THE queen's ARCADIA. A Pastoral tragicomedy presented to her Majesty and her Ladies, by the University of Oxford in Christ's Church, in August last. 1605.  
AT LONDON Printed by G. Eld, for Simon Waterson, 1606.   

The names of the Actors.  

Melibaeus. two ancient Arcadians.  
Ergastus.  
Colax, a corrupted traveler.  
Techne. a subtle wench of Corinth.  
Amyntas. the lovers of Cloris.  
Carinus.  
Cloris.  
Palaemon. jealous Lovers.  
Silvia.  
Mirtillus.  
Dorinda.  
Amarillis, in love with Carinus.  
Daphne, abused by Colax.  
Alcon, a Quacksalver.  
Lincus, pettifogger.  
Montanus, the father of Amyntas.  
Aerysius, the father of Cloris.  
Pistophoenax, a disguiser of Religion.    

To the queen's most excellent Majesty.  
THat which their zeal, whose only zeal was bent  
To show the best they could, that might delight  
Your royal mind, did lately represent  
Renowned Empress to your Princely sight:  
Is now the offering of their humbleness;  
Here consecrated to your glorious name;  
Whose happy presence did vouchsafe to bless  
So poor presentments, and to grace the same:  
And though it be in th'humblest rank of words,  
And in the lowest region of our speech,  
Yet is it in that kind, as best accords  
With rural passions, which use not to reach  
Beyond the groves, and woods where they were bred  
And best become a cloister exercise,  
Where men shut out, retired, and sequestered  
From public fashion, seem to sympathize  
With innocent, and plain simplicity:  
And living here under the awful hand  
Of discipline, and strict observancy,  
Learn but our weaknesses to understand,  
And therefore dare not enterprise to show  
In louder style the hidden mysteries,  
And arts of Thrones, which none that are below  
The Sphere of action, and the exercise  
Of power, can truly show: though men may strain  
Conceit above the pitch where it should stand,  
And form more monstrous figures then contain  
A possibility, and go beyond  
The nature of those managements so far,  
As oft their common decency they mar:  
Whereby the populace (in whom such skill  
Is needless) may be brought to apprehend  
Notions, that may turn all to a taste of ill  
whatever power shall do, or might intend:  
And think all cunning, all proceeding one,  
And nothing simple, and sincerely done:  
Yet the eye of practice, looking down from high  
Upon such overreaching vanity,  
Sees how from error t'error it doth float,  
As from an unknown Ocean int' a Gulf:  
And how though th'wolf, would counterfeit the Goat,  
Yet every chink bewrays him for a Wolf.  
And therefore in the view of state t'have showed  
A counterfeit of state, had been to light  
A candle to the Sun, and so bestowed  
Our pains to bring our dimness unto light.  
For majesty, and power, can nothing see  
Without itself, that can sight-worthy be.  
And therefore durst not we but on the ground,  
From whence our humble Argument hath birth  
Erect our Scene, and thereon are we found,  
And if we fall, we fall but on the earth,  
From whence we plucked the flowers that here we bring;  
Which if at their first opening they did please,  
It was enough, they serve but for a spring,  
The first scent is the best in things as these:  
A music of this nature on this ground,  
Is ever wont to vanish with the sound.  
But yet your royal goodness may raise new,  
Grace but the Muses they will honour you.  
Chi non fa, non falla.   

THE queen's ARCADIA.  

Actus primi.  

Scena. I.  Ergastus. Melibaeus. Erg. 
HOw is it Melibaeus that we find  
Our Country, fair, Arcadia, so much changed  
From what it was, that was thou know'st of late,  
The gentle region of plain honesty,  
The modest seat, of undisguised truth,  
Inhabited with simple innocence:  
And now, I know not how, as if it were,  
Unhallowed, and divested of that grace,  
Hath put off that fair nature which it had,  
And grows like ruder countries, or more bad.  Mal. 
Indeed Ergastus I have never known,  
So universal a distemperature,  
In all parts of the body of our state,  
As now there is; nor ever have we heard  
So much complaining of disloyalty,  
Amongst our younger nymphs, nor ever found  
Our herdsmen so deluded in their loves,  
As if there were no faith on either side.  
We never had in any age before  
So many spotless nymphs, so much distained  
With black report, and wrongful infamy,  
That few escape the tongue of malice free.  Erg. 
And methinks too, our very air is changed,  
Our wholesome climate grown more maladif,  
The fogs, and the Siren offends us more  
(Or we made think so) than they did before,  
The winds of Autumn, now are said to bring  
More noisomeness, than those do of the Spring:  
And all of us feel new in infirmities,  
New Fevers, new catarrhs, oppress our powers,  
The milk wherewith we cured all maladies,  
Hath either lost the nature, or we ours.  Mel. 
And we that never were accustomed  
To quarrel for our bounds, how do we see  
Montanus and Acrysius inter-strive  
How far their several Sheep-walks should extend,  
And cannot be agreed do what we can:  
As if some underworking hand struck fire,  
To th'apt enkindling tinder of debate,  
And fostered their contention and their hate.  Erg. 
And methinks too, the beauty of our nymphs  
Is not the same, as it was wont to be.  
That Rosy hue, the glory of the Cheek,  
Is either stolen, or else they have forgot,  
To blush with shame, or to be pale with fear:  
Or else their shame doth make them always blush  
For always doth their beauties bear one hue,  
And either Nature's false, or that untrue.  Mel. 
Besides their various habits grow so strange,  
As that although their faces certain are,  
Their bodies are uncertain every day,  
And always differing from themselves so far,  
As if they scorned to be the same they are.  
And all of us are so transformed, that we  
Discern not an Arcadian by th'attire,  
Our ancient Pastoral habits are despised,  
And all is strange, hearts, clothes, and all disguised.  Erg. 
Indeed unto our grief we may perceive,  
The whole complexion of Arcadia changed,  
Yet cannot find th'occasion of this change:  
But let us with more wary eye observe  
Whence the contagion of these customs rise,  
That have infected thus our honest plains,  
With cunning discord, idle vanity,  
Deceitful wrong, and causeless infamy.  
That by th' assistance of our graver Swains,  
We now at first, may labour to prevent  
The further course of mischiefs, and restore  
Our late clean woods, to what they were before.  Mel. 
Content Ergastus, and even here will be  
A place convenient for so fit a work:  
For here our nymphs, and herdsmen on this Green,  
Do usually resort, and in this Grove  
We may observe them best, and be unseen.   

Actus. 1. Scen. 2.  Colax. Techne. Col. 
Come my dear Techne, thou and I must plot  
More cunning projects yet, more strange designs  
Amongst these simple gross Arcadians here,  
That know no other world, but their own plains,  
Nor yet can apprehend the subtle trains  
We lay, to mock their rural ignorance.  
But see, here comes two of their amorous Swains  
In hot contention, let us close convey  
ourselves, here underneath this coverture,  
And overhear their passionate discourse.  Tec. 
Colax, this place well such a purpose fits,  
Let us sit close, and faith, it shall go hard,  
Unless we make some profit by their wits.  Carinus. Amyntas. Ca. 
Now fond Amyntas, how cam'st thou possessed  
With such a vain presumption, as thou art,  
To think that Cloris should affect thee best,  
When all Arcadia knows I have her heart?  Am. 
And how Carinus canst thou be so mad,  
T'imagine Cloris, can, or doth love thee,  
When by so many signs, as I have had,  
I find her whole affection bent to me?  Ca. 
What are those signs by which you come to cast,  
And calculate the fortune of your hopes?  Am. 
More certain signs, than thou canst ever show.  Car. 
But they are more than signs, that I can show.  Am. 
Why let each then produce the best he can,  
To prove which may be thought the likeliest man.  Car. 
Content Amyntas, and do thou begin.  Am. 
And I am well contented to begin.  
First if by chance, whilst she at barleybreak  
With other nymphs, do but perceive me come,  
straight looks her cheek with such a Rosy red,  
As gives the setting Sun unto the West  
When morrow tempests are prefigured.  Car. 
even so that hue prognosticates her wrath,  
Which brings to thee, the stormy winds of sighs.  Am. 
And if I find her, with her fellow nymphs  
Gathering of flowers by some sweet rivers side,  
At my approach she straight way stands upright,  
Forgets her work, and down let's slide her lap,  
And out fall all her flowers, upon the ground.  Car. 
So doth the silly sheep forget to feed,  
When it perceives the greedy Wolf at hand.  Am. 
And if she meet but with my dog, she takes  
And stroke him on the head plays with his ears,  
Spits in his mouth, and claps him on the back,  
And says, come, come Melampus go with me.  Car. 
She may love what is thine, but yet hate thee.  Am. 
Whilst at a Crystal spring the other day,  
She washed her lovely face, and seeing me come,  
She takes up water with her dainty hand,  
And with a down cast look besprinkles me.  Car. 
That shows that she would gladly quench in thee  
The fire of love, or else like love doth bear,  
As did the Delian Goddess, when she cast  
Disdainful water on Actaeon's face.  Am. 
As Silvia, one day, sat with her alone,  
Binding of certain choice selected herbs  
To her left arm, against bewitching spells;  
(And I at th'instant coming) she perceived  
Her pulse with far more violence to beat  
(As sh' after told me) than it did before.  Car. 
The like is felt when nature's enemy,  
The hateful fever, doth surprise our powers.  Am. 
And even but yesternight, she going before  
With other maids, and seeing me following her,  
Lets fall this dainty Nosegay, having first  
Bestowed a kiss thereon, to th' end I might  
Receive it so, and with it do the like.  Car. 
Poor withered favours, they might teach thee know,  
That she esteems thee, and thy love as light  
As those dead flowers, she wore but for a show,  
The day before, and cast a way at night.  Am. 
Now friend Carinus, thou that mutterest so  
At these plain speaking figures of her love,  
Tell by what signs thou dost her favours prove?  Car. 
Now silly man, dost thou imagine me  
So fond to blab the favours of my love?  Am. 
Was't not a pact agreed twixt thee and me?  Car. 
A pact to make thee tell thy secrecy.  Am. 
And hast thou then betrayed my easy trust,  
And dallied with my open simpleness?  Car. 
And fitly art thou served, that so wilt vaunt  
The imagined favours, of a gentle Nymph;  
And this is that which makes us feel that dearth  
Of grace, t'have kindness at so high a rate.  
This makes them wary how they do bestow  
The least regard of common courtesy,  
When such as you poor, credulous, devout,  
And humble souls, make all things miracles  
Your faith conceives, and vainly do convert  
All shadows to the figure of your hopes.  Am. 
Carinus now thou dost me double wrong,  
First to deride my easy confidence,  
And then t'upbraid my trust, as if my tongue  
Had here profaned fair Cloris excellence,  
In telling of her mercies, or had sinned  
In uttering th' honour of a modest grace  
Bestowing comfort, in so just a case.  Car. 
Why man, thou hast no way deserved her love.  Am. 
Desert I cannot urge, but faith I can,  
If that may have reward, then happy man.  Car. 
But you know how I saved her from the hands  
Of that rude Satire, who had else undone  
Her honour utterly; and therefore ought  
My love of due reign Sovereign in her thought.  Am. 
But how that free and unsubdued heart,  
enfranchised by the Charter of her eyes,  
Will bear the imposition of a due  
I do not see, since love knew never Lord  
That could command the region of our will.  
And therefore urge thy due, I for my part,  
Must plead compassion, and a faithful heart.  Car. 
Plead thou thy faith, whilst I will get thy love,  
For you kind souls do seldom graceful prove.  Am. 
The more unkind they, who should better way  
Our honest vows, and love, for love repay,  
But oft they bear the penance of their will,  
And for the wrong they do, they speed as ill.   

