yet of those that sit behind,  
Because he goes in Plush, be of his mind.  
Let none his Time, or his spent money grieve,  
be merry; Give me your hands, and I'll believe.  
Or if you will not, I'll go in, and see,  
If I can turn the author's mind, with me  
To sing away the day,  
For 'tis but a folly  
To be melancholy,  
Since that can't mend the Play.