Scen. 3.  Colax. Techne. Col. 
Alas poor fools, how hotly they contend  
Who shall possess a prey that's yet ungot.  
But Techne, I must by thy help forestall  
The mart of both their hopes, and whilst they shall  
Pursue the Air, I must surprise their gain.  
And fitly now, thou mayst occasion take  
By these advantages discovered here,  
T'impress in Cloris tender heart that touch  
Of deep dislike of both their vaunteries,  
As may convert her wholly unto me.  Tec. 
Why will you then Dorinda's love forsake,  
For whom you travailed so, and made me take  
Such labour to entice her to your love?  Col. 
Tush Techne we desire not what we have,  
But what we would, our longings never stay  
With our attainings, but they go beyond.  Tec. 
And why? Dorinda is as fair as she.  Col. 
That I confess, but yet that pays not me,  
For Cloris is another and 'tis that,  
And only that, which Techne I desire.  
Some thing there is peculiar, and alone  
To every beauty that doth give an edge  
To our desires, and more we still conceive  
In that we have not, then in that we have.  
And I have heard, abroad where best experience,  
And wit is learned, that all the fairest choice  
Of women in the world, serve but to make  
One perfect beauty, whereof each brings part.  
One hath a pleasing smile, and nothing else:  
Another but some silly Mole to grace  
Th' area of a disproportioned face;  
Another pleases not but when she speaks,  
And some in silence only graceful are:  
Some till they laugh, we see, seem to be fair,  
Some have their bodies good, their gestures ill,  
Some please in Motion, some in sitting still,  
Some are thought lovely, that have nothing fair,  
Some again fair that nothing lovely are.  
So that we see how beauty doth consist  
Of divers pieces, and yet all attract  
And therefore unto all my love aspires,  
As beauty varies, so doth my desires.  Tec. 
Ah but yet Colax do not so much wrong  
Unto a Nymph, now when thou hast subdued  
And won her heart, & know'st she holds thee dear.  Col. 
Tush wrong is as men think it, and I see  
It keeps the world the best in exercise  
That else would languish, and have nought to do.  
Discord in parts, makes harmony 'in the whole:  
And some must laugh, whilst othersome condole.  
And so it be not of the side we are,  
Let others bear it, what need we to care.  
And now Dorinda something hath to do,  
Now she may sit, and think, and vex, and plot,  
For ease, and joying of her full delight  
Would but have dulled her spirits and marred her quite.  Tec. 
Alas yet I must pity her poor soul  
In this distress, I being one myself  
Of that frail corporation, and do know  
That she will take it very grievously.  
And yet in troth she's served but well enough,  
That would neglect Mirtillus honest love,  
And trust strange protestations, and new oaths,  
Be won with guarded words, and gaudy clothes.  Col. 
Well, well, Dorinda shall not wail alone,  
She shall have others to consort her moan:  
For since my late return from Telos Court  
I have made twenty of their coyest nymphs  
Turn lovers, with a few protesting words  
And some choice complemental perjuries;  
I made Palaemon, to suspect the faith  
Of his chaste Silvia, and chaste Silvia his,  
In hope thereby to work her love to me.  
I wrought coy Daphne to infringe her vow  
Made to Menalcas, and I told her how  
Those fetters which so heavily were laid  
Upon our free affections, only were  
But customary bands, not natural.  
And I think Techne thou hast done thy part,  
Here, in this gentle region of kind hearts,  
Since thou cam'st hither, for I see thou thriv'st.  Tec. 
In deed whilst I in Corinth did remain,  
I hardly could procure the means to live,  
There were so many of my trade, that sold  
Complexions, dressings, tiffanies and tires,  
Devisors of new fashions and strange wires  
Bedbrokers, night worms, and Compositors  
That though I knew these arts as well as they  
yet being so many we could get small pay.  
Here, who but Techne now is all in all?  
Techne is sent for, Techne only shows  
New strange devices to the choicest nymphs:  
And I think Techne teaches them those tricks.  
As they will not forget again in haste.  
I have so opened their unapt conceits  
Unto that understanding of themselves,  
As they will show in time they were well taught,  
If they observe my rules, and hide a fault.  Col. 
Ah well done Techne. Thus must thou and I  
Trade for our profit with their ignorance,  
And take our time, and they must have their chance.  
But pray thee Techne, do not thou forget  
To lay a train for Cloris. So adieu.  Tec. 
Colax I will not, and the rather too,  
For that I bear a little leaning love  
To Sweet Amyntas, for methinks he seems  
The loveliest Shepherd all Arcadia yields  
And I would gladly intercept his love,   

Scena. 4.  Melibaeus. Ergastus. Meli. 
So this is well. Here's one discovery made;  
Here are the heads of that distemperature,  
From whence these strange debanishments of our nymphs  
And vile deluding of our shepherds Springs:  
Here is a monster, that hath made his lusts  
As wide as is his will, and left his will  
Without all bounds, and cares not whom he wrongs,  
So that he may his own desires fulfil,  
And being all foul himself, would make all ill.  
This is that Colax that from foreign lands,  
Hath brought home that infection which undoes  
His country goodness, and empoisons all.  
His being abroad would mar us quite, at home.  
'tis strange to see, that by his going out,  
He hath outgone that native honesty,  
Which here the breeding of his country gave.  
For here I do remember him a child,  
The son of Nicoginus of the Hill,  
A man though low in fortune, yet in mind  
High set, a man still practising  
T'advance his forward son beyond the train  
Of our, Arcadian breed, and still methought  
I saw a disposition in the youth,  
Bent to a self conceited surliness,  
With an insinuating impudence.  Erg. 
A man the fitter made for Courts abroad,  
Where I would God he had remained still,  
With those loose-living wanton Sybarites,  
Where luxury, hath made her outmost proof.  
From whence fere he comes, and hither brings  
Their shames, to brand us with the like reproach.  
And for this other viper, which you saw,  
I do remember how she came of late  
For succour to these parts, and sought to teach  
Our younger maids to dress, and try out Flax,  
And use the Distaff, and to make a hem,  
And such like skill, being skill enough for them,  
But since I see she hath presumed to deal  
In points of other science, different far  
From that plain Art of honest housewifery,  
And as it seems hath often made repair  
Unto the neighbour Cities round about,  
From whom she hath these strange disguises got  
T'abuse our nymphs, and as it seems desires,  
To suit their minds, as light as their attires,  
But we shall soon prevent this growing plague,  
Of pride, and folly, now that she descry  
The true symptoma of this malady,  
And by this overture thus made, we trust  
We shortly shall discover all the rest.    

Actus 2.  

Scen. 1.  Silvia. Cloris. Sil. 
O Cloris, here have thou and I full oft  
Sat and been merry, in this shady Grove.  
Here have we sung full many a Roundelay,  
Told Riddles, and made Nosegays, laughed at love,  
And others passions, whilst myself was free,  
From that Intolerable misery,  
Whereto affection now envassels me.  
Now Cloris I shall never more take joy  
To see, or to be seen, with mortal eye,  
Now sorrow must be all my company.  Clo. 
Why Silvia, whence, should all this grief arise?  Sil. 
I am undone Cloris, let that suffice.  Clo. 
Tell me, sweet Silvia, how comes that to pass?  Sil. 
O Cloris if thou be, as once, I was  
Free, from that miserable plague of love,  
Keep thee so still, let my affliction warn  
Thy youth, that never man have power, to move  
Thy heart to liking, for believe me this,  
They are the most unfaithful impious race  
Of creatures on the earth; never believe  
Their protestations, nor their vows, nor tears,  
All is deceit, none means the thing he swears.  
Trust a man's faith? nay rather will I go  
And give myself a prey to Savage beasts,  
For all they seek, and all they labour for,  
Is but t'undo us, and when that is done,  
They go and triumph on the spoil theyhave won.  
Trust men, or take compassion when they grieve,  
O Cloris 'tis to cherish and relieve  
The frozen Snake, which with our heat once warmed,  
Will sting us to the heart in recompense,  
And o no marvel though the Satire shunned,  
To live with man, when he perceived he could,  
With one and the same breath blow heat and cold.  
Who would have ever thought Palaemon's oaths  
Would have proved false? who would have judged the face  
That promised so much faith, and honesty,  
Had been the visor but of treachery?  Clo. 
Is't possible Palemon should b'untrue?  Sil. 
'Tis possible, Palaemon is untrue.  Clo. 
If it be so, dear Silvia, I think then  
That thou sayst truth, there is no trust in men,  
For I protest I never saw a face  
That promised better of a heart than his,  
And if he fail, whose faith then constant is?  Sil. 
O Cloris if thou didst but know how long,  
And with what earnest suit, he sought my love,  
What vows he used, what oaths, what tears among  
What shows he made, his constancy to prove,  
You would admire: and then again to see  
How I although I loved him with my heart  
Stood out, and would by no means urged be,  
To show the least affection of my part.  
For I had heard that, which (o now too well)  
I find, that men were cunning, and would not  
Regard the thing that easily was got.  Clo. 
Silvia, indeed and I have heard so too.  Sil. 
And therefore I would try him, and not seem  
His vows, nor protestations to esteem,  
At length one day, here in this self-same place,  
(Which I shall ever, and good cause I have  
To think on whilst I live) walking with me,  
After he had urged me most earnestly:  
O Silvia, said he, since nor oath, nor vow,  
Nor tears, nor prayers, have the power to move,  
Nor all that I can do, can make thee know  
How true a heart, I offer to thy love;  
I must try some way else to show the same,  
And make thy undiscerning wilful youth  
Know, though too late, (perhaps unto thy shame)  
Thy wayward error, and my constant truth:  
When thou mayst sigh, and say in grief of mind,  
Palaemon loved, and Silvia was unkind.  
With that wringing my hand, he turns away,  
And though his tears would hardly let him look,  
Yet such a look, did through his tears make way,  
As show'd how sad a farewell there he took.  
And up towards yonder craggy Rock he goes,  
His arms incrossed, his head down on one side,  
With such a mournful pace, as showed his woes  
Weighed heavier than his passions could abide:  
feign would I have recalled him back, but shame,  
And modesty could not bring forth his name:  
And fain would I have followed, yet methought  
It did not fit the honour of a maid  
To follow one, yet still I sent from me,  
T'attend his going, fear, and a careful eye.  
At length when he was gotten to the top,  
I might perceive how with unfolded arms,  
And looks bent up to heaven, he stands, and turns  
His woeful face unto the other side,  
Whereas that hideous fearful downfall is:  
And seemed as if he would have thrown him off:  
And as I thought, was now upon the point:  
When my affrighted powers could hold no more,  
But pity breaking all those bands of shame,  
That held me back; I shrieked, and ran, God knows,  
With all the speed my feeble feet could make,  
And clammering up at length (with much ado)  
Breathless I got, and took him by the hand,  
And glad I had his hand, and was not come  
Too late to have it, and I pulled him back:  
But could not speak one word, no more did he,  
Sense seemed to fail in him, and breath in me.  
And on before I went, and lead him on,  
And down conducted him into this plain.  
And yonder lo, under that fatal tree,  
Look Cloris there, even in that very place,  
We sat us down, my arm about his neck,  
Which jove thou know'st held never man before:  
There only did my tears confer with his,  
Words we had none, it was enough to think,  
For passion was too busy now within,  
And had no time to come abroad in speech.  
And though I would have spoken, yet methought  
I should not, but my silence told him this,  
That told too much, that all I was was his.  Clo. 
Well Silvia, I have heard so sad a tale,  
As that I grieve to be a woman borne,  
And that by nature we must be exposed  
Unto the mercy of unconstant men.  
But what said then Palaemon in the end?  Sil. 
Oh what he said, and what deep vows he made,  
When joy and grief, had let his senses lose.  
Witness o gentle tree under whose shade,  
We sat the while; witness if ever maid  
Had more assurances by oaths of man.  
And well may you bear witness of this deed,  
For in a thousand of your barks he hath  
Encarved my name, and underwrote his vows,  
Which will remain so long as you bear bows.  
But, Cloris, learn this lesson now of me;  
Take head of pity, pity was the cause  
Of my confusion, pity hâth undone  
Thousands of gentle natures, in our sex,  
For pity is sworn servant unto love,  
And this be sure, wherever it begin  
To make the way, it lets your master in.  Clo. 
But what assurance have you of his fraud:  
It may be you suspect him without cause?  Sil. 
Ah Cloris, Cloris, would I had no cause,  
He who beheld him wrong me in these woods,  
And heard him courting Nisa, and protest  
As deep to her, as he had done to me,  
Told me of all his wicked treachery.  Clo. 
Pray who was that? tell me good Silvia, tell.  Sil. 
Why it was Colax, one I know full well  
would not report untruths to gain the world,  
A man of virtue, and of worthy parts,  
He told me all and more than I will show,  
I would I knew not half of that I know  
Ah had he none but Nisa that base trull,  
The scorn and jest of all Arcadia now  
To serve his lusts, and falsify his vow?  
Ah had it yet been any else, the touch  
Of my disgrace, had never been so much  
But to be left for such a one as she,  
The stale of all, what will folk think of me?  
Cloris in troth, it makes me so much loathe  
myself, loathe these woods, and even hate the day,  
As I must hide my griefs out of the way  
I will be gone, Cloris, I leave thee here,  
I cannot stay, and prithee, Cloris, yet  
Pity thy poor companion Sylvia's care,  
And let her fortune make thee to beware.  Clo. 
Silvia adieu, the Gods relieve thy woes,  
Since men thus fail, and love no pity shows,   

Scen. 2.  Cloris. Techne. Clo. 
Love? nay, I'm taught for loving whilst I live,  
Silvia, thy council hath locked up my heart  
So fast from love, as let them sigh, and grieve,  
And pine, and wail who will, I for my part  
Will pity none of all this race of men.  
I see what shows soever they pretend,  
Their love is never deadly, none of these  
That languish thus, have died of this disease  
That ever I could hear, I see all do  
Recover soon, that happen thereinto.  
And if they did not, there were no great hurt,  
They may endure, they are of stronger powers,  
Better their hearts should ache, than they break ours.  
Well had I not been thus forewarned today,  
Out of all question, I had shortly fallen,  
Into the melting humour of compassion too;  
That tender pity that betrays us thus.  
For something I began to feel, methought,  
To move within me, whenas I beheld  
Amyntas walk so sadly, and so pale,  
And ever where I went, still in my way,  
His looks bent all to me, his care of me,  
Which well I saw, but would not seem to see.  
But now he hath his arrent, let him go,  
Pity shall never cure that heart of his  
T'undo mine own, the grief is best where 'tis.  Tec. 
What Cloris all alone, now fie for shame,  
How ill doth this become so fair a face,  
And that fresh youth to be without your love?  Clo. 
Love Techne? I have here as many loves  
As I intend to have, whilst I have breath.  Tec. 
Nay that you have not, never haut with me,  
For I know two at least possessors be  
Of your kind favours, as themselves do boast.  Clo. 
Boast of my favours, no man rightly can.  
And otherwise, let them say what they can.  Tec. 
No Cloris did not you the other night  
A gallant nosegay to Amyntas give?  Clo. 
I never gave him nosegay in my life.  Tec, 
Then trust me Cloris he doth wrong you much:  
For he produced it there in open sight,  
And vaunted to Carinus, that you first,  
Did kiss the same, then gave it unto him:  
And told too, how far gone you were in love,  
What passion you would use, when he was by,  
How you would jest with him, and wanton  
Cast water in his face; call his dog yours,  
And show him your affections by your eye.  
And then Carinus on the other side  
He vaunts, that since he had redeemed you  
Out of the satires hands, he could command  
Your love and all, that you were only his.  
This and much more, I heard them I protest  
Give out of you, how truly you know best.  Clo. 
Techne, their idle talk, shall not vex me,  
I know the ground I stand on, and how free  
My heart, and I enjoy our liberty,  
And it Amyntas, hath interpreted  
My look, according to his own conceit,  
He hath mistook the text, and he shall find  
Great difference, twixt his comment, and my mind  
And for his Nosegay it shall make me take  
More care hereafter how I scatter flowers:  
Let him preserve it well, and let him make  
Much of his gains, he gets no more of ours.  
But thus had I been served, had I revealed  
The least regard of common courtesy  
To such as these: but I do thank the Gods  
I have reserved me, from that vanity:  
For ever I suspected this to be  
The vain of men, and this now settles me.  
And for Carinus, let him vaunt what good  
He did for me, he can but have again  
My hearty thanks, the payment for his pain,  
And that he shall: and ought in womanhood.  
And as for love, let him go look on her  
That sits, and grieves, and languishes for him,  
Poor Amarillis, who affects him dear,  
And sought his love with many an woeful tear.  
And well deserves a better man than be,  
Though he be rich Lupinus' son, and stands  
Much on his wealth, and his ability,  
She's witty, fair and full of modesty.  
And were she of my mind, she rather would  
Pull out her eyes, then that she would be seen,  
To offer up so dear a sacrifice  
To his wild youth, that scorns her in that wise.  Tec. 
Cloris in troth, I like thy judgement well,  
In not affecting of those homebred Swains,  
That know not how to manage true delight,  
Can neither hide their love, nor show it right.  
Who would be troubled with gross ignorance,  
That understands not truly how to love?  
No Cloris, if thou didst but know, how well  
Thou art esteemed, of one that knows indeed  
How to observe thy worth, and his own ways,  
How to give true delight, how to proceed  
With secrecy, and wit, in all assays,  
Perhaps you might think one day of the man.  Clo. 
What is this creature than you praise a man?  Tec. 
A man? yes Cloris, what should he be else?  Clo. 
Nought else, it is enough he be a man.  Tec. 
Yea and so rare a man as ever yet  
Arcadia bred, that may be proud she bred  
A person of so admirable parts,  
A man that knows the world, hath seen abroad,  
Brings those perfections that do truly move,  
A gallant spirit, an understanding love.  
O if you did but know how sweet it were,  
To come unto the bed of worthiness,  
Of knowledge, of conceit, where strange delights  
With strange discourses still shall entertain  
Your pleased thoughts, with fresh variety,  
Ah you would loathe to have your youth confined,  
For ever more, between th'unskilful arms  
Of one of these rude unconceiving Swains,  
Who would but seem a trunk without a mind;  
As one that never saw but these poor plains,  
Knows but to keep his sheep, and set his fold.  
Pipe on an Oaten Reed, some roundelays,  
And dance a morris on the holidays.  
And so should you be always sweetly sped  
With ignorance, and two fools in a bed.  
But with this other gallant spirit you should  
Be sure to overpass that tediousness,  
And that satiety which cloys this life,  
With such a variable cheerfulness,  
As you will bless the time t'have been his wife.  Clo. 
What hath this man you thus commend fa name?  Tec. 
A name? why yes, no man but hath a name.  
His name is Colax, and is one I swear  
Doth honour even the ground whereon you tread,  
And oft, and many many times, God knows,  
Hath he with tender passion, talked of you:  
And said; Well, there is one within these woods  
(Meaning by you) that yet of all the nymphs  
Mine eyes have ever seen upon the earth,  
In all perfections doth exceed them all.  
For all the beauties in that glorious Court  
Of Telos, where I lived, nor all the Stars  
Of Grece beside, could sparkle in my heart,  
The fire of any heat but only she.  
Then would he stay, and sigh; and then again  
Ah what great pity such a creature should  
Be tide unto a clog of ignorance,  
Whose body doth deserve to be embraced,  
By the most mighty Monarch upon earth.  
Ah that she knew her worth, and how unfit  
That private woods should hide, that face, that wit.  
Thus hath he often said, and this I say,  
Observe him when you will, you shall not see  
From his high forehead, to his slender foot,  
A man in all parts, better made than he.  Clo. 
Techne, methinks, the praises that you give  
Shows your own love, and if he be that man  
You say, 'twere good you kept him for yourself.  Tec. 
I must not love impossibilities,  
Cloris, he were a most fit man for you.  Clo. 
For me? alas Techne you move too late.  Tec. 
Why have you passed your promise t'any yet?  Clo. 
Yes sure, my promise is already past.  Tec. 
And if it be, I trust you are so wise  
T'unpass the same again for your own good.  Clo. 
No that I may not when it is once past.  Tec. 
No Cloris, I presume that wit of yours.  
That is so piercive, can conceive how that  
Our promise must not prejudice our good:  
And that it is no reason that the tongue,  
Tie the whole body to eternal wrong.  Clo. 
The tongue is but the Agent of the heart.  
And only as commissioner allowed  
By reason, and the will, for the whole state,  
Which warrants all it shall negotiate.  Tec. 
But prithee tell me to what rustic Swain  
You passed your word to cast away yourself?  Clo. 
No I have passed my word to save myself  
From the deceitful, impious perjuries  
Of treacherous men, and vowed unto my heart,  
Until I see more faith than yet I see,  
None of them all shall triumph over me.  Tec. 
Nay then, and be no otherwise 'tis well,  
We shall have other time to talk of this.  
But Cloris I have fitted you in faith,  
I have here brought, the most conceited tire,  
The rarest dressing ever Nymph put on.  
Worth ten of that you wear, that now methinks  
Doth not become you, and beside 'tis stale.  Clo. 
Stale why? I have not worn it scarce a month.  Tec. 
A month? why you must change them twice a day.  
Hold hither Cloris, this was not well laid,  
Here is a fault, you have not mixed it well  
To make it take, or else it is your haste  
To come abroad so soon into the Air.  
But I must teach you to amend these faults,  
And ere I shall have done with you, I think,  
I shall make some of these enamoured youths  
To hang themselves, or else run mad for love.  
But go let's try this dressing I have brought.   

Scen. 3.  Palaemon. Mirtillus. Pal. 
Mirtillus did Dorinda ever vow,  
Or make thee any promise to be thine?  Mir. 
Palaemon no, she never made me vow,  
But I did ever hope she would be mine.  
For that I had delivered up my youth,  
My heart, my all, a tribute to her eyes,  
And had secured her of my constant truth,  
Under so many faithful specialities,  
As that although she did not grant again,  
With any show the acquittance of my love  
Yet did she ever seem to entertain  
My affections, and my services t'approve.  
Till now of late I know not by what mean,  
(Ill fare that mean) she grew to that despite,  
As she not only clouds her favours clean,  
But also scorned to have me in her sight.  
That now I am not for her love thus, moved  
But only that she will not be beloved.  Pal. 
If this be all th'occasion of thy grief,  
Mirtillus, thou art then in better case  
Than I supposed, and therefore cheer thy heart,  
And good cause too, being in the state thou art.  
For if thou didst but hear the history  
Of my distress, and what part I have shared  
Of sad affliction, thou wilt then soon see  
There is no misery unless compared.  
For all Arcadia, all these hills, and plains,  
These holts and woods and every crystal spring.  
Can testify my tears, and tell my flames,  
And with how clean a heart, how clear a faith  
Palaemon loved Silvia, and how long.  
And when consumed with grief, and dried with care.  
even at the point to sacrifice my life  
Unto her cruelty, then lo she yields,  
And was content for ever to be mine:  
And gave m'assurance underneath her hand,  
Signed with a faithful vow, as I conceived,  
And witnessed with many a lovely kiss,  
That I thought sure I had attained my bliss.  
And yet (ay me) I goat not what I got,  
Silvia I have, and yet I have her not.  Mir. 
How may that be, Palaemon pray thee tell?  Pal. 
O know Mirtillus that I rather could  
Run to some hollow cave, and burst and die  
In darkness, and in horror, then unfold  
Her shameful stain, and mine own infamy.  
But yet it will abroad, her impudence  
willbe the trumpet of her own disgrace,  
And fill the wide, and open mouth of fame  
So full, as all the world shall know the same.  Mir. 
Why what is Silvia false, or is she gone?  Pal. 
Silvia is false and I am quite undone.  Mil. 
Ah out alas whoever would have thought,  
That modest look, so innocent a face,  
So chaste a blush, that shamefast countenance,  
Could ever have told how to wantonise?  
Ah what shall we poor lovers hope for now  
Who must to win, consume, and having won  
With hard and much ado, must be undone?  Pal. 
Ah but Mirtillus if thou didst know who  
Is now the man, her choice hath lighted on,  
How wouldst thou wonder? for that passes all,  
That I abhor to tell: yet tell I shall;  
For all that would will shortly know't too well:  
It is base Thyrsis that wild harebrain youth  
Whom every milkmaid in Arcadia scorns:  
Thyrsis is now the man with whom she walks  
Alone, in thickets, and in groves remote.  
Thyrsis is all in all, and none but he,  
With him she dally, under every tree.  
Trust women? ah Mirtillus, rather trust  
The Summer winds, th'ocean's constancy,  
For all their substance is but levity:  
Light are their waving veils, light their attires,  
Light are their heads, and lighter their desires:  
Let them lay on what coverture they will  
Upon themselves, of modesty and shame,  
They cannot hide the woman with the same.  
Trust women? ah Mirtillus rather trust  
The false devouring Crocodiles of Nile,  
For all they work is but deceit and guile:  
What have they but is feigned? their hair is feigned,  
Their beauty feigned, their stature feigned, than pace,  
Their gesture, motion, and their grace is feigned  
And if that all be feigned without, what then  
Shall we suppose can be sincere within?  
For if they do but weep, or sing, or smile,  
Smiles, tears, and tunes, are engines to beguile.  
And all they are, and all they have of grace,  
Consists but in the outside of a face.  
O love and beauty, how are you ordained  
Like unto fire, whose flames far off delight,  
But if you be embraced consume us quite?  
Why cannot we make at a lower rate  
A purchase of you, but that we must give  
The treasure of our hearts, and yet not have  
What we have bought so dearly for all that?  
O Silvia if thou needs wouldst have been gone,  
Thou shouldst have taken all away of thee;  
And nothing left to have remained with me.  
Thou shouldst have carried hence the portraiture  
Which thou hast left behind within my heart,  
Set in the table-frame of memory,  
That puts me still in mind of what thou wert,  
Whilst thou wert honest, and thy thoughts were pure,  
So that I might not thus in every place,  
Where I shall set my careful foot, confer  
With it of thee, and evermore be told,  
That here sat Silvia underneath this tree,  
And here she walked, and leaned upon mine arm,  
There gathered flowers, and brought them unto me.  
Here by the mumur of this rustling spring,  
She sweetly lay, and in my bosom slept:  
Here first she show'd me comforts when I pined:  
As if in every place her foot had stepped,  
It had least Silvia in a print behind.  
But yet, o these were Sylvia's images,  
Then whilst her heart held fair, and she was chaste,  
Now is her face all sullied with her fact,  
And why are not those former prints defaced?  
Why should she hold, still in the form she was,  
Being now deformed, and not the same she was?  
O that I could Mirtillus lock her out  
Of my remembrance, that I might no more  
Have Silvia here, when she will not be here.  Mir. 
But good Palaemon, tell what proofs hast thou  
Of her disloyalty, that makes thee show  
These heavy passions, and to grieve so much?  Pal. 
Mirtillus, proofs, that are alas too plain;  
For Colax one thou know'st can well observe  
And judge of love, a man both stayed, and wise,  
A gentle herdsman, out of love, and care  
He had of me, came and reported all:  
And how he saw them divers times alone,  
Embracing each the other in the woods,  
Besides she hath of late with sullen looks,  
That show'd disliking, shunned my company,  
Kept her aloof, and now I think today,  
Is gone to hide her quite our of the way.  
But Silvia though thou go and hide thy face,  
Thou canst not hide thy shame, and thy disgrace,  
No secret thicket, grove, nor yet close grot,  
Can cover shame, and that immodest blot.  
Ah didst thou lend thy hand in kind remorse,  
To save me from one death, to give m'a worse?  
Had it not yet been better I had died,  
By thy unspotted honest cruelty,  
Then now by thy disgraced infamy?  
That so I might have carried to my grave,  
The image of chaste Silvia in my heart,  
And not have had these notions, to engrave  
A stained Silvia there, as now thou art?  
Ah yes, it had been better far, I prove,  
T'have perished for thy love, then with thy love.  Mir. 
Ah good Palaemon cease these sad complaints,  
And moderate thy passions, thou shalt see  
She may return, and these reports be found  
But idle fictions, on uncertain ground.  Pal. 
Mirtillus I perceive my tedious tale,  
Begins to be distasteful to thine ear,  
And therefore will I to some desert vale,  
To some close Grove to wail, where none shall hear  
But beasts, and trees, whose sense I shall not tire,  
With length of moan, for length is my desire.  
And therefore, gentle Shepherd, now adieu,  
And trust not women, for they are untrue.  Mir. 
adieu Palaemon, and thy sad distress,  
Shall make me weigh Dorinda's loss the less:  
For if I should be hers, and she prove so,  
Better to be mine own, and let her go.   

Scena. 4.  Ergastus. Melibaeus. Erg. 
Now Melibaeus; who would have supposed,  
That had not seen these impious passages,  
That ever monstrous wretch could have exposed,  
Two honest hearts to these extremities,  
T'attain his wicked ends? by having wrought  
First in, unto their easy confidence  
Away, by an opinion to be thought,  
Honest, discreet, of great experience.  
Whereby we see open-faced villainy  
Without a mask, no mischief could have done,  
It was the coverture of honesty,  
That laid the snare, whereby they were undone.  
And that's the engine that confounds us all,  
That makes the breach whereby the world is sacked,  
And made a prey to cunning, when we fall  
Into the hands of wise dishonesty:  
whenas our weak credulity is racked  
By that opinion of sufficiency,  
To all the inconveniences that guile,  
And impious craft can practise to beguile.  
And note but how these cankers always seize  
The choicest fruits with their infections,  
How they are still ordained to disease,  
The natures of the best complexions.  Mel. 
'tis true. And what an instrument hath he there got,  
To be the Agent of his villainy?  
How truly she negotiates, and doth plot,  
To undermine frail imbecility.  
How strong, these spirits, combine them in a knot,  
To cirumvent plain open honesty?  
And what a creature there is to converse  
With feeble maids, whose weakness soon is led  
With toys, and new disguises, to reverse  
The course wherein by custom they were bred?  
And then what fitness too, her trade affords,  
To traffic with the secrets of their heart,  
And cheapen their affections with fair words.  
Which women straight to women will impart?  
And then to see how soon example will  
Disperse itself, being met with our desire:  
How soon, it will enkindle others ill,  
Like Naptha, that takes fire by sight of fire?  
So that unless we run with all the speed  
We can, to quench this new arising flame.  
Of vanity, and lust, it will proceed  
T'undo us, ere we shall perceive the same:  
How far already is the mischief run,  
Before we scarce perceived it was begun?    

Actus 3.  

Scen. 1.  Alcon. Lincus. Al. 
What my friend Lincus? now in troth well met.  Lin. 
Well met good Alcon, this falls happily,  
That we two thus encounter all alone,  
Who had not any conference scarce this month.  Al. 
In troth I longed to hear how you proceed,  
In your new practice, here among, these swains,  
For you and I must grace each other's Art;  
Though you knew me, when I in Patras dwelled,  
And waited on a poor physicians man,  
And I knew you a Pronotories boy,  
That wrote Indentures at the Town house door.  
Yet are you here, now a great man of law,  
And I a grave Physician full of skill,  
And here we two are held the only men.  
But how thrive you in your new practice now?  Lin. 
Alcon in troth not any thing to speak,  
For these poor people of Arcadia here,  
Are so contented each man with his own,  
As they desire no more, nor will be drawn,  
To any contestation, nor indeed  
Is there yet any frame composed, whereby  
Contention may proceed in practic form?  
For If they had this form once to contend,  
Then would they brawl and wrangle without end.  
For then might they be taught, and counselled how  
To litigate perpetually you know;  
And so might I be sure to do some good:  
But having here no matter where upon  
To furnish real actions, as else where,  
No tenures, but a customary hold  
Of what they have from their progenitors  
Common, without individuity;  
No purchasings, no contracts, no commerce,  
No politic commands, no services,  
No general Assemblies but to feast  
And to delight themselves with fresh pastimes;  
How can I hope that ever I shall thrive?  Alc. 
be't possible that a society  
Can with so little noise, and sweat subsist?  Lin. 
It seems it may, before men have transformed  
Their state of nature in so many shapes  
Of their own managements, and are cast out  
Into confusion by their knowledges.  
And either I must pack me hence, or else  
Must labour wholly to dissolve the frame,  
And composition, of their strange built state.  
Which now I seek to do, by drawing them  
To apprehend of these proprieties  
Of mine and thine and teach them to encroach  
And get them states apart, & private shares.  
And this I have already set a work  
If it will take, for I have met with two  
The aptest spirits the country yields, I know,  
Montanus, and Acrisius, who are both  
Old, and both choloric, and both perverse,  
And both inclinable to Avarice  
And if there quarrel hold, as 'tis begun  
I do not doubt, but all the rest will on.  
And if the worst should fall, if I could gain  
The reputation but to arbitrate,  
And sway their strifes, I would get well by that.  Al. 
'tis marvel, that there long and easy peace  
That fosters plenty, and gives nought to do,  
Should not with them beget contention too,  
As well as other where we see it doth.  Lin. 
This peace of theirs, is not like others peace  
Where craft lays traps t'enrich itself with wiles,  
And men make prey of men, and rise by spoils.  
This rather seems a quiet then a peace.  
For this poor corner of Arcadia here,  
This little angle of the world you see,  
Which hath shut out of door, all th'earth beside  
And are barred up with mountains, and with rocks;  
Hath had no intertrading with the rest  
Of men, nor yet will have, but here alone,  
Quite out of fortune's way, and underneath  
Ambition, or desire, that ways them not  
They live as if still in the golden age,  
whenas the world was in his pupillage.  
But for mine own part, Alcon I protest  
I envy them that they thus make themselves,  
An everlasting holiday of rest,  
Whilst others work, and I do think it fit  
Being in the world, they should be of the world,  
And If that other states should do this too  
As God forbid, what should we Lawyers do?  
But I hope shortly yet, we shall have here  
As many of us as are other where:  
And we shall sweat, and chafe, and talk as loud,  
Brawl ourselves hoarse, as well as they shall do  
At Patras, Sparta, Corinth or at Thebes,  
And be as arrogant and even as proud  
And then 'twill be a world, and not before.  
But how dost thou with thy profession frame?  Alc. 
No man can wish a better place than this  
To practise in my art, for here they will  
Be sick for company, they are so kind.  
I have now twenty patients at this time,  
That know not what they ail, no more do I,  
And they have physic all accordingly.  
First Phillis got running at barleybreak  
A little cold, which I with certain drugs  
I ministered, was thought to remedy,  
Doris saw that, how Phillis physic wrought  
(For Phillis had told her, she never took  
So delicate a thing in all her life  
That more reviv'd her heart, and cleared her blood,)  
Doris would needs be sick too, and take some.  
Melina seeing that, she would the like,  
And so she had the very same receipt,  
For to say troth I have no more but that,  
And one poor pill I use for greater cures.  
But this is only sweet and delicate,  
Fit for young women, and is like th'herb john,  
Doth neither good nor hurt, but that's all one,  
For if they but conceive it doth, it doth,  
And it is that Physicians hold the chief  
In all their cures, conceit, and strong belief:  
Besides I am a stranger come from far  
Which doth add much unto opinion too.  
For who now but th' Arabian or the Jew  
In foreign lands, are held the only men,  
Although their knowledge be no more than mine.  Lin, 
'tis true friend Alcon, he that hath once goat  
Th'Elixir of opinion hath got all,  
And he's th'man that turns his brass to gold.  
Then can I talk of Galen, Aucrois,  
Hippocrates, Rasis, and Avicen  
And books I never read, and use strange speech  
Of Symptoms, Crisis, and the critic days,  
Of Trochiscs, Opiates, apophilegmatisms,  
Eclegmats, Embrochs, Lixives, cataplasms,  
With all the hideous terms, Art can devise,  
T'amuse weak, and admiring ignorance  Lin. 
And that is right my trick, I overwhelm  
My practice too, with darkness, and strange words,  
With Paragraphs, Condictions, codicils,  
Acceptilations, Actions rescissory,  
Noxall, and Hypothetical, and involve  
Domestic matter in a foreign phrase.  Alc. 
Then am I as abstruse and mystical  
In Character, and giving my receipt  
Observing still th'odd number in my pills,  
And certain hours to gather and compound  
My simples, and make all t'attend the Moon.  
Then do I show what rare ingredients  
I use for some great cures, when need requires,  
The liver of a Wolf, the lion's gall,  
The left side of a Mole, the fox's heart,  
The right foot of a Tortoise, dragon's blood,  
And such strange savage stuff, as even the names  
Are physic of themselves, to move a man.  
And all the drugs I use, must come from far,  
Beyond the Ocean, and the Sun at least,  
Or else it hath no virtue Physical,  
These homebred simples do no good at all.  Lin. 
No, no, it must be foreign stuff, God wot,  
Or something else, that is not to be got.  Al. 
But now in faith I have found out a trick,  
That will perpetually so feed their rheums,  
And entertain their idle weaknesses,  
As nothing in the world could do the like,  
For lately being at Corinth, 'twas my chance  
T'encounter with a Seaman, new arrived  
Of Alexandria, who from India came,  
And brought a certain herb wrapped up in rolls,  
From th' Island of Nicosia, where it grows:  
Infused I think in some pestiferous juice,  
(Produced in that contagious burning clime,  
Contrarious to our nature, and our spirits)  
Or else sleeped in the fuming sap, itself  
Doth yield, t'enforce th'infecting power thereof,  
And this in powder made, and fired, he sucks  
Out of a little hollow instrument  
Of calcinated clay, the smoke thereof:  
Which either he conveys out of his nose,  
Or down into his stomach with a whiff.  
And this he said a wondrous virtue had,  
To purge the head, and cure the great Catarrh,  
And to dry up all other meaner rheums,  
Which when I saw, I straight way thought how well  
This new fantastical devise would please  
The foolish people here grown humorous.  
And up I took all this commodity,  
And here have taught them how to use the same.  Lin. 
And it is easy to bring in the use  
Of any thing, though never so absurd,  
When nations are prepared to all abuse,  
And th'humour of corruption once is stirred.  Alc. 
'tis true, and now to see with what a strange  
And gluttonous desire, th'exhaust the same  
How infinite, and how insatiably,  
They do devour th'intoxicating fume,  
You would admire, as if their spirits thereby  
Were taken, and enchanted, or transformed,  
By some infused philtre in the drug.  
For whereas heretofore they wonted were  
At all their meetings, and their festivals,  
To pass the time in telling witty tales,  
In questions, riddles, and in purposes,  
Now do they nothing else, but sit and suck,  
And spit and slaver, all the time they sit.  
That I go by, and laugh unto myself,  
And think that this will one day make some work  
For me or others, but I fear it will  
B'another age will find the hurt of this.  
But sure the time's to come, when they look back  
On this, will wonder with themselves to think  
That men of sense could ever be so mad,  
To suck so gross a vapour, that consumes  
Their spirits, spends nature, dries up memory,  
Corrupts the blood, and in a vanity.  Lin. 
But Alcon peace, here comes a patient, peace.  Al. 
Lintus there doth indeed, therefore away.  
Leave me alone, for I must now resume  
My surly, grave, and Doctoral aspect.  
This wench I know, 'tis Daphne who hath wronged  
Her love Menalcas, and played fast and lose  
With Colax, who revealed the whole to me.   

Scena. 2.  Daphne. Alcon. Daph. 
Good Doctor Alcon, I am come to crave  
Your counsel, to advise me for my health,  
For I suppose, in troth, I am not well,  
methinks I should be sick, yet cannot tell:  
Some thing there is amiss that troubles me,  
For which I would take Physic willingly.  Alc. 
Welcome, fair nymph, come let me try your pulse.  
I cannot blame you, t'hold yourself not well.  
Some thing amiss quoth you, here's all amiss,  
Th'whole Fabric of yourself distempered is,  
The Systole, and diastole of your pulse,  
Do show your passions most historical,  
It seems you have not very careful been,  
T'observe the prophylactic regiment  
Of your own body, so that we must now  
Descend unto the Therapeutical;  
That so we may prevent the syndrome  
Of Symptoms, and may afterwards apply  
Some analeptical Elexipharmacum,  
That may be proper for your malady:  
It seems fair Nymph you dream much in the night.  Da. 
Doctor, I do indeed.  Al. 
I know you do,  
You're troubled much with thought.  Dap. 
I am indeed.  Alc. 
I know you are.  
You have great heaviness about your heart.  Dap. 
Now truly so I have.  Alc. 
I know you have.  
You wake oft in the night.  Dap. 
In troth I do.  Alc. 
All this I know you do.  
And this unless by physic you prevent,  
Think whereto it may bring you in the end.  
And therefore you must first evacuate  
All those colaxical hot humour which  
Disturb your heart, and then refrigerate  
Your blood by some Menalchian Cordials,  
Which you must take, and you shall straight find ease,  
And in the morning I will visit you.  Dap. 
I pray Sir, let me take of that you gave,  
To Phillis th'other day, for that she said,  
Did comfort wondrously, and cheer her heart.  Al. 
Fair Nymph, you must, if you will use my art,  
Let me alone, to give what I think good,  
I knew what fitted Phillis malady,  
And so, I think, I know what will serve you.  Exit. Daphne sola. 
O what a wondrous skilful man is this?  
Why he knows all? O God, whoever thought  
Any man living, could have told so right  
A woman's grief in all points as he hath?  
Why this is strange that by thy very pulse,  
He should know all I ail, as well as I.  
Beside I fear he sees too much in me,  
More than I would that any man should see.  
methought (although I could not well conceive  
His words, he spoke so learned and so strange)  
He said I had misruled my body much,  
As if he meant that in some wanton sort,  
I had abused my body with some man.  
O how should he know that what is my pulse  
Become th'intelligencer of my shame?  
Or are my looks the index of my heart?  
Sure so he said, and methought too, he named  
Menalcas, or else some thing very like,  
And likewise named that cunning treacherous wretch  
That hath undone me, Colax, that vile devil,  
Who is indeed the cause of all my grief,  
For which I now seek physic, but o what  
Can physic do, to cure that hideous wound  
My lusts have given my Conscience? which I see  
Is that which only is diseased with in  
And not my body now, that's it doth so  
Disquiet all the lodging of my spirits,  
As keeps me waking, that is, it presents,  
Those ugly forms of terror that affright  
My broken sleeps, that lays upon my heart  
This heavy load that weighs it down with grief;  
And no disease beside, for which there is  
No cure I see at all, nor no redress.  
Didst thou allege vile man to my weak youth,  
How that those vows I made unto my love  
Were bands of custom, and could not lay on  
Those manacles on nature, which should keep  
Her freedom prisoner by our doom of breath?  
O impious wretch now nature gives the lie  
To thy foul heart, and tells my grieved soul,  
I have done wrong, to falsify that vow  
I first to my dear love Menalcas made.  
And says th'assurance and the faith is given  
By band on earth, the same is sealed in heaven.  
And therefore how Menalcas can these eyes  
That now abhor to look upon myself,  
Dare ever view that wronged face of thine,  
Who hast relied on this false heart of mine?   

Scen. 3.  Colax. Techne. Col. 
be't possible sweet Techne, what you say,  
That Cloris is so witty, and so coy?  Tec. 
'Tis as I tell you, Colax, sh' is as coy  
And hath as shrewd a spirit, as quick conceit  
As ever wench I broked in all my life.  Col. 
Then there's some glory in attaining her;  
Here now I shall be sure t'have something yet  
Besides dull beauty I shall lie with wit.  
For these fair creatures, have such feeble spirits,  
And are so languishing, as gives no edge  
To appetite, and love, but stuffs delight.  Tec. 
Well if you 〈◊〉 her, than you shall be sure  
To have your wish; and yet perhaps that store,  
You find in her, may check your longing more  
Than all their wants whom you have tried before.  Col. 
How? if I get her? what do you suppose,  
I shall not get her, that were very strange.  Tec. 
Yes sir, she may be got, but yet I know  
she'll put you to the trial of your wit.  Col. 
Let me alone, could I find season fit  
To talk with her in private, she were mine.  Tec. 
That season may you now have very well.  
For Colax, she hath promised faith fully  
This evening late to meet me at the cave  
Of Erycina underneath the hill,  
Where I must fit her with a new attire.  
Where with sh' is far in love, and th' other day  
Thinking to try it at her father's house,  
(Whether I went with her to deal for you)  
The old Acrisius was himself at home,  
Which did in force us to defer our work  
Until this evening, that we might alone  
There out of sight, more closely do the same:  
Where while she stays (for I will make her stay  
For me a while) you at your pleasure may  
Have th'opportunity which you desire,  Col. 
O Techne thou hast blessed me, if I now  
On this advantage conquer not her mind,  
Let me be loathed, of all womankind.  
And presently will I go suit myself  
As bravely as I can, go set my looks  
Arm my discourse, frame speeches passionate  
And action both, fit for so great a work.  
Techne a thousand thanks and so adieu.  Ex. Tec. 
Well Colax, she may yet deceive thy hopes,  
And I persuade myself she is as like,  
As any subtle wench was ever borne,  
To give as wise a man as you the scorn:  
But see where one whose faith hath better right  
Unto her love then you, comes here forlorn  
Like fortunes outcast, full of heaviness.  
Ah poor Amyntas, would thou knewst how much  
Thou art esteemed, although not where thou wouldst,  
Yet where thou shouldst have love in that degree,  
As never living man had like to thee.  
Ah see how I, who sets for other's love,  
Am took myself, and intricated here  
With one, that hath his heart another where?  
But I will labour to divert the stream  
Of his affections, and to turn his thoughts  
From that coy Cloris, to the liberty  
Of his own heart, with hope to make him mine.   

Scen. 4.  Techne. Amyntas. Tech. 
Now fie Amyntas, why should you thus grieve  
For a most foolish way ward girl, that scorns  
Your honest love, and laughs at all you do;  
For shame Amyntas let her go as she's  
You see her vain, and how perversely set,  
'Tis fond so follow what we cannot get.  Am. 
O Techne, Techne, though I never get,  
Yet will I ever follow whilst I breathe,  
And if I perish by the way, yet shall  
My death be pleasing that for her I die.  
And one day she may hap to come that way,  
(And be it, o her way) where I shall lie,  
And with her proud disdainful foot she may  
Tread on my tomb, and say, lo where he lies,  
The triumph, and the conquest of mine eyes.  
And though I lose myself, and lose my tears,  
It shall be glory yet that I was hers.  
What have I done of late, should make her thus  
My presence with that strange disdain to fly,  
As if she did abhor my company?  
Cloris God knows, thou hast no cause therefore,  
Unless it be for loving more, and more.  
Why thou wert wont to lend me yet an ear,  
And though thou wouldst not help, yet wouldst thou hear.  Tec. 
Perhaps she thinks thy heat willbe allayed,  
The fire being gone, and therefore doth she well  
Not to be seen there where she will not aid.  Am. 
Alas she knows no hand but hers can quench  
That heat in me, and therefore doth she wrong  
To fire my heart, and then to run away.  
And if she would not aid, yet might she ease  
My careful soul, if she would but stand by  
And only look upon me while I die.  Tec, 
Well well Amyntas, little dost thou know  
With whom that cunning wanton sorts herself,  
Whilst thus thou mournest, and with what secret wiles  
She works, to meet her lover in the woods,  
With whom in groves, and caves she dallying sits,  
And mocks thy passions, and thy doleful fits.  Am. 
No Techne, no, I know that cannot be,  
And therefore do not wrong her modesty,  
For Cloris loves no man, and that's some case  
Unto my grief, and gives a hope that yet  
If ever soft affection touch her heart,  
She will look back, and think on my desert.  Tec. 
If that be all, that hope is at an end,  
For if thou wilt this evening but attend  
And walk down under Erycina's grove,  
And place thyself in some close secret bush,  
Right opposite unto the hollow cave  
That looks into the valley, thou shalt see  
That honesty, and that great modesty.  Am. 
If I see Cloris there, I know I shall,  
See nothing else with her, but modesty.  Tec. 
Yes something else will grieve your heart to see:  
But you must be content, and think yourself  
Are not the first, that thus have been deceived,  
With fair appearing outsides, and mistook  
A wanton heart by a chaste steming look.  
But I conjure you by the love you bear  
Unto those eyes, which make you (as you are  
Th'example of compassion to the world)  
Sit close and be not seen in any case.  Am. 
Well Techne, if I shall see Cloris there  
It is enough, then thither will I go,  
Who will go anywhere to look on her.  
And Cloris know, I do not go to see,  
Any thing else of thee, but only thee.  Tec. 
Well go and think yet of her honest care,  
Who gives thee note of such a shameful dead,  
And judge Amyntas when thou shalt be free,  
Who more deserves thy love, or I or she.   

Scen. 5.  Melibaeus. Ergastus. Me. 
Now what infernal projects are here laid,  
T'afflict an honest heart, t'expose a maid,  
Unto the danger of alone assault,  
To make her to offend without her fault.  Er. 
And see what other new appearing spirits  
Would raise the tempests of disturbances,  
Upon our rest, and labour to bring in  
All the whole Ocean of unquietness,  
To overwhelm the poor peace we live in?  
How one would fain instruct, and teach us how  
To cut our throats with form, and to contend  
With artificial knowledge, to undo  
Each other, and to brabble without end.  
As if that nature had not took more care  
For us, than we for our own selves can take,  
And makes us better laws than those we make.  
And as if all that science aught could give  
Unto our bliss, but only shows us how  
The better to contend, but not to live.  
And evermore we see, how vice doth grow  
With knowledge, and brings forth a more increase,  
When skilful men begin, how good men cease.  
And therefore how much better do we live,  
With quiet ignorance than we should do  
With turbulent and ever-working skill,  
Which makes us not to live but labour still.  Mel. 
And see that other vain fantastic spirit,  
Who would corrupt out bodies too likewise,  
As this our minds, and make our health to be  
As troublesome as sickness, to devise,  
That no part of us ever should be free;  
Both foraging on our credulity,  
Take still th'advantage of our weaknesses;  
Both cloth their frivolous uncertainties  
In strange attires, to make it seen the less.    

Actus 4,  

Scen. 1.  Techne, Amyntas. Tec. 
Amyntas must come back I know this way,  
And here it will be best for me to stay,  
And here, indeed he comes, poor man I site  
All quite dismayed and now i'll work on him.  
Come, who tells troth Amynta, who deceives  
Your expectation now, Cloris, or I?  Am. 
Peace Techne peace, and do not interrupt  
The grief that hath no leisure to attend  
Ought but itself, and hath shut up with it  
All other sense in private close within,  
From doing any thing, but only think.  Te. 
Think? whereon should you think? youhave thought enough  
And too too much, on such a one as she.  
Whom now you see youhave tried her honesty:  
And let her go proud girl accordingly,  
There's none of these young wanton things that know  
How t'use a man, or how to make their choice.  
Or answer men's affections as they ought,  
And if y' will think, think sh' is not worth a thought.  
Good Techne, leave me for thy speech and sight  
Bear both that disproportion to my grief,  
As that they trouble, trouble and confound  
Confusion in my sorrows, which doth loathe  
That sound of words, that answers not the tone  
Of my despairs in accents of like moan,  
And now hath sorrow no worse plague I see,  
Then free and unpartaking company.  
Who are not in the fashion of our woes,  
And whose affection do not look likewise  
Of that complexion as our miseries?  
And therefore pray thee leave me or else leave  
To speak, or if thou speak let it not be  
To me, or else let me, not answer thee.  Tec. 
Well I say nothing you know what youhave seen.  Am. 
'tis true I do confess that I have seen  
The worst the world can show me, and the worst  
That can be ever seen with mortal eye.  
I have beheld the whole, of all where in  
My heart had any interest in this life;  
To be disrent and torn from of my hopes,  
That nothing now is left, why I should live:  
That hostage I had given the world, which was  
The hope of her that held me to hold truce  
With it, and with this life is gone, and now  
Well may I break with them, and break I will  
And rend that pact of nature, and dissolve  
That league of blood that ties me to myself.  
For Cloris now hath thy immodesty  
enfranchised me, and made me free to die:  
Which otherwise I could not least it might  
Have been (some stain and some disgrace to thee.  
Ah was it not enough for this poor heart  
T'endure the burden of her proud disdain?  
That weighed it to the earth but that it must  
Be crushed thus with th'oppression of her stain?  
The first wound yet though it were huge and wide,  
Yet was it cleanly made, it festered not,  
But this now given, comes by a poisoned shot,  
Against all laws of honours that are pure,  
And rankles deadly is without all cure.  
Ah how she blushed whenas she issued forth  
With her enamoured mate out of the cave?  
And well then might she blush at such a deed,  
And with how wild a look she casts about  
Her fearful eyes? as if her loathsome sin  
Now coming thus into the open sight,  
With terror did her guiltiness affright;  
And up she treads the hill with such a pace,  
As if she gladly would have out gone shame,  
Which yet for all her hasting after came.  
And at their coming forth, methought I heard  
The villain use my name, and she return  
The same again in very earnest sort,  
Which could be for no good I know to me,  
But only that perhaps it pleased her then  
To cast me up by this way of her mouth  
From of her heart, lest it might stuff the same.  
But Cloris know thou shalt not need to fear,  
I never more shall interrupt thy joys  
With my complaints, nor more observe thy ways;  
And o I would thy heart could be as free  
From sin and shame, as thou shalt be from me.  
I could (and I have reason so to do)  
Revenge my wrong upon that wicked wretch,  
Who hath surprised my love, and robbed thy shame,  
And make his blood th'oblation of my wrath  
Even at thy feet, that thou mightst see th'fane  
To expiate, for this injustice done,  
But that the fact examined would display  
Thy infamy abroad unto the world,  
Which I had rather die than once bewray.  
And Techne Praythee, tell her thus from me,  
But yet, ah tell it softly in her ear,  
And be thou sure no living creature hear,  
That her immodesty hath lost this day,  
Two the most honest guardians of her good  
She had in life, her honour, and my blood.  Tec. 
Now I may speak I trust you speak to me.  Am. 
No not yet Techne, Praythee stay a while,  
And tell her too, though she spares not her shame,  
My death shall show, that I respect her fame.  Tec. 
Then now I may.  Am. 
O Techne no not yet.  
And bid her not forget Amyntas' faith,  
Though she despised him, and one day yet  
She may be touched with grief, and that ere long,  
To think on her dishonour, and his wrong.  
Now Techne I have done, and so farewell.  Tec. 
But stay Amyntas, now must I begin.  Am. 
I cannot stay Techne, let go your hold,  
It is in vain I say, I must be gone.  Tec. 
Now dear Amyntas, hear me but one word.  
Ah he is gone, and in that fury gone,  
As sure he will in this extremity  
Of his despair, do violence to himself:  
And therefore now what help shall I devise  
To stay his ruin? sure there is no means  
But to call Cloris, and persuade with her  
To follow him, and to prevent his death;  
For though this practice was for mine own good,  
Yet my deceits use not to stretch to blood.  
But now I know not where I should find out  
That cruel maid, but I must cast about.   

Scen. 2.  Amarillis. Dorinda. Ama. 
Dorinda, you are yet in happy case,  
You are beloved, you need not to complain;  
'Tis I have reason only to bewail  
My fortunes, who am cast upon disdain,  
And on his rocky heart that wracks my youth  
With storms of sorrows, and contemns my truth;  
'Tis I that am shut out from all delight  
This world can yield a maid, that am removed  
From th'only joy on earth, to be beloved:  
Cruel Carinus scorns this faith of mine,  
And let's poor Amarillis grieve and pine.  Do. 
'tis true indeed you say, I am beloved,  
Sweet Amarillis, and perhaps much more  
Than I would be: plenty doth make me poor.  
For now my heart, as if divided stands  
Betwixt two passions love, and pity both,  
That draw it either way with that main force,  
As that I know not which to yield unto:  
And then fear in the midst, holds m in suspense,  
lest I loathe both by mine improvidence.  Ama. 
How may that be Dorinda? you know this,  
You can enjoy but one, and one there is  
Ought to possess your heart, and love alone,  
Who hunts two Hares at one time, catches none.  Do. 
I must tell you dear friend the whole discourse  
From whom I cannot any thing conceal,  
Arcadia knows, and every Shepherd knows  
How much Mirtillus hath deserved of me,  
And how long time his woeful suit hath lain,  
Depending on the mercy of mine eyes,  
For whom I do confess, pity hath been  
Th' Attorney evermore that stands and pleads  
Before my heart, the justice of his cause,  
And says he ought have love, by loves own laws.  
But now the master sovereign Lord of hearts.  
That great commander, and that tyrant love,  
Who must have all according to his will,  
Whom pity only Ushers goes before,  
As lightning doth the thunder, he says no,  
And will that Colax only have my heart,  
That gallant herdsman full of skill and art:  
And all experience of loves mysteries:  
To whom I must confess me to have given  
The earnest of my love; but since that time  
I never saw the man, which makes me much  
To wonder that his dealings should be such:  
For either love, hath in respect that I  
Despised have the true and honest faith,  
Of one that loved me with sincerity,  
Made me the spoil of falsehood and contempt,  
Or else perhaps the same is done to try,  
My resolution, and my constancy?  
But yet I fear the worst, and fear I may,  
lest he now having got the victory,  
Cares for no more; and seeing he knows my love  
Turns towards him, he turns his back to me,  
So that I know not what were best resolve,  
Either to stand unto the doubtful faith  
Of one that bath so dangerously begun,  
Or else return t' accept Mirtillus' love,  
Who will perhaps when mine begins have done  
So that enwrapped in this distracted toil  
I vex, and know not what to do the while.  
And therefore Amarillis I think sure,  
(Seeing now how others love in me hath proved)  
You are most happy not to be beloved.   

Seen. 3.  Cloris, Amarillis. Dorinda. Clo. 
Now here between you two, kind loving souls,  
I know there can be no talk but of love,  
Love must be all the scope of your discourse,  
Alas poor hearts, I wonder how you can  
In this deceitful world think of a man.  
For they do nothing but make fools of you,  
And laugh when they have done, and prove untrue.  Am. 
Well Cloris well, rejoice that you are free,  
You may be touched one day as well as we.  Clo. 
Indeed and I had like so this last night,  
Had I not looked with such an angry eye,  
And frowned so sour that I made love afeard,  
There was a fellow needs forsooth, would have  
My heart from me whether I would or not,  
And had as great advantage one could have,  
I tell you that he had me in a Cave.  Do. 
What in a Cave? Cloris, how came you there?  Clo. 
Truly Dorinda I will tell you how.  
By no art magic, but a plain devise  
Of Techne, who would try her wit on me,  
For she had promised me, to meet me there  
At such an hour, and thither bring with her  
A new strange dressing she had made for me,  
Which there close out of sight, I should try on:  
Thither went I poor fool, at th'hour decreed,  
And there expecting Techne's company,  
In rushes steering Colax after me.  
Whom sure she sent of purpose to the place,  
And there with his affected apish grace  
And strained speech, offering to seize on me,  
Out rushed I from him, as indeed, amazed  
At his so sudden and unexpected sight.  
And after follows he, vows, swears, protests  
By all the gods, he never loved before  
Any one living in the world but me,  
And for me only, would he spend his life.  Do. 
Alas and what am I forgotten then?  
Why these were even the words he spoke to me.  Clo. 
And then inveighs against Amyntas love,  
Vaunts his own parts, and his great knowledges,  
And all so idle, as, in troth methought  
I never heard a man more vainly talk,  
For so much as I heard, for up the hill  
I went with such a pace and never staid  
To give regard to any thing he said:  
As at the last I scarce had left him breath  
Sufficient to forswear himself with all.  Do. 
Ah what hath then my silly ignorance done  
To be deceived, and mocked by such a one?  Clo. 
And when I had recovered up the hill,  
I fairly ran away and left my man  
In midst of his conjuring perjuries;  
All empty to return with mighty loss  
Of breath and labour, having cast away  
Much foolish pains in tricking up himself  
For this exploit, and goes without his game,  
Which he in hope devoured before he came.  
And I too, missed my dressing by this means.  
But I admire how any Woman can?  
Be so unwise to like of such a man,  
For I protest I see nought else but froth,  
And shallow impudence, affected grace,  
And some few idle practised complement:  
And all the thing he is, he is without,  
For affection strives but to appear,  
And never is of substance, nor Sincere.  
And yet this dare of falsehood hath beguiled  
A thousand foolish wenches in his days.  Do. 
The more wretch he, & more hard hap was theirs.  Clo. 
Why do you sigh Dorinda are you touched  
With any of these passages of mine?  Do. 
no truly not of yours, but I have cause  
In my particular that makes me sigh.  Clo. 
Well well come on to put us from this talk,  
Let us devise some sport to pass the time.  Am. 
Faith I have no great list to any sport.  Do. 
Nor I in troth 'tis farthest from my mind.  Clo. 
Then let us tell old tales, repeat our dreams,  
Or any thing rather than think of love.  Am. 
And now you speak of dreams, in troth last night  
I was much troubled with a fearful dream.  Do. 
And truly Amarillis so was I.  Clo. 
And now I do remember too, ay, had  
A foolish idle dream, and this it was:  
methought the fairest of Montanus lambs,  
And one he loved the best of all his flock,  
Was singled out, and chased b'a cruel cur,  
And in his hot pursuit makes towards me,  
( methought) for succour, and about me ran,  
As if it begged my aid to save his life,  
Which I long time deferred, and still looked on,  
And would not rescue it, until at length  
I saw it even quite worried out of breath,  
And panting at my feet and could no more:  
And then methought, I took it up from death,  
And cherished it with me, and brought it back.  
Home to Montanus, who was glad to see  
The poor recovered creature thus restored;  
And I myself was greatly pleased, methought,  
That by my hand so good a deed Was wrought,  
And Amarillis now tell us your dream?  Am. 
methought as I in Eremanthus walked  
A fearful wolf rushed forth from out a brake,  
And towards me makes with open hideous jaws  
From whom I ran with all the speed I could,  
T'escape my danger, and t'overtake  
One whom I saw before, that might lend aid  
To me distressed, but he, methought did run  
As fast from me, as I did from the beast.  
I cried to him, (but all in vain) to stay;  
The more I cried, the more he ran away;  
And after I, and after me the Wolf,  
So long, as I began to faint in mind,  
Seeing my despair before, my death behind:  
Yet ran I still, and lo, methought, at length  
A little he began to slack his pace,  
Which I perceiving, put to all my strength  
And ran, as if desire had winged my heels,  
And in the end methought recovered him.  
But never woman felt more joy it seemed  
To overtake a man, than I did him,  
By whom I 'scaped the danger I was in,  
That when I waked, as presently I waked,  
Touched with that sudden joy, which my poor heart  
God knows, had not been used unto of late:  
I found myself all in a moist faint sweat,  
Which that affrighting horror did beget,  
And though I were delivered of my fear,  
And felt this joy, yet did the trembling last  
Upon my heart, when now the fear was passed.  Clo. 
This Amarillis may your good portend,  
That yet you may have comfort in the end.  Am. 
God grant I may, it is the thing I want.  Clo. 
And now Dorinda tell us what you dreamed.  Do. 
I dreamed, that having gone to gather flowers,  
And weary of my work, reposing me  
Upon a bank near to a rivers side,  
A subtle Serpent lurking in the grass.  
Came secretly, and seized on my left breast,  
Which though I saw, I had no power to stir,  
But lay me still, till he had eat a way  
Into my bosom, whence he took my heart,  
And in his mouth carrying the same away,  
Returns, methought again from whence he came,  
Which I perceiving presently arose,  
And after it most woefully I went,  
To see if I could find my heart again,  
And up and down, I sought but all in vain.  Clo. 
In troth 'tis no good luck to dream of Snakes,  
One shall be sure t'hear anger after it.  Do. 
And so it may be I have done today.  Clo. 
Indeed and I have heard it never fails.   

Scen. 4.  Techne. Cloris. Amarillis. Dorinda. Tec. 
Come you are talking here in jollity,  
Whilst I have sought you Cloris all about:  
Come, come, good Cloris quickly come away.  Cl. 
What is the news? what have we now to do,  
Have you another Cave to send me too?  Tec. 
Ah talk no more of that but come away,  
As ever you will save the woeful life  
Of a distressed man that dies for you.  Clo. 
Why what doth Colax whom you sent to me  
Into the Cave, faint now with his repulse?  Tec. 
I sent him not, you would so wisely go,  
In open sight, as men might see you go,  
And trace you thither all the way you went.  
But come, ah 'tis not he, it is the man  
You ought to save; Amyntas is the man  
Your cruelty, and rigour hath undone:  
O quickly come, or it will be too late;  
For 'twas his chance, and most unluckily,  
To see both you and Colax, as you came  
Out of the Cave, and he thinks verily  
You are possessed by him; which so confounds  
His spirits, and sinks his heart, that sure he's run  
T'undo himself, and o I fear 'tis done.  Clo. 
If it be done, my help will come too late,  
And I may stay, and save that labour here.  Am. 
Ah Cloris haste away, if this be so,  
And do not, if thou hast a heart of flesh,  
And of a woman, stay and trifle time,  
Go run, and save thine own, for if he die,  
'Tis thine that dies, his blood is shed for thee,  
And what a horror this will ever be  
Hereafter to thy guilty conscience, when  
Years shall have taught thee wit, and thou shalt find  
This deed enstamped in bloody Characters,  
Within the black records of thine own thoughts,  
Which never will be razed whilst thou hast breath,  
Nor yet will be forgotten by thy death.  
Besides wide Fame, will Trumpet forth thy wrong,  
And thou shalt be with all posterity,  
Amongst th' examples held of cruelty,  
And have this savage deed of thine be made  
A sullen subject for a Tragedy,  
Entitled Cloris, that thereby thy name  
May serve to be an everlasting shame;  
And therefore go prevent so foul a stain.  Do. 
Ah go, go Cloris, haste away with speed.  Clo. 
Why whether should I go? I know not where  
To find him now, and if he do this deed,  
It is his error, and no fault of mine.  
Yet pray thee Techne, which way went the man?  Tec. 
Come Cloris, I will show which way he went,  
In most strange fury, and most desperate speed,  
Still crying, Cloris, hast thou done this deed?  Clo. 
Why had not you stayed? and persuaded him?  Tec. 
I could not stay him by no means I used.  
Though all the means I could devise I used.  Clo. 
Well I will go, poor man, to seek him out,  
Though I can do him else, no other good.  
I know indeed he hath deserved my love,  
And if I would like any, should be him,  
So that I thought he would be true to me.  
But thus my dream may now chance come to pass,  
And I may happen to bring home indeed  
Montanus' son, Amyntas that dear Lamb  
He loves so well, and by my gracious deed,  
He may escape the danger he was in.  
Which if I do, and thereby do enthrall  
myself, to free another's misery,  
Then will I sit and sigh, and talk of love  
As well as you, and have your company.  
For something I do feel begin to move,  
And yet I hope 'tis nothing else but fear;  
Yet what know I? that fear may hap be love.  
Well Techne come, I would not have him yet  
To perish, poor Amyntas in this fit.  Exeunt. Ama. 
Well Cloris yet he may, for aught I see  
Before you come, unless you make more haste.  
Ah cruel maid, she little knows the grief  
Of such a heart that's desperate of relief,  
Nor understands she her own happiness,  
To have so true a lover as he is.  
And yet I see she's touched, if not too late,  
For I perceived her colour come and go,  
And though in pride she would have hid her woe,  
Yet I saw sorrow look out at her eyes.  
And poor Amyntas if thou now be gone,  
Thou hast (like to the Bee that stinging dies,  
And in another's wound left his own life)  
Transpierced by thy death, that marble heart,  
Which living thou, couldst touch by no desert.  
And if thou shalt escape, thou hast survived  
Her cruelty, which now repents her wrong,  
And thou shalt by her favours be reviv'd,  
After the affliction thou hast suffered long.  
Which makes me think, that time, and patience may  
intenerate at length the hardest heart,  
And that I may yet after all my woe,  
Live t'overtake Carinus mercy too.  Do. 
And here this sad distress of such a true,  
And constant lover, overcome with grief,  
Presents unto my guilty memory  
The wrongs, Mirtillus hath endured of me.  
And o I would I knew now how he doth,  
I fear he is not well, I saw him not  
Scarce these three days, I marvel where he is,  
And yet what need I marvel, who have thus  
Chased him from me with frowns, and usage vile,  
And fondly left the substance of his faith,  
To catch the shadow of deceit and guile?  
Was Colax he I thought the only man,  
And is he now proved to be such a one?  
O that I ever lent an easy ear,  
Unto so false a wretch's flatteries,  
Whose very name I now abhor to hear,  
And loathe myself, for being so unwise.  
What shall I do sweet Amarillis now,  
Which way shall I betake me to recover  
The loss of shame, and loss of such a lover?  Ama. 
Indeed Dorinda you have done him wrong,  
But your repentance, and compassion now  
May make amends, and you must learn to do  
As I long time have done, endure and hope,  
And on that turn of Fortune's Scene depend,  
When all extremities must mend, or end.   

Scen. 5.  Melibaeus. Ergastus. Mel. 
Well, come Ergastus, we have seen enough,  
And it is more than time, that we prepare  
Against this Hydra of confusion now,  
Which still presents new hideous heads of fear:  
And every hour we see begets new broils,  
And intricates our youth in desperate toils.  
And therefore let th'advantage of this day,  
Which is the great, and general hunting day  
In Eremanthus, serve for this good deed:  
And when we meet (as all of us shall meet  
Here in this place anon, as is decreed)  
We will advise our Shepherds to intermit  
That work, and fall to this imports us more,  
To chase out these wild mischiefs that do lurk,  
And worse infest, than th' Eremanthian Boar,  
Or all Beasts else, which only spoil our fields,  
Whilst these which are of more prodigious kinds,  
Bend all their forces to destroy our minds.  Erg. 
And this occasion will be very fit  
Now to be took, for one day lost may lose  
More by example, than we shall reget  
In thousands, for when men shall once disclose  
The way of ill that lay unknown before,  
Scarce all our pains will ever stop it more.  
Man is a creature of a wilful head,  
And hardly's driven, but easily is led.    

Actus. 5.  

Scen. 1.  Amarillis. Carinus. Ama. 
Ah gentle Lelaps, pretty loving dog,  
Where hast thou left thy master, where is he,  
That great commander over thee and me?  
Thou wert not wont be far off from his feet,  
And o no more would I, were he so pleased;  
But would as well as thou go follow him,  
Through brakes, and thickets, over cliffs and rocks  
So long as I had life to follow him,  
Would he but look upon me with that eye  
Of favour, as he's used to look on thee.  
Thou canst be clapped, and stroked with that fair hand  
That thrusts away my heart, and beats it back  
From following him, which yet it ever will  
And though he fly me I must after still.  
But here he comes, methought he was not far.  Car. 
What mean you Amarillis in this sort  
By taking up my dog to mar my sport?  Am. 
My dear Carinus thou dost much mistake  
I do not mar thy sport, 'tis thou mar'st mine,  
And killst my joys with that hard heart of thine.  
Thy dog perhaps by some instinct doth know  
How that I am his masters creature too,  
And kindly comes himself, and fawns on me  
To show what you in nature ought to do?  Car. 
Fie Amarillis, you that know my mind  
Should not methinks this ever trouble me.  Am. 
What is it troublesome to be beloved?  
How is it then Carinus to be loathed?  
If I had done like Cloris, scorned your suit,  
And spurned your passions, in disdainful sort,  
I had been wooed, and sought, and highly prized,  
But having 'nother art to win thy love,  
Save by discovering mine, I am despised.  
As if you would not have the thing you sought,  
Unless you knew, it were not to be goat.  
And now because I lie here at thy feet,  
The humble booty of thy conquering eyes,  
And lay my heart all open in thy sight,  
And tell thee I am thine, and tell thee right.  
And do not sure my looks, nor clothe my words  
In other colours, than my thoughts do wear,  
But do thee right in all, thou scornest me  
As if thou didst not love sincerity  
Never did Crystal more apparently  
Present the colour it contained with in  
Then have these eyes, these tears, this tongue of mine,  
Betrayed my heart, and told how much I'm thine.  Ca. 
'tis true I know you have too much bewrayed  
And more than fits the honour of a maid.  Am. 
O if that nature hath not armed my breast  
With that strong temper of resisting proof,  
But that by treason of my weak complexion, I  
Am made thus easy to the violent shot  
Of passion, and th'affection I should not.  
methinks yet you out of your strength and power,  
Should not disdain that weakness, but should think  
It rather is your virtue, as indeed  
It is, that makes me thus against my kind,  
T'unlock my thoughts, and to let out my mind,  
When I should rather die and burst with love  
Then once to let my tongue to say, I love.  
And if your worthy parts be of that power  
To vanquish nature, and I must be won  
Do not disdain the work when you have done,  
For in contemning me you do despise  
That power of yours which makes me to be thus.  Ca. 
Now what ado is here with idle talk?  
And to no purpose, for you know I have  
engaged long since my heart, my love and all  
To Cloris, who must have the same and shall.  Am. 
Why there is no such odds twixt her and me,  
I am a Nymph, 'tis known as well as she.  
There is no other difference betwixt us twain  
But that I love, and she doth thee disdain.  
No other reason can induce thy mind,  
But only that which should divert thy mind.  
I will attend thy flocks better than she,  
And dress thy Bower more sweet, more daintily,  
And cherish thee with Salads, and with Fruits,  
And all fresh dainties as the season suits;  
I have more skill in heat bes, than she, by far,  
I know which nourish, which restoring are:  
And I will find Dictamnus for thy Goats,  
And seek out Clover for thy little Lambs,  
And Tetrifoll to cherish up their dams.  
And this I know, I have a better voice  
Than she, though she perhaps may have more art,  
But which is best; I have the faithfullest heart.  
Besides Amyntas hath her love, I know,  
And she begins to manifest it now.  Car. 
Amyntas have her love? that were most strange.  
When he hath gotten that, you shall have mine.  Am. 
O dear Carinus, let me rest upon  
That blessed word of thine, and I have done.   

Scen. 2.  Mirtillus. Carinus. Amarillis. Mir. 
Well met Carinus, I can tell you news,  
Your rival, poor Amyntas, hath undone  
And spoiled himself, and lies in that weak case,  
As we think never more to see his face.  Car. 
Mirtillus, I am sorry t'hear so much:  
Although Amyntas be competitor  
In th'Empire of her heart, wherein my life  
Hath chiefest claim, I do not wish his death:  
But by what chance, Mirtillus pray thee tell?  Mil. 
I will Carinus, though I grieve to tell.  
As Tityrus, Menaleus, and myself  
Were placing of our toils (against anon  
That we shall hunt) below within the straight,  
Twixt Eremanthus, and Lycaeus' mount,  
We might perceive under a ragged cliff,  
In that most uncouth desert, all alone,  
Distressed Amyntas lying on the ground,  
With his sad face, turned close unto the rock,  
As if he loathed to see more of the world,  
Then that poor space, which was twixt him and it:  
His right hand stretched, along upon his side,  
His left, he makes the pillar to support  
His careful head, his Pipe he had hung up  
Upon a Beach tree by, where he likewise  
Had placed his Sheephook, and his Knife, wherewith  
He had encarved an woeful Elegy,  
To show th'occasion of his misery.  
His dog Molampus sitting by his side,  
As if he were partaker of his woe:  
By which we knew 'twas he, and to him went,  
And after we had called, and shook him up,  
And found him not to answer, nor to stir  
And yet his eyes abroad, his body warm;  
We took him up, and held him from the ground,  
But could not make him stand by any means;  
And sinking down again, we searched to see  
If he had any wound, or blow, or wrinch,  
But none could find: at last by chance we spied  
A little horn which he had slung aside,  
Whereby we guessed he had some poison took.  
And thereupon we sent out presently  
To fetch Urania, whose great skill in herbs  
Is such, as if there any means will be,  
As I fear none will be, her only art  
Must serve to bring him to himself again.  Car. 
Indeed Urania hath been known t' have done  
Most desperate cures, and peradventure may  
Restore him yet, & I do wish she may.  Mir. 
But having there used all the help we could,  
And all in vain, and standing by with grief,  
(As we might well, to see so sad a sight)  
(And such an worthy Shepherd in that plight)  
We might perceive come running down the hill,  
Cloris, and Techne, with what speed they could,  
But Cloris had got ground, and was before,  
And made more haste, as it concerned her more.  
And nearer as she came, she faster went,  
As if she did desire to have been there  
Before her feet, too flow for her swift fear.  
And coming to the place, she suddenly  
Stopped, starts, and shrieked, and having made such haste  
T'have something done, now could she nothing do.  
Perhaps our presence might perplex her too,  
As being ashamed that any eye should see  
The new appearing of her naked heart,  
That never yet before was seen till now.  Car. 
And 'tis ill hap for me it was seen now.  Mir. 
For we perceived how Love and Modesty  
With several Ensigns, strove within her cheeks  
Which should be Lord that day, and charged hard  
Upon each other, with their fresh supplies  
Of different colours, that still came, and went,  
And much disturbed her but at length dissolved  
Into affection, down she casts herself  
Upon his senseless body, where she saw  
The mercy she had brought was come too late:  
And to him calls; o dear Amyntas speak,  
Look on me, sweet Amyntas, it is I  
That calls thee, sit is, that holds thee here,  
Within those arms thou hast esteemed so dear.  
And though that love were yet so young in her  
As that it knew not how to speak, or what,  
And that she never had that passion proved,  
Being first a lover ere she knew she loved,  
Yet what she could not utter, she supplied,  
With her poor busy hands that rubbed his face,  
chafed his pale temples, wrung his finger's ends,  
Held up his head, and pulled him by the hands,  
And never left her work, nor ever ceased.  Ama. 
Alas the least of this regard before,  
Might have holp all, then when 'twas in her power,  
T'have saved his heart, and to revive his mind,  
Now for all this, her mercy is unkind;  
The good that's out of season, is not good.  
There is no difference now twixt cruelty,  
And the compassion that's not understood.  Mir. 
But yet at length, as if those dainty hands,  
Had had a power to have awakened death,  
We might perceive him move his heavy eyes,  
Which had stood fixed all the whole time before,  
And fastens them directly upon her.  
Which when she saw, it struck her with that force,  
As that it pierced through all the spirits she had,  
Made all the powers and parts of her shrink up,  
With that convulsion of remorse and grief,  
As out she shrieked, o dear, o my dear heart,  
Then shrinks again, and then again cries out.  
For now that look of his did shake her more,  
Than death or any thing had done before,  
That look did read t'her new conceiving heart,  
All the whole tragic Lecture of his love,  
All his sad sufferings, all his griefs, and fear,  
And now in th'end what he had done for her.  
And with that powerful force of moving too,  
As all a world of words could never do.  
Ah what a silly messenger is Speech,  
To be employed in that great Embassy  
Of our affections, in respect of th'eye?  
Ah 'tis the silent rhetoric of a look,  
That worker the league betwixt the states of hearts,  
Not words I see, nor knowledge of the book,  
Nor incantations made by hidden arts,  
For now this look so melts her into tears,  
As that she poured them down like thunder drops,  
Or else did Nature taking pity now  
Of her distress, employ them in that store,  
To serve as veils, and to be interposed  
Betwixt her grief and her, t'impeach her sight,  
From that full view of sorrow thus disclosed.  
And now with this came in Urania there,  
With other women, to employ their best  
To save his life, if b'any means they can.  
And so we came our way, being sent for now  
About some conference for our hunting sports,  
And with us Techne comes, who is supposed,  
T'have been a special cause of much of this.  Car. 
Alas this sad report doth grieve me much,  
And I did never think, that Cloris had  
So dearly loved him as I find she doth,  
For by this act of hers I plainly see,  
There will be never any hope for me.  Ama. 
There may for me, if now Carinus thou  
Wilt stand but to thy word, as thou hast said.  Mir. 
Ah would to God Dorinda had been there,  
T'have seen but Cloris act this woeful part;  
It may be, it might have deterred her heart  
From cruelty, so long as she had lived.  Am. 
And I am glad Carinus hath but heard  
So much this day, for he may hap thereby  
To have some feeling of my misery,  
But for Dorinda never doubt at all,  
She is more yours Mirtillus than you think.  Mir. 
Ah Amarillis.! I would that were true.  
But lo where come our chiefest herdsmen now,  
Of all Arcadia, we shall know more news.   

Scen. 3.  Melibaeus, Ergastus, Montanus, Acrisius, with other Arcadians, bringing with them Alcon, Lincus, Colax, Techne, Pistophoenax. Meli. 
You gentle Shepherds and inhabitors  
Of these remote, and solitary parts  
Of mountainous Arcadiae, shut up here  
Within these Rocks, those unfrequented Cliffs,  
The walls and Bulwarks of our liberty,  
From out the noise of tumult, and the throng  
Of sweating toil, rattling concurrency,  
And have continued still the same and one  
In all successions from antiquity,  
Whilst all the states on earth besides have made  
A thousand revolutions, and have rolled  
From change to change, and never yet found rest,  
Nor ever bettered their estates by change.  
You, I invoke this day in general,  
To do a work that now concerns us all:  
lest that we leave not to posterity,  
Th' Arcadia that we found continued thus  
By our forefathers care who left it us.  
For none of you I know, whose judgement's grave  
Can aught discern, but sees how much we are  
Transformed of late, and changed from what we were;  
And what distempers daily do arise  
Amongst our people, never felt before,  
At which I know you marvel, as indeed  
You well may marvel, whence they should proceed:  
And so did good Ergastus here, and I,  
Until we set ourselves more warily  
To search it out, which by good hap we have,  
And found the Authors of this wickedness.  
Which Devils attired here in the shape of men,  
We have produced before you, to the end  
You may take speedy order to suppress  
Our growing follies, and their impiousness.  Erg. 
Indeed these odious wretches which you see,  
Are they who have brought in upon our rest,  
These new and unknown mischiefs of debate,  
Of wanton pride, of scandalous reports,  
Of vile deluding chaste and honest loves,  
Of undeserved suspicious desperate griefs,  
And all the sadness we have seen of late.  
And first this man, this Lincus here you see,  
Montanus you, and you Acrysius know,  
With what deceit, and with what cunning art,  
He entertained your strifes, abused you both,  
By first persuading you that you had right  
In your demands, and then the right was yours,  
And would have made as many rights, as men  
Had means, or power, or will to purchase them;  
Could he have once attained to his desires.  Mon. 
We do confess our error, that we were  
Too easily persuaded by his craft,  
To wrangle for imagined titles, which  
We here renounce, and quit for evermore,  Acry. 
And we desire the memory thereof  
May die with us, that it be never known  
Our feeble age hath such example shown.  Erg. 
And now this other strange impostor here,  
This Alcon, who like Lincus hath put on,  
The habit too of empty gravity,  
To catch opinion, and conceit withal,  
Comes here to set us all at variance too,  
With nature, as this other with ourselves,  
And would confound her, working with his art,  
And labours how to make our minds first sick,  
Before our bodies, and persuade our health  
It is not well, that he may have thereby  
Both it and sickness ever under cure.  
And foreign drugs brings to distempers here  
And make us like the wanton world abroad.  Mel. 
But there are two the most pernicious spirit;  
The world I think did ever yet produce.  
Colax and Techne, two such instruments  
Of Wantonness, of Lust and treachery,  
As are of power t' entice and to debauch  
The universal state of honesty.  Erg. 
But Techne who is that stands their by you,  
What is your company increased of late?  Te. 
Truly it is a very honest man  
A friend of mine that comes to see me here.  Erg. 
He cannot then but be an honest man,  
If he be one of your acquaintance sure.  Mel. 
This man I found with them now since you went  
Maintaining hot dispute with Tityrus  
About the rites, and mysteries of Pan.  Erg. 
he's like to be of their associates then.  Er. 
Techne, what is this secret friend of yours?  Tec. 
Forsooth he is a very holy man.  Erg. 
A very holy man? what is his name?  Tec. 
Truly his name Sir is Pistophoenax.  Erg. 
What is he masked, or is that face his own?  Tec. 
He is not masked, 'tis his complexion sure.  Erg. 
Techne we cannot credit thy report.  
Let one try whether it be so or not,  
O see a most deformed ugly face,  
Wherewith if openly he should appear,  
He would deter all men from coming near.  
And therefore hath that cunning wretch put on  
This pleasing visor of apparency,  
T'entice and to delude the world withal;  
So that you see with what strange engineers,  
The project of our ruin is forecast.  
How they implanted have their battery here,  
Against all the main pillars of our state,  
Our Rites; our Customs, Nature, Honesty.  
T'embroil, and to confound us utterly,  
Reckoning us barbarous, but if thus their skill  
Doth civilize let us be barbarous still.  Mel. 
But now to show the horrible effects  
Of Colax, and of Techne's practises,  
(Besides this last exploit they wrought upon,  
Amyntas (who, poor youth, lies, now full weak:  
Under Urania's cure, whose skill we hear  
Hath yet recalled him to himself again)  
We have sent out abroad into the woods,  
For Silvia and Palamon two chaste souls  
Whom they have tortured so with jealousy,  
Of each the other, as they made them run  
A part, to languish severally alone;  
And we have sent for divers others too,  
Whose hearts have felt what impious craft can do.  
And here they come, and now you shall know all.   

Scen. 4.  Palaemon. Mirtillus, Carinus. Silvia. Dorinda. Amarillis, Daphne. Cloris. Amyntas. Erg. 
Come good Palaemon, and good Silvia come,  
You have endured too much, and too too long.  Sil. 
Ah why Ergastus' do you set our names  
So near together, when our hearts so far,  
Are distant from each other as they are?  
Indeed whilst we were one as once we were,  
And as we ought to be, were faith observed,  
Palaemon should not have been named without:  
A Silvia, nor yet Silvia without him.  
But now we may Ergastus, we are two.  Pal. 
Silvia, there in the greater wrong you do.  Sil. 
Palaemon, nay the greater wrong you do.  Erg. 
Alas we know well where the wrong doth lie.  Sil. 
I know you do, and all the world may know.  Pal. 
Silvia, you see your fault cannot be hid.  Sil. 
It is no fault of mine Palaemon, that  
Your shame doth come to be revealed here;  
I never told it you yourself have not  
Concealed your work so closely as you should.  Pal. 
But there stands one can tell what you have been.  Sil. 
Nay there he stands can tell what you have been.  
And sure is now in public here produced  
To testify your shame, but not set on  
But me I do protest, who rather would  
Have died alone in secret with my grief  
Then had your infamy discovered here.  
wherein my shame, must have so great a share.  Pal. 
I have not sought to manifest your shame  
Which Silvia, rather than have done I would  
Have been content t'endure the worst of deaths,  
I having such an interest in the same.  Col, 
No Silvia, no Palaemon, I stand here  
Not to accuse you but t'accuse myself  
Of wrong, you both God knows are clear  
I have abused your apt credulity,  
With false reports of things that never were  
And therefore here crave pardon for the same.  Pal. 
why Colax, did not Silvia entertain  
The love of Thyrsis then as you told me?  Col. 
Palaemon no, she never entertained  
His love, nor wronged you as I ever knew.  Sil. 
But Colax you saw how Palaemon did  
With Nisa falsify his vow to me.  Col. 
Silvia, by heaven and earth I swear not I,  
But only feigned it out of subtlety;  
For some ungodly ends I had decreed.  Pal. 
O let not this be made some cunning bait  
To take my griefs with false belief, for I  
Had rather live with sorrow than deceit,  
And still b'undone, then to have such relief.  Sil. 
Ah let not this devise be wrought to guild  
My bitterness, to make me swallow 'it now,  
That I might be another time beguiled  
With confidence, and not trust what I know.  Pal. 
Ah Silvia now, how were I cleared of grief,  
Had I the power to unbelieve belief.  
But ah my heart hath dwelled so long in house  
With that first tale, at this which is come new,  
Cannot be put in trust with my desire  
So soon, beside 'tis too good to be true.  Sil. 
Could I Palaemon but unthink the thought  
Of th'ill first heard, and that it were not so,  
How blessed were I? but lo I see how doubt  
Comes in far easier than it can get out.  
And in these miseries of jealousy,  
Our ear hath greater credit than our eye.  Mel. 
Stand not confused dear lovers any more,  
For this is now the certain truth you hear,  
And this vile wretch hath done you both this wrong.  Pa. 
be't possible, and is this true you say,  
And do I live, and do I see the day?  
Ah then come Silvia, for I find this wound  
That pierced into the centre of my heart,  
Hath let in love far deeper than it was.  Sil. 
If this be so, why then Palaemon know,  
I likewise feel the love that was before  
Most in my heart, is now become far more:  
And now o pardon me you worthy race  
Of men, it I in passion uttered aught  
In prejudice of your most noble sex;  
And think it was m'aggrieved error spoke  
It knew not what, transported so, not I:  Pal. 
And pardon me you glorious company  
You stars of women, if my enraged heat  
Have aught profaned your reverent dignity,  
And thou bright Pallas sovereign of at Nymphs,  
The royal Mistress of our Pastoral Muse  
And thou Diana honour of the woods  
To whom I vow my songs, and vow myself,  
Forgive me mine offence and be you pleased  
T'accept of my repentance now therefore,  
And grace me still, and I desire no more.  Sil. 
And now I would that Cloris knew this much  
That so she might be undeceived too,  
Whom I have made believe so ill of men.  
But lo see where she comes, and as it seems  
Brings her belief already in her hand  
Prevents my act, and is confirmed before.  
Look Cloris look, my fears have idle been,  
Palaemon Loves me there is trust in men.  Col. 
And Silvia I must now believe so too  
Or else god help I know not what to do.  Pal. 
Look here Mirtillus look what I told you  
Is now proved false, and women they are true,  Mi. 
So I perceive Palaemon, and it seems  
But vain conceit that other wise esteems.  Mo. 
Alas here comes my dear restored son  
My lovely child Amyntas here is come.  Acry. 
And here is Cloris my dear daughter come  
And looks as if she were affrighted still,  
Poor soul, with fear, and with her sudden grief.  Col. 
Lo here Montanus I have brought you home  
Although with much ado, your son again  
And sorry am with all my heart that I,  
Have been the cause he hath endured so much.  Mon. 
And I restore him back again to you  
Dear Cloris and do wish you to forget  
Your sorrows past, and pray the Gods you may  
From henceforth lead your life with happy joy.  Acr. 
Do Cloris take him, and I wish as much.  Erg. 
Well then to make our joyful festivals  
The more complete, Dorinda, we entreat  
You also to accept Mirtillus' love,  
Who we are sure hath well deserved yours.  Do. 
Although this be upon short warning, yet  
For that I have been summoned before  
By mine own heart, and his deserts to me  
To yield to such a motion, I am now  
Content t'accept his love, and willbe his,  Mir. 
Dorinda then I likewise have my bliss  
And reckon all the sufferings I have passed  
Worthy of thee to have this joy at last.  Mel. 
And you Carinus look on that good Nymph  
Whose eye is still on you, as if she thought  
Her sufferings too, deserved some time of joy  
And now expects her turn, hath brought her lap  
For comfort too whilst fortune deals good hap.  
And therefore let her have it now poor soul  
For she is worthy to possess your love.  Car. 
I know she is, and she shall have my love,  
Though Colax had persuaded me before  
Never t'accept or to believe the love  
Of any Nymph, and oft to me hath sworn  
How he had tried them all, and that none were  
As men, beguiled by shows, supposed they were:  
But now I do perceive his treachery,  
And that they have both love and constancy.  Ama. 
O dear Carinus blessed be this good hour,  
That I have lived to overtake at last  
That heart of thine which fled from me so fast.  Erg. 
And Daphne, too methinks your heavy looks  
Show how that something is amiss with you.  Dap. 
Nothing amiss with me, but that of late  
I took a fall, which some what grieves me yet.  Erg. 
That must advise you Daphne from henceforth  
To look more warily unto your feet,  
Which if you do, no doubt but all will be well,  Mel. 
Then thus we see the sadness of this day  
Is ended with the evening of our joy:  
And now you impious spirits, who thus have raised  
The hideous tempests of these miseries,  
And thus abused our simple innocence,  
We charge you all here presently t'avoid,  
From out our confines, under pain to be  
Cast down, and dashed in pieces from these rocks,  
And t'have your odious carcases devoured  
By beasts, being worse yourselves than beasts to men.  Col. 
Well then come Techne, for I see we two  
Must even be forced to make a marriage too.  
And go to Corinth, or some City near,  
And by our practice get our living there.  
Which both together joined, perhaps we may:  
And this is now the worst of miseries  
Could come unto me, and yet worthily,  
For having thus abused so many nymphs,  
And wronged the honour most unreverently  
Of women, in that sort as I have done,  
That now I'm forced to undergo therefore,  
The worst of Plagues: To marry with a W.  Alc. 
But Lincus, let not this discourage us,  
That this poor people jealous of their rest,  
Exile us thus, for we no doubt shall find  
Nations enough, that will most ready be  
To entertain our skill, and cherish us.  
And worthier people too, of subtler spirits,  
Than these unfashioned, and uncombed rude swain.  Lin. 
Yea and those Nations are far sooner drawn  
T'all frivolous distractions then are these.  
For oft we see, the gross do manage things,  
Far better than the subtle, cunning brings  
Confusion sooner than doth ignorance.  Al. 
Yea and I doubt not whilst there shallbe found  
Fantastic puling wenches in the world,  
But I shall flourish, and live jollily,  
For such as I by women must begin  
To gain a name, and reputation win.  
Which when we have attained to, you know then  
How easily the women draw on men.  Lin. 
Nor do I doubt but I shall likewise live;  
And thrive, wherever I shall plant myself;  
For I have all those helps my skill requires,  
A wrangling nature, a contesting grace,  
A Clamorous voice, and an audacious face.  
And I can cite the law t'oppugn the law,  
And make the gloss to overthrow the text  
I can allege, and vouch authority,  
T'embroil th' intent, and sense of equity:  
Besides by having been a Notary,  
And used to frame litigious instruments  
And leave advantages for subtlety,  
And strife to work on, I can so devise  
That there shallbe no writing made so sure  
But it shall yield occasion to contest  
At any time when men shall think it best,  
Nor be thou checked with this Pistophoenax,  
That at thy first appearing thou art thus  
Discovered here, thou shall along with us,  
And take thy fortune too, as well as we.  Pis. 
Tush Limus this can not discourage me,  
For we that traffic with credulity,  
And with opinion, still shall cherished be.  
But here your error was to enter first  
And be before me, for you should have let  
Me made the way, that I might have dislinked  
That chain of Zeal that holds in amity,  
And called up doubt in their established rites,  
Which would have made you such an easy way,  
As that you might have brought in what you would,  
Upon their shaken and discattered minds,  
For our profession any thing refutes,  
And all's unsettled whereas faith disputes.  Mel. 
Now what a muttering keep you there, away  
Be gone I say, and best too, whilst you may.  
And since we have redeemed ourselves so well  
Out of the hands of mischief, let us all  
Exile with them their ill example too,  
Which never more remains, as it begun,  
But is a wicked sire t'a far worse son,  
And stays not till it makes us slaves unto  
(That universal Tyrant of the earth  
Custom) who takes from us our privilege  
To be ourselves, reads that great charter too  
Of nature, and would likewise cancel man:  
And so enchains our judgements, and discourse  
Unto the present usances; that we  
Must all our senses there unto refer,  
Be as we find ourselves, not as we are,  
As if we had no other touch of truth  
And reason then the nations of the times  
And place wherein we live, and being ourselves  
Corrupted, and abastardized thus  
Think all looks ill, that doth not look like us.  
And therefore let us recollect ourselves  
Dispersed into these strange confused ill,  
And be again Arcadians as we were  
In manners and in habit as we were.  
And so solemnize this our happy day,  
Of restoration, with other feasts of joy.  
FINIS